the crying game

About a little over a month ago, I met and became friendly with Reese, a cute chick who wears the non-straight uniform—i.e., looks like a lesbian—and asked Mark, at whose bar this chick and I met, what her story was. Just in case the boyish haircut was just that. I took his “I’ve seen her leave here with dudes” response to mean she was straight or bi, so the next time we bumped into each other at the bar
I wasted no time in candidly inviting her to come home with me.

It turns out my Mark’s gaydar was off.

Reese accepted but made it clear she was gay and graciously gave me an out by letting me know she would not be offended if I chose to rescinded my invite. Luckily for me, I didn’t have to make that decision given that we hung out a bit too late at the bar that night.
And at that point all parties felt like sleep in one's own bed was the lone, logical choice, anyway. (I have since found out she used to date men, but I get the feeling one big heartbreak she told me about may have made her re-think her sexual orientation. Whatever…)

Unfortunately, Reese has now become an unwanted bar buddy, due to the fact that after a few drinks she gets a bit antagonistic with me or anyone else I might be hanging with. Not to mention how she brings up EVERY SINGLE TIME how her parents neglected her as a child. It’s not like we’re old friends for her to make me and/or my friends into her personal analysts. Ugh.

Now, I have to shake off a chick who's not going to have sex with me; who I shouldn't have been chatting up in the first place.

Damn, it sucks to be me sometimes.