May 27, 2010

One can only write so many stories about her horrible dating life before visions of razors and nooses start dancing in her head. Therefore, I’ve decided to extend my storytelling adventure to drunken tales. As you can imagine, I have a lot.

Now, I’ve been told I’ve done some pretty crazy things while intoxicated – many of which I don’t recall being a part of. If you don’t remember, it didn’t happen, right? The ones I do recall are pretty tame. At least the ones I will be sharing over the World Wide Web.

One beautiful Sunday afternoon I found myself at a nearby street festival. It was the perfect summer day outside and, more perfect, the beer was flowing. Heavily.

My friends and I met a group of young guys and were having a grand time laughing and making fun of one another. Well, I was making fun of them at least. It seems that is either my version of flirting or ensuring no one will ever love me. You pick.

One of the boys I found myself drawn to … well, I thought he was gay. Not because he had a lisp, limp wrists or was wearing a rainbow T-shirt. I just got it in my head that he was gay gay gay! Thank you, mass beer consumption.

As the festival was coming to a close, I naturally accepted an invitation to go shoot some pool with the Presumed Gay Man. It was late on a school night & it seemed like the responsible thing to do. We walked to a nearby bar to continue our mass beer consumption and attempt to shoot pool.

I suppose now would be a good time to tell you I have a very close friend who is, in fact, gay. He also happens to be 6’4” and African-American. So as we continued to consume mass amounts of alcohol, I decided to ask Presumed Gay Man, “Do you like big black guys?” He looked at me, very much confused, and said, “Excuse me?”

Charming gal that I am, I repeated the statement but much slower and at a MUCH higher decibel. His eyes bugged out as he shouted, “Do you think I’m gay???”

Although I’m quick on my feet in terms of humor, when I’ve screwed up (and know it) I’m not very good at lying or pretending what I said or did was not, in fact, the case. Especially when I just asked a heterosexual man if he likes being boned by big black dudes.

I somehow managed to fumble my way through an explanation. However, Wrongly Presumed Gay Man was clearly miffed and spent the remainder of the evening trying to “convince” me that he was heterosexual, meaning he touched me a lot and tried to stick his tongue down my throat.

The problem? I was not interested and only agreed to shoot pool because I was drunk, having fun and thought he was amusing … and gay. Sigh.

Moral of the Story:

Unless you are POSITIVE someone is gay, do not try to fix him up with your gay friends. This really should be a no brainer. But as you will soon come to realize, I do not actually have a brain. The space between my ears apparently only serves as a receptacle for rum and bad decisions.


2 Responses to “AMBI SEXUAL”

  1. Jenny Says:

    This just made me laugh sostartling startled Elysse. So fricking funny! Anytime the verb bone is used I love it.

  2. Jenny Says:

    I just re-read my comment. I’m on painkillers. Love you, love the blog.

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