It's a just a couple of guys braiding each other's hair. Taking a bath. Shopping for bed sheets. But don't worry, there's nothing weird about it.
But before I indulge you - my reader - with the reason I bring this up, I would like to use this forum to thank AU for making my experience as a Katrina transfer student from Tulane as painless as conceivably possible.
I would also like to publicly thank a certain gentleman I met last weekend at a lingerie party. Thank you, my friend, for being such a dipshit. You, among a cornucopia of scantily clad, lithe movers and shakers of tomorrow, deserve special mention.
I had the good fortune of bumping into this citizen of the month earlier in the night, after I may or may not have had three bottles of champagne. Waiting in line for the bathroom, this prime specimen of man was gelled down to his impeccably groomed - however sparse - chest hair, surrounded by a considerably nubile cast of characters. Figuring nothing distasteful could come of handing a group of drunk, half-naked college students a canister of whipped cream I just happened to be carrying, I offered said canister to them. However, before I could explain the intricacies of my plan, I was interrupted by the gentle prose of this very secure man.
"I'm not into that gay shit," he said.
That's not what I'm -
"I ain't no faggot."
I don't think you get me.
"Get the fuck out of here."
Now, the point of this anecdote is not to take issue with homophobia. I believe we can agree that all gays are anti-American communists. That's absolutely true.
What this story illustrates, to me, is that many are still unable to harness their sexual chi. So, in honor of this strapping young chap and in order to ensure against this happening again, I would like to propose a schedule - a regimen, if you will - for the following week:
Thursday. That's today, the first day you can pick up this issue of The Eagle. Don't go crazy. Not quite yet. Relax. Grab a cheap bottle of wine and watch a Bill Murray movie. Go to bed early. Take a long, warm shower.
Friday. The easiest way to avoid getting your panties in a bunch is to avoid them altogether. That's right, go commando. Not wearing will not only save laundry money, but it's more comfortable and more hygienic.
Friday night. Go to a gay club. Because really, they're just better.
Saturday. This involves some research, so take the day. Try to find a fetish party. Google "Washington, D.C." and some variation on "bar", "club" or "party", along with the requisite "BDSM" (which stands for bondage, domination, sadism and masochism). Something should come up.
Sunday. You've had a rough weekend. Rent a porno and watch it with someone you care about.
Monday. Get off before class. And after. Go to www.nerve.com and check the Position of the Day. If you have some extra cash, buy their book: "Position of the Day: Sex Every Day in Every Way."
Tuesday. Don't have sex today. Dedicate your time to honing your masturbatory skills.
Wednesday. If you're with someone, have sex in a language other than English. If you're not, take a bubble bath.
Thursday. Pick up The Eagle. Read new sex column.
Is my regimen the panacea to your sexual woes? Will it remove the proverbial stick from one's homophobic ass? Will it remove kidney stones? Can I open and eat a banana without my hands? The answer to all of these questions and more is, "Yes." I'm a fucking expert.
Please e-mail questions, comments, story ideas or personal experiences with my weekly plan to american.sex.berg@gmail.com.
"Looking for loose change" will alternate with Blair Bryant Nichols' "Everybody does it..." sex column and will run every other Thursday.
