Some things about me: 
– I was born in 1989. Thus, I love 90s/early 2000s rom coms… which is why I’m a hopeless romantic who dreams of moving to NYC and falling in love.
– I’m a millennial, so I really need you to like me! 
– I’m also really, really good at talking to people, making new friends, and subsequently… shooting my shot with girls.

Not to be overly confident, and not to say that I think I’m god’s gift to the queers; I’m just not scared to walk up to a stranger that I like and talk to them.
Does my heart pound in my chest and right before I do it? 100%. But I know that if I didn’t talk to them, I would feel worse. So, I shoot my shot. Partly because no one really hits on me, not sure why. Possibly because of my huge personality — I’m a lot for some people, I know!
But hey, at least no one has ever called me boring, so there’s that! 

But Pascale what do you mean when you say you “shoot your shot?”  Well…
A few years ago, I was working as a server at a very busy outdoor restaurant in the Old Port of Montreal. I was 27 and finally about to move to NYC in a few weeks: AKA, my dream come true. 

It’s a hot July Saturday night, and we’ve got a lineup around the block. Just as I’m walking towards the bar, I freeze. That’s when I see her: tall, dark skin, short hair, fresh fade. Blue polka dot, short-sleeve shirt buttoned to the top, and army green pants. If I were to compare her to a celebrity, it would be David Beckham.
She walks in, and I stop dead in my tracks. Everything about her takes my breath away. She is so hot, I immediately start blushing. I walk away with a stupid smile on my face. 
At the bar, the bartender says, “Pascale, what’s going on? You look different?”
“Umm…I’ve just laid eyes on the hottest girl I’ve ever seen in my life!” 
I subtly ask the hostess to seat her near my section, but not IN it, ‘cause OMG, I couldn’t actually serve her. So she’s seated in my friend’s section, and I ask him, “Max, that girl at table 38, what’s the deal?” 
“She’s with two girls, I think they’re a couple, and she’s on her own,” he says. 

I keep serving my tables, trying to make eye contact with Bechkam, but it doesn’t happen. Then, Max says, “Hey they’re getting the bill, what are you gonna do?” 
I panic. The bus boy says, “why are you so obsessed with this girl?” 
I say “Shut up and take notes.” 
Right then, I see the lovely lady who sells roses to tables. It clicks. Done.
I run up to her and buy a rose. I write down my name and number on a piece of paper. I put it inside a billfold, and ask Max to give that girl the rose and my note and say, “That server thinks you’re stunning.”
My pulse is racing as I head back into my section, trying to look busy, taking extra time with my tables, and then get lost in work. Finally, I meet up with Max and he hands me the bill fold back. There is a note from her, “I’m Ada, thanks for the rose. We’re going out for drinks later, you should join us,” and below that, is her phone number…WITH A NEW YORK AREA CODE!
Are you kidding me?! I’m about to move to NYC: we could walk through Central Park in big cozy sweaters, while the leaves fall, drinking chai lattes, holding hands… and we could fall in love in the fall in New York! It’s perfect! — You know, the usual thought process. 
My very interested server friends want to know what happened, so I show them the note with the phone number as the mouthy, jaw-dropped bus boy slowly raises his hand for a high-five. 

As Ada and her friends leave, we cross paths for a second. With a big smile on my face, I tell her I would love to see them later. She smirks and says, “I hope so.”
Once I’m done work, I text Ada and head to the bar down the street. I can’t stop losing it that I am on my way to have a drink with this girl. You know when you’re just like, “Is this actually happening?!” 
I take a deep breath as I walk in, and spot Ada right away. She looks at me with her gorgeous smile, asks me, “can I get you a drink?” 
I say yes, of course and while she’s gone, one of her friends says, “by the way, very well played.” 
We have a few drinks, play some pool, and then her friends decide to head out as they’re all going back to New York the next day. Ada and I want to stay out, so we walk over to another bar. We order two Jonny Walker Black, on the rocks, just before last call. 
The lights are low, the music is loud.
We’re staring at each other, smirking, as I take a sip of my drink. Ada puts her glass down, takes mine from my hand, and places it on the bar. She puts her arm around my waist and stands tall above me.She slowly pulls me close, so her face is just an inch from mine. Ada looks deep into my eyes and finally our lips meet in a soft, still kiss, as the world around me seems to blur and fall away. 
If this were a movie, the camera would be doing a 360 slowly, with the crowd dancing around us in slow motion. Right as the term “French kiss” would be used, the lights come on, and the moment is over. We both pull back, stare into each other’s eyes with a smirk… “Should we get out of here?”

We take a cab home and the next morning, I wake up in her arms. We lay there in that perfect little morning-after bed-bubble until it’s time to get up.
I drop Ada off at her hotel on my way to teach a very hungover spin class. Before she gets out of the car, the leans in to kiss me and says “I’ll text you later.”
I figure she will never text me: I was a girl she met on that Montreal trip. Just a name in a story. But still, the smile I have on my face walking into the spin studio is unprecedented!
Against all odds, Ada did text me later that day. We started talking every day for two months — spending hours on FaceTime and making plans… you’ve heard of lesbians, right?
September comes and… I would love to tell you that when I went to New York, we met up for coffee, went for a walk in Central Park, and fell in love. But really, she just led me on for a few months, and then ghosted me.
I never saw Ada again. 

I often find that I chase people who don’t want to be caught.
I’ve now been single for about six months, after my longest and most serious relationship. I tell myself I need some time for me, but I keep going after people who give me crumbs when I give it my all. I’m not sure I know how to date casually. Because, honestly, either I like you or I don’t. If not, what are we doing?
Not to say I’m not happy with who I am, but maybe I should take the time I put into chasing someone who won’t text me back, and spend that time on what I want and who I want to be.
The girl who will go up to a stranger to shoot her shot will always be there, inside. But maybe we can sit with her for a minute. Maybe ask her how she’s doing, or take her out on a date… because I’ve never taken the time to get to know her — know me, without chasing after some crazy idea of a love story. 

Maybe, for this summer, I stop chasing those who don’t want to get caught.
Maybe, I fall in love with myself instead.