Sex! Sex! Sex! Now That I Have Your Attention: Virginity.

Every once in a while I open the paper and see a story I know I will be tackling later in the day. Even before I’ve read it, I know what the jokes are going to be. I know what I’m going to say, I know how people are going to react, I know people will be sending me links to the article, etc.

How do I do this? Easy: I can travel through time — it’s the only way I can survive this job. Okay, okay, I can’t time travel yet. But I do know what’s going to happen when I read a headline that says, “Why I remain a virgin.” And it’s even better when the article isn’t in the Bulletin and is actually in the Inquirer and given a prominent place on the front page of Philly.com.

I’m sorry you’ve had to waste your time reading stupid comments like “That slut needs to be BANGED!” on the Philly.com comments, but, hey, masterpieces take time. (And this blog entry took time, too.) Down below, some virgin-y goodness. For added effect, I’ll be having sex as I write this post.

Let’s delve into the “proud to be a virgin” article.

A recent study evaluating four federally funded teen abstinence programs concluded that the programs, some of them lasting as long as four years, had zero impact on students’ rates of abstinence, number of sexual partners, or the age at which they became sexually active.

A somewhat-less-rigorous study of my own had equally shocking results. You might not have known, for example, that the phrase “proud to be a virgin” gets only 2,130 hits on Google, while “lost my virginity” shows up more than 272,000 times.

Yep. And the Wikipedia entry for Sonic the Hedgehog (character) is about four times as long as the one for hedgehog.¹ Your point?

.One explanation could be that people are 127 times more likely to boast about their sexual prowess than admit their inexperience. I’m getting the strong message that virgins my age - 26 years old and counting - are fast becoming an endangered species.

Somebody I lost my virginity before! Score one for D-Mac!

This is the part where I’m supposed to shuffle my feet and mutter that just because I’m in college, don’t have a boyfriend, and have never slept with anyone doesn’t mean I’m not popular, and sex is overrated anyway.

To the contrary - sex might be one of the best experiences on earth. Unfortunately, it’s also one of the most physically and psychologically dangerous.

I did a little Google search of my own here. Searching for sex +”physically and psychologically dangerous” produces 104 results. Searching for sex+awesome produces “about 9,530,000″ results.

I’ve seen what happens to my friends who had sex for pleasure without weighing the consequences. The emotional problems alone are reason enough for me to cool my heels for now.

Sometimes - I’ll be honest - it’s my thoughts that need a bit of cooling.

Sometimes - I’ll be honest - I read a sentence and my only thoughts are, “What the hell does that mean?”

But virginity has its advantages. I don’t have to nag some guy to call me, and I’m not losing sleep worrying about getting dumped for a cheerleader. No intercourse means no stress over pregnancy tests, patches or pills.

When I was still a virgin, I didn’t worry about getting dumped for a cheerleader because no one would ever date me. But I didn’t know that all the time spent on the phone with my girlfriend senior year of high school actually took my virginity. “Dan, call me at 8?” “I don’t know if I’m prepared to go that far, baby.”

This appears not to be about why our author, Rebekah Zumwalt, has decided to be a virgin, but why she decided to have no boyfriend. What do nagging some guy to call you or worrying about being dumped for a cheerleader have to do with sex at all? If Zumwalt was dating a guy and not spreading her legs, wouldn’t he be more likely to dump her for a cheerleader? Agh! My thoughts are going to get so hot if I keep reading this.

Being within spitting distance of becoming a 30-year-old virgin does not make me a clueless nerd whose palms sweat at the thought of a boy catching my eye. Neither am I a starched old maid who favors tweed skirts and clucks her tongue at the sight of a belly ring, but I’ve found that avoiding suggestive clothes helps keep my behavior modest, too.

If I didn’t lose my virginity when I was on the phone with my girlfriend, I certainly lost it when I waited outside of the dressing rooms at the Deb while my girlfriend and her best friend changed. On the plus side: ménage à trois — score!

While religious beliefs are the main reason for my sexual stubbornness, I didn’t go to some church to wear a white dress, hold hands in a circle, and pledge my heart and soul to remain pure. (Virginity, although worth celebrating, is certainly no automatic stamp of holiness.)

I agree with this part. In order to get an automatic stamp of holiness, you need to send $9.95 to the Vatican and wait 4 to 6 weeks for delivery.

In my mind, chastity pledges are like the anti-plagiarism oaths many students take: At least for the five minutes they’re making promises, they’re not getting into any trouble.

Are parents really this naive? Do they honestly think their daughter is safe as long as she has a pamphlet about teen pregnancy and a pink rubber bracelet stamped “Worth Waiting For”?

I bet they’d feel differently about giving their 8-year-old son a book of matches and a fire extinguisher and telling him to go have a good time with his friends.

Now it’s morphed into a column on parenting. It also contains an analogy I hope is on the new SAT:

sex:virginity pledge::fire:fire extinguisher

When I see Internet posts from girls as young as 13 asking Yahoo “experts” if they should lose their virginity - or how far they can “pleasure” a guy before it’s technically “sex” - I feel like I’m watching a squirrel choose the best way to skitter across a busy highway.

It’s adorably cute, right up until statistical odds turn rodent into roadkill.

Wait, Zumwalt thinks it’s cute when 13-year-old girls ask for sex advice on the Internet? In some states, I think this column would be a felony.

The “experts” advising curious virgins are typically quick to encourage condom use. Oh, good, I think. At least the squirrels have helmets.

When there’s a condom that lessens the risk of heartbreak, eliminates the chance of being used and lied to, or provides certain protection against all sexually transmitted diseases, then maybe “safe sex” will be less of an empty phrase.

When I was in grade school, it was simply, “Don’t have sex. God doesn’t want you to.” Later, uber-chastity speaker Molly Kelly told us something I’ve since forgotten. In high school, I remember writing an equation on the board about how, if you got married at [x], and had sex [y] times a week you would get to have sex [z] times. [z] always was a high number. The point was: You’ll have plenty of time to get laid when you’re married.

Apparently the new idea is to tell people sex leads to heartbreak and being used. Indeed it does! As does dating, french kissing, drugs, being a Philadelphia sports fan and CatholicMatch.com.

Worst of all are the glossy magazine articles that urge romantically inclined ladies to follow their heart. I can’t even walk into a supermarket for milk and come out with fewer than two unneeded purchases; I’m certainly not going to trust my complete physical and emotional well-being to mere intuition.

Oddly enough, last time I went to the supermarket for milk I had sex in the produce department.

I’m sick of seeing people my age in movies whose only role seems to be hopping from bed to bed. I’m disgusted by songs in which young women invite men they barely know to seduce them.

I’m really tired of the disapproving stares of older women who assume my 10-year-old brother is my son.

I would buy a T-shirt that proclaims my moral beliefs, but it’s hard when all the tops my size say either “Delicious Mama” or “Slippery When Wet.”

And I’m sick of movies where the jokes are aimed at third-graders, I’m tired of people thinking I’m an intern at PW and I really hate snappy one-liner t-shirts, even moreso if they’re ringer tees. Hey, this is fun!

For now, I’ll focus on teaching my brother all the things my mother taught me: that virgin is not a dirty word, hormonal lust is no substitute for love and respect, and who you really are ultimately depends on what you choose to do.

And my mom didn’t need millions of dollars in federal funding to do it.

Indeed! Virgin is not a dirty word, love and respect are better than lust and who you are depends on what you do. Then again, non-virgin isn’t a dirty hyphenated word, either, delicious mama.

I enjoyed this column. It was as if someone compressed The 40-Year-Old Virgin, took out all the humor and added religion and made it really annoying.

Rebekah Zumwalt is a communications major at Atlantic Cape Community College.

I hear the cheerleaders there are hot.

¹ To be fair, what has the common hedgehog ever done for us? Sonic has stopped Dr. Robotnik, what, eight, nine, 10 times by now.

Why I remain a virgin [Inquirer]