OK here's a disclaimer: No offense to gals, whom all Guys love, respect and adore, but there is Guy Stuff and Gal Stuff. This post is about Guy Stuff and if you want to communicate about Gal stuff find a knitting or a "chick lit" blog.
There are things Guys like to do together such as going to bachelor parties, sporting events, weekends in Vegas, happy hours, drag races, strip joints, golf clubs, taverns and pool halls. It's OK for gals to be there as long as they are not known or related to any of the Guys on site. When Guys are together at these male bastions of cultural interaction they feel free. When you look at them being Guys and hanging out with other Guys there is a relief and a joy that encompasses the entire group. They know they can tell dirty jokes, make up ludicrous stories, tell lies, swear, yell, fart, puke, pass out, turn up the music REAL loud and nobody is going to look at him sideways and whisper, "What's wrong with him doesn't he have any manners?" or "Is he like that all of the time?" or "Does his mother know he acts like that?" or "Doesn't he realize he's embarrassing his entire family and every relative who's ever lived?" It must be one of the many positive male characteristics; Guys just aren't judgmental of other Guys after they've had six to eight beers.
Just because Guys are hanging out with other Guys doesn't mean they are trying to pick up chicks or cheat on their wife or girlfriends. Invariably it means they are lounging around with big grins on their faces, their elbows on the table, a pitcher of beer between them, a wad of twenties on the table, talking about sports, movies or reminiscing about something that happened ten to fifty years ago. Usually these are events and incidents they have talked about many times before but because they were usually the highlights of their lives they bear repeating. When a table full of Guys is in a bar or a club that's where the laughter and noise are coming from as they respectfully over-tip the waitress without micro-managing the bill to make sure everyone pays the exact same amount. Guys know there is always one Guy who sneaks out without paying his share but so what, he's just another Guy.
If you're looking for things that Guys do or don't do here's a partial list: Guys don't go shopping with gals for wedding gifts, baby shower gifts or lingerie; it's OK to shop for women's clothes with a gal if there is a big screen TV in the store or in a bar within one to ten yards of the front door; Guys don't go to college sorority reunions, macramé stores, sewing stores or any store with large bolts of cloth stacked on ceiling-high shelves; Guys don't get their nails done, eyebrows waxed or have a massage done by another Guy or male, but it's OK to have a gal pay you for a massage even if you haven't been to a certified massage therapy school; massage is a skill where a Guy is allowed to learn "on the job" because of a Guy's natural "hand eye coordination" talents; Guys don't drink wine out of corked bottles with other Guys, or any liquid that is labeled with words that contain fruit, wine or cooler or any beer whose taste needs to be masked by the flavor of cherries, apricots, peaches or "exotic spices"; also Guys don't go with other Guys to movies starring Sandra Bullock, Diane Keaton, Meryl Streep, Susan Sarandon, Whoopi Goldberg, Jodie Foster, Keanu Reeves, Hugh Grant, anything with sub-titles or having scenes depicting gals ordering Guys around. If the gal has a whip and is wearing knee-high boots allowances can be negotiated as long as no video equipment or photo enabled cell phones are in operation.
Guys also don't play co-ed team sports such as: Ultimate Frisbee, slow-pitch softball or anything involving tu-tus, tiaras or long-toed padded shoes that wrap up their ankles and are the color pink. However it is OK to compete guy vs gal in dodgeball, touch and tackle football, rugby and hurling (Irish national sport that doesn't involve drinking) as long as no Guys are wearing a skirt. After the game it is OK to drink with any gal who is still able to walk. Any male seen wearing tight pants with shoulder straps, ruffled shirts cut to the waist or an outfit consisting of a red sports coat, black hat and black boots can not drink with other Guys unless it is Warren Sapp who has just finished his performance on "Dancing with the Stars".
Well there they are; guidelines on the do's and don't's of being a Guy and how to act when out in public with other Guys. Feel free to update my list or add your own. Being a Guy is tough work and the standards are rigorous. I'll tip one for you, hoping you make the grade.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
What really ticks you off?
Thank God it's six o'clock and the pressure's off. You've walked out of your place of employment and you are free! Yah that's great but you're still ticked off! Or you are still feeling very uptight! Your eyes narrow as you remember that smarmy fellow employee who stabbed you in the back when he told your boss you had alcohol on your breath after yesterdays lunch and then that puke lunchroom drone, who can barely speak English, who hassled you because you didn't recycle your lunch waste into the proper "green" containers and then that fat doughboy security guard who said "excuse me sir but you should have parked in the "L" row and not the "K" row as you know you are supposed to; am I not correct mein herr?"
Man all you want to do is kick somebody's rear end, right? Or go to some bar and get hammered. But then you end up sitting next to that butthead who's yelling at the top of his lungs like he's some kind of real estate heavyweight and he wants everyone in the bar to know about the big deal he just closed. Then there's the bartender who won't change the channel from the Canadian National Curling Championships to the seventh game of the World Series. "We've got a lot of bacon-head customers dude". No problem dude, don't look at this change on the counter like I'm going to leave it when I'm out of here in thirty seconds.
And then you reach Lake Washington Boulevard for a nice relaxing drive home and you come up behind three chatterboxes blocking the road as they pedal their three thousand dollar Fuji bicycles at less than fifteen miles an hour. You shake your head at their color coordinated red and green shirts and shorts with enough advertising printed on them to rival a European Soccer Jersey. You can tell these Lance Armstrong wanna-bees are really hot bikers and are working up a heavy sweat as they pedal side by side with their heads jerking back and forth like a flock of chickens in a barnyard.
Then you look in your rearview mirror and there's a guy so close to your back bumper you can read the Obama label on his ball cap. You can see the sap trying to change channels on his stereo as he's juggling his cell phone with his Starbucks "double tall Americano" latte. A long time ago I learned when this happens you do not speed up because the wretch will just match your increase in speed, dogging you along the boulevard like Richard Petty in the last lap at Daytona. I don't know if it's a vision thing; as in the goofball needs a new pair of glasses and can't see the car in front of him until my bumper comes into focus or if it's territory issue, as in "you're in my space dude and I want it" or "I'm in a hurry to get home thirty seconds sooner than if I just sat back and enjoyed the drive" or maybe he's starting to taste that first cocktail and some sort of withdrawal has already started to settle in. Anyway the only way to make these morons back off is for them to suddenly see the red lights of your back jukebox. When those surprising reds pop on usually reality will set in and the piggybacking push-punk will back off. If he doesn't it's his "bad". He connects with your back bumper and it's on him, as in: "he was FOLLOWING TOO CLOSE Officer, he was dogging me when that flying squirrel landed directly in front of me; I barely stopped in time!"
And then you get home, get out of the car and the rabid mutt across the street is barking at an elderly couple who are tottering down the sidewalk minding their own business. And the thing that really ticks you off is that the dog's owner is standing in his front yard behind his white picket fence that is getting ready to fall down and watering his shriveled sorry excuse for a garden. The couple stop and attempt to befriend the extremely annoying animal who shoves his mangy muzzle between the fence slats and increases the rate of his barking. I can hear the mutt's owner talking to his obviously retarded rover probably saying: "I think it's OK to back off Fido I don't think these 80 year old folks who've lived in the neighborhood for 60 years present much of a security problem, would you lower your voice".
Don't get me started on dogs who dump in my front yard, run unleashed in City parks, sneak toward my left ankle with their teeth bared as I run down the sidewalk or their owners who don't get the part about "Yes all the City dog ordinances apply to your dog too" or who sneak their dog poop bags into my recycling container. Couldn't they at least put it in the garbage? I've been staying up late working on my new invention: a garbage can with mega speakers that yells BOO! when opened by someone with unauthorized finger prints.
There that felt better. Give it a try. If you get home and there's nobody to listen as you unwind from your day just start a blog and unload to someone at the other end. Somewhere there will be a sympathetic ear but the deal is that you have to share their day too. Then we're all a lot happier. What ticks you off?
Man all you want to do is kick somebody's rear end, right? Or go to some bar and get hammered. But then you end up sitting next to that butthead who's yelling at the top of his lungs like he's some kind of real estate heavyweight and he wants everyone in the bar to know about the big deal he just closed. Then there's the bartender who won't change the channel from the Canadian National Curling Championships to the seventh game of the World Series. "We've got a lot of bacon-head customers dude". No problem dude, don't look at this change on the counter like I'm going to leave it when I'm out of here in thirty seconds.
And then you reach Lake Washington Boulevard for a nice relaxing drive home and you come up behind three chatterboxes blocking the road as they pedal their three thousand dollar Fuji bicycles at less than fifteen miles an hour. You shake your head at their color coordinated red and green shirts and shorts with enough advertising printed on them to rival a European Soccer Jersey. You can tell these Lance Armstrong wanna-bees are really hot bikers and are working up a heavy sweat as they pedal side by side with their heads jerking back and forth like a flock of chickens in a barnyard.
Then you look in your rearview mirror and there's a guy so close to your back bumper you can read the Obama label on his ball cap. You can see the sap trying to change channels on his stereo as he's juggling his cell phone with his Starbucks "double tall Americano" latte. A long time ago I learned when this happens you do not speed up because the wretch will just match your increase in speed, dogging you along the boulevard like Richard Petty in the last lap at Daytona. I don't know if it's a vision thing; as in the goofball needs a new pair of glasses and can't see the car in front of him until my bumper comes into focus or if it's territory issue, as in "you're in my space dude and I want it" or "I'm in a hurry to get home thirty seconds sooner than if I just sat back and enjoyed the drive" or maybe he's starting to taste that first cocktail and some sort of withdrawal has already started to settle in. Anyway the only way to make these morons back off is for them to suddenly see the red lights of your back jukebox. When those surprising reds pop on usually reality will set in and the piggybacking push-punk will back off. If he doesn't it's his "bad". He connects with your back bumper and it's on him, as in: "he was FOLLOWING TOO CLOSE Officer, he was dogging me when that flying squirrel landed directly in front of me; I barely stopped in time!"
And then you get home, get out of the car and the rabid mutt across the street is barking at an elderly couple who are tottering down the sidewalk minding their own business. And the thing that really ticks you off is that the dog's owner is standing in his front yard behind his white picket fence that is getting ready to fall down and watering his shriveled sorry excuse for a garden. The couple stop and attempt to befriend the extremely annoying animal who shoves his mangy muzzle between the fence slats and increases the rate of his barking. I can hear the mutt's owner talking to his obviously retarded rover probably saying: "I think it's OK to back off Fido I don't think these 80 year old folks who've lived in the neighborhood for 60 years present much of a security problem, would you lower your voice".
Don't get me started on dogs who dump in my front yard, run unleashed in City parks, sneak toward my left ankle with their teeth bared as I run down the sidewalk or their owners who don't get the part about "Yes all the City dog ordinances apply to your dog too" or who sneak their dog poop bags into my recycling container. Couldn't they at least put it in the garbage? I've been staying up late working on my new invention: a garbage can with mega speakers that yells BOO! when opened by someone with unauthorized finger prints.
There that felt better. Give it a try. If you get home and there's nobody to listen as you unwind from your day just start a blog and unload to someone at the other end. Somewhere there will be a sympathetic ear but the deal is that you have to share their day too. Then we're all a lot happier. What ticks you off?
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