...When you pull the meat out of the refrigerator, it doesn't fart. ::cackle::

Not since Erin Gayle told the entire student body of my high school that I was gay (clearly a 17 year old who won't fuck a ginormous, bipolar heroin addict must be more interested in smoking pole) have I felt like I am on the wrong side of a whole lot of whispering about me.

In November, at the end of a FELD happy evening, Hunter (someone I worked with about six months) and I were talking and he said, "Man I thought you were gay, I'm sorry". Hunter is from Texas, I'm clearly a sarcastic liberal from New York who uses big words, and I can see how he might have made that mistake.

Then in December, Christine came out at happy hour and asked the big three: "Are you gay? Are you bi? Have you ever slept with a man?" -- I never realized this was such a burning question, particularly given the number of girls I worked with who I lusted over but enforced the "don't shit where you eat rule". I guess it says something that I can control myself so well.

Two in two months...I guess that could be a coincidence.

In January, at the next FELD Happy Evening, I made the proclamation (see, there I go with big words again) that, "Ok, now that we're at happy hour, does anyone want to ask me if I'm gay?" and motherfucker if this girl who worked in Ringling Brand didn't turn around and go "Oh my god? You aren't?" and she was serious as a heart attack. Have you seen how I dress? I stopped coloring my hair almost three years ago, and I know it's not normal to have a "dating season" like I do (although G-Spot has one also), but there's clearly something about me that is setting off the gaydar of tragic heterosexuals all over the DC metro area.

Three in three months is a little more like lottery odds, but I suppose it could still be random.

Yesterday though, that was the kicker. Dotted Line Boss Kirsten was going to the Aquatic Center to sign up for a membership, and I told her I'd walk over there with her. We were talking about all kinds of madness, and then I get the totally random: "Ok, so are you gay? Bi? I think you're bi, and I want you to meet my friend Ron..."

::fume:: Four in four months is definately a pattern.

I don't even feel like I have to defend myself, because I don't understand what difference it makes to anyone. Mark Mayes and I had a conversation about this in San Diego last spring. Mark is the archetype for Metrosexualty, and has just jumped from one smoking hot girlfriend to a new smoking hot girlfriend. That said, he made an excellent point: even if he is, what's the difference, and what does it change? The only person who needs to know or care about that is the person you're dating. Beyond that, it's nobody's fucking business.

I like to stereotype as much as the next person, and I'm not innocent of the crime I'm blogging against at this very moment, but why do we have to assume that a bachelor is probably a butt pirate if he's not actively working the local meat markets for his next meal? Do we need RFID and GPS to track how much trim people are getting? Should I be using graphs and charts to show who I am and whom I am not sleeping with?

Having thought about my conversation with Kirsten yesterday for all of 90 seconds in the past 24 hours, I decided that I certainly wasn't mad at her, but turnabout is fair play. I was able to get a couple digs about our conversation into my one-on-one meeting with Dotted Line Tom and Dotted Line Kirsten, so afterwards she IMs me:

Kirsten: so image this....
Kirsten: i'm working for you one day...
Kirsten: and you start calling me the lesbo from hell
theAlphaJohn: why would i call you that?
Kirsten: sorry for being so f'n nosey during yesterdays walk...
theAlphaJohn: omg you're fine
Kirsten: you need a t-shirt that says "no i'm happy not gay"
theAlphaJohn: i need to people to not worry about it. i can take care of myself
Kirsten: so why do people think your gay?
Kirsten: hmmm
theAlphaJohn: people usually tell me it's the way i talk if i grill them (unless they're not telling the truth)
Kirsten: no its not the way you talk...
theAlphaJohn: everyone i went to school with talks like i do. we're all a bunch of sarcastic self-important intellectuals
Kirsten: yeah maybe that ... the quick wit...
theAlphaJohn: it's certainly not the way i dress. i'd kill for the gay decorating gene
Kirsten: no doubt...
Kirsten: i think its your mannerisium (sp?)
theAlphaJohn: yeah
theAlphaJohn: i dunno, it's funny because my whole family is like that
theAlphaJohn: it's not like the men are especially fem, but the eisenschmidts think they're the kennedys so we're a bit more refined than we should be
theAlphaJohn: and camping is a sin in our family
Kirsten: see thats it....
theAlphaJohn: but then again, i drink and curse and own a chain saw
theAlphaJohn: i drive a sports car, i ski and play tennis and bike
Kirsten: and basically they try and sterotype you like your brilliant ass hole boss tried to yesterday...
theAlphaJohn: it's not like i have a seasons pass to the kennedy center and spend my weekend antiqueing in dupont
Kirsten: or the eastern market to see poetry
theAlphaJohn: i can count my trips into the fruit loop on one hand
Kirsten: you can call me an asshole., i deserve it...
theAlphaJohn: no way, it's not a big deal
Kirsten: but i had good motives ...
theAlphaJohn: you wanted to fix me up
theAlphaJohn: which is verboten
theAlphaJohn: my process for screening out potential ex-wives is very rigorous. i have perfected it over my lifetime
theAlphaJohn: i cannot let a referral cloud my ability to screen out the psychos, the co-dependants, and most importantly the girls with a foot fetish
theAlphaJohn: that mistake is only allowed once in a lifetime
theAlphaJohn: it's a finely honed skill

In any event, when my time here in DC is done, I plan to move far away where I don't know anyone. I'm going to speak an octave lower than I do now, speak in two syllable words, and sport-fuck like it's nobodys business.