Last night Roomz and I ventured out into the wild that is dt Rals. Tuesdays are ON FIRE let me tell you. Just playing. But seriously we did go out, and I’m proud of us because we stayed out until 1am! A record for me of late, as I am fast turning into an old lady who goes to bed no later than 10:30pm. Feisty. Anywho, we met some friends (yes, friends! I found some!) at this cool bar called the Flying Saucer, where they were having weekly Trivia night. Super fun, totally unrelated to the story. So we’re chatting it up and one of my pals brought up Miss Sassy Pants! This here blog loves to be mentioned in everyday convo because it means more readers and typically fuels the fire for some good sassy stories to share (spread the good Sassy news people). Which is exactly what happened here. I was saying that I am sort of boring lately and haven’t had any good stories or triflin messes to share…and my sweet little Roomz reminded me that I haven’t shared the gay waiter story! Oh yes. Now you’re hooked. So now Miss Sassy will commence to explaining How To Pick Up a Guy with Questionable Sexual Preferences. You know, for all those times you just aren’t sure.
Let’s rewind to the first weekend after I moved to the Rals. So picture it: Just met Roomz, know nothing about Raleigh, tired from the first week of work, stressed a bit from all the projects I was assigned, probably feeling a bit overwhelmed, not on my game. So Roomz’ friend GBFF, who we can all infer from his nickname is gay, comes to visit this weekend. We all go out to dinner to PFChangs, and while waiting for our table at the bar, all take notice of a particularly good looking waiter. I mean really good looking. Tall, dark, and handsome, mysterious, cute smile, total package. And he’s not a 50-yarder, which is a plus. So GBFF points him out first, saying that he’s hot stuff, to which Roomz and I instantly agree. BUT is he gay? GBFF thinks yes, I said no, Roomz couldn’t decide. Eventually we’re seated, unfortunately not in his section despite trying our hardest. Throughout dinner we all get our stare on, discreetly of course, and may or may not have drawn attention to ourselves while simultaneously eye-flirting with him throughout our meal. Honestly I don’t remember, but it’s entirely possible and probable. Then the end of dinner roles around and GBFF is stuck on this guy. I mean rage-at-the-machine in love with him because he is so ridiculously good looking. But what to do? It’s not a typical pick-up scene. He’s busy waitering, we’re busy with our teriyaki, would probably be rude to interrupt him taking orders at his table and ask him what sign he is and does he live nearby. Not to mention the fact that we still can’t decide if he’s gay or not. Conflicting gay-dar readings do not a concensus make. So Roomz comes up with a brilliant plan, grabs a cocktail napkin and pen from my mom-bag and writes the following:
Are you gay? If yes: GBFF, 919-555-0000. If no: Roomz, 919-555-0001.
Except she used their real phone numbers, duh. Then, when we had all paid our checks and were ready to leave, she bravely walked up to Mr. Hunky Waiter and presented him with the little note. Ballsy little gal! We walked out of there giggling like fools, vowing to never return to that particular PFChangs if neither of them got a phone call. Which they didn’t. What makes the story even better is that GBFF’s parents visited the next day and wanted to go to PFChangs for lunch. Clearly that didn’t happen.
The moral of this story is that sassiness comes in all shapes and sizes. While Miss Sassy does not personally give out her phone number to strangers or even good looking men in bars or restaurants anymore (unless it says “Mr. Perfect-for-Miss-Sassy” on his forehead), it is sassy to act if you like what you see. Because you never know where the next adventure will start. No, you probably won’t marry Mr. Hunky Waiter, but he might be a nature enthusiast just like you! And maybe he’ll take you out a couple times and you might get some fun flirting in. Why not? Do it while you’re young people because eventually you’ll be a creepy old guy or a wrinkled too-tan cougar. But always always always, as I always say always, maintain the class. Sass – Class = Trash. And trash smells bad, even from 50-yards away.