I recently celebrated my birthday
and have decided to become more proactive in my life and in everything that I
endeavor to do. Also, turning 28 has empowered me to become more audacious as did
my drunken mantra for my birthday, which was, “I’m 28 now. What am I waiting
for? Be bold.” That was how I
convinced myself to go to a gay bar alone the eve of my birthday. And that is
how I am now sitting here contemplating 2 weeks worth of soured dates I’ve had
with guys. Walking confidently into the bar alone on the eve of my birthday
(already a few drinks behind me, I might add), I propped myself against a
pillar and watched the drag show that was just wrapping up. A familiar face
came up to me and, offering me a flashing yo-yo, asked to sign me up for an HIV
vaccine study being done through Colombia University. Once he met my eyes, we both
realized that we’d already spoken weeks before and I’d gotten the yo-yo,
flirts, and coerced sign up then as well. Granted, the last time I ignored all
of the calls from the study program trying to get me to volunteer as I had just
drunkenly flirted with the sign-up guy and didn’t really remember the program. Confessing
all of this, he said that he remembered me and signed me up all over again.
After his “job” was done for the night, he stayed to chat with me. He bought me
a drink after I proclaimed that I was independent and out alone as the clock
struck midnight to announce my birthday had arrived. We talked for almost an
hour and decided to meet up another time for a drink. I told him to call me
since he already had my number. He was reluctant to use my number since he
thought it would cross some “volunteer sign up” barrier. He made it seem like
signature collector held as much clout as the Hippocratic oath. I pulled out my
phone and told him to give me his and I’d text him right now. Instead, he
pulled out a business card and handed it to me. We kissed briefly before he started
to walk away. I looked at the in my hand and called after him, “There’s no
number.“
“Email me, “ was his simple reply.
If you’re interested in me, I deserve a number. You don’t give me a chapped lip
kiss and an email address….Red flag. I looked up his website later and saw that
he’s a therapist. The website is a link to the self-help book he wrote. I began
to wonder whether he wanted a date or a client. I guess the “I’m alone on my
birthday” proclamation was less independent and strong-willed as I intended and
sounded more like a cry for help. Needless to say, I never emailed him.
This newfound flirtatiousness and
confidence I was exuding was making it easier for me to meet and talk to guys.
Just this past week brought about several interesting situations but with the
same result I’ve come to expect oddly enough. At work I actually began flirting
with a customer and gave him my number at the end of the night which never
happens. I never got a text from him and although he came in every night the
next week and spent hours chatting with me over the bar, I’ve never gotten a
text or a call from him.
On Monday, I had a date with a really nice guy whose profile
suggested he was not interested in feminine guys. As I had just recently
changed my hairstyle and hadn’t changed my pictures to reflect it, I think he
was surprised to walk into the restaurant and instead of “wholesome boy next
door guy” with a buzz cut, he got Adam Lambert stomping across the room with
floppy boots and spiked hair. Regardless of my appearance, (and no, I was not
wearing eye liner) I had a nice time with him and eventually he loosened up to
enjoy our time together. He said that we should see each other again as he
dropped me off at my apartment. We didn’t hug or kiss goodbye but instead my
knee was the recipient of an awkward grope as I got out of his car (Yes, he had
a car!). He seemed very sincere and genuine after our date as well. We texted a
few times the next day but never he faded away by the following day.
Mid-week I was working the closing
shift at the bar and had my eye on an attractive guy in the corner for most of
the night. As circumstances would have it, I didn’t get to talk to him since a
show was going on, but luckily he was a friend of my friends at the bar. They
did the teenage girl work after he had left of getting us onto each other’s Facebook
pages where I emailed him my number. We texted that night while I was on my way
home from work. He kept edging the conversation to more sexually suggestive
topics that I just wasn’t interested in before we went out for drinks. It
became clear the next day that he was mostly looking for a hookup, which I’m
not normally opposed to. But not a hookup via my friends, I’m going to avoid. We
texted a bit during the next day and got to know a few things about each
other. By the time the next day
had arrived and I texted him to see what his schedule was like, he’d already
moved on. I’ve still received no response after asking if he’d be free to get
something to drink so we could chat in person. I’m not beating myself up too
much over him though since I recently have gone for pretty masculine and laid
back guys and he didn’t really fit that bill. On our one day of texting, he was
making a quiche while listening to opera with his dog named Muffin. Or maybe he
was making muffins with his dog, Quiche....Red flag.
At this point, I don’t get upset
anymore. I used to cry and whine and eat gallons of Ben & Jerry’s when a
guy looked at me the wrong way, but now I simply throw my hands up in the air,
sigh, and mutter under my breath, “Really?” I don’t have an explanation as to
why I don’t hear from these guys again. I’m 99% positive that most of them didn’t
go into witness protection or suffer a rare brain disorder thus striking all
memory of me from their minds. So I am left wondering exactly what happened.
These instances aren’t a new thing for me either. As of late, most of the guys
I connect with meet with the same fate. They fall into the no contact zone.
They disappear. They stop. They disconnect. Or maybe I give them a card with my
email address on it. What are my
red flags? How many chapped lip kisses and quiches do I have?
the end, by sean
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