That One Friday Night

We need to take a moment to explain how I operate. It will help with explaining both all my relationships with women in the past...and it will help to explain why this last Friday night was unbelievably out of character for me.

Ok, here we go.

How I operate: I am a terrible flirt. Meaning that I basically throw caution to the wind and flirt with every girl who crosses my path. I even flirt with boys if the mood strikes. But the thing is, I don't intentionally flirt with these girls. It just happens. Like, when I start talking to girls I just remember little details or pick up on quirks and it comes off to those girls as hardcore flirting. When I actually flirt with a girl intentionally though, then it is amazingly obvious.

Anyway, after that flirting stage, I am super old-school. The type who takes a girl out on a date, brings her flowers, opens doors, etc. And I do the whole first kiss after the first date thing and then make sure that I call the next day so she doesn't freak out.

Well, none of that happened Friday night.

I went out. With friends. Gay club here we come!

While there I met this girl. She was really cute. I tried to talk to her and failed repeatedly. She was tall, femme, smooth dancer, and kept giving me looks like she was interested. And yet, I couldn't seem to make effective contact with her. All the while, without my knowledge, another girl was watching what I can only imagine was a semi-hilarious scene unfold. So the other girl came over to me and initiated a conversation. She wasn't as attractive as the tall girl that I was failing so miserably with but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

So I began to dance with this girl. I learned that she is European, recently graduated from college with a degree in music, speaks like four languages, and had some killer moves. Next thing I know she was kissing me. And the next thing I realize it is almost 2 hours later and half of our dancing party has left and some of the gay boys are gawking at us. What in the world was I doing?!?

This was not me. And yet, her lips felt amazing, so I said "screw it," and kept going.

I shouldn't have said screw it. The next morning I wake up with a swollen and slightly bruised lower lip. I had work in the next hour and placing an ice cube on my lip was not cutting it. I had to speak to customers all day and my lip was more than a little obvious.

Basically, I think I learned my lesson. No matter how hot that girl on the dance floor is, if you're a girl who takes things slow, just stick to your methods. Otherwise, you may wind up with funny looks at work the next day.

-ThatOneGayGirl