Situational Friends, Part 2: Success!

Remember my situational friends? Recently, I've come out to two of them--people that happen to be ones I'd like to get to know better. One person discovered I was asexual through Facebook, which is a-ok with me. The other asked me about some of my activism experiences, and it only made sense to bring up the stuff I've done with asexual visibility. I gave them both AVEN pamphlets, and they seemed interested without making a huge deal about it. Success, I'd say!

And related, something I've realized about coming out as asexual (that is unique to lesser-known orientations): It really helps to mention, as early as possible, that you are not the only asexual in the world. As obvious as it may be to readers of this blog, many people will not be aware of the fact. Well-meaning but uninformed people may assume, unless they're told otherwise, that "asexual" is a word you made up to describe only yourself. Of course, if this was the case, it would still be worthy of respect, although sadly, that respect might be harder to get. Most people have no idea that asexuals have online communities and meetups. They're often very fascinated by this, and not in a bad way. When I've talked to people about my various interactions with other asexuals, they start seeing asexuality as more of "a thing". There's power in numbers, but those numbers don't necessarily have to be in the room with you. Sometimes just mentioning them is enough.

/Captain Obvious, signing out. But before I do, here's a link I found that's quite relevant to my last post on dating: Hi, I'm single, but I'm genderqueer and you don't know what that means. The title alone is just...yes. Awesome.

Coming out to those "situational friends"...or not.

You may have a few of them: Situational friends. People whom you primarily see within the context of one activity. I've had many of them from work, classes, groups, volunteer activities, and Occupy. I see these people a lot, in some cases more frequently than I see my close friends. But no matter how much we chat, they still don't know a lot of personal stuff about me. (In fact, I'm a champ at knowing people for a really long time and having them know almost nothing about me as a person. I don't even know how I do it.)

This is on my mind, because at the last Occupy meeting, someone mentioned that "half of the working group is out [as gay]." I cynically thought, "I can't come out because everyone would make fun of me". Even though I've come out to positive responses a bunch of times, and I'm a big proponent of the action in general, it doesn't stop being scary. Although I doubt anyone cares what my orientation is, suddenly it felt like the elephant in the room to me. I am, indeed, the only person in that group who is not either out as gay or in a long-term heterosexual couple.

Situational friends can be the hardest people to come out to. The level of emotional investment is fairly low, and yet you still have to spend a lot of time with them, making things difficult if their reaction is negative. Situational friendships also often take place in groups, and it's much harder (and in my experience, not the best idea) to come out to a crowd. I don't want to come out, at the wrong time, just for its own sake. I won't lie about my sexuality--the one time a situational friend asked me, "Are you straight?" I said, "No, I'm asexual". But that rarely comes up. No one EVER asks me annoying stuff like, "do you have a boyfriend?" or "why are you single?" As aggravating as those questions (and the assumptions behind them) are, I'm left with no real segues.

It makes me bemoan the fact that there's no way to successfully drop hints about being asexual. I think it's that lack of cultural context that makes coming out so hard and so formal-seeming a lot of the time. In my experience, no one says "by the way, I'm gay" to their situational friends. They mention a girlfriend, wife, boyfriend, husband, or someone they find attractive (of course, there's room for misinterpretation here, too...another place where bisexuals easily share our experience). I can't say "that person is cute" without having people think I'm straight or gay. I think that's why I never told my friends about my rare crushes, even though I cultivated them (sometimes) in order to fit in.

If someone knows me for 10 years, they'll see that I never date or have sex, and they might start to realize that I'm "different" somehow. But even in the case of these sticky situational friends, I don't think I'm going to wait quite that long.

What I'm doing for AAW...

It's Asexual Awareness Week, and sadly, my screening of the (A)sexual film didn't work out. So I decided to observe the week by posting a different asexual-related meme (Asexual Cake, Sexually Oblivious Sherlock, etc) every day on my Facebook wall, along with some explanation of how it relates to asexuality. I believe in the adage, "If they're laughing, they're listening." So, is this raising awareness?

I really don't know.

Is it annoying people?

Probably.

Is it fun?

YES. I'm trying to follow my own advice, which is to do visibility projects that you love. And I do love memes.

With a number of friends, I'm pretty sure they know I'm asexual, but not completely sure. I was hoping that posting every day about asexuality would put more people into the "completely sure" category, although at this point it's hard to tell. But, I've only gotten positive reactions so far, and that's encouraging.

I'm pretty preoccupied (oh God, I hate puns) by the Occupy stuff right now, so this is all you get at the moment...

Reunirme

"Pictures from your post-[alma mater] life are ok too! This would be a great way for your former classmates to see what you have been up to: weddings, babies, cool trips, etc."

--E-mail from the college I went to, soliciting photos for the 5-year reunion

Sociologists keep telling us that Americans have fewer social connections than ever before. But we still seem to love reunions: For school, for work, for camp, for family, for our ill-fated sojourn on the space shuttle. Of course, high school and college reunions are the throbbing heart of all of them. For me, my 5-year college reunion is in the fall. And I can't say that I want to go, due in part to my crippling propensity to compare myself to other people. But my early-20's discovery of asexuality makes reunions thornier still. If the last time I saw someone was over five years ago, then they probably don't know I'm asexual. In the past five years, I have not gotten married, had a good job, had a child, or traveled extensively. In my mind, many of the important things that I've done relate to asexuality...which I have vowed not to bring up for the first time in a group of people. (I've tried it in the past, but there always seems to be one ignorant person in the group who is super-loud about their disapproval, making it unusually difficult for anyone else in the group to accept what I'm saying.)

There always seems to be some new thing...

Coming Out (When "the World is a Chaos")

"Because [people with NLD] lack the ability to take an overarching view of tasks, they experience the world around them as a chaos..." --Wikipedia

Since this is my contribution to the Spectral Amoebas blog carnival, is it okay if it's a little...long? Grab some fried dough and pull up a chair, because an epic post was promised. We're coming out...yet again.

I don't know how much is common knowledge about the autistic experience, but it's true that people on the spectrum have to come out, if they want to be known as autistic. You can't tell that someone is autistic by looking at them. Even if someone seems "off", or doesn't pass as NT (neurotypical, not autistic), it's hard to know they're autistic unless you hear it from them, or you're a professional who's qualified to make diagnoses. I've thought a lot about this coming out process, which is sometimes called "disclosure", but I don't see it discussed enough. Maybe the concept is minimized because of this idea: if you can pass as NT, then you should. Or maybe people who can pass are not "autistic enough" to warrant discussion. I reject both of these assumptions.

I want to be out as a person with NLD (I call us "verbies", although I totally made that up myself), because I want to spread understanding about us, and I feel that life is too short to not be open about important things. But I find it much harder to come out with NLD than to come out as asexual. Maybe it's because while everyone has a sexual orientation, most people don't have learning "differences". And while everyone can think of some people they're not attracted to, how do you explain the way in which your brain processes information? While a lot of people in my life might know I have "a learning disability", I don't think many of them know how it really impacts me. Part of this is due to the fact that NLD is much harder for me to explain than asexuality. My best analogy is that having NLD is like constantly being in another culture that you don't completely understand. With age, you may learn to move more easily within this culture, but it will never be intuitive to you. And, there is no physical place where your own culture exists.

Asexuality means that I'm not sexually attracted to anyone. But is NLD a sub-set of Asperger's? Is it "mild Asperger's", whatever that is? (And these designations are only useful if you're familiar with Asperger's beyond the stereotypes.) Is it a learning disability or a developmental disability? Is it a processing disorder, is it just a different way of interpreting the world? Is it all or some of the above? There is no fictional character with NLD, which is both a bad and a good thing. No one has a friend with NLD to compare me to (I am that friend), although in terms of coming out, that's probably also a good thing.

In addition, the autistic spectrum isn't something that tends to naturally come up in a conversation. In the 9 years since my diagnosis, I can count two or three times. One time, a few close friends were talking about a guy who often behaved inappropriately, and one of the friends said that "he probably has Asperger's". My ears pricked up at this: Mention of autistic spectrum disorder! I should come out now, it might be my only chance for years! But no...no, I shouldn't. I want to describe myself on my own terms.

If I simply state that I'm on the autistic spectrum, most people won't know how to interpret that, especially if their idea of autism is limited to a nonverbal person rocking in a corner. Me, I can pass as an eccentric NT. At least...I think I can. But I don't want to feel like I owe that to the world, any more than I want to feel obligated to pass as an overly picky heterosexual. Maybe I'm just making my life more difficult than it needs to be...but if we don't come out, it will never be any easier to be a verbie in this culture.

Coming out with NLD is also much scarier. It's so scary that I prefer to do it here, in my relative comfort zone of the written word. Although I've written about NLD multiple times on this blog before, it freaks me out anew every time I write about it. Is it just harder to give up NT privilege than heterosexual privilege? An asexual person will still be seen as "normal" by some, if they fit into social norms in other ways. But an autistic person? Not so much. Part of me worries that if people "really knew" how much trouble NLD causes me, they wouldn't know how to act towards me. I worry that if people knew how differently I really think, it would alienate them.

But maybe that's just a baseless anxiety, since I feel like sensible people would more likely be intrigued. People that care will continue to treat me as they always have; it's probably delusional to think that no one has noticed my "differences". Is naming them really such a big change? Yet another reason why NLD is hard to explain are the many conditions that commonly accompany and complicate it, such as depression, anxiety, OCD, ADHD, or bipolar disorder (which also carry significant social stigma and can be very difficult to come out with). The nature of intersectionality is to go on and on. I'm strangely anxious about posting this, even though I'm not sure what negative responses, realistically, I could receive.

In the end, I sometimes feel like I have a certain amount of "coming out cards". With asexuality, I used them all up, even though I was far from done. But coming out isn't just that one-time "let's sit down" chat. For some of us, it may be a continuous and long process, where we divulge more detailed information over time. I am told that for many on the spectrum, our thinking can tend towards "black and white". I can see myself in that description, although the rigidity of my thinking tends to depend on the matter at hand. I used to think that if I could just find a perfect way to explain things to people, then they would understand. But I'm learning that no matter how skilled you are in the art of coming out, understanding is what happens in all the days, months, and years after you've come out. Coming out is only the beginning.

Ily and the Add-Ons

It's not a new girl group, although it would be pretty awesome if it were. National Coming Out Day is approaching (October 11th) and so I've been thinking more about the whole concept lately. It's something I like to revisit periodically, since I find my views on coming out-- what I want to say, and what responses I want to get-- change over time. But one thing that still baffles me is what exactly to "do" with people who we've come out to, but who gave negative responses. Do we just pretend it didn't happen and go on? Do we distance ourselves from that person, even though they may not understand why? Do we try to win them over? There are a lot of possible scenarios, and they're all pretty awkward. I guess that at its worst, coming out may be a way to find out "who your true friends are". But is that a good thing in the long term, or is is better to just not know? I really have no answer to that.

(Me and my rhetorical questions...damn, homie.)

Occasionally I realize things in the shower, and today in the shower I realized what it was about negative coming-out responses that really bother me. And it's not the lack of understanding about asexuality. That, actually, I can kind of get. When I was first learning about asexuality, I wasn't sure that it was quite for real, either. Once it seemed weird and foreign to me, too. It also seems true that if someone didn't buy asexuality-- and that was it-- it wouldn't be a problem because they'd keep it to themselves. The bigger problem, to me, is what I'm going to call the "add-ons". And I'm starting to think that the ignorance and the add-ons should be addressed separately. I'm talking about when people don't just disregard our asexual reality, but add on rudeness, a patronizing or invasive attitude, or hostility. I feel like often, this will be the first time that we've gotten such rudeness or intrusiveness from this particular person. It can be extremely surprising and we can wonder how well we really know that person after all. While ignorant people can learn, what can be done with the the things people add on?

Like I've said before, it's common for people to have no clue how to deal with someone coming out, especially someone coming out as asexual. So I think we're completely within our rights to tell them how it should be done. We might gain a better idea how to deal with the negative responders if we comment on the add-on, not the ignorance on asexuality. Here's an example.

Bob: I'm asexual.
Jane: So were you abused as a child?
Bob: That's a pretty invasive question, don't you think?
Jane: Oh, sorry about that.
Bob: I'll e-mail you some information about asexuality, so you can check it out at your leisure. [I guess for this to work, you'd have to be the kind of person who says "at your leisure". Also, credit: Part of this idea comes from a book about coming out for vegetarians, Living Among Meat Eaters. Anyway...]
Jane: Okay, thanks.

Jane realized her gaffe and apologized, so I think it would be reasonable to forgive and move on. On the other hand, this might be what happens when you address the ignorance and ignore the add-on:

Bob: I'm asexual.
Jane: So were you abused as a child?
Bob? No, I wasn't.
Jane: Your hormones are out of whack, then?
Bob: Well--
Jane: Haven't found the right girl yet?
Bob: That's not--

...And on, and on, forever. I'm realizing that coming out can be a pretty heated moment for both people, and those can be the worst kinds of moments to educate someone. Once they know you're asexual, you have plenty of time to explain further. So I no longer think it's necessary to tell them everything about asexuality right then. My new tactic might be to drop the a-bomb, shut down any add-ons, and then e-mail them some further information, so they can interrogate their computer instead of me.

How Quickly They Forget

I've been coming out as asexual for a few years now, and one thing I've noticed is that people tend to forget that I've come out to them...or at least, it seems that way sometimes. It's hard to know if someone really forgot or if they just didn't process the information. Either way, I can't help but think: Asexuality is so unusual, why wouldn't it stick in someone's mind? And if I mentioned being gay or bi, would it seem to be so easily forgotten? (I doubt it.)

Thinking on this further, it occurs to me that maybe it just seems like people forget because no one really knows "what to do with" an asexual. People make all sorts of different attempts, and some come a lot further to how I'd like to be treated than others. My ideal is a middle ground between acting like I've never said I'm not heterosexual on the one hand and making a huge deal out of my orientation on the other. When someone in my life makes occasional references to asexuality in a neutral or positive way, that means a lot to me. As does making any effort to inform others about asexuality--It really warms my heart when people do that.

At a friend's house recently, I was reading this Miss Manners book. It occurred to me that one reason coming out is so scary is that there is no known etiquette attached to it. While I think the proper response is something along the lines of "I'm glad you told me" (to be followed by research on the orientation in question), this is in no way codified in our culture. Thinking about etiquette (which seems to have a lot to do with avoiding the discomfort of others) made me realize that the person you tell about asexuality might feel as awkward as you do. I think one major reason why people who are usually open-minded can be so dismissive of asexuality is that the existence of a whole sexual orientation they don't know about makes them self-conscious about their lack of knowledge. If asexuality doesn't exist, then they can still think they know everything. Few people let go of their assumptions easily.

That's just one reason why I remain such a proponent of "passive" coming-out methods--the letter, e-mail, or blog post, for example. In America, being a straight-shooter is often what we aim for. But it was comforting to read Miss Manners and see that sometimes being a bit evasive is exactly what "should" be done to maintain civility. I think we definitely need a guide about what to say, and what not to say (and why) when someone comes out as asexual. I wrote a little about it here, but I'm talking about an actual document. It could include ways to make it easier for the asexuals in a person's life to be open about their orientation, which I think is a big component in "how we'd like to be treated" after the coming-out is over. Obviously that will vary, but I think it would be great to be able to hand a pamphlet on those topics to our friends and family. What do you think would be in it?

I Love A Charade

A recent post from Espikai got me thinking about certain party games and the asexuals who loathe them. You know the type: Truth or Dare, Spin the Bottle, I Never. If you think that everyone escapes these games in grade school, well, you'd be incorrect. I've heard tell of people playing Spin the Bottle in college, and I have personally played I Never over the age of 18. From early childhood, I would do everything in my power to not participate in these games. My MO was usually to disparage the games as stupid and immature, portraying myself as far above it all. This was a line I held from grade school until college. But, no one ever seemed to find it odd: While I would rope unsuspecting friends into Monkeys-in-a-Barrel tournaments, I was much too adult and mature to play I Never.

The game I feared most wasn't actually a game, but a sort of ritual that my sorority had. At our chapter meetings, someone would get into "the hot seat" for a few minutes and field no-holds-barred questions from the rest of the group. Of course, most of the questions involved guys and sex. Unlike some other groups, our sorority didn't really have any hazing, so maybe this event was a sort of substitute. No one ever seemed to express any disapproval of it. And even though I found the activity to be somewhat cruel, I didn't speak up against it either; I didn't want to be thought of as a spoilsport, a prude, or someone with something to hide. Even though these were people I trusted and a community I cared about greatly, at the time, I wasn't yet out as asexual. My sexual inexperience seemed so beyond the pale that I couldn't risk bringing it up. Every meeting, a different person was called on, and I would always dread the moment. However, and here's the odd part again: I was never called on. Even when there was an, "Okay, who's never been called?", it was still never me. We were a very small group and it was impossible that people would not know that I'd never been in the hot seat. And I think I might have been the only person who was spared. Whether it was an oversight or an intention, I was allowed to keep my secret.

Why are these sorts of games so popular? I think it's because we really want to know what's going on in other people's sex lives. Not necessarily because we want to gossip about it, but because we want to share experiences and see if ours are normal. However, we got the notion somewhere that it's inappropriate to have honest conversations about these topics, and so we couch them in awkward and embarrassing games. No one wants to admit that they might be seriously interested about the subject of their friends' virginity. At least, this is one theory. A more cynical theory is that having people air their sex lives semi-publicly can have the effect of fostering conformity or policing a group, and emphasizing what is "okay" to say and what should be kept secret. People with more "standard" sexual experiences might be more willing to talk about them (or be honest about them), leaving people with more "non-standard" experiences more likely to be quiet about theirs.

It's been going on 5 years since I realized I was asexual, and no one has asked me to play any of these games. As an adult, Apples to Apples seems to be the standard, rather than Truth or Dare, and thank goodness for that. However, I almost wish I could go back to the hot seat, because my reaction today would not be the same as it was then. First of all, I would speak up and say that I didn't think it was a good idea; that if we wanted to tell people our secrets, we should be encouraged to do it of our own volition. I would tell people that for me, the innocent "who do you have a crush on?" question doesn't resonate with the chummy sense of inclusion that it might for others. I would say that for me, it was a question I've always feared, and explain why that was. I would ask why we were assuming that everyone in the group was straight, and why there was an atmosphere where it would be hard to admit that you weren't. At the time, I didn't know any better than to keep my mouth shut. But now? I would still rather play Monkeys in a Barrel than I Never, but if it came, I'd try to face it stoically, and use it as a chance to get people to rethink their assumptions about sexuality. It would be worth a try, and quite possibly, this would make everyone lose interest in the game anyway. Charades, anyone?

Dude. Let Me Eat My Couscous!

I'm vegetarian. Have been for about ten years now. Even if this means going to France and eating mostly couscous, or going to Japan and eating mostly ice cream, it doesn't bother me. I've eaten a lot of good things, a lot of weird things, and as long as vegetarian meatballs and buffalo wings continue to be produced, I will be content to never eat meat again for as long as I live.

That said, when you're vegetarian, there's also a small "coming out" that garners reactions-- but there are only two. It usually happens when I'm eating with a group of omnivores that I am acquaintances with. They'll see me ordering or eating something without meat, and ask if I'm vegetarian. "Yep", I'll say, wanting to get on with whatever conversation we were having. But it can't end there. People usually ask why I'm vegetarian, and I'll give a short answer. They process this, and then the perpetual two responses come. Number one: "I was a vegetarian for ___ years." "I don't eat red meat." "I only eat things that are grown locally." etc. So they're not vegetarian, but they're trying to show that they relate to my choice in some way. Number two is something like: "I could NEVER be vegetarian!" "But steak is soooo good!" "You mean you don't eat ANY meat?" and so forth. They seem to want me to admit that yeah, I have tripped up and had a few bacon cheeseburgers-- but the thing is, I never have. They seem frustrated, and are left grasping at...what, exactly?

I was discussing this with my mom, a "pescatarian", someone who eats fish but no other meat. She described the two responses as "I'm good like you" or "You're bad like me". The moral judgement is totally assumed; I don't care about judging people at that moment, just eating my couscous in peace. Asexuals are very familar with the "You're bad like me" response. ("You mean you NEVER have sex?" "Do you masturbate?" etc) However, my mom noticed, no one declares to us that they're trying to cut down on sex. Why do people think we're being holier than thou when we're really just being ourselves? Unlike vegetarianism, a choice I made to, apparently, be better than you (it's obviously all about you, by the way), we didn't choose to lack sexual attraction. Do people still feel bad and shameful for having sexual deisre? Since I don't, I wouldn't know. However, considering how messed up our culture can be about sex (oh, Gethen!) I wouldn't put it past us.

Oh yeah, I guess there is a third response, although it's not too common: "You're vegetarian? Me too!"

Good Intentions, Still Annoying

Warning: Spoilers ahead for The L-Word's final season, if you're like me and wait for things to come out on DVD...

So, I was watching some episodes of The L-Word's final season. My favorite character on the show, Max, is a female-to-male transsexual who recently found out he was 4 months pregnant (yeah...the show has gotten extremely soapy). When he goes to meet his friends at their usual hangout, Jenny says that he should be proud to be a mother and that he looks beautiful. Max storms away crying. If this had come from anyone besides Jenny, who seems to only be concerned with herself lately, this would be a classic example of good intentions gone awry. We know our friend is upset about his accidental pregnancy, so we try to make him feel better...and end up only making him feel worse. In other episodes, people keep referring to Max with female pronouns or even reduce him to an inanimate object. I thought that some sort of list was definitely needed, like "cool and uncool things to say to transpeople" (they would not be very different from cool and uncool things to say to anyone else). This got me thinking...we talk a lot about the uncool things people have said about our asexuality, but what are some cool things that they could be replaced with?

Once I started on this train of thought, I realized that a large proportion of the unwanted things people say when we come out are actually attempts to make us feel better. Maybe this is obvious, but since I tend to assume everyone knows the same things I know, it took me awhile to figure out. Being told "You're just a late bloomer" is supposed to give us hope, as is "You just haven't found the right person yet." If the other person can convince us that asexuality doesn't exist, we're supposed to find that a huge relief. Uh...no. Someone with little understanding of asexuality might think it's a negative thing, and assume that we want to be talked down off the edge of identifying as such.

What to say to asexuals is nothing that's going to "make us feel better". I think the perfect response to someone who comes out is "Okay, thanks for telling me". We don't want to be complimented, unless it's on our moxie for telling you. When I was told emphatically "But! Straight men would want to date you!", I was exasperated. But it was the same as Jenny telling Max that he was a beautiful mother. The person was trying to make me feel desirable, but it didn't work. By the time most people come out, they're pretty positive that they're asexual. And any protest to the contrary just hits the wall of our identities, new as they may be.

Back in January, Rainbow Amoeba wrote a post about her experiences coming out as asexual, and she also found that the people she told in her first go-round were attempting to make her feel better. However, this didn't achieve its intended effect. In a comment, I wrote: "What you said about your mom trying to console you by saying asexuality didn’t exist is perceptive and well-said. I, of course, wanted people to tell me it DOES exist, but I know now that the world isn’t ready (although there have been a few exceptions)." I know it's weird to quote yourself, but I think what happened to me and Rainbow Amoeba happens to a lot of us. What people thought I wanted was totally different from what I actually wanted. It makes me feel better to know that people might mean well, even if they don't express it in a way that's actually helpful. These sorts of effective communication skills are something most of us are never taught.

Recently, I went to a work-related training on "Building Partnerships and Collaborations". There was a long section on active listening that was actually pretty interesting. Apparently, we're constantly trying to make everything all about us. It's natural, and there's nothing inherently wrong with it, but we need to realize that it takes effort to really listen to another person without bringing the conversation back to you. I'm as guilty of this as anyone else, although I'm going to try to be more aware of it now. When you come out to someone and they try to swoop in like the savior of modern sexuality, they're making it about them. They're so caught up in being the one to "solve" your "problem" that they don't actually listen to what you're saying. The cool thing to say to anyone coming out, in my opinion, is actually very little.

We Remember Moments

Today is National Coming Out Day, which has a very cute logo:


Even though I haven't written about it for awhile, I still think coming out is crucial for asexuals. (And here's why I think so.) I realized about two minutes ago that there are two ways to come out, "active" and "passive". Coming out actively is sitting people down for "the talk" or otherwise working a variation of "I'm asexual" into a conversation. This type of coming out unfairly gets all the glory. There is also a passive form of coming out, which basically involves putting information out there and waiting for people to find it. When I first started identifying as asexual, I tried to come out actively. But now, I've switched entirely to the passive method, which pretty much involves giving people the link to this blog. There's always the risk that people won't look or be interested, but if they're a friend, they'll probably put two and two together. So if you haven't already, try the passive method. Make a blog post, send people a link to a website, write a note. There's nothing shameful about using the passive method-- that's why I'm trying to promote it. It all depends on your personal style. This poll on AVEN showed that the vast majority of respondents were introverts, for which the passive method might work better.
And, in case you missed it, here was my list of ways to come out in the 21st century.

If Coming Out Day isn't enough for you, tomorrow is the Asexuality Visibility and Education Day (AVED). Apparently, the official Asexuality Day is May 29th (who knew? I didn't). But, AVED is designed specifically for students to spread awareness at their school (Although it's a Sunday...but I guess that doesn't matter so much at colleges. Seriously, I wish I was still at school just so I could spread my asexual missives to a captive audience.). Trust me folks, special days are good. They're what press releases are made on. So know and keep these holidays...hopefully, we'll soon figure out how to celebrate them.