Oh Yes, There’s More.

At this point in fact, there is much more. I’ve been a poor blogger. No, actually, that isn’t true. I’ve been busy. Doing what? Keep reading and you may find out. In this issue of Adventures Of A Morally Bankrupt Fag, we return to see our hero trudge through the swamps of temptation, race through the canyons of anxiety, and climb the cliffs of self-loathing. Who will come out on top? The truth is probably no one, but I’m willing to test the waters anyway. I’m aware that I changed tenses. It was for dramatic purposes. So leave me alone.

My Monday was spent contemplating the obvious. What is going to come of this? Who am I possibly going to hurt? How many cans of Mountain Dew do you have to drink to die of caffeine poisoning? I shared my dilemma with a few coworkers and close friends, to gather input and possible feedback. As usual, most of my friends were no help at all. In fact, I was met with most unfavorable results that ended in me being lectured. Bah, Humbug anyway. This was my uneventful Monday to precede my troublesome Tuesday.

Tuesday was the grand reinstatement of the meeting of the Seattle Scrabble Bitches. My Tuesday night game of Scrabble that has been on hiatus since the organizer got a girlfriend and stopped doing anything interesting. I get more excited than I should about playing Scrabble with a bunch of middle-aged lesbians who regularly alternate between ridiculing me and schooling me at word games. The trouble is, both Ms. X and Ms. Y are members and therefore privy to my Scrabble exploits. It is in fact how I met both of them. Now, for some back story! Long long ago, in an interwebs far away I decided to give the online dating thing a try. My local rag of choice, The Stranger has a section called Lovelab. So one cynical, half-hearted afternoon I decided to make a profile for myself. It worked impressively well. This is where I met Ms. Y. Our first exchange read a little something like this:

“Hi, I don’t know if you are interested but, I go to a weekly game of Scrabble with some friends. We gossip, and drink and play games. If you are interested, show up at The Wildrose on Tuesdays at 7PM.”

Reading this, I really wasn’t sure if she was flirting with me, and trying to find a safe, public, first time meeting spot (The blogosphere is a dangerous place, kids) or just being polite, and inviting me to an outing. Regardless, I love Scrabble. So it was worth a shot. If nothing else, I get to meet some nice people and play a game that I like already. Win-Win situation. I won’t go into the pointed details of the evening, but this is where I met Ms. X, Ms.Y, and a few other choice characters. /back story

Walking through the doors of the Wildrose, I saw my compatriots already in the midst of a game. I looked at my phone, the numbers shown back: 7:30PM, so I was a little late. I found my place at the end of the table, between Ms. X and Ms. Y. My brain suddenly recalling all that had happened Sunday night. My anxiety kicked into high gear and I found myself once more looking at my feet and trying to regulate my breath. One of the other regulars had brought a friend who was new to our group. She was a professional hacker. For a moment I was able to forget my worries and be a computer nerd. The game was over fairly quickly. Heather – who I would call the chairperson of the group, if it had one. Had to quickly leave as her newly acquired girlfriend beckoned. 9PM and a I shared a table with Ms. X and Ms. Y. We bantered and did our best to keep normal conversation, but at some point it died off and Ms. Y looked at her phone, claiming a booty call from her ex. Which left Ms. X and I, once again, unattended. I think Ms. X, sensed that this was probably a poor situation to put ourselves into and said, she too was leaving. Keeping in the theme of being the naive 25 year-old, I offered to walk her back to her apartment. It wasn’t very far, and I had to go that way to catch a bus anyhow. At least, that’s how I justified it in my head.

Once Ms. Y had gone, the conversation flowed a bit more easily. Although, I still worried that the obvious flirtatious nature of Ms. X and I’s conversations had been why she had left in such a hurry. However, I was walking down Broadway, having good conversation, enjoying my company. At one point during our walk there was a particularly long wait for the crosswalk to turn. During which she took it upon herself to go about her normal teasing ways. Once again bringing her mouth centimeters from mine and simply waiting there, smiling. I am weak. My willpower is poor. These are things I know about myself, for this reason – I kissed her. I kissed her in the street. I kissed her at the stoplight. I kissed her at the intersection closest to her apartment. I kissed her in front of her apartment. I kissed the hallway of her apartment building. I kissed her in her apartment. I kissed her on her couch. I think you can see where this is going.

As I buckled my belt and dialed Yellow Cab she told me, “You know, I didn’t mean to have sex with you. I just thought we would make out.” So much for will power?

-Cole