I Fucked Up.

I fucked up big time. 
I’m a bisexual woman who is very flirtatious by nature.  I’m a polyamorous woman who understands and appreciates ethical monogamy as a valid and rich relationship model.  Unfortunately, I’m also a heavy drinker on Saturday nights, and I sometimes don’t make the best judgments.
I don’t flirt with my girl friends’ girlfriends.  I don’t flirt with my female friends’ husbands or boyfriends.  But I most certainly – and often – flirt with my male friends’ girlfriends.  Most of my guy friends take this with a grain of salt; they laugh, or they think it’s hot, or they wish it were more than flirting. 
Or maybe they don’t.  Maybe it annoys the fuck out of them, but there’s a societal pressure on men to say they want to see two women entwined.  Maybe they’re seething inside their heads.
Last Saturday night, I was behind the bar – the bar I call my second home – with said bar owner’s girlfriend.  This guy is a good friend and one of the most genuinely generous and compassionate people I have ever known.  I made out with his girlfriend in front of the whole bar, thinking it was no big deal.  She enthusiastically participated, and we were just being drunk and silly.  Or so I thought.
When I walked out from behind the bar, I was immediately yanked aside by a mutual friend, who looked me in the eye and said, “Not cool.”  I didn’t understand… until I looked backward and saw my friend looking at me with hurt eyes.  He called me back, and took me into the kitchen.
“Why would you do that to me?” He asked.  I have never felt so ashamed in my life.  He said that people were coming up to him asking him why his girlfriend was kissing someone else, and he didn’t know what to tell them.  Because I was drunk, I burst into tears and started profusely apologizing… I told him I loved him.  That I would never intentionally hurt him.  That he’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.  That I didn’t know what to say, either, except I’m so sorry.  I didn’t give excuses or reasons, because there weren’t any. 
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry isn’t enough when you hurt a friend. 
I know there’s nothing I can do to make it better except let the natural balm of time run its course… but.  Nothing except time and a little more fucking awareness of people’s feelings.
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The sex thing is already out there.

I had this really weird moment at a party last night where I realized I was the last woman standing in a house full of drunk guys (all friends), and then most of my friends proceeded to hit on me.  And not in any kind of subtle way.  Like, I actually had to say the sentences, “Why are you licking my face?  Stop it.  That’s gross,”and “I can’t give you a lap dance because your wife will brutally murder me.”

It reminded me of this conversation from the movie When Harry Met Sally:
Harry: You realize, of course, that we can never be friends.
Sally: Why not?
Harry: What I’m saying is… and this is not a come-on in any way, shape, or form, is that men and women can’t be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.
Sally: That’s not true; I have a number of men friends and there is no sex involved.
Harry: No you don’t.
Sally: Yes I do.
Harry: No you don’t.
Sally: Yes I do.
Harry: You only think you do.
Sally: You’re saying I’m having sex with these men without my knowledge?
Harry: No, what I’m saying is they all want to have sex with you.
Sally: They do not.
Harry: Do too.
Sally: They do not.

Harry: Do too.
Sally: How do you know?
Harry: Because no man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive; he always wants to have sex with her.
Sally: So you’re saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive.
Harry: Nah — you pretty much wanna nail them too.
Sally: What if they don’t want to have sex with you?
Harry: Doesn’t matter, because the sex thing is already out there, so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story.

Of course men and women can be friends; I consider myself very lucky to be friends with some incredibly good-hearted, honest, open, dependable, and hilarious men.  That being said, some pretty uncomfortable things get said when large quantities of alcohol enter the equation.  By myself as well; I’ve certainly been the culprit of saying inappropriate things to female friends when drunk and then having to apologize later on.  Maybe I should just start wearing a watch with an alarm clock on it that signifies it’s a good time to leave… 

Update: It’s a couple years old, but I just read a funny and relevant article from Scientific American about this topic.