I get yelled at while walking down the street a fair amount. I think it may have to do with the fact that I own multiple bright purple blazers, my tendency to skip, and how often I stroll with just one other male by my side. I’ve always taken the yells of “faggot” or “homo” as angrily screamed proposals as opposed to insults, so my initial reaction has been to say “call me!” in a desperate attempt to conjure up a conjugal.

So when an oddly specific yell of “you’re the only one wearing purple” interrupted my midday promenade, I instinctively shouted back only to realize that the driver of the Honda Civic was a  former professor, which changed the sarcastic and somewhat effeminate scream into an earnest proposal. He confusedly sped off.

This sexual orientation confusion that comes as a result of my desire to be seen, heard, smelled, and in all way sensed is not a new experience for me, but it allowed me to question some things about my … sexual orientation. I’m not gay, but sometimes I wish I were. Not because it’s easier to be gay – coming from a high-school where not a single kid felt comfortable coming out, I understand this – but because I think I’d have an easier time getting poon. Or. Dick. 

I’m not one of those people that assumes all men are horny, dual brained creatures who let their “testicles overwhelm their thoughts,” (Clements-Green 3) but I do think society attempts to train men and women to think differently about sex. This results in confusion. Growing up I was constantly confused as to what was okay to say in front of a woman. TV, which I watched a lot of, told me that farting in front of a woman was taboo, yet comparing boner size with the boys was neither homo-erotic nor inappropriate. The result of this hypocritical training was that I was forced to chose a side. If I were to find it despicable to fart in front of a woman, I was going to find it just as gross to pass gas in front of a man. If I were to think analyzing boner size was fun, I was going to have to find the same enjoyment in discussing labia flappiness. I chose the latter option because my mother farts a lot, and I enjoy laughing. 

Many people do not come to the same conclusion that I came to at a young age that one must choose one side or the other, otherwise be deemed a hypocrite. This is where the confusion comes to play. I have lost friends, been called misogynist, and been alienated from groups of people because of times when I’ve attempted to discuss masturbation in mixed company, asked a woman her vaginal girth after she asked me about my penis length, and called a girl a cunt. These experiences have changed me. They have made me realize that some people are not worthy of my company and all the hilarious vagina related humor that that entails. So, around middle of high-school I began running potential friends/lovers through the gauntlet.

This is why I was a virgin through high-school.

The gauntlet has also been referred to as the backwards game, but I prefer the gauntlet because it is not me playing the game, but rather me putting others through a rigorous emotional obstacle course to determine a person’s worth to me. The gauntlet usually starts with a few mild mannered offensive words. If you think that words that do not single out a group of people are offensive, than I can’t be friends with you. (bt-double-ewe: I use “slut,” “whore,” “cunt,” “bitch,” “cockface,” “asshole,” “dick,” and “douche-bag,” all as non-gender-specific terms.) Then I push the gauntlet to the next level and begin discussing supposedly offensive topics such as masturbation, kinky sex shit, and the human desire to objectify (more on that last one later). Then the gauntlet gets intense and I say truly offensive things about racism, rape, and killing in absurd contexts to make sure my potential friend/mate understand how context can effect the offensiveness of a statement. People who pass through this series of offenso-barriers learn to realize that I am very easily offended and don’t spend my entire day creating new ways to push the boundaries of taboo.

This process tends to also be how I pick up (or don’t pick up) the ladies. My typical relationship starts with hate. My object of desire finds me repulsive because I am constantly attempting to garner attention by doing things that are supposedly offensive, but in reality are just playing on society’s fears. Then I spend the next three months salvaging the possible friendship that I cut off at the stem by convincing them that those were weeding scissors meant to cut the stems of the dandelions, not the rose. She’s the rose. The next three months to two years are spent in friend-zone, where I spend a lot of time knocking on her door and pretending I was just in the neighborhood and ask her a lot of personal questions about their masturbation habits and what she likes in bed – hoping that that knowledge will pay off later. Then the next 3 months to 2 years are spent in awkward mode, where I have decided that I’m into the idea of doing them – I create a fun nickname to call them, I stop talking about other women and I try to force awkward silences that will result in her professing her love for me. Then I tell her how I feel and leave her room and say “it’s fine if you don’t want to see me again.” Then she tells me to stay as I slowly open her door and we make out. Then 2 months later she realizes I’m terrible in bed, I look like a hairy holocaust victim, and forget important events often and she tells me to stop coming around – which is great because that’s usually when I realize that I’m too scared of commitment to stay in that relationship any longer. 

Back to “the human desire to objectify.” This is where I lose most potential bone-buddies (That’s not slang for “archeology friend.”) 

I believe that we are all horny. Some more than others. But we all have some horniness as a part of our DNA. So, when we see someone we deem attractive, we like to look at them and comment on the physical features we find most arousing. I enjoy doing this a lot. This does not mean that I refuse to date/fuck/grope people who I wouldn’t typically stare at on the street (I can’t be that picky). Nor does it mean I would always date/fuck/grope the people I stare at from restaurant windows (I’m too picky). This simply means that we all think about sex, men and women alike, and I think it’s fun to talk about what I am thinking. Egotistical? Maybe. Wrong? I think not. I love hearing when a girl I’m interested in tells me to stop talking so that she watch an ass jiggle away – it only makes my hard-on harder. 

So, what’s my point? My point is that I don’t have enough time to put somebody through the gauntlet before I exit Minnesota. I have nine days not nine months, so it looks like I’m not getting any poon. This is why I wish I were gay, society puts most men through some aspects of my gauntlet – see: Judd Apatow movies – so that I don’t have to and I could get to suckin dick quicker. It just takes to long to get to lickin labia.