What are you a sissy?

For all intensive purposes, I am. To 99% of the male population on Earth I would seem that way at least. I wear smeared pastel blue make-up, nail polish, and girls pants. I know very little about and can’t stand sports of any kind, and I don’t ever say the word “Bro”… ever. The curious thing about all of this is that I have a very staunch stance on what I believe is ‘sissy’ as well. For instance, I would never wear sandals or say the words “Mocha Soy Latte” out loud. To me, smeared dirty make-up and long hair is the epitome of Rock N Roll. That’s 80’s Sunset Strip Glam Rock at it’s finest. And those guys nailed more females then almost any other archetype of male ever. (I am convinced that Silicon Valley Ultra-Geeks blow through 3 hookers at a time nightly, but they are paying for that sex so it’s not a fair comparison). I think the distinction here is that the perception of ‘sissy’ and the concept of ‘gay’ are blurred into the eye of the beholder. (Eye shadowed or not). To me sharing my bent-rim baseball cap collection with 4 other sports obsessed, porn addicted, high five throwing, beer-bloated roommates seems sissy.

Maybe ‘sissys’ are any and all males that are not like either Vince Vaughn or Crocodile Dundee. Those two chaps show us that ‘Real Men’ exist in both urban and rural environments. (Not to mention that they only eat food that requires a lot of chewing). And well, if real men can exist in those completely dichotic locations, then God-damnit they’re everywhere!

I guess I’m okay with being a sissy. I don’t mind it much… I get called a fag or Pete Wentz a lot, but things could be much worse. No one has thrown rocks at me or dropped an anvil on my head as I walked by a jagged cliff. I did almost get beat up by 4 frat guys outside of the Wiener Circle a few summers ago. I pulled out my pocket knife and told them that they may in fact kick my teeth in, but the first guy that charged me was going to have to be holding his innards from spilling out of his abdomen on the way to the hospital, and that it would make quite a mess in the backseat of his buddies Honda Civic. They left me alone and I found it ironic when I woke up the next day and was able to tell people that they were the ones hanging out a place called the Wiener Circle.