Sexuality Happens

So, Saturday night, I was lucky enough (oh so fucking lucky enough) to see Team Gina live in concert. I’ll post about this later, when I have some photos uploaded. Photos of awesomeness.

But also, almost as exciting, is my progression on my goal of learning to, for lack of a better term, “flirt” better.

I’m really good at (apparently) flirting with people I have absolutely not interest in. Jackass popped collar straight guys try to flirt with me? I can give them my sass, they get interested in me, and then I’m like “oh PS, you don’t have a vagina. Bugger off.” (Ok, not quite like that, but I can be myself, and feisty and sassy, and just fine).

Problem is when I kinda sorta am attracted to someone. Then this spell of awkwardness takes over. Like with L…especially the first date, I was so awkward. Like beyond awkward turtle awkward. Or at Dinah Shore 2007?
“You have beautiful, sedge-colored eyes.”
*pause*
“Um, what the hell are sedges?”
“Oh, you know, sedges have edges, reeds are round, grasses have nodes from the tips to the ground.”
*blank stare*
“I meant it as a compliment. You have pretty eyes.”
“Oh.”

Yeah. Or when I was trying to meet women at the queer dance parties in Philly…I finally tried to embrace my awkwardness, and just went for it; “So I’m really awkward and horrible at pick up lines, but I think you’re cute. Want to dance?” Didn’t work so well. In fact, I never got to dance with any person at any of those parties, unless I went there with friends, and we danced. Le sigh.

I talked to Sinclair. I asked for help. She’s one of the smoothest people I’ve ever met. She told me to be myself…but my problem is what if myself is awkward, and has no filter, and is just bad at picking girls up?

Well, I feel more comfortable here. Granted, I know pretty much no one in the queer scene here, but I feel at home in Colorado, less of an outcast. I decided to embrace my awkwardness, my snarkiness, my feisty nature. Either they’d like me or they wouldn’t but hell if I’m going to spend a year and a half trying to get accepted into the queer scene here. They’ll either take me now, or reject me outright, but I’m going to give it a try.

Such was my attitude going to the concert, which was at a local lesbian coffeeshop/lounge (one of the 2 specifically dyke bars in Denver). I sidled up to th counter, ordered a grasshopper (and told the bartender how to make it. Really, I need to find an easier and equally as delicious drink), and scouted the place.

There was cute dyke a few seats down, there with someone. The someone had to leave, but the cute one came back…after smoking a cigarette. Damn it. We need to do something about the smoking issue in the queer community, because it is severely cutting down on possible partners. Regardless, she was cute, she was there, and it was good practice.

I asked her about cards (she had a tattoo of an Ace of Spades, and was fooling around with a deck of cards). She taught me the basics of Texas Hold ‘Em (I think?), and we talked about how that type of poker was a game of playing each other, rather than playing the cards. If nothing else, I learned that a card you don’t use is called a “burn card.” I am so not ready to play poker.

It was almost time for Team Gina to play. “You should come to the concert. Best group ever to play Denver. Promise. It’s like 80′s rap industrial electro my little pony intelligent rap.” She told me she didn’t have the money. “Ok, well, you’re missing out. It was nice meeting you.” I hobbled down the stairs to the concert. 5 minutes later, she came down too, but sat a few seats away. “After all that, you don’t even have the decency to sit next to me? Hmph, what does a girl have to do?” Full fledged feisty mode. It was working (granted, she was a smoker, so I don’t know if I was flirting better because I knew nothing was going to happen, or because I was actually doing better). “So, why are you wearing a bandanna like Jesse James? Planning on holding up the bar?” (Snarky too…)

No, she had a motorcycle. She paints cars. She’s never been in the “scene” (as if I am?). There was verbal banter, and then Team Gina played. She laughed and clapped and cheered. And at the end, both of us hung around to talk to the Ginas (and Butch Mountain) until they left.

“So, what else do dykes do in Denver?” She was headed to the other dyke bar…granted, I was a little worried about her at this point. She’d been drinking (more than one or two), and was planning on driving. I did all I could to get her keys, offered to drive her, etc, no luck. May I mention that not only do I not date/fuck smokers, but I also don’t date/fuck stupid people…and to me, driving drunk is stupid.

Nevertheless, I headed to the other bar. I’d heard about it, but had never been. we exchanged numbers, so she could text me if it was closed (she wasn’t sure). It was open. I meandered in after parking, showed the (cute) bartender my ID, and sat down next to my research subject. She was flirting with the bartender…she’d told me that was the only reason she ever came here.

We continued talking (I found out later that the bartender had assumed we were old friends…I get that a lot. Apparently, I’m easy to talk to). She told me she gets pegged by people as the Shane type (from the L-word). But she told me she’s not. Um. Ok. She also told me she was bad at sex. “I don’t believe that. Why would you say that?” Apparently, because if you make people expect bad sex, and then you’re really good at it, you surprise them and they like you more. Yeah. I told her that if someone told me they were just plain bad at sex, I’d be way less likely to want to have it with them. I mean, saying you need practice is one thing, but telling people you’re bad at sex? Bad plan, in my book.

Then she showed me a nude picture of her. Um, ok. That was an interesting move. She has nice breasts…but now I was kind of like “so, yeah. Where do we go from here.” (10 points for the lyric reference!)

We moved outside to the patio so she could smoke. She took my drink and my purse (wow…that’s a new one…I’ve never had anyone offer to hold my purse for me…possibly because it says “fuck you” on it), and we walked/crutched out. Sitting, we continued to talk…a little about art, a little about sex toys (I need to stop bringing up the Tentacle Dildo and the Unicorn Horn Dildo in conversation with people I’ve just met), a little about film, etc. It was interesting talk. However, I was more physically attracted to her than mentally.

Sidebar: J and I didn’t have sex till I think the 4th date…because I wasn’t physically attracted to him. However, we were so on the same page about so many issues that are important to me, and I found his intellect so attractive, that I stuck it out, and we wound up dating. With L, it’s crazy, because she’s ridiculously hot, but she’s also super intelligent, and I love talking with her. With this girl, I just felt incredibly attracted to her, mostly physically…even with the smoking bit. Too bad I stick to my rules.

Anyways, she decided she was tired, and wanted to go sleep. I had kind of given up at this point…I mean, I didn’t want to date or fuck her because of the smoking/drunk driving issue, so what direction was I even trying to go in? She walked me back inside, told me she’d call me to talk (we decided we should be friends, since neither of us know that many people here), and was headed out. Granted, I’m not sure if she’ll even remember my name, none the less call me, but hey, I had several conversations at two different places with her. I’d say my flirting level has gone up.

But oh, it gets better. On her way out, she tells the bartender “I hope you’re doing better.” To be polite, I ask what is wrong.

Ha. I should know better. What’s wrong? Non-menstrual vaginal bleeding. I go into sexologist mode: Is it accompanied by pain? (no) Have you done something new sexual that you’ve never done before? (not recently) Has this happened to you in the past? (no) Is it ongoing? (no). I recommended she see a GYN to make sure it wasn’t anything serious, or to do with cysts, etc. Yes. I am ridiculously awkward — my first conversation with cute bartender was about vaginal bleeding. *headdesk*

I stuck around for a while…introduced myself to the bartender (there weren’t many people there at this point. Like 20 in the whole place). She asked if I wanted another drink…I told her “thank you, but no, I need to drive home. One drink is quite enough for me.” She told me that was the most intelligent thing she’d heard all day. I smiled.

I nursed a glass of water for 20 or 30 minutes, chatting with her between customers. I learned what she went to school for, where she’s from, what she wants to do with her life, etc. As I was getting ready to leave, I asked her if she could tell me what was up with the local dyke scene, where to go, etc. I told her she could email it to me if it was easier — she said she wasn’t good with email, but she got out a paper, and showed me a list of all the places, and wrote down some ideas. As I was heading out, she told me where and when she was bartending next; in a few days, at the place where Team Gina played…you know, if I, oh wanted to stop by. I couldn’t tell if she was flirting, or just being nice to a newbie in the scene (either would be awesome). I told her that I might just stop by, IF she could make a good grasshopper (I was VERY underwhelmed by my one earlier in the evening). She said she could, and I told her I’d see her later.

So I’d say my batting average for the evening was about 100%, given the fact that I wasn’t trying to go home with either of them. Woman 1 (from the Team Gina bar) and I chatted it up, and hung out, and I wasn’t just rejected right off the bat, and Woman 2 (cute bartender) chatted with me (in hopefully more than the normal “bartender chatty manner”, but after the rude bartenders at Sisters in Philly, I’ll take what I can get), gave me info about places to go, and told me where to find her next.

Although no dates or sex came out of the night, I’d deem it a success. I was able to approach people, talk to them, be slightly awkward and sassy and just completely myself, and have them engage in conversation with me.

My few downfalls: Woman 1 told me that I looked completely straight (the genderless couple tattoo and rainbow pendant clearly didn’t help), and Woman 2 told me that she’d probably preg me as a straight girl, although I didn’t look 100% un-queer.

Side note on this: Interestingly enough, the only people who have ever told me that I definitely come off as queer are Butches. They’ve told me that I’m “obviously” a queer Femme. However, other Femmes, and other queer women (and a few queer men), have all told me that I really look/come off as a straight (and usually alternative) girl. I find myself having to insert “PS, I’m queer/PS, I’m a dyke” into pretty much every conversation I’m having. Ever. Just so people realize I’m not a fruit fly, but that I actually am there for the women.

Anyways, totally off track. It was a good night. I flirted, I wasn’t nervous, I had fun, I’ve now discovered the two main dyke hangouts in the Denver area, and I practiced my skillz (please note, that is with a Z). All in all, think I did quite well.

If you have any genius advice or suggestions on any of this, please feel free to share!

-Essin’ Em