I’ve decided I am a terrible member of the gay community. Beside the fact that I prefer the sexual company of men, I have zero tolerance for fashion, rainbows, clubbing, drag queens (besides thinking they’re hysterical), Britney, Aguilera, ABBA or most anything else that is stereotypically associated with gay people. In fact, I sometimes loathe the people who flaunt their sexual preference with a swagger, hand gesture or lisp for merely reflecting that archetype upon my own lifestyle. I love baseball, football, beer, T-shirts, loose-fitting jeans (OK, so I’m one of those Bruce Vilanch gays), all music – including Eminem – and the emotional company of women and straight men. But, beside my adoration for musical theater and Barbra Streisand, I consider myself gay only because of the partners I’ve had.

But if there’s one group of people I hate more than gay people, it’s the gay-straights. You may have heard of them. “Metrosexuals,” as they’ve come to be called, have infiltrated gay life and have made my own life a living hell. It’s easy to spot a queen. It’s harder, if not impossible, to spot a king in queen’s clothing.

I, quite frankly, blame the demonic show, “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy,” a show whose entire point is to make straight men gay-acting. This show of Satan takes a regular schlub and has five of the gayest gays in the world attack him and make him – that’s right! – gay. Well, OK, not gay, but from clothes to food to decor, the “straight guy” is made over using the chic our society has stereotyped gays for controlling. To which I can only say, “Damn them!”

This show and the new trend of ambiguity have made the life of this gay man damn near unbearable. It’s hard enough finding a gay guy who’s cool enough for me to date, but to meet a guy who dresses, acts and appears gay – but is really straight – is so irritating, so infuriating, I don’t know what to do.

I want a guy who’ll watch “Lord of the Rings” with me, perhaps play a little “Super Smash Bros.” afterward and later want to go to a Red Sox game. And that’s totally cool if the dude is straight and it’s just a friendship thing, but guys, you need to point this out to me. If it’s going to be one of those friendship things, I need to know immediately. I suggest a scarlet “S,” just so I don’t mistake you for dateable material.

I’m tired of walking down Commonwealth Avenue and feeling like I’m the straightest guy in the world. I’m tired of feeling so overwhelmed by “gaydom” that I curl up in my room because I at least know the sexuality of my other suitemates (they’re all straight, thank God!). I like having the separation between my gay and straight friends. It’s like giving me a slice of pie that appears to be blueberry, letting me think it’s blueberry pie, waiting until I take a bite of the pie and then telling me it’s a ham quiche. That might be the worst analogy of all time, but you get my point. I don’t want a quiche when I’m expecting blueberry pie!

All right, I don’t really hate gay people. I’ll refine that statement. I wish for the same things every other man wishes for, namely happiness, love, success and family. But I’m just Brad, a junior, who likes to sing, act, read and be stupid with friends. And I happen to be homosexual.

I’m gay, angry, overwhelmed, most severely single and I just wish someone would steer me in the right direction. So make things easier on me, guys, and let me know right off the bat which way you swing.

This originally appeared in The Daily Free Press at Boston University.