The niche that never dies

It’s kinda bizarre just how comfortable I am settling into life here at Oxford. Now that the Fresher’s week madness has died down, the beer belly is beginning to wane, the acne that magically appeared is slowly beginning to disappear and I’m slowly beginning to find my niche—of course with adorable gay boys in the center of my current affections.

And in true graduate student form I’ve read about four pages of the six hundred that I am supposed to read for class and write on the three page paper due on Thursday. And yes I know I could be doing my work, but aren’t you curious about what I have been up to?!

Life is surprisingly natural for me right now. It’s like my undergrad except with boys, and a deep rooted desire not to gain the forty pounds of depression weight. Which my current commitment to the gym and ciggs replacing late night munchies seem to be doing the trick. And with my ease with lunch time conversation topics on politics and social policy, I am beginning to realize that maybe *gasp* I wasn’t accepted to Oxford as a pity case. Maybe I really do belong here?!

Wait a min, I’ll tell you the definite answer after I read the remaining 596 pages.

But of course, you can take the girl out of Greenwich Village but you can’t take the Greenwich Village out of the girl. Went to the LGBT University meeting this evening—which was basically a meat/meet market for the gay men to check out the year’s talent. But interestingly enough, I cannot tell you how many gay boys walked up to me and asked me my sexuality.

But as you know with me, I hate any sort of commitment—even if it is pigeon-holing myself into a category that I know I fit the definition of exactly. No questions required. Yes, I am straight. I want to breed babies and use my ovaries as my get-out-of-jail-free card—the Feminine Mystique be damned! I failed at lesbianism in college—even though I tried to wear wife beaters and baggy jeans and ended up drunkenly kissing my friends. But, I also wore wife beaters, baggy jeans in college, and still have that nasty habit of drunkenly kissing my (both male and female) friends as a holdover. So, I’m straight-ish, right?

So I came to a compromise with myself, “I’m just a slut. I like to keep my options open” was the reply that came out.

But considering my performance on Saturday night, maybe it is a bit too early cluing strangers into my behavior. I mean, I don’t want a reputation. Or do I?