My therapist tells me that I have a tendency to say things that others have difficulty responding to.

(Point of clarification: When I say ‘therapist,’ I actually mean my roommate whom I pay in glasses of pinot grigio.)

Apparently, when I make declarative statements like, “Karma, it’s crazy” or “I’ve been having lesbian sex with men since November,” people find themselves at something of a loss. Awkward silence ensues. It is, well … awkward.

My alcoholic analyst has suggested that I attempt to engage people with concrete and concise questions.

“Clarity!” she exclaims. “Most people work best when directly responding to a question.”

So as I now understand it, people — like puppies — need to see me throwing the metaphorical red Frisbee so that they will know that I want to play with them.

Simply shouting, “Blink if you understand me. Speak!” is not the way to go about creating successful interpersonal interactions.

In an attempt to implement these tools for personal betterment and growth, I will pose five discrete, yet profound, questions that have recently begun to baffle me. I invite you all to ponder these mysteries wrapped inside enigmas.

1.) Are You All Related?

I am speaking to the genetically engineered tribe of blonde, curly headed jocks who have begun to appear in nomadic packs around campus. Traveling in groups of no fewer than four, these creatures are drawn to grassy open spaces and somehow absorb vital nutrients from their direct and extended exposure to the sun. Recent sightings have been made on both Old Campus and Cross Campus. It should also be noted that the entirety of this species of Homo-Wealllookalikeians is looking for its shirts. I don’t know if they lost them in some type of mating ritual or if — like elephants with ivory tusks — they are actually being stripped of their clothing. Perhaps a social awareness group on campus should look into this phenomenon because come winter these boys might want to cover up.

2.) But Really, Who Are You?

To the strangers who somehow single me out while shopping a random seminar (that they will never take) and then proceed to talk at me the whole time: Complete strangers make me nervous. Unexpected small talk, outside of prescribed and unavoidable social situations, actually makes me want to cry. Can you smell my fear? Despite my love of sunglasses, earphones and a dirty undershirt, still you sit next to me. At every pause in the professor’s Reading-Rainbow-like-rendition of the syllabus you spew whispered witticisms at me. This is not being friendly. In fact it is the opposite. You are talking to a perfect stranger for a reason: You need friends. To be fair, I do not think I am cut out for the job.

3.) Aren’t You a Grown-Ass Man?

To the toilet cloggers, ballscratchers and biyatches who can not hold their liquor, over the past week or so I have had three seminal interactions with individuals who possess male genitalia with some kind of developmental glitch. Two days into school it was the guy who tried his best to convince me that, “it definitely wasn’t me who clogged the toilet.” Turning dark crimson and stuttering he explained that, “I just found it that way.” But really: claim your sh*t, call maintenance and let us at least pretend like we are grown. Then there was the gentleman outside the dining hall Sunday morning. He stood there for a solid five minutes and shamelessly scratched at his sac the entire time he spoke to me. The only thing missing from this Discovery Channel genital excavation was Geraldo. You are 20 years old — stop scratching your balls! Finally, one of the boys who I share a bathroom with booted all over the place this weekend: floor, sink, toilet, trash, shower — even the shower caddy. We are seniors. What have you been doing these past three years?

4.) Is That the Sound of a Dying Giraffe?

True or false — a good majority of the a cappella auditions taking place around campus sound an awful lot like a wild animal in distress. Living in Saybrook, there is no peace for those of us who are not deaf. I feel deeply for the members of these a cappella groups. They are actually trapped inside a confined space with the creatures that are purposefully producing this potentially eardrum-rupturing racket. I personally do not believe in promoting or perpetuating violence — but I could see how new rush rules could be implemented to allow for tranquilizer darts to be used in extreme audition situations. For the good of the community someone should just put these “singers” out of their excruciating pain.

5.) Are You Really Doing What I Think You Are Doing?

Late last night I walked home through the promenade section of Pierson (D-port dining hall on one side and that single story Pierson building on the other). There, just inside a wide open, un-curtained, first floor window were two people having Silent Movie Neanderthal Sex. I walked by and my brain actually could not process the shapes correctly at first. I circled back and there they were, with the bed fixed at precise window-ledge height: a pair of legs on the bottom just laying there completely motionless and then a big ol’ pair of hairy man legs hanging off the edge of the bed just a rockin’ back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. There was absolutely no sound coming from the open window: no sighs, no shrieks, not even a single bed spring squeak. The only thing that disrupted the Silent Era Film aesthetic was the not so successfully stifled sniffles coming from the voyeur — yours truly. I was laughing so hard I just laid on the ground and cried. Luckily, I did not pee my pants.

The next time you find yourself staring blankly at me, feel free to “free-response” to any of the above questions you find particularly appealing. With the exception of my sacred seminar time, I swear, I want to play with you.

Jana Sikdar enjoys non-Silent Neanderthal Sex. Voyeurs optional: you can sign up online at