Let’s Cut to the Chase Here, OK?

So I have many many updates about my night out on Saturday.  But first, I have this new mantra type thing.  It’s inspired by a post on the amazing blog Queer Fat Femme by one of my personal icons and full-sized femme goddess Bevin Branlandingham.  It is a follows “Nobody ever died of awkward.”  (Written and explained by Bevin here).  To summarize, Bevin recommends a forward, bold approach, because the worst that can happen is usually just an awkward moment, and you’ll be glad you took a chance after it’s over.  This is an idea it was easy for me to adopt as I’m a big fan of being direct, and I am quickly frustrated by bullshit.  I’d rather have someone tell me flat out that they’re not interested than invest time and energy in a pointless, endless text game.  Apparently, according to lestrology.com, this a characteristic of my zodiac sign.  While I don’t place much weight on horoscopes, in this particular aspect, it’s dead on.  I lose patience quickly when it comes to indecisiveness and uncertainty, and hate game playing with a passion.

All of which brings me to my Saturday night, during which I unintentionally explored oh so many applications of the new mantra.  It all started with my metro ride.  I was alone (since my wing-people were all busy/sick/working early on Sunday; see previous post), and I happened to notice another girl, about my age, also alone.  My gay-dar went off almost immediately.  She had longish hair and wasn’t obviously or stereotypically gay-looking, but something about her posture, her style, her attitude…. I wondered.  There were 20 minutes before the train was set to come, and we awkwardly tried to eye each other without being obvious. I tried to muster up the courage to initiate conversation, but totally failed. When the train came, we got onto the same car and she sat down in a row by herself.  I hesitated, then repeated “nobody ever died of awkward” to myself a few times and took a deep breath.  I walked over to her and asked if the seat next to her was taken.  I don’t remember what I said to being the conversation, but within a few minutes the awkwardness had faded and she seemed as eager to talk to me as I was her.  She was studying abroad in DC from Germany, it turned out, and had yet to meet an American friend (or, as I later found out, another gay-lady friend).  It came out that we were both going to the same bar, one of the few lesbian hangouts in the city, and I applauded myself for being able to spot a fellow femme. (We can tend to be invisible to the rest of the queer community, and I sometimes feel frustrated I go so unnoticed.  But I dress and act in the way that makes me feel most comfortable and most beautiful, because otherwise I feel like I’m not being true to myself.  I could write an entire post about this, but I’ll save it for another time).  Anyway, I ended up making a new friend, Sally.  Sally and I spent the whole night together, as each other’s wing-women, and had an absolute blast.  We plan to hangout again soon.

She and I went to the bar where I was supposed to meet N, and got some drinks.  A few minutes after we showed up, I spotted N sitting at the bar with a friend and went over to say hi.  The conversation was so awkward.  I didn’t know what to say, and she wasn’t really asking questions or making much of an effort.  Just a week ago, it had seemed so effortless and I remember her leaning into me, touching my arm and the small of my back and acting super into me.  This time, she didn’t seem into me at all.  The bar was still quiet, so S and I decided to head to sing some karaoke for a bit until things got going. I invited N and her friend to come, but she declined.

Had I not met the most perfect wing-woman on the metro, I’m sure I would have had no problem meeting a gay man at the karaoke bar and convincing him to help me.  I had not been there more than 5 minutes when this drunk and really jovial flamboyant guy came up to me and said “Holy titties!  You look amazing!  I just want to motorboat you!”and then turned to Sally and  asked “is this your girlfriend?”  I laughed and informed him that we were just friends, and that I was flattered that he liked my boobs so much, but that motor boating was off the table.  He walked away and his friend turned to me and said, clearly a little embarrassed by his association to the jovial drunk, “So…. THAT just happened.”  We both laughed.  Sally and I quickly made friends with the whole group, and then we all sang the Spice Girls together.  Had I been alone still, I’m sure they would have agreed to be my wing-men for a bit, so at least I know that’s still a plausible plan for some night.

Sally and I wondered back to the first bar, and as we walked in, I noticed that BOTH of the women I’ve ever slept with in DC (as I only moved here about 2 months ago) decided to show up at this particular bar.  One was my ex-gf who had dated me for 2 years while I lived in Philly (we were long distance-ish), before I ended it last April.  The other was this girl who I met online, went on one date with, and then slept with (regrettably).  She ended up being kind of a jerk, and treated me like complete crap the morning after, despite the fact that she had invited me back to her place and then insisted when I at first turned her down.  I wouldn’t have regretted sleeping with her if she hadn’t tossed me away so callously the next day.  I wasn’t necessarily interested in a relationship, but it feels super crappy to be treated with so little respect the day after.  She showed her true colors once again on Saturday since as soon as she saw me she grabbed the girl she was with and started grinding on her, glancing over furtively to see if I had noticed her.  Ugh, come on.  The world does not revolve around you, and if you can’t even manage a polite hello to a girl whose fingers have been inside your vagina, you’re clearly not worth my time.  Knowing that I deserve better doesn’t stop the sting of rejection and poor treatment, however.

Things with my ex, who despite not being right for me, is actually a really wonderful person, were not so awkward.  They were, in fact, almost pleasant.  I said hello, she said hello, we chatted for a moment and then each did our own thing.  She looked good, and I was feeling pretty horny, so I had to fight back the desire to flirt, at which I totally succeeded.  I broke up with her (not the other way around), and I know that she still has feelings there, so I knew it would be cruel and unfair to flirt with her, despite the urge.  I’m proud of myself for my good judgement and self-restraint.  I’m also really glad that we can manage to be at the same bar, each talking to other girls, and not be playing stupid jealousy games, being mean, or making things awkward.  I was worried that she’d go for some low blows (as I said in the previous post), so I’m happy to see she seems to be doing better with the breakup.  Like I said, she’s a good person, at her core, but people do stupid things sometimes when they are hurt.

But back to N.  I chatted with N on and off during the night, and tried to get her to come dance more than once.  Each time, she said she would dance later, but the current song wasn’t her jam.  After a few drinks and a few more invitations, I lost patience with the cat and mouse game we seemed to be playing and decided to cut to the chase.

“Hey, listen,” I said, leaning over to her by the bar.  “Are you into me?  Cause I’m getting mixed signals, and you can just tell me if you’re not interested.”
“I don’t know,” she responded.
“Um ok.  What does that mean exactly?  Am I not your type?”
“I don’t usually know if I’m attracted to someone unless I know them really well.”
This was bewildering to me.  Sure, sometimes an initial attraction fizzles after a lame first date, or an attraction for a long-term friend suddenly grows, but I always at least have some idea of whether I’m into a girl or not. I decided to push it one more time:
“Well, do you want to go on a date sometime and get to know each other better?” I smiled as seductively as I could and tried to look collected.
“I don’t know” she said again. “I don’t really know you well enough to know if I want to go on a date with you.”
I’m over this game, I thought.  “Text me when you decide,” I said, “I’m going back to dance.  Feel free to join!”

Maybe it’s just because I’m so straightforward myself, but I just can’t seem to understand how one could have no idea if they were attracted to someone or not. Regardless of N’s excuses, I took it to mean that she wasn’t really attracted to me (or at least not attracted enough), and that she was too afraid to tell me.  I mean, for me, understanding attraction never been completely simple, but I usually had enough of an idea to decide on a first date prospect. I love first dates; they always turn out to either be a great time or a great story.  The story may take time before it’s funny, but even the worst first dates (and sometimes especially the worst ones) can lead to hysterical laughter between friends over brunch.  I guess I’m pretty quick to give someone enough of the benefit of the doubt to go on a first date, unless, of course, there’s no attraction and I would never in a million years want to have sex with the person.  Not to be crude, but isn’t the decision dates tend to lean toward?  For me anyway, if I go on a date with you, I will spend thoe majority of it contemplating sleeping with you.  But then, I really really really really like sex and think about it almost all the time.

After that, I decided not to waste my time trying to woo N.  If she likes me, she has my number.  A coworker of mine, Coworker R, recently told me about a study that showed that people are more attracted to people who show an interest in them.  The study was far from scientific- it had women rate men based on attractiveness.  Then they told the women certain men had rated them as highly attractive, and the women rated those men higher the second time around.  But despite the shaky pseudo-science behind it, the more I think about it, the more valid it seems to be.  After N’s ambivalence, my girl boner for her totally went away.  I want to be with someone who thinks I’m sexy and who’s turned on by me.  Isn’t that part of the point? If you’re not into me in that way, let’s just be friends.  And likewise, I realized that if I feel flattered and extra willing to go on dates with people who show clear interest in me (which I do), then I should be willing to make my attractions known.  Obviously, one should not go overboard with the interest- don’t get stalkery or drop the L word too soon (nothing is a bigger turn off to me than a super early confession of love), but indicating attraction clearly and directly is generally a solid plan.

So I decided to be bold and flirt with this other girl I’d noticed earlier.  This time, being direct worked. Emboldened by some liquid courage and my own, ever present self-love, I walked right up to her.

“Hey,” I said.  “I just wanted to tell you that you’re really cute.”
“Thanks,” she said.  She smiled and told me I was pretty cute too. (We’ll refer to her as M).
We chatted for a few minutes about work and other similar get-to-know-you type small talk.
“Would you like to go on a date with me sometime?”  I felt a rush of adrenaline and surprise at my own boldness.  This whole new being upfront and direct thing seemed to be getting me answers much more quickly and less painfully than all those years of coy texting had done.  Sure, in that moment before she responded I was all full of nerves and apprehension (what if she said no?), but ripping the band-aid off now when so little was at stake would be much easier than after weeks of texting and hoping and building up an imaginary relationship in my mind. As Bevin says in the early linked to/mentioned blog post, ” the fastest way for me to get over a crush is to be rejected by them. And, really, how can you be into someone who doesn’t think you’re fabulous enough to date?”

“Yeah, I might be interested in that,” M said, smiling, and her body language seemed to indicate she was more than “maybe” interested.  She handed me her phone to put in my number, and brave, new, (drunk), confident me wrote my name as _____, the super hot girl you met at ____ bar.  While I regretted it the next morning, hoping she found it cute or humorous or anything but cocky, she didn’t seem to mind because she texted me yesterday afternoon.  We’ve been texting a bunch and are going on a dinner date tomorrow night.  I’m really excited, because she seems awesome, she’s really cute, and if the exclamation points in her texts are any indication, she’s excited about our date too.  Until next time, readers, happy/lucky flirting!



In Search of a Wing-Person

Last week, at a bar in DC, I met this really really really cute girl.   My (straight-lady) friend and I were having a girl’s night out.  We’d danced it up at several places, a mix of queer and not-queer bars, and had had an absolute blast.  We decided to head to one final bar to close out the night.  The bar was fairly empty, with a smattering of queer ladies at each of the bars, and a handful of people dancing around the perimeter of the floor.  We headed to the back bar, which was more heavily populated and away from the pumping music.  We started a friendly conversation with two women, and after a bit of chatting, I went over to get another drink.  I was trying to get the bartender’s attention, and the super cute butch on the bar stool next to me struck up a conversation.  I don’t really remember what we talked about, but I stayed after I got my drink and kept talking to her.  My friend seemed to be having a good time talking with the girls we’d met earlier and so I didn’t feel like I was ditching her or anything.  The girl at the bar, we’ll call her N, had short, spiky black hair and lots of tattoos.  My friend Dan always claims that all the women I’m into look exactly the same, and if he had been with me that night, he would have spotted N from across the room and known instantly that she’d make me tongue-tied and giddy.  She seemed to be into me, too, because she kept leaning toward me and touching my arm and lower back.  I was reciprocating and the conversation (whatever it was about) was flowing easily.  But it was late, and my friend wanted to leave, so N and I exchanged numbers and I left.

Since then, N and I have texted a bit, but I always initiate and she never ends with a question or tries to continue the conversation.  I can’t tell if she’s not that into me or if she’s just a concise, concrete texter.  She always seems to reply right away, and mentioned that she’ll be at a particular bar tonight.  I had been thinking of going out anyway, and so I texted her and said I’d been planning on going to that bar tonight anyway, so I’d see her there.  I realized it would be less awkward if I had a friend with me so that if she wasn’t interested or didn’t show, I wouldn’t be dancing alone.  I normally have no problem going out on my own, but I’m so unsure of whether N is into me or not (based on her texts) and this bar (and the DC gay scene) is still intimidating to me a little bit. I think I just need time to get used to how things work here, but it’s been a while since I’ve dated at all and DC’s gay scene is very different from Philly’s (where I was living before I moved here).  Another consideration is that it’s occurred to me I could run into my ex-gf.  My ex and I ended on ok terms and have sort of tried to be friends, meeting up for coffee once or twice since the breakup.  Still, I know that she resents me for ending the relationship and that she might say something hurtful if she’s drunk.  I try not to give aaaany of the sh*ts about what she thinks of me, but if N rejects me and I’m alone at the bar, I don’t think I could take her being a jerk.  For all of these reasons, it would be nice to have a friend/wing-person with me.  There is one big problem with this: I’ve texted/called/fb messaged everyone I know in the city and everyone is busy or sick or working early tomorrow.

After begging Dan to please please come out with me, I’d buy him a drink, I’d find him a boyfriend, etc, and his 50th refusal, we concocted a brilliant plan.  Brilliant.  Earlier in the night, I’m going to go solo to our favorite gay-guy bar  in DC.  We both always meet tons of people there (for him usually romantically and for me usually platonically). Dan suggested that I head to our bar and “pick-up” a wing-man to take with me to the other bar to meet N.  “You’ll have no problem.” Dan told me, “The gays LOVE you.”  I’ve been friends with gay men ever since gay men my age started coming out during my high school years.  We always just seem to click. I think it’s because of how I rock the femmey-queer thing combined with my ability to converse endlessly about RuPaul’s Drag Race.  My favorite part is that the gay guys I meet always try to set me up with their one lesbian friend, who sounds great until they mention that she lives in Seattle, has a serious girlfriend, and never visits DC.   I think it’s pretty awesome and could totally be successful, but it requires some serious flirting on my part.  I have to turn on the charm to friend-flirt up the gays and convince them to wing-man for a total stranger.  DC gay men, in my experience, tend to LOVE all lesbians and so I feel like they’ll be super enthusiastic about helping me and N find love (or at least a whole bunch of sex).  I hope so anyway.  Then, I’ll have to hardcore turn the flirt on for N so that I can figure out if she’s into me or if I’m going to be permanently friend-zoned.  I’ll let you know how it all turns out!!