I just got home from my interview -- and I've gone from being a mere finalist to being one of the anointed few who will be profiled in Chicago magazine's annual Top 20 Singles issue this July!
So now the whole city will know that I'm completely incapable of maintaining a relationship. Wait -- that came out wrong. I meant to say that I'll be profiled as a catchworthy prize in a huge, glossy monthly aimed at an extremely literate and well-to-do demographic.
And did I mention that I'll get to have a photo shoot with a high-fashion photographer? And that I'll be an attraction at a huge fund-raiser event staged to kick off the singles issue? (I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that people will pay money to attend a party because I'll be there -- even though they won't even know me. Yet. I'll be given pseudo-celebrity status simply because I can't get a date. Not since the days of Madonna and George W. Bush have people achieved such prominence without providing any real substance.)
The interview tonight was a lot of fun. (Of course, when is getting the opportunity to blather on and on about yourself to a stranger whose job it is to listen and take notes not fun?) The woman who interviewed me was actually quite interesting and a delight to talk to. We had a lot in common, and I really enjoyed our conversation. If I weren't such a big homo -- and if I weren't contractually obligated to remain single until at least July -- I'd probably ask her out. She seemed genuinely thrilled to talk to me, which bodes well for the content and the tone of the profile she'll write about me. And she was extremely polite and courteous in the way she never once mentioned the disgusting little rash running up and down my forearms from Saturday's wax job. (Of course, she never complimented me on my spiffy new shoes either -- so I'll choose to believe she was really focused on her note-taking.)
She also said that people who've been profiled in past singles issues have been inundated with phone calls and letters and flowers and other forms of courtship from amorous Chicagoans. (Of course, I was once the Big Gay Cocktail Club's featured bachelor of the month -- and even with a Web profile and an email address to help people find me, I didn't get so much as a "good luck finding a boyfriend with that nose" from anyone. Sniff.
In any case, I'd better enjoy my anonymity while I can. So I'm off to join Matthew at Sidetrack for some show tunes.