Month: November 2019

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A schedule slip! It happens. I’m extra proud of myself for sticking with it for that long. Besides, I’m still cringing in embarrassment about other things.


I make it a point to tell dates and potential dates (at least) three things: I’m polyamorous, I’m non-binary/agender/NA using they/them/themselves, and I’m absolutely fucking clueless when someone is into me (so please tell me outright, as unsexy or unromantic as that sounds). And I don’t mean that in an endearing Manic-Pixie-Dream-Girl (ick) kind of way. I cannot think of a strong enough word for it at the moment, but I’ll just say that it’s… not endearing.


So imagine the scene: you’re sitting at a cozy table and you’re watching the stage. Or, you would be, if you weren’t distracted by actually wanting to talk to somebody. They seem really cool, and you notice your bodies are actually touching as you sit, and your heart stops a little when they reach for your hand and compliment it. And hold it for longer than deemed socially acceptable in anything but a romantic situation. Conversation is easy-flowing. It was nice.


It wasn’t until hours later that I was tipped off that their interaction wasn’t just platonic. In our text conversation they asked me point-blank:


“Were you aware that I was flirting with you?”


I replay that night in my head and I remember all of my dismissals:


  • They’re just being polite.
  • Well, this booth is pretty small… not much space, anyway.
  • I get a lot of compliments on my tiny hands, cool!
  • Oh, they’re just being oversharey. Some folks are like that.
  • Are they…? Nah. Who would be into me, anyway?
  • No way.
  • They’re just being sociable.
  • I’m three beers in; I shouldn’t read too much into these interactions.
  • Nah.
  • They’re
  • just
  • being
  • friendly.


There’s my lack of self-esteem, yes; you become the punchline of too many “s/he likes you!” bullying jokes in middle school and you initially distrust anyone showing interest in you. And generally, I get down on myself a lot.


An image of a bee sitting on a windowsill.
“I dunno man, what if my knees aren’t that great?” (Probable Source)


But I’d rather point out the main difficulty I have with most flirting: if it isn’t overt, I just don’t get it. And even then…


A lot of it is just hinting– and since I haven’t memorized the dating playbook (and most social cues outside of dating, if I’m really honest…), I’m caught in a loop of ambiguity. I also never want to be That Person that mistakes a friendly interaction as flirting, so I err on the side of caution and dismiss it.


So of course to the aforementioned text I responded rather un-eloquently:


“NO I HAD NO IDEA YOU WERE FLIRTING I AM A DINGUS”


I’ve grown a little better in telling when they’re flirting with me now, and they know now just to rip off the bandaid (?) when it comes to that sorta thing.


So there you go.


That’s why I’m a dingus.

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Not too long ago I received my first singing lesson since grade school:


He picked up his guitar and tuned it; I sat in his computer chair. Back straight, deep breaths, sing loud and deep and hold that note. Listen, and match this note. Deep breaths. No, deeper. He had to get close to really listen. He had to correct, and praise, and guide. We practiced together– voice and cords, to our favorite songs.


It was a different sort of intimacy than what we were used to.


My voice was strongest when I really felt the song… really connected with it and my emotion carried the notes through. I felt so proud of myself.


I daydream the mic in my hands, confidently singing the words that resonated with me, then through me… to you.



This week, we had our karaoke outing, the first after a long hiatus. It’s supposed to be a group activity, but most of the time it’s just us two. Which, sometimes, it’s fine: when my heart flutters as he sings my favorite lines, or I’m forcibly transported into my past by nostalgia, I’ve no witnesses and thus no questions (and if the other patrons ever noticed, they were nice about it and left me be).


In the audience I sometimes find myself warbling along, almost compelled. I always have before, but now I’m remembering my lesson. Still, only the people nearby could hear me.


I believe I heard him say that night, “you should go up there.”


I’m too shy– I don’t know all the words– I’m not as good as the others– I need more lessons, I’m not ready– I’m terrified– I’m content to sing in this corner of this tiny little bar— I’d rather watch you all night, lover– stage fright.


He didn’t push.


I’ve been on the karaoke stage before. I’m always down for singing Disney tunes or The Time Warp with a group, or… even a duet with a favorite song and one of my favorite people.


But never by myself. Not yet.


In order to become better at something, you have to be brave. And, to quote Jake from Adventure Time: “sucking at something is the first step to becoming sorta good at something.” I know it’s all being frightened and doing it anyway, and practice, and knowing mindtricks for crowds and stages. (To pretend he’s the only one in the audience– would that work? Because I have no problem when we’re at home, and it’s just them overhearing me.)


Since I (rarely) go onstage, I watch and I cheer to make up for it. People of varying talent still go up there and are much braver than I; that alone warrants an enthusiastic “WOO!” But my night is near: I’ll be brave enough, soon. I’ll be tired of daydreaming, eventually.


I’ll ask for another singing lesson tonight.

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In my opinion, this post sucks.


It resonated with me only a little bit. Reading back on it now… it needs to be stronger. Something is missing.


In retrospect I was so hellbent on posting On Schedule and On A Recent Topic that I let other things fall to the wayside.


I scheduled it. And while running around that day, it posted.


And I hate it. Kind of. A little.


It will be revisited in the future; there’s something there. But next time, I’ll not worry so much about missing a day if I’m not feeling it.