Hearing snippets of anecdotes about beer-bonging jungle juice or sleeping with two girls in the same night, one unbeknown to the other, confirmed to me that the American Pie-style high school experience did, in fact, exist – just not for me or anyone I knew. There was fun to be had here, I just wasn’t invited to it.
Not only were the external stimuli I was exposed to promoting an “ideal” body image, they were also promoting a sense that unless I fit that particular ideal, I should be morbidly dissatisfied. And I was; for no particular reason other than I felt some sort of social pressure to find ways to hate myself, which, needless to say, is absolutely ridiculous.
Ladies, we all know men are hard to figure out. They are a constantly shifting puzzle, 10,000 pieces, all sky. Perpetually finding new ways to obfuscate their thoughts and subvert their emotions into complicated interpretive dance–it is left to us to pick up the scraps and rearrange them in a pattern we can understand.
I wasn’t born rich or powerful enough to be initiated into the world of networking from an early age, so I always misunderstood it. When I dropped out of high school and started getting my own jobs, I figured out quickly how to develop a good rapport with bosses and customers.
On the most basic level, movies simply ask for a type of attentiveness that is hard to muster if you’re depressed. Cerebral films tend to have a lot of silences and moments where the spectator is encouraged to reflect on the images. That’s fine, but when you’re depressed, the only reflecting you’ll be doing is on various sad thoughts and anxieties floating around in your head.
Look around campus and realize the breadth of notable alumnus: a slew of former U.S. Presidents, ambassadors, authors, artists, and CEOs. Jump at the thought that some of said luminaries may have lived in your room, down the hall, or sat in your chair in your classroom.
As if being gay wasn’t gay enough, I’ve gotten myself into quite a hole (metaphorically, not sexually, I’m a total bottom). I’ve started the complicated procedure of talking to a “straight” guy. I’ve never dated, or fucked, a straight guy before and therefore I am totally lost here. Is it a good idea? What experience can you share about fucking “straight” guys?
My Self- Summary: I hate writing these things/I suck at describing myself/I am not at all good at this but here goes nothing… I’m an easygoing guy. I love a challenge/adventure/good movie. My friends say I’m ________. I’ll let you judge that for yourself, though. [Insert emoticon of choice.]