Hi! I’m a sex columnist. This is because I have more sex than anyone at Yale. That being said, being a sex columnist is not all fun and games. Yes, I have certain responsibilities. The first of these is to remind you, the erotic plebes, of how much sex I am having. The second of these is to guide you, the sexual proletariat, towards the Platonic Form of the hookup, a form which I guard zealously, like a T-Rex over the carcass of a Triceratops with a “Quinnipiac” sweatshirt half off. The last of these is to derive some sort of moral lesson from my adventures and misadventures, hopefully one that causes you, the huddled un-laid masses, to think as well as to be mildly titillated.

The topic of my Sex Column this week is dating at Yale. I think I speak for every other Sex Columnist at Yale when I say, I’m just plain fed up with the dating scene. I mean, all the girls here are only interested in one thing: talking about Jane Austen novels while watching the DVD extras on “The Notebook” and comparing my abs to Ryan Gosling’s. (Unfavorably, if you were wondering.) Most of the time, I have to pretend to be “Gay Confidante Material” to even make it that far.

I mean, not to say that I’m not having tons of sex. You know, I am. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression. I actually had sex while writing that sentence (OK, the first three words were foreplay, but who’s counting). As a modern guy at Yale, I want something more. I want to date somebody. Maybe this is all Disney’s fault for giving me unrealistic expectations of what college romance was going to be like. I just always think back to that part in “Cinderella” where before drunkenly grinding with the Prince, Cinderella told him her name, college and hometown first. Why can’t life just be as simple and wholesome as that?

Perhaps I’m just looking at the wrong dating pool, 18- to 22-year-old — no, scratch that, 26-year-old (I never rule out TAs a priori [note to hot philosophy TA: See! I do know what a priori means]) highly educated attractive girls who like the same movies, books and CDs I do. What’s that? You like Gogol Bordello too? Call me, 518.225.0821.

Anyway, that’s clearly not working. Even though it’s not stopping me from having prodigious amounts of sex. I need to find a new strategy. I need to start dating outside the Yale bubble. The first logical place to look is close by, on the corner of Broadway and York streets. Unfortunately, the only willing candidate for dating wants me to buy a flower from her instead of my giving one to her. I am uncomfortable with this novel reversal of gender roles and feel slightly emasculated.

It seems I’ll have to cast my net a bit farther afield. My next date is with a hot townie chick. “Hot” in that she just emerged from an incubator, “townie” in that I took her from her love nest on the Green, “chick” in that she’s a bird and it was an actual nest. She sings a cappella, but I can’t stand to hear another freaking rendition of “Walking in Memphis”, even when performed by an Eastern warbler finch. Also, how does a cloaca even work?

Yes! I scored a date with that philosophy TA. I tried to be optimistic by noting that our date was the best of all possible dates, but she was a strict Kantian and said she could never have knowledge of my thing-in-itself. I dumped her. Kantians never put out. Not that this implies that during any of this time I have not been having frequent, satisfying, even explosive sex with any manner of attractive and willing co-ed partners. Because I have. Just saying.

I think the real problem with all these women is that they’re not mature enough for me. I need a woman who can have serious conversations, a woman who’s ready to commit, a woman who remembers when Calvin Coolidge was president. In fact, Mrs. Watterson claimed that Silent Cal was her last boyfriend. Finally! A socialite and woman of manners to call my own. She doesn’t complain to me about applying to stupid fellowships, she doesn’t care how I look (except on days when she says I look “too Jewish, Irish or black, I can’t put my finger on which one [Shh! Don’t tell!]”), and post Fixo-dent make out seshes are the best! Once you go old, the lovin’ grows bold (Copyright me. I’m getting T-shirts made).

So now it’s time for the moral. Uh, basically, look outside the Yale bubble, don’t be afraid to date older women, and … you just might end up having as much sex as me. Well, almost as much sex.

Jacob Abolafia is a managing editor of The Yale Record.