If I can run across two fist fights on the same street, in the same day, just hours apart, and understand to some degree the reasoning; then why can I not figure out gays?
Last night I ventured out for my first real night on the town this year. In the past month and a half I’ve backed off from the social scene to get myself in order and figure things out. What have I figured out: Not a freakin’ thing! Not that it matters. I’ve made a few adjustments and I’m almost ready to get back on the dating horse (no pun intended). I’ve been spending a lot of time with The Animator, still not sure what direction I’m taking that. We do have a great time together, though I’m still on the bitter barn side of things when it comes to dating. I’m really not sure I’m willing to open up to the idea.
Now for the dirt. Let us keep a drink count as we go along. I met up with The Animator at View Bar in Chelsea. It’s a total homo dive bar and I love it. We sat there while I drank my first four beers, waiting on my friend PETA to show up. It took two hours, but he finally arrived. Sadly, The Animator was down for the count and headed home. We moved on to one of my favorite clubs, Mr. Blacks. It only took five minutes after checking my coat for someone to attach to me. Hello, Short Man.
Opening line: You’re really cute. My response: I know. Shallow? A little, but in a really adorable panda way. He offered to buy me a drink and I couldn’t say no. Short Man was nice enough to buy PETA a drink as well. I don’t like people hanging on me when I’m out and about, that’s the point of being single, to be single. I did give him my number after refusing his first five invitations to exchange numbers at his nearby apartment. I may be young, I may be blonde, but I’m really not that dumb. I’ve never understood why everyone lives so nearby when they’re trying to get you into bed. Am I the only person that travels into the city from Brooklyn?
Grabbing another drink, that would be number six, I made my way to the giant fan. The only drawback of clubs would be the fact that they’re a million and three degrees inside. Guy number two approached me talking about random things that I wasn’t interested in. I noticed he was wearing a sweatshirt, which in NYC is not allowed outside of your bathroom. Not only that, but he was acting like someone who hadn’t been out of their house in ten years. I asked where he was from; I knew he wasn’t from NYC. He beat around the bush, finally admitting he was from Long Island. That made sense; he was socially inept, only about a skip, hop and a drink from being in the same group as the Ex.
Mr. Nipples came next, as did last call. Exiting the bathroom, my arm was grabbed and I was pulled to the dance floor. No sooner had he asked my name than stuck his hand under my shirt. I was tipsy enough that I was allowing it, thinking that I would later write about him. Within five minutes I was up against a wall and he was tongue deep into my nipples. Now, I’ve never really been a big nipple player, so to meet one was an experience and a half. Realizing it was nearly five I had to get myself to bed. I pulled myself away, Mr. Nipples following close behind. I ended up going home with him. Don’t label me a whore just yet. Nothing happened. I spent the night because he lived around the corner from my work, but I’m very much on this no sex binge. I left in the morning, giving Mr. Nipples my number. To be honest I’m not waiting for his call.
At work that day I was surprised by a visit from a guy I had gone on two dates with forever ago. Our first date was great and the second slightly awkward. I had assumed he wasn’t interested considering there had been no cues from him. This surprise visit leaves me wondering if he’s interested or if it really just was a friendly hello. Only time will tell, but for now I’ll continue to speculate.