The Proposal

Day One: Made out at the club.
Day Two: Blamed it on the alcohol.
1 month later: We're friends, hanging out, having fun.

One night, we're at Vertigo celebrating a friends passing of a different kind of Bar. After a particularly strenuous dance session, I go to have a cig outdoors. He pursues and the following conversation ensues:

Dude: So I think you're a great girl and I want to know how you feel about me.
Me: Yeah you're a cool dude. I'm glad we're friends.
Dude: I think there's something more than that between us.
Me: Um, you're a great guy, but I don't want a relationship right now, blahblahblah... "It's not you, it's me."
Dude: So are you really trying to say that when we made out at the club that one time, you didn't feel anything? I could have been any random stranger?
Me: Sorry, but yeah it really could have been anyone.

That's not all folks.

Two days later, I'm checking my email and I have one from the dude titled "Proposal." Oh I wish I had saved that gem of an email. Basically it went like this:

Dear You,
I think we have a lot in common and I really enjoy hanging out with you. I would really like us to be friends, but think there's a lot of sexual tension between us. I really want to be friends though and think it'd be best to just address it. That's why I propose that you and I hook up, just once. Don't worry, no one has to know. Don't think about it, just say yes.
-Dude

I deleted and never spoke to him again.

Lesson: There's always a price to be paid for drunken makeout sessions.

The Vegetarian

While stern lust lessons can be gleaned from after a romp or two, I think homage needs to be paid to the brief encounters between the sexes: screamed dialogue on the barstool, whispered rhymes in a dark corner and my personal favorite, the getting-to-know-you talk on the dancefloor. Its Saturday night and I'm in the mood for a little bit spice...hip hop style. Met a vegetarian/documentarian/rapper/hip hop promoter stemming from no other town but Bizerkeley. He was rockin a fedora, bright blue hula shirt and v neck cardigan..yes you can blame it on the Goose but I thought he was a cutie. This is us on the dancefloor:

K: So you're a vegetarian huh?

Biz: Yea, do you eat pork?

K: I'm chinese, obviously I do...

Biz: is that where you got THESE pork buns?

The takeaway here lovelies is this: never trust a man who doesn't eat meat and definitely never trust a man who compares your best assets to dim sum.

The Perv

Angie met "Hip Hop" at a Brooklyn Circus party at Yoshi's. After an initial failed attempt at making out with her on the spot, fuxting, flirting and phone calls culminated in a late night birthday booty session. After the booty, Hip Hop ignored A for a week then popped up one evening with a "Come over and fuck?" text.

Shocked and a little irritated, Angie ignored it until a bottle of sake emboldened her to text back: "You're officially in my perv category." A drunken phone call ensued where A sounded off about not being a hoar, how the sex wasn't even that great and how Hip Hop shoulda brought his A game. After realizing that A wasn't going to come over, HH was "super embarrassed," said A was a dope girl and he had come at it like whatev's. Parting words: "Guess I blew it... Peace."

Obviously, boy needed some schooling on how to treat a lady if he wanted to get that booty again.

Lessons learned: You can never go wrong by calling them on their bullshit.