The Frosh Times

I’ve graduated high school and am now a freshman in college. The summer preceding the big college move in was littered with new experiences, such as getting drunk for the first time and throwing up pizza in the bushes in front of my house. Also in front of Steph’s mother.

Now I’m in college. I’ve just spent four years in an all male, private Catholic school. Otherwise known as the place where gays die of asphyxiation due to the lack of oxygen in the closet. So after very careful deliberation, I decide that it’s time for me to start to learn some things about my community.

Up until this point, I had only told one person I was gay. I had known for quite some time, but until the beginning of high school, never labeled myself as such because to me, it didn’t matter. If I didn’t care who I became attracted to, why should anyone else? But that’s going into another post entirely.
As I continue throughout my freshmen year, I decide to set up goals for myself. Not so much academic goals or goals to put in place a path towards a successful future. Oh no. Because that would be trivial and superficial. No, I set up ‘gay goals’.

These included, but are not limited to…

*Going to LGBT events on campus.
*Going to the gay club.
*Dancing with someone at the gay club.
*Making out with someone at the gay club.
*Getting someone’s number at the gay club.

As you can see, these goals were very adult and mature in their nature, and had no amount of frivolity ensconced in their existence in the very least.
So every time I went out, the primary purpose of the excursion was never ‘fun’. Please. It was field research. When I was able to write off one of the missions as complete, I was happy not because something happened, but rather because I set my mind to something and accomplished it [read: make out]. Unfortunately, I neglected to factor into my research expectations the fact that I may succeed in these goals only on paper, yet in real life be thoroughly ashamed and embarrassed of myself.

Most of the goals were easily enough accomplished. Even getting someone to give me their number was relatively simple. Though I did feel very uncomfortable when the guy called me the next morning [at 9 am...then at 2 pm...then again at 8 pm and finally at 11 pm] to tell me about his hill-billy hoss family and how many tractors they own. Other missions, I was not so lucky.

For example. I may or may not have been intoxicated during the make out mission, wherein I may or may not have had my first kiss with a guy, whom I refuse to believe was older than 28, though definitely was. I also may or may not have received a hickey about the size of Delaware located on the right side of my neck, whereupon it traveled from the side of my neck all the way back to the nape like a storm cloud of promiscuity.
Also, it may or may not have been a week before Easter. The celebration of our Lord Almighty, Jesus Christ, and his glorious resurrection from the dead and ascension into heaven. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. And my mother and brother may or may not have been coming up to visit for the weekend so that we can all go to church together in order to worship our Loard and Savior.

One of the reasons I know God doesn’t hate gays is this. For the week up until Easter, the weather shifted from blue skies and warm winds to cold clouds and snowy storms. Thereby forcing me to wear turtlenecks, scarves and high collars for the whole week. God saved me.

God and CVS. They were having a sale on foundation that week, and it was smudge free, so I couldn’t pass it up.

Amen.