Sunday, 25 March 2012
So I may or may not have accidentally hooked up with a gay man last night. I am trying to ignore the clues and hoping that it isn’t true, but today’s pounding hangover tells me there is a 60% chance that my fears are reality.
The evening began with not one, but four Irish car bombs. This likely contributed to whatever disgusting events transpired later. After some more drinks, I distinctly remember meeting this fellow at the bar. And since my drunk self does not pick up on social cues or understand the definition of appropriate bar conversation, I inquired about his sexuality.
He looked, talked, and acted gay. I have been in the market for a solid gay best friend for a while now, so I was very excited to meet him. When he claimed to be attracted to women, I actually made a pouty face.
I do not recall making the decision to leave the bar, but I had been out since 4PM and was ready to go home. Being the nice homosexual in denial that he was, this guy decided to walk me home. I was in no way attracted to him and actually started getting annoyed – probably because he crushed all of my gay BFF dreams. We were supposed to go shopping together.
I have no idea what happened between arriving home and waking up this morning, but I know that I opened my eyes to a strange man on the other side of my bed. I can only assume that he invited himself in since no amount of inebriation would induce me to jump him voluntarily.
Now, he claims that he likes women, but evidence suggests otherwise. My primary clue is that I woke up with my shirt still on. Now, I’m not saying that breasts are the only thing I have going for me – I like to think my fashion sense and brutal honesty play a part in luring men in, too. However, my boobs have got to be the highlight of a one-night engagement. If a man tries to get with me and ignores the boobs, it must be because he actually wants another penis. It’s the only logical conclusion.
He left early this morning, which was ideal because I had no clue how to get him the fuck out of my apartment. However, before leaving, he decided he wanted to kiss me.
This is disturbing for many reasons. First, it suggests that we were kissing last night which makes me nauseous. Second, it ranks as literally the worst kiss of my life. Perhaps because he only has chemistry with other men. I literally pushed him away, mumbling that it was too early in the morning for this shit. You can tell I am a superb hostess.
So the moral of this story is: drunk me is a stupid bitch who needs to stop ruining my life and letting strange men into my apartment. I’m still cleaning up her mess. I haven’t even had chance to take inventory of my nail polish yet, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he snagged a couple. I just hope he left all the pinks, I’m pretty attached to them.
Ever been in a similar situation?