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Coming to college was a scary scary experience. I was moving from a rather dull suburban environment to a the raucous, frenetic atmosphere of New York City. How could I possibly find a place among the thousands and thousands of occupied individuals that inhabited Manhattan? I didn’t really know what to expect, and I had heard that sometimes, even among the bevy of orientation activities and organized group outings, it was difficult to find a niche. I had also just come out of a very serious and very long relationship, which I had abandoned willingly, giving the reason that “dating was a key ingredient of college social life.” Who was I trying to be, my high school guidance counselor? Now that I was actually talking the plunge into college social life, I wasn’t so confidant that I would find “the one,” that intangible perfect relationship that I was so desperately hoping college would provide.

I showed up to the first day of orientation with not butterflies, but albatrosses flapping around in my stomach. Why was I so nervous? I knew this day was coming when I would have to completely recalibrate my social network. Breathe... breathe... breathe..... and there he was. The tall, bookishly handsome boy I had always hoped I would meet in college. It was a Tony and Maria moment straight out of the dance scene of West Side Story. I think I must have been a bit too obvious with my slackjawed staring, because soon, the bookishly handsome tall order was staring straight back out at me, with a look of bemusement. He then proceeded to turn around and kiss the short, rather punky looking guy standing at his side. Go figure. This is New York after all. Was this an omen of pathetic attempts to come? I sure hoped not.

Thankfully, orientation week was not nearly as painful as I thought it would be. In fact, I met a very genial group of friends at the Rocky Horror Picture show screening. We had all dressed up as Jan, and felt a real cult-movie kinship. Among the group of Jan-clad freshmen girls, was a Jan-clad freshman boy. After my first orientation boy encounter, I could only assume what I had failed to assume the last time. Although I could tell had that same brand of bookish attractiveness as the last guy, even under his Jan-gear, I could only assume that because he was dressed as a “lady,” he must not be attracted to them. I introduced myself nonetheless. “Hey, I’m Sara, and you are?”

“For tonight, Jan, but you can call me Jason.”

Hm... the name sounded masculine enough.

“So, why are you dressed as Jan instead of Brad?” I was trying to get at something here...

“Well, none of my buddies would come along, and so I decided that in favor of group solidarity, I would do the whole drag thing. I figured why not? I must say, now I have more respect for females.” he said as he kicked off his heels. Literally.

We chatted through the night, yelling over the out of tune sing alongs, and I was surprised to find that conversation came easily. There was no doubt we had a real chemistry, and I was beginning to have real hope that he did in fact like the gender he was dressed up as. At the end of the night, Jason slyly asked for my number on his way out. My heart leaped out of its cage. I had been right for once! I gave it to him enthusiastically, and secretly patted myself on the back for being so savvy. Suddenly, I decided that orientation week was the most fun I had ever had in my life. I think I also learned more than I will ever learn in the coming four years at college; never judge a Jan by her cover.

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