What It Feels Like For A Girl....

So this weekend I went to a gay bar. I usually have fun in gay bars. They're typically swanky, clean, and have pretty decent music playing. But most of all: they're gay. In the literal sense.

The definition of "gay."

I think there's something to be said about a group of people who are a) different, and therefore more accepting of others, and b) used to being forced to not care what other people think. As a result, I'm guess it's probably a lot easier for them to take on that whole "Dance like nobody's watching attitude," and in effect, they're usually cutting loose, getting drunk, dancing, being friendly, and trying to get laid.

I do usually, however, when I go out to gay bars, bring other gay friends and a few girls with me. Unforunately, this time - I only brought my trusty hetero life partner, Sam.

EXHIBIT A:



No, it was just me and Sam, you clowns, we were waiting for the rest of the gang. But, I think me standing there with Sam was a problem for many reasons.

1) Sam is very good looking. He's tall, slim, a good dresser, and sometimes shows a little chest when he goes out. Also, he's never had a girlfriend in the entire time I've known him (which is the better part of five years). So, I think he might actually be legally gay.



2) Since we were waiting for people, we were constantly looking around the bar to see if they had arrived yet. Also, the people we were meeting had a connection to one of the cocktail waitresses, and we had taken a bet to see which one she was. This bet resulted in a lot of watching things from afar, and yes, some pointing.

3) I don't look gay in any way. Bad personal hygiene. Bad sense of style. Potbelly. Yellow teeth. Hairlip. Triple chin. Cro-magnon forehead. Alright, maybe I'm being a little hard on myself, but the point is that I think I stick out like a sore thumb in a gay bar. I used to think this was the way to go, but I realized that me sticking out in the gay bar is just as bad as being the only girl in a sun dress at Big Wang's: it makes me want her even more.



4) I smile a lot of make a lot of eye contact.

Now, you know how they say that the commotion of a human being while he or she swims, is, in a shark's eyes, almost identical to what what sharks eat in nature. Well, in a gay bar, two guys looking around constantly, pointing, exposing their chests, and smiling at everyone looks almost identical to what gays eat in nature.**

** Dear Gays - It's not natural to be gay. It's a sickness, and it's all good because you'll either repent or go to hell.***

*** Dear Gays, - JUST KIDDING, GUYS!! You're FABULOUS!

Anyways, this blog is not about gays, or homosexuals. It's about a lesson I learned that night. Check the following conversation:

Joe: Shit. I've got to stop smiling and nodding at these people. Every time I do, I have to have one of them sidle up and try to hit on me. Then what do I do? Do I tell them "I'm not gay," right away and have them go "Dude, I was just talking to you, don't be such a homophobe, Jeb." Or do I just let them chat me up for a while, and eventually duck away to the bathroom? Then what if they think that's a signal to follow me? Why can't I just be friendly and make eye contact and smile at someone without them thinking it's indication that I want to hook up with them!?

Sam: Now you know exactly how every single girl feels every time she smiles or makes eye contact with you.

This comment really hit home with me. He was right. I can't think of the last time a girl smiled or made eye contact with me, that I didn't make a big deal about it - at least in my head. Granted, most of the time when I approach a strange female, it is just to talk, but I started to think about just how hard it is to be an attractive woman sometimes.

I've mentioned this to a few of my attractive friends before, and they usually think I'm being sarcastic, but goddamn! To have to go through life not being able to make eye contact with strangers for fear that a brief glance while you were accidentally thinking of something funny may have unwittingly set into motion a barrage of one-liners, bad jokes, and creepy physical contact (arm grabbing, and small-of-back-touching) - only to be eventually called a bitch, tease, or skank!? Jesus Christ! No thanks!

I wish there were a way to advertise this, other than this blog. I want to wear a t-shirt when I go out that says "I just want to talk." Like I'm some sort of hostage negotiator, who just specializes in talking to girls and not trying to get anything out of it at the end. As much as I am the guy who will talk to anyone, no matter how intimidating, I am also the guy who doesn't ask for phone numbers, and I certainly never go in for a kiss.

So, to all the girls who might have accidentally made eye contact with me over the past ten years, I apologize for taking that as cause to come talk to you. I don't know why those sorts of things even still register with me.

The only real relationship I've ever had as an adult began with eye contact (which I did not allow myself to consider to be meaningful), then went to exaggerated winking (which I was sure was meant for someone behind or next to me), then went to waving, and eventually turned into a full-blown WHAT-ARE-YOU-STUPID? COME-OVER-HERE-AND-TALK-TO-ME" wave. Granted the next day when I called her (yes, I was the guy who called the next day) it turned out she had gotten too drunk to even remember what I looked like, yet a year and a half later, that eye-contact still somehow ended up being the most I've ever loved anyone.

But that's the whole point. It wasn't just eye contact. She made it abundantly clear she wanted to talk to me. Yet, even since then, I still try to convince myself that accidental eye contact wasn't all that it was.

"No, dude. She definitely smiled."
"No. She didn't. She winced because you were staring at her."

Well, now I believe the naysayers a little more. And I have the gays to thank for that.