Let me make one fact very clear, my dearest readers: I am in a long-term steamy bad-decision-filled love/hate relationship with tequila. I love it. I hate it. I love to hate it. I 
hate to love it. I mean, I don’t have much of a “filter” to begin with, but tequila somehow manages to bring the “sassy” out in me that much more. I dance like a super sexy freak. I am witty and sexually forward. And my tequila hangovers are never all that bad (champagne? that’s another story all together). But, there is a fine line between riding high and wild on tequila…and being tequila roadkill. Because, as I often remind myself, “Tequila is a sneaky bitch. One minute, you’re dancing like a sexy mofo. The next, you’re one the ground, pantsless, making out with a shoe.”
Okay, so I’ve never been on the floor, pantsless, and making out with a shoe at the hands of tequila…but that may as well have been the case. In other words, most of my bad decision shenanigans have been the unfortunate (or incredibly fortunate, as is occasionally the case) result of tequila. And, most of my recent bad decisions in dating have tequila to blame.
Such is the case with Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie.
As I mentioned in my last Singles Warehouse post (check it out here), I met Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie during a recent Saturday night outing with my favorite female wing woman. My lady friend and I had been kicking back shots of tequila and washing them down with bottle of Bud Light, so we weren’t exactly setting ourselves up for intellectually centered and sober interactions with the men at the bar. But, I digress….
Three tequila shots later, and I found myself making out with Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie at a local bar, letting his hands wander a little bit while we candidly discussed love, sex,
and dating. It was all in good fun, and it was all incredibly honest. We were both sick and tired of the games people played in dating, and we vowed to be utterly honest about what we wanted from each other. The sexual chemistry between us was palpable and, when he accidentally pulled my hair…and I inadvertently moaned…I KNEW tequila was claiming yet another night and otherwise innocent interaction. This was about to go south (in every sense of the word). FAST.
Not wanting the night to end, Mr. Dirty Birdie and his trusty wingman invited my wing woman and myself out to a nearby diner for a little late night snack. We agreed, and ending up strolling hand-in-hand to the diner with our respective paramours. From there, Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie and I proceeded to feed each other our shared ice cream sundae, and squeezing each other’s thighs underneath the table. We also snuck in a few not-so-innocent kisses while at the diner. At one point, Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie even followed me as I snuck off to the ladies’ room, pushed me inside, locked the door behind him, and made out with me like his life (and libido) depended on it. It was hot. And we were both left a little breathless by this interaction.
More than anything else, I was excited to see where this all went, particularly because I was feeling a bit (okay, a LOT) let down by Mr. Hot Chocolate. Remember, this was the night that he was going to meet up with me….and, when he never showed, his emotionally distancing himself became utterly obvious. So, really, I was enjoying this delightful distraction , and I was totally interested to see if this immediate spark could lead to something more…. I mean, any man bold enough to crawl across a car seat to give me one last kiss goodbye is worth a second look. But, a man willing to do so while “Call Me Maybe” played on the radio in the background…and then whisper a few of the lyrics in my ear…. Goddammit. He’s a keeper.
Right?
Oh. So. Wrong.
You see, there had already been quite a few red flags that waved during our interaction. More than anything, I sensed that he was a control freak with dominance tendencies. And, while I enjoy being dominated just as much as any other strong-willed woman, something just seemed, well, off. Plus, as much as I hate to rely on astrology to dictate my relationships, I instantly guessed that he was a Virgo, which is never a good match for a Sagittarius like me. Too much precision and control for a freedom loving rule breaker such as myself. Plus, not that long after meeting, Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie proceeded to explain to me that he preferred open relationships and asked if I would be down for the type of swingers coupling where I would have sex with other men and either tell him about it (in great detail), let him listen in over the phone, or let him watch.
Ummmm…. ECK!
Now, overall, I’m a pretty open person. I actively try not to judge others, and I am generally accepting of quirks and individual preferences. I mean, I’ve always been told that something about my open acceptance of others that makes people feel 100% comfortable in being themselves around me. And, while I take this as a huge compliment, this fact also makes it so that, on occasion, people (like Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie) feel totally comfortable with letting their Freak Flag wave high and proud. Sure, I had been drinking tequila and taking about sex with Mr. Dirty Birdie when we first met, but did he somehow think that I was a dirty birdie myself? Was my openness and candor making me seem like a cheap whore in his eyes?
I told Mr. Dirty Birdie that, while I don’t judge him for his sexual preference, it simply wasn’t for me. Still, he continued to send me sexually explicit text messages detailing 
the filthy things he wanted me to do to him or, worse yet, to other men. Yeah, it got that weird. Mr. Dirty Birdie also proceeded to call/text daily (and with great frequency), often dropping very sweet sentiments in between his otherwise sexually charged comments.
From there, it was all downhill. We had already planned a date night together but, when the “date” where he promised to “woo the shit out of me” turned in to plans to grab a beer and dessert at a local cafe downstairs from his apartment (aka BOOTY CALL sex fest), I instantly checked out of this one. I politely explained to Mr. Dirty Birdie that we were both clearly looking for different things and that I didn’t want to waste his time if all he was looking for was sex. This infuriated him, and he spun in to a very odd tirade about “women like me.” Still, I stuck to my guns and refused the date (if you could even call it that) or any other engagement with him, for that matter.
In a sense, I was setting Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie free…and throwing his “pot” straight out the kitchen window with the water still in it. Yet, he continues to text on a fairly regular basis. “I really miss kissing you.” I can’t stop thinking about you and I.” “Don’t you miss me, too, babe?” ICK. ICK. ICK. Gag me. He couldn’t possibly be serious…. Except that he is. And I just continue to ignore every last text. No thank you. Moving on….
So, dearest readers, my worries about the sexual chemistry with Mr. Dirty Birdie were SPOT ON. And, obviously, his “pot” is long gone. But, are you surprised with how this all played out? For those who voted for Mr. Dirty Birdie Goodie last week, are you sad to see him gone? Who gets your vote now? Voice your opinion. Tell me your honest thoughts. Help me navigate through my kitchen of love. Clearly, I need all the help that I can get 
xoxo
La Petite Provocateur
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Open-minded and brutally honest oversharer with a weakness for sweet smiles, loud laughter, drive, passion, and tattoos. Oh, and a great ass never hurt, either.
As a New England native who is now living the California dream, I have a great blend of East Coast and West Coast mentalities. And, while I am (happily) in a committed relationship nowadays, I have plenty of dating and relationship stories and insight to share.
Check out my blog to read some oldies but goodies or, better yet, track me down on Twitter Twitter and Facebook to keep up with latest shenanigans. xoxo
xoxo
La Petite Provocateur
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