Once upon a time, I was just a boy, sitting in front of a blog, asking it to love me.*
Then I read this, which led me to analyze my type and platinumize my body analyze my gender.
This was exactly one month ago yesterday. And it wasn't a good day.** Much to my surprise, I learned I was the following:
A Performer
A 56% "male" who performs in soft fabrics, bright colors and sweet smells while doing work that makes it hard to advance to management level positions.
I found that unsatisfactory. It felt like I was being more unisex than an Ally McBeal bathroom. So, over the last 30 days, I took it upon myself to make you laugh, cringe and think harder -- maybe even sing along harder, if you knew the lyrics to "The Nightman" -- than you ever have.
I failed. Because as of this morning, using the same evaluative methodology, I am this:
A Doer
Less of a whore, not yet invited to stay the night... active and playful, with pigtails.
And don't let the soccer ball, tether ball, volleyball? and athletic wear fool you. I'm not a butch doer.
I am now 65% woman.
Sixty. Five. Percent. Really? I post this and I add 12% of womanness? Maybe it's the song lyrics that screw me. Or maybe it's the forming a coherent sentence thing that is presumptively female.
Either way, what I want for Christmas is now obvious. Move over MacBook Pro, and make way for a blog-sex-change.
Starting next week -- is that enough rehab after an operation of this sort? -- I'll be new and improved. And you will see so much content about football and breasts you'll think a corporate merger married ESPN and Maxim.
I don't know how I'm going to change my imagination in 7 days. At the very least, I figure it means bypassing the family tradition of A Christmas Story for some soft-core boom-boom videos.
I'm doing it again, aren't I? Ok, medium-core boom-boom videos. That's manlier enough without breaking decency laws in the District.
Blog. Sex. Change. Three words, one surgery, millions of smiles.***
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*Even when you paraphrase that horrible line it gets better.
Anna Scott: After all... I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.You just can't recreate that glorious Notting Hill dialogue, I guess.
**Definitely not the kind Ice Cube likes.
***No, I'm not actually gonna do it. It's just a little creative license. Just like that part about millions of comments.
