So this weekend I officially became a guy. Ok, not officially – it’s not that kind of blog – but I guess I should say that I got a glimpse into what it’s like to be a guy, and I gotta’ say ladies, we got screwed! Being a guy is the best. That Y chromosome doesn’t mess around!
Let me explain.
I spent the weekend with CB and friends up in Boston, which was relaxing and fun and saw us eating bacon-infused hot dogs for breakfast, because that’s how we roll in Beantown. Also, and inexplicably, my pants are a bit tight today. Weird.
Anyway, we also found ourselves at Fenway Park to take in a Red Sox game, and that’s where the magic happened. You see, while there were eight of us, our seats were separated, four and four, and I ended up sitting with the guys while the girls enjoyed the polite and always respectful musings of the very sober individuals who inhabit the bleachers at a baseball game. So obviously they had a really terrific time up there. Meanwhile, down in The Man Zone, I decided that I was gonna’ go all in. When in Rome, right?
First, let me say this: Rule #1 of being a guy? What happens in Guyland, stays in Guyland, so there are some specifics here that of course I can’t share or I risk having my Man Card revoked. Also, being a guy is apparently a lot like being in Vegas which is something I’ve never experienced but sounds like it involves a lot of alcohol and chicks. So the similarities are endless.
Anyway, here are a few things I learned:
- There are some nuances to checking out women. One is a very subtle nudge to your buddy and then the both of you staring at her while she blatantly sees you. This is key, because otherwise you’d just be staring at someone who had no idea they were stare-worthy, and that’s just a waste. Caveat: You do not want to be creepy about this and stare too long or intensely. I learned this the hard way since I’m pretty sure I got pegged as a lesbian and not a dude by the middle of the second inning. Though I think lesbians have more subtleties than I since they’ve been doing this longer.
- You don’t want to do “the nudge” for just any old girl. They have to be “exceptional.” This took me a second. The first nudge I invoked lead to us all checking out a 55-year-old woman who stayed out in the sun for too long yet looked pretty good from behind. I was informed that this is a rookie mistake and that I’d get the hang of it. The key is to never stop trying. So obviously, nudge two lead to us all checking out a 15-year-old. My bad. Caveat: The rule, apparently, is that if you have to err on the side of the 55-year-old or the 15-year-old, you always go young. This may seem creepy and highly inappropriate, but I rolled with it because, for real, 15-year-old girls look way older these days! It’s tough for guys out there, no joke.
- You legitimately don’t feel bad about most small-medium things. And it’s awesome. You know how us women tend to over-think everything and we’re constantly worrying about how our friends will feel about our actions, concerned about even the most minor of perceived slights? Yeah, penis-havers don’t do that.
- Example Number One: For some reason the ladies, who were sitting in the bleachers, didn’t love having the threat of beer being poured on their heads while listening to Canadians and Bostonians trash-talk. First of all, really, Canada? Second of all, the girls barelywanted to be there in the first place, so this was a great reason to get the heck out of Fenway. Cut to: me panic-texting from CB’s phone to make sure they didn’t want to switch seats with us and then spending at least a full inning talking to CB about whether or not I should go, too, even though I was having a blast. This was the conversation:
Me: I mean, I don’t want them to think that I don’t want to hang out, or that I’m choosing hanging out with guys over them.
CB: Are you having fun?
CB: Then there you go.
CB: You’re way over-thinking this. Also, there are some times that are no-talking moments, and this is one of them (turning to watch the baseball game at the historic ballpark while I sat inside myself with my anxiety).
Also, this trend of letting people make their own choices without spending a lot of time and energy trying to figure out whether or not they’re going to be mad at you later, continued after the game.
- Example Number Two: On the walk home, we popped into a restaurant that serves some killer ramen – and this is not the stuff of poor college kids (or, you know, me). These noodles are legit. However, I started to get nervous because we had been talking about getting this ramen after the game all day long, so the fact that we were now walking into the restaurant without half of our crew caused me to panic-sweat. But bizarrely, this did not seem to affect those of us who actually possessed a Y chromosome. I was very perplexed, but tried to roll with it because I was really liking this whole “being a guy” thing! Of course, I decided that the best solution to this problem was to get take-out for the girls, so I texted them for their orders just in case – another rookie mistake. As it turned out, they didn’t do take-out. Enter: Panic Sweat #2. We sat down at the table and I started to talk about how I felt badly that the girls wouldn’t get the ramen, and how does a place not do take out, and should we just order a bunch and then ask for a doggie bag? Apparently this is not how we do things in Penis-land. Come again? You mean you don’t ruin a perfectly fun moment by creating anxiety over something you can’t control? I’m confused. But whatevs, an hour of chop-stick-learning and eel-eating later, I was in The Zone. And it felt great.
Side note: Guess what? None of the girls were even the slightest bit fazed by anything and really did just want to go home and drink wine on the roof. Win/win!
It should also be noted here that the three men I was with are really exceptional, kind, funny guys in long-term relationships who have been around the block of when to stress and when not to. Also, the “when not to” part seems to prevail quite often, but hey, don’t reinvent the wheel!
So when all was said and done, I must say that I had a blast stepping into The Man Zone for an evening, and I was welcomed with open arms. But at the end of the day, I’ve got a firm grasp on my V-Card with no end in sight, and I think CB is just fine with that, too.