MartyMcFly

The biggest difference I have noticed within myself since transferring to the University of Oregon is I now remind myself of a dog in heat. Whenever I go anywhere on campus I have to deal with an overwhelming sense of horniness and a constantly salivating mouth. It’s been somewhat of a difficult adjustment to not automatically assume guys are gay until proven otherwise.

I have also had to get used to the large class sizes here. At Seattle U there was usually a maximum of 15 people in a class and the professors would always have us arrange our desks in a circle. Class discussions seemed more like therapy sessions than lectures. I had one professor, Jeanie (she preferred to be called by her first name) who had dreamed of being a famous screenwriter but had pathetically succumbed to writing my little pony episodes for the past twenty years. Becoming a teacher made her lower than dirt in her own eyes and she was extremely bitter, eccentric, and simply a bitch. I loved her. The main reason for this was the first day of class she told everyone “You are the star of your own movie, so don’t fuck it up”. As I have been practicing my Oscar speech in front the mirror since I was six, continue to spend hours a day daydreaming about being famous, and even go as far as to fantasize about the perfect soundtrack to my life, these words had literally come out of some sort of God.   

Seattle University is located on Capitol Hill, an area known for its tranny cabarets, gay nightclubs, and therefore primarily homosexual population. The male student body at the University mirrors this demographic. During my freshman year, my eager hunt for a boyfriend and aspiration for the loss of my virginity blinded me from fully seeing this reality. This then resulted in my first real college crush being Thomas Strawn, who I only figured out was gay after we became facebook friends. His idol was listed as Lady GaGa and his profile pictures, which were kind of slutty, had been photo shopped so his teeth looked like printer paper and his skin resembled butter. Needless to say I woke up with food in my bed instead of boys that year. Thomas became my cliché gay friend who was always telling me how pretty I was, taught me the best way to provide oral sex and would give me remarkably perfect eye rolls whenever I considered eating chicken strips for dinner. 

The only people who interest me are the mad ones. The ones that are mad to live. Mad to talk. The one’s that are desirous of everything at the same time. The ones that never yawn or say a common place thing. But burn, burn, burn. Like roman candles across the night.