My good friend Peter has recently informed me that the Internet thinks I’m a man. Apparently, if you use this blog’s address in the Gender Analyzer, I come over all male. We had a brief discussion about whether or not the Internet thinks I’m gay because I talk about dating men; it pleases me that the criteria doesn’t seem to be hetero-normative.
And hey, I’m okay with it. I am totally in touch with my masculine side. I often joke that I got the testosterone that my brother left behind in the womb (he bats for the swishier team… what? I can’t joke now? I’m apparently a gay man too!). I like many things that are stereotypically reserved for the danglier sex–like action movies, beer, slabs of meat (heh), and power tools.
None of this prevents me from girling it up each and every day. I have an addiction to expensive cosmetics (Sephora is the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems), and I refuse to be seen in public without having curled my eyelashes. I adore dressing up in high heels and dresses (speaking of which, I’m going to a charity ball this weekend! Eeee!). I love Jane Austen and Margaret Atwood. I freely admit to having seen more romantic comedies than is probably healthy.
It just occurred to me that maybe this blog would come across as more feminine if I weren’t typing this while wearing boxers and lounging in a most unladylike fashion. From now on, please picture me writing in a twinset and pearls. And with perfect posture, naturellement.
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