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Serious and Not So Serious

I am officially on the payroll of the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center, University of Maryland, College Park. Go me! Though tax forms are a bitch to fill out...

Before I write serious, meaning of life things that I have been meaning to write for a while, a meme:

Write 20 random facts about yourself, then tag the same number of people as minutes it takes you to write the facts.

1. My eyes are dark brown with very dark rings at the outer edge of the iris.
2. The results of my last blood test came back perfect.
3. I get cold really easily.
4. I had a cheese quesadilla for dinner at 10p (and I know that 'cheese quesadilla' is redundant).
5. I grew up watching Sesame Street and Next Gen Star Trek.
6. I read the Lord of the Rings in middle school and again in high school, but gave up on the Silmarillion.
7. I am 1/4 Transylvanian.
8. I am 1/4 Canadian.
9. I have plastic ivy decorating one wall of my dorm room since there is nowhere to put a real plant.
10. I cannot live without tea.
11. I keep organized though a combination of dayplanner, index cards, and random scraps of paper.
12. Thunderstorms make me happy.
13. I have not had palpitations for 37 days and counting...a personal record.
14. I believe #13 is because I have the heart monitor to try to chart this; I believe in Murphy's Law.
15. I RP online as an icy ex-librarian, a reformed charlatan, a conflicted tailor, and a manipulative actor.
16. My little brother recorded my cell phone's voice mail message for me.
17. I dislike being single, but I don't want a serious relationship right now.
18. Champagne grapes are my favorite fruit.
19. My hair is slowly going grey, and I am almost five years younger than my father was when his started.
20. Let's get something straight: I'm not.

Tagged:
1. kashmir_ki_kali
2. despiojarse12
3. superboner
4. triannamaxwell
5. liquid_cowboi

Ok, and now to more serious things. The short answer is this: I'm not bisexual, I'm a lesbian. *hurls rainbow colored streamers and toots horns* Yayfor, absolutes.

The long answer is that this concept has been percolating in the coffeemaker that is my brain for a few months now. To be totally honest, it really started when a certain gentlman friend and I were, shall we say, messing around, certain amounts of clothing were removed, and I was presented with my first in-person view of the aroused male anatomy. Much to my surprise, this would-be fascinating new opportunity merely turned me off, though I didn't show it, I hope.

This, of course, led to almost a month of agonizing, and once again would like to send all my love to the friends that put up with my spazzing through this. My thought process was thus: I find certain males to be attractive (cite multiple actors, and ex-boyfriends and the like), found making out to be most pleasurable, but the pants come off and my interest shuts down. Contradiction much?

The next step was comteplation of society's role in deciding an individual's sexual identity. Do I find the clothed male form to be attractive, the way the muscles move in a guy's back to be intriguing, because of hormones, or because that is what society dictates I should enjoy? Society is wonderfully undecided on the subject of "private" anatomy, so I was left to fend for myself. And the verdict? Thank you, no.

To be fair, I did do a bit of research, so see if my lack of interest in one rather handsome, very intelligent and caring guy who did nothing to deserve my angst was somehow a fluke. Not going into detail here, but I got no indication that my hypothesis was incorrect. So, my giggling over various actors, my gentleman friend, the guy who I ran into in the elevator, is a conditioned response, forced into my brain by The Man from a very young age. Fight the power! But, I digress.

The LGBT Alliance meeting two days ago merely cemented this decision. After all, here I am in a room with a bunch of women who are very possibly attracted to other women, and a bunch of men who aren't. If one believes the stereotypes, most of the gay men should be hot, and enough of them were for the sake of this last experiment. The two girls that hit on my and ended the evening my asking for my number certainly turned me on; the (cute) guy I talked to about world domination didn't, though I fully appreciated his appearance from a purely aesthetic perspective.

So, I suppose, it comes down to this: I fully appreciate the aesthetic pleasures of the male form, be it Hugh Jackman and his delicious accent, gentleman friend and his fascinating muscle definition, or the guy in the elevator's eyes, but they don't turn me into a puddle of hormonal goo like brunette from LGBT's smile or the photographer's hands. I might as well tell that poor guy from THET112 that he's got no chance, though his compliments are sweet, and make sure to stay far away from the bathroom when the girls' side of the floor decides to throw a shower party.

Self-discovery is a tiring thing. I hope I don't have to reevaluate this yet again in another year.

I'm leaving comments on, but if you want to talk to me about the stuff under the cut *cough*gentleman friend*coughcough*, please talk to me in person on AIM or over the phone if at all possible.

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