Welcome to what has become my life"

"Scott, do you want to watch America's Next Top Model?"
"Scott, look at the cat, he's so cute, he's like a little man with his little paws."
"Scott, we rented Upside of Anger" it has Kevin Costner in it."
"Tom Cruise isn't gay."

Sharing a house with four girls is eating my soul and my left testicle is slowly creeping back up into my body. I have always thought that I exude masculinity; I mean I like my beer cold, my steaks rare and my football on. Lately however, I have been forced to face the bitter truth that my masculinity is eroding at a rapid rate.

I had originally hoped that this column could take on the form of an episode of Def Comedy Jam. By this I mean that I wanted to scream "men be like _______ (insert: something that makes black women stand up and start fanning themselves)" and follow that gem up with "women be like _______ (insert: something that is so real, it makes people jump on stage to high-five me)." Unfortunately, due to the constants of this column and legal issues, I could not attempt that. So it looks like I will have to settle with sharing a few of my experiences as a warning to all men and also to tell those in similar situations that they are not alone.

Just writing this column is a big risk. In fact, if any one of the four girls reads this they will collectively come down on me in a wrathful ball of used tampons, fingernails, herbal teas and paralysing self-esteem issues.

I have lived with girls before, but never this many and it is clear that these problems increase exponentially. I have reached a point where I am perpetually uncomfortable. There are numerous reasons that I feel this way, but the number one culprit at this point is the abundance of used panty liners. Firstly, I was not aware that girls actually used these oversized band-aids, and secondly, why is there always at least one in every trashcan? Is there anyway I can write a strongly worded letter convincing panty liner manufacturers to put sports logos or comic strips on them?

I have also come to discover that I misunderstood the nuances of cleaning and cleanliness. Originally I thought that cleaning was the act of making things orderly and neat. This however is very wrong. Cleaning is the act of doing a minimal amount of work and then upon completing a task behaving as if one has achieved demigod status.

Now girls have been bickering behind each other's backs for eons. I knew this before I moved into their lair and I figured I could handle it" well, it turns out that I most certainly cannot. Apparently what I thought was a permanent "don't talk to me" scowl is in actuality a welcoming grin that says, "tell me how insensitive Roommate X was earlier this morning and how it makes you feel?" For some reason I have begun to shy away from confrontation entirely. Now I too revert to bickering. Some have suggested that refraining from such tirades displays a certain level of maturity. I can assure you that it has nothing to do with maturity and everything to with my stupidity. I need help; I have placed myself in a situation where emasculation is inevitable. Please consider this before making any drastic off-campus housing decisions. Now if you'll excuse me I am running a tad late for my mani/pedi.