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Living In Sin: Queer bait

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Every week in Living in Sin, Jen Sincero provides advice to LA's sexually confounded. Sign up for her newsletter and have it sent to you every week. Ask Jen your questions: all are posted anonymously.

Dear Jen,
I'm a college freshman who's just stepped out of a four year relationship with a woman. My problem is, now that I'm looking to hook up with a new woman, the only mischievous smiles I get are from guys. I work in a hotel restaurant, and several of my gay male customers return just to talk to me. I'm a slightly effeminate man, but this just seems to have disaster written all over it. I feel like a pink panther searching for a female panther. How do I deal with this difference in the game of sexual appeal?
- Mr. Pink

Dear Pink,
Wait...what? What has disaster written all over it? The fact that other men are flirting with you, or the fact that you're intrigued/bothered by the fact that other men are flirting with you? Because as far as I'm concerned, there's never anything disastrous about being flirted with. I don't care what lurks within their pants - flattery is flattery. Take it where you can get it.

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For example, a few years ago I was camping in the mountains near Cloudcroft, New Mexico and it started snowing. Camping + Snow + I'm freezing as I write this and it's 70 degrees out = disaster written all over it. So my friend and I decided to drive into town and cozy up at a bar. It was Saturday night and we found this great country dive that was packed. We could hear the band from the parking lot and they were rockin, hard, so hard that I nearly fell over when I got inside and discovered that no one in the band was under 90 years old. The bass player was in a wheelchair, the drummer had Parkinsons so badly that his head was bobbing to a different rhythm than the music, the fiddle player was clearly blind and the lead singer was hanging on to his walker with a death grip. They all wore cowboy hats and had one tooth among them. But they were s-m-o-k-i-n'.

At the break, the lead singer wheeled up to me and began regaling me with tales of his rock star past. In true, narcissistic superstar fashion, he didn't give a hoot about my story. It was all about him, for he was the star. And we both knew it. He was the godamned lead singer. And who was he flirting with? Who was he checking out through bifocals as thick as a glass of Metamucil? That's right. That would be me.

Methinks that the only reason you'd be nervous about these guys at work flirting with you is because you're nervous about what you're going to do about it. I knew I wasn't going to give gramps a groupie hummer, so I could just enjoy the moment. But were I someone, say, like Anna Nicole Smith, I might have lost my cool. Whatever the situation, you can't be effected by something you truly don't care about. It's impossible.

If you are indeed interested, the only disaster would be not acting on it. Life is far too short to not do something because you're ascared. If you're not interested, and just chose to use the word "disaster" without really thinking about it and now I'm crawling all over you for no good reason, take the compliment and move on. The fact that boys are flirting with you doesn't mean the ladies won't. It means you're hot. Enjoy it.