Oooh I can't help it.
I like to flirt and it gets me into trouble. Doesn't matter if it's a guy or a girl. Doesn't matter if I like them or they like me, or if they're my age. Intentionality is never part of the agenda. I just like it, it makes me happy. How can I flirt so shamelessly? Because, dear Watson, I expect nothing in return. I don't think they'll take the bait, which has no connection to any fishing line anyway. I'm just throwing my little flirt sardines into a big lake and walking away. Ye know, existential nihilistic flirtation, n'at.
However, it occasionally comes back to haunt me in the form of an unwanted return.
Didn't they know it was all for good fun? That when I actually like somebody, I can't say a word--not one. I contort my body and stare at the floor. Avoid them.
I suppose I shouldn't hold anybody to blame but my recklessness, especially when I'm under the influence of some kind of substance, namely, alcohol.
I should do better for my future self by:
1) never giving out my number
2) never giving out my real name
3) never caving into having senselessly witty conversations for the sake of having them
DUH. Or...at least not when I'm drunk. Slap, slap! Get some sense in that little head of yours!
* * *
When I'm not having fun flirting, I enjoy being contrary. This annoys people but doesn't end up haunting me nearly as much as an unwanted flirtatious text message from...?...early in the AM. That's when the contrary side kicks in, where I've probably enticed something (namely in giving out my phone number) which I never wanted anyway.
Why can't people just read my mind?! I suppose that's why I've started this blog, to help translate for those who are ESP-impaired. (And so that my friends can blame themselves, and not me for listening to/reading ridiculous thought trajectories like this one. Clever me!)
When I'm not flirting or being contrary, I sass. I tend to sass inanimate or distant people or objects. I sass Rafiki, our cat. I sass the Project Runway contestants, I sass my parents, I sass my roommates and their boyfriends. I also sass the poor flirter-backers, perhaps out of my love of the contrary, or just flat-out annoyance, which is then often taken the wrong way (as they haven't gone through contrary or sassy impulses, and they are still on the flirting track). They think my sass is flirting, and it isn't. It's pure, unadulterated sass-afrass. And then, all of a sudden a flirty response. I'm back to flirting again, down the slippery slope to replying to the silly repartees that today's social media sites have facilitated to no known end. No known end but trouble for Lizzy.
And now what to do, what to do?
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