Should I Issue a Retraction?

A syllogism of sorts:
-Tequila: $5 apiece
-New lipgloss to replace the one I lost: $7.50+tax
-Flirting all night long and funny-ass memories: priceless

I should say alleged flirting. But what I remember of our conversations could, arguably, fall into the flirtatious category. If necessary, however, comments can easily be attributed to drunkenness. I told Bestest Friend about my debaucheries, and she was quite amused. She did strongly advise me to not become the "other woman." I said that I have no intentions of doing anything of the sort. Honest to goodness. If this were a movie, I wonder if I'd be the "slutateous man-stealer" or the "one he belongs with despite the girlfriend." I thought about it long and hard on the plane ride home. That's right, folks, I'm home where I belong, watching the Pistons beat the Chicago Bulls. Bonus: Tayshaun Prince got blood on his jersey and had to take it off. Yum. Anywhoo, allow me to recap Friday once and (almost) for all:

-danced to "Get Me Bodied," "Take You Down," and various T-Pain songs
-fell/slithered to the ground
-flirted a bit (if you want to call it that) with Taken Boy
-apologized for my intoxication and for aforementioned flirting
-danced more (very risque I think)
-talked (loudly) and sang (even louder)
-got held very tightly (by TB, I'm afraid) as we left the building so that I wouldn't cause a commotion
-sang Amy Winehouse's "Rehab" to Roommate
-apologized again by writing a note on the dry-erase board (the marker, I later discovered, was permanent. The writing's still there)
-took Advil, drank water, and fell asleep
-woke up laughing and a little mortified
-was informed by Top Chef and Taken Boy of my activities; shared a laugh about it

Oh well. Yes, it's a little embarrassing to realize that you were one shot away from giving out lapdances, but at the same time, it's college. It's what you're supposed to do. Frankly, if I had passed four years without an experience of Friday night's ilk, I'd be a little disappointed. That's not to say I'll never drink again, or that I'll get smashed every weekend. It was an experience.

However, now I have to think about this TB situation. It should be open and shut, he's taken. Matter of fact, forget it. No more pretend flirting. But I don't even know when I'm doing it (well, when we're doing it. It takes two to tango). I only realize when I look up and see Top Chef, Sistah Girl, Roommate, and Motown Lover smirking and exchanging knowing looks and whatnot (y'all are not slick lol). But it's harmless. It's fun. It's whatever. Oh yeah, it didn't help when, the next afternoon, TB came out to get his laundry wearing a wifebeater. That was just rude.

I could go on and on, but for some reason I've been hit with a wave of paranoia about this blog somehow being used as evidence against me. I mean, I don't think I've really written anything bad about anyone, the worst probably being myself and my own inner nonsense. But still, we can't have a Harriet the Spy situation on our hands. My biggest fear, far-fetched as it is, is that someone like the Runner, or hell, TB himself will stumble all this ridiculousness that I wrote about them. How scary...oh, heaven forbid! There's not enough tequila in Mexico to deal with THAT.