Can't you flirt with meeee?...

Finally, after what seems like years but was in fact only over a month, I got to go to Toronto.

It was a warm evening as Nick and I drove downtown, Paul McCartney's newest album (which freaking rocks FYI) playing in the background and intelligent conversation flowing freely between us. Nick is a musciain, a guy a year younger than me that I went to High School with. He's sophisticated, intelligent, charming and good looking...and strangely homophobic.

The irony of his homophobia is that we always do non-alpha-male things. Last night's outing was to the Distillery District, a converted pedestrian area that houses galleries, resturants and coffee shops in a really great atmosphere. I'd been there once before, but it's been a couple years, and I loved it. Nick vetoed our usual jazz venue since he'd never been to this area before, and wanted to check out some galleries.

We got there after 9 p.m., and no surprise on a Wednesday night, not much was going on. People were sprawled on patios, sampling the beers made in the buildings next to many of the restrants, and delicious cooking smells wafted from kitchens. We walked around, getting a feel for the layout, and peering into darkend gallery windows. After accepting that things weren't open, we settled on a restrant, the one with the oyster bar, and got a table on the patio.

Our waiter walked over, and I immediately smiled. He was tall, with frosted blonde hair, bright lips and cheeks, and a big smile. After giving us some menus he stepped away and served another table.

Moments later he was back, asking if we'd chosen anything to drink, because he'd, "Have to throw you out, and then I'd be pretty lonely around here." We laughed, Nick awkwardly, me awkwardly for different reasons.

Drinks arrived, and he kept chatting us up. OK, I take the 'us' back...sadly. Nick got a sample tray of wines, and the Blonde Waiter kept stopping by to see how he liked them all. He was making all sorts of cute, flirty conversation with Nick, who was sitting there nodding along. I was sitting there, in my hot black Rolling Stones Tee, and nice jeans, and not once did he ask me how my beer was.

After we'd lingered long enough, with Nick ordering another glass of Riesling on the Blonde Waiter's suggestion ("My country makes good whites...I'm German"), it was time to get the bill.

"Hail him down next time he walks by," Nick said.

"Uhh, excuse me? You're the one he's all over, you catch him."

"Oh, this always happens. It's like I'm a gay magnet. They always think I'm gay. You'd think at least he'd think we were together or something."

After I screamed inside, I sighed aloud.

"Well, at least he's payed some attention to you. I didn't even get a 'How's the beer?' from him. God, if I wanted his attention I'd probably have to be convulsing on the floor, right in his path, possibly with my shirt on fire, before he would notice..."

The bill came, and there was no phone number sneakily written on it for Nick. I took a bit of solice in that, and the fact that Nick was being a bit of a tease, making the bill with tip come out to $69.00.

Overall it was great to be back in the city, though I definately need to work on my he's-not-gay-I-am vibes for the next time we're going downtown...