30 is the new black

People say that there are not a lot of single, heterosexual men left over the age of 30. That’s true if you are standing in Oxford St in Sydney or Commercial St in Prahan which kind of dampens your perspective. I think it is probably more accurate to say that there are not a lot of eligible heterosexual men in this town that you can bear to give a second look and want to bring home to meet mother. Or are we as most of the women’s magazines incessantly pointing out, just going to the wrong places? I decided to test this theory and joined a gym, which was deemed one of the right places to meet eligible men.

Donned in Adidas gear from head to toe and spending at least half an hour doing my makeup to get the natural look, I arrived at the gym in anticipation ready to see a smorgasbord of eligible, fit men. It was to my great disappointment, that the ratio of gay men to straight was 70:30 and the thirty percent of heterosexual men were more interested in checking out their bulging biceps in the mirror than they were checking out me.

The only men who did look my way did the whole construction wolf whistling, eyes popping out, tongue to the ground thing and no self respecting woman would ever acknowledge that type of behaviour, though I’m very particular to tradesman when they are not running around in packs. It’s the whole blue singlet, sculpted muscles, rippling biceps that does it to me … mmm … sorry I’m digressing. Then there is the I’m gay or about to join a monastery, have a girlfriend, or I’m serious about my training and you would be a distraction type of guy. And I’m not going to date any man that I can lift more weights than he can, that’s non negotiable. After all I’m 5″6 inches tall and only weigh fifty kilograms. All in all, it wasn’t much of a selection.

Admittedly, I had been checking out one guy at my gym for the last few weeks. There is always one exception to the rule and let me tell you this guy was truly exceptional by anyone’s standards. He was cute in a Justin Timberlake kind of way with his curly hair, bulging muscles and Chinese motif tattoo … okay, I had been studying him fairly closely. We had a hello and goodbye relationship for months but had never gone beyond that although one day I did ask him how he was and he replied good. It wasn’t much of a relationship. It was obviously up to me to make the move.

I initiated a conversation with him one day and I found out he was studying theology at one of those new age, just add water or in this case 10 per cent of your salary and you get spiritualty churches. I tried my best to look interested whilst at the same time wondering whether he was allowed to get married. Before I knew it, he had invited me to go to his church and before I knew it again, I had agreed. I really need to work on my reflexes.

I pondered the situation when I got home. Did he like me or did they need new parishioners to get a new roof for their church? It was a Sex in the City moment but of course, no sex, due to the religion thing and no city as the church was based in the suburbs. What would Carrie do in this situation I wondered? Alarm bells rang through my Catholic schoolgirl’s head. The church was based near a supermarket I went to regularly and was best described as a cult but caution went out the window when I thought of his toned physique. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out would it?

I was very excited, well as excited as you can possibly be going to a church for a date and I chose my clothes quite carefully that night. I’m sure I’d convert him to the Gospel of Gillian with my wisdom and charm but a seductive outfit never hurt. There is of course a fine line between hot and heavenly. I tossed all my cleavage baring tops to the side. This didn’t leave me with much of a choice and Harpers Bazaar wasn’t helping. I must have missed the issue that featured ‘Ten Sexy Outfits to Genuflect to in Church’. I finally chose a white woollen jacket with a matching skirt and knee high boots that made me look angelic but devilish at the same time. I was going to bring this guy to his knees and I didn’t mean in prayer.

I strutted into the church looking for my Justin Timberlake look-alike … ahh there he was and I angled towards him. I slipped a few furtive looks his way but the only thing he seemed intent on studying was his Holy Bible. Ten minutes into the sermon, the Paster mentioned that they needed a new dwelling so I guess I knew what the answer to my unasked question was. That and the fact his girlfriend was sitting right next to me. I wish I’d just been content to worship him from afar.

I stood when I had to stand and I knelt when I had to kneel and threw a few amens and allehiuahs here and there but above all I was studying the crowd and counting how many hymns until it was over. There seemed to be no one above the age of 35 in this church and everyone looked like they could be on the cover of a magazine or at worst in a Target catalogue. Could this be one of the right places that Cosmo and Cleo had missed out on??? Could the church be the new nightspot of the naughties? It had the lights, it had the sound, it had the music, it had the people and from what I could see, it had the action. It had all the elements of a nightclub and instead of selling tickets at the door, they asked you to put money in a collection plate or in this church’s case via a direct debit system. Brilliant!

After three choruses of a hymn, I knew was going to be ringing in my head all day tomorrow, I knew it was time to leave and bid my NSYNC boy ‘Bye, Bye, Bye’. On the way out, I ran into an old girlfriend of mine who a few years ago would never have been seen in a place like this. In fact, she was a pill popping, night-clubber and the only Gods she worshipped were Jim Beam and Johnny Walker and she was always on her knees all right but they had never been introduced to the inside of a church until three years ago. Apparently, she was introduced to the church by another girlfriend and she had met her fiance through the church.

But how many of these guys really kept the faith and how many of them just wanted to get laid? Was God’s name the only thing they would take in vain tonight? It seemed like these young and defenceless girls were looking for enlightenment in all the wrong places. They were vulnerable and easy pray. I mean prey.

A church with a direct debit system that demands ten per cent of their wages that they have slaved at McDonalds or at the local Woolworths to earn just did not seem right. Hope and salvation for just ten per cent of their wage was a small price to pay for some but I wasn’t convinced, nor converted. It all seemed insincere and staged. I was far more interested in a guy that worshipped me anyway.