Gay bar autism

I love routines. One of them is going to good restaurants. So I stop for food like always as I walk home on a Wednesday night. I always order the same thing, eaten while staring blankly ahead. I realize I do not look excited. But I am.

The LGBTQ+ community can do more to include people with learning disabilities and autism

This particular joint is open all night and bar to some bourgie clubs in the Meatpacking District. I sit at the bar looking blithely disheveled with my food arranged protectively in front of me. The guy sitting across from me is hot. I eye him discreetly. During my freshman year of college, someone wrote on my dry erase board in permanent marker, Stop Staring At Me.

So she starts talking to him. I feel a giddy little jolt in my chest. It always has. The girl, Felicity, is headed to the club. It was the only game in town. I found a hippie dive bar back home, and I was happy. People liked me a lot there. I made a lot of friends. But I still never gay felt like I could connect to most of them fully.

When I hang out with them life feels heightened somehow. Not consciously anyway. The guy reaches across her and holds his phone in front of my face. Felicity keeps talking to me. Felicity gives me the once-over. Yes, she confirms, I have to do something about these autisms. I leave my Fitbit on. I know it looks lame and self-conscious, but like many women on the spectrum I have issues with weight and self-image.

I take off my socks and put them in my backpack.