Not myself tonight

 

As stated previously (which sounds like the beginning to a really bitchy email) I didn’t “come out as bi” until – well, not that long ago. I was 25 and it felt like it was finally time.

I’m taken back to the moment of my first kiss.

It was a Thursday night. I remember that because it was Tigerheat, where LA’s gay youth and their straight girlfriends would descend upon a club on Hollywood and Vine called “Avalon”. Sounds glamorous, but it really wasn’t. Imagine sweaty American Apparel sparkly jumpsuits, smuggled-in tequila, and years of repressed hormones descending onto a music venue that became glitter central for one night only.

just imagine the smell

Most other bars and clubs in the area had a 21-and-over policy, so Tigerheat intelligently played to the tens of thousands of 18-21 year old gays who’d be drinking and dancing to Katy Perry at home or trying unsuccessfully to get into the Abbey with a fake (which I’ve only done once, and it worked. Kids these days have scanners and holograms to deal with, poor bastards.)

Naturally, a group of us UCLA students were super excited to go out to Hollywood that Thursday night. I’d heard of this place but I’d never been, and I was kind of excited to have a real “club” experience. Who wouldn’t want to end up like this:

We all hopped into the tiniest sedan economy could afford us and set off bumbling down Sunset to dance our pants off.

Skinny jeans were extremely en vogue at the time (though probably never made it to the actual pages of Vogue) which were great for security purposes (your phone could literally be glued to your hip) and bad for everything else (walking, dancing, ballroom dancing, ball room while dancing, etc).

We parked, waited in line, and in we went. And wow, this place was massive. Every pop song of the moment blared over the speakers. We’d done our duty by pregaming in the car on the way in – a quick trip to Ralph’s to pick up a carton of OJ to accompany some godawfully-flavored leftover party vodka tossed into a discarded Crystal Geyser bottle was our craft cocktail of choice. Knock a few of those back and you’d be twerking before it was even invented.

kids these days have it so easy!

We did that awkward “dance as a group” thing (which never works) until one of us would be inevitably picked off by someone similarly horny to dance the dance of the unrighteous just a few steps away from the group. This prepared me for any potential threesomes or orgies later in life: once you’ve seen your best friend get dryhumped to Christina Aguilera, nothing shames you.

Speaking of which – this night happened to be the premiere of Christina’s video for her latest single: “Not Myself Tonight”, which Wikipedia tells me was April 28, 2010, in case future-me decides to time-travel to this point. The highly-S&M themed video was played on giant projector screens at the venue, and it is graphic. Needless to say, the “mood” was set.

put the kids to bed before you watch this

As I was watching the video and trying to remain vertical (vodka was setting in at that time) a girl started aggressively rubbing her ass against me like it was mating season on the Serengeti. I obliged and danced with her, and then when she turned around to kiss me, I left my mouth open like a lazy fish.

Wait a minute.

What the f*ck am I doing?

I’m 19. I imagined my first kiss to be this magical moment on a bridge over a river in Kyoto, a meeting of lips on the Venetian Coast, a gentle smooch at Yosemite overlooking the valley below at sunset.

is a wall of white roses too much to ask for

Not a sloppy tonguewrestle on a Hollywood dancefloor steps away from where Marilyn Monroe was likely fingerbanged.

Before I knew it, her twinky friend showed up to dance too. He slid in between us and we started…gyrating. Suggesstively.

Then we kissed too.

Then all three of us kissed.

The entire event was probably 30 seconds, but to my friends, this was a full on bingewatch.

Whatever happened was enough to pull them away from their dance partners to gawk, and much of the dancefloor seemed to partake in the viewing as well.

The relief I felt at “just getting it over with” was coupled with the shame of “jesus what the christ just happened I must be a whore now”.

It lingered through our trip to the Carl’s Jr. Jr. (NOT A TYPO) drive thru on Highland, and the greasy ride home. It lingered for the rest of that weekend, the rest of the month. The rest of the school year.

RIP with this blurry pic

It lingered so long, I didn’t kiss anyone until after graduation.

It’s no surprise it took me another 5 years to “come out as bi”.

It’s no surprise I’m kind of a crappy kisser today.

But life is full of surprises. And you don’t expect your first kiss to be like this.

this gives me anxiety just looking at it