Confessions of a Lip Biter
a Reverse-Dorothy complex; voracious appetite for witty vernacular; and an affinity for Scotch. Email me at misssilk3@gmail.com
![I’m worried about Pittsburgh men.
Because its more comforting than being worried about me.
Last night, we started at the Warhol Museum—for the after hours cocktail. And we (of course) ended up in the balloon room until the place closed down. And there were cute guys….not one came in and tossed balloons with us. I mean, they’re PILLOWS that FLOAT and you can see your reflection in them!! It wasn’t until a couple of guys came partially in the room, watched us for half a second, then left that my friend turned to me and said, “If we were in NY, they would have talked to us.”
“If we were in LA, they would have joined in.” I bit my lip.
We went on to Lawrenceville (Hipster mecca of Pittsburgh) and we got stares. And I gave a friendly smile whenever a guy would make eye contact several times. Not a flirtatious smile or neccessarily encouraging but friendly, you know. Yet only one guy talked to us. Which was fine ‘cause this was the first time we’ve gone out together so we were getting to know eachother so I really didn’t think about it until we left.
Finally, we headed to Polish Hill to Gooskies. Proported to be the “place bands hang out after the show”. SO MUCH FUN…but these boys? Look, there was a punk band playing. No one was dancing or banging their heads or NODDING their heads or making rock-on signs or anything. This was our text conversation (it was too loud to talk):
Me,”The band members are all fat.”
Her,”Thats Pittsburgh musicians.”
Me,”No! Wiz Khalifa is from here have faith.”
Her,”They are! This is the music scene. Seriously.”
Me,”It’s the french fries on the sandwitches”
Me,”Do you think if I start ramming people I can start a mash pit?”
Her,”Yes!!!!”
[In which I start ramming people. Only one guy pushed back—everyone else gave me looks like “Why does this drunk girl keep falling on me?”]
Me,”These boyz don know nuttin ‘bout punk rock”
Her,”Cute guy in whiiiiiiite, to ur rt”
Me,”White shirt?”
Her,”Yup”
Her,”Into you”
Her,”No shit.”
Her,”Smiling whoooole time.”
I made eye contact with White Shirt and we smiled at eachother—he was cute! And when the band was done, I waited for him to break away from his friends and approach….but he never did. Looked at me a lot. Never came over.
So I’m worried. And trying not worry about me.](http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lyj5zkynpy1qzvt2io1_400.jpg)
I’m worried about Pittsburgh men.
Because its more comforting than being worried about me.
Last night, we started at the Warhol Museum—for the after hours cocktail. And we (of course) ended up in the balloon room until the place closed down. And there were cute guys….not one came in and tossed balloons with us. I mean, they’re PILLOWS that FLOAT and you can see your reflection in them!! It wasn’t until a couple of guys came partially in the room, watched us for half a second, then left that my friend turned to me and said, “If we were in NY, they would have talked to us.”
“If we were in LA, they would have joined in.” I bit my lip.
We went on to Lawrenceville (Hipster mecca of Pittsburgh) and we got stares. And I gave a friendly smile whenever a guy would make eye contact several times. Not a flirtatious smile or neccessarily encouraging but friendly, you know. Yet only one guy talked to us. Which was fine ‘cause this was the first time we’ve gone out together so we were getting to know eachother so I really didn’t think about it until we left.
Finally, we headed to Polish Hill to Gooskies. Proported to be the “place bands hang out after the show”. SO MUCH FUN…but these boys? Look, there was a punk band playing. No one was dancing or banging their heads or NODDING their heads or making rock-on signs or anything. This was our text conversation (it was too loud to talk):
Me,”The band members are all fat.”
Her,”Thats Pittsburgh musicians.”
Me,”No! Wiz Khalifa is from here have faith.”
Her,”They are! This is the music scene. Seriously.”
Me,”It’s the french fries on the sandwitches”
Me,”Do you think if I start ramming people I can start a mash pit?”
Her,”Yes!!!!”
[In which I start ramming people. Only one guy pushed back—everyone else gave me looks like “Why does this drunk girl keep falling on me?”]
Me,”These boyz don know nuttin ‘bout punk rock”
Her,”Cute guy in whiiiiiiite, to ur rt”
Me,”White shirt?”
Her,”Yup”
Her,”Into you”
Her,”No shit.”
Her,”Smiling whoooole time.”
I made eye contact with White Shirt and we smiled at eachother—he was cute! And when the band was done, I waited for him to break away from his friends and approach….but he never did. Looked at me a lot. Never came over.
So I’m worried. And trying not worry about me.
