Basically my new litmus test for people is, do they make me hear about a blow job they gave in the first ten minutes of us talking? And if they didn't then I can feel excited.

It's almost like when you're young, your friends take on the romance role, and then guys take on the role of your friends later.

It doesn't occur to so many people that if you don't have a clear heterosexual, gender confirming identity that there are parts of day-to-day life - like using a bathroom or getting your clothes - that just aren't going to be as easy.

I shared a bed with my sister, Grace, until I was seventeen years old. She was afraid to sleep alone and would begin asking me around 5:00 P.M. every day whether she could sleep with me. I put on a big show of saying no, taking pleasure in watching her beg and sulk, but eventually I always relented. Her sticky, muscly little body thrashed beside me every night as I read Anne Sexton, watched reruns of SNL, sometimes even as I slipped my hand into my underwear to figure some stuff out.

My fears came true: People called me fat and hideous, and I lived. And now I keep living.

I'm glad if my work can make a difference.

The current economic climate means getting out of college is no guarantee of getting a job, and no guarantee of a satisfying work life. My Dad feels that this is the first generation of Americans that expects that there children will have a harder time then they did. That's a fascinating concept.