A little celebration?

I'm... a little buzzed right now so maybe my spelling won't be great, but I've leanred a long time ago to write while drunk (I once had aspirations of literary succes and like most creative people I feel moreso when drunk,) but you know how these things go when you're ina different body and your tolerance is gone. Or maybe you don't. But I do now... because I had like 3 beers and am gonne...

BUT anyway it;'s the end of the semester and Trish and Steph and some others (some of whom didn't know the truth about me0 wanted to have an end-of-semester party, or at least a... "girl's night out." Maybe it was a "Alex has been a gril for almost a week" party. So I went.

The destination was this sketchy club out in the boonies where we had to pay outrageous amounts for beer, and sit in dim lighting with loud music and annoying guys hitting on them.... us. Us. Guys hitting on us.

Concealed under a long wool coat in the cool december wind was a dress that Jessica Rabbit might've found comfortable. Not glamorous, but fun and kinda skanky. The thing clung to my hips and dropped off like a cliff on the cleavage. I felt so revealed - and as a man masquerading as a woman it's not a great feeling. When I first tried it on - at Steph's insistence - I felt less like a woman than I had since I first woke up Monday morning. Steph, my stylist for the night, painted me up and poofed my hair. It actually too kthe whole afternoon after the early-morning final.

We arrived and were admitted as a quintet of pretty young ladies, the type of clienteles these types of places always seek. I almost paused behind the four of thme but the doorman just held for me. The whole week the frist door held was by a guy who was paid to! Okay I've only done this for a handful of girls in my life but for some reason I'm suddenly disappointed.

We sat around and I tried to play it cool and not attract attention to myself. Trish kept urging me to order something to drink but I didn't even have my purse on me and definitely didn't want to get myself a ttoo loosened up..

Trish and Steph and the others are on the dancefloor with guys they've just met. Some of them are getting handsy and I'm a little repulsed. Maybe jealous. NOT because of the attention, but because I was never the type of guy who could just whisk a woman away. I was always the tame once and now I'm seeing from the other perspective just how badly it was working. The guys, probably losers from day to day with crappy jobs and no real intelligence or wit, managed to get these girls -- all ranging from 8.5-10 on hotness -- rubbing up against them jsut by... hell I didn't even know. Crappy! I've got to ask the girls what they see in that approach.

Then the parade starts. The first guy stops by the table and asks where my boyfriend is. "I don't have one." "Wanna have some fun?" "No that's all right." "oh come on..." "trust me buddy you don't want any fun from me." "Look, just have a drink with me?" out of the question. "I won't go away until you say yes." I et up and walk to the washroom, where giddy 19-year-olds apply makeup and squeal with glee that this is their first night at a real club without a fake ID. I make like I have to pee and sit in the stall to catch my breath. I counted to twenty and then stood up. the auto-flush went off unexpectedly. Hmp.

So back to the floor. noticing I was unattended by any one male for extended time, guys kept hitting on me with lamer and lamer lines. Finally, the first guy returns.

"Listen," I say, seeing that by comparison he's not such a bad guy, "I'll have a drink with you, but... hands off, ok?"

"Hey, I'm not one of those guys who expects to slide home on the first swing."

"How would you feel about grounding out?"

He grins "A girl who can talk baseball. Nice." Well buddy htere's plenty more of that.....

So we get to talking. Declan was his name. He buys me a beer, which I drank at my more usual male rate to his astounding and my regret because when I first stood, I went very diagonal. He laughs. "Maybe you wanna dance?"

I wanted nothing less. As much as I've been trying to pull myself out of my old male idiom, dislike of dancing is a male trait not easily shed. It has to do with the gracelessness of your typical white male and how I'm never been that good on my feet. Stricly put I look like an ass.

When I offer the short version of this explanation, he tells me, "I'm sure you look beautiful when you dance."

More than a bit intoxicated and almost at the point in the week where I value beauty as a personal trait, I blush. I blush!! Jesus man, I can't keep from smiling this guy thinks I'm beautiful. I'm a freaking sucker. Lady Marmalade, the Moulin Rouge versino that was big when I was inching my way out of high school, starts to play. Okay, I think. We'll give this a try.

I think i threw my shoulder out doing a pop-and-lock but I never laughed so hard. And I think he enjoyed it too.

Many more drinks passed (okay even now I can't be sure the shoulder injury was after only one drink... who can count anymore?) and word got around that the club was going to call it a night soon.

"I've gotta get home."

"Listen," he says, drunkenly falling into male-Alex-like shyness, "why not just come to my place? just for a bit?"

I think of Diane.

"Not tonight sweetie." i don't know where "sweetie" came from, but it got out there. He slips me his number. Shit. And then, I know i'm gonna gt made fun of by the girls forever for this...

He steals a kiss. not a peck, neither. Full on them mouth, take a breath in the midst, kiss.

It's been a while since I've kissed anyone substantially, so maybe I let him. Maybe part of me was convincing myself it was all just research or maybe I was depserate. fuck if I know but I let it happen. and in a physical chemical sexual reaction way, I lit up a little bit. But in an emotional way... it's like kissing someone you're not fond of. I had a good time with the guy, but I didn't feel that, which was relieving for me.

I think he felt it too and was more exhausted. Our lips parted, and he sighed, maybe knowing he was defeated. He shook my hand and walked home the opposite way.

I've been called a lot of names over the past week. Fag and dyke are pretty common among the mutterers (don't think I don't hear that shit!) loser and weirdo are more G-rated ones. Hermie from the more clever set. So knowing that I'm not attracted to this man, or as far as I know, any man, should dispell those accusations.

This blog... its about as much about a man being a woman as it is being a woman today. I'm a man. And I can't change what I want, not by choice. if it was hard-wired into my biology then maybe, maybe I would have kissed him and come home with him and who knows? Fucked him?? I don't know! But I didn't. I just didn't.

Maybe who you are is not just your body, and maybe not even just your mind, but something less tangilbe. I'd finish that thought but, fuck, I'm still drunnnk (I'll proofread this tomorrow but who knows if I'll catch all the errors.)

more thoughts tomorrow.... I need water and a mattress.

-Alex