Friday, January 9, 2009
The Great Infiltration of 'Guy's Night'
If you're looking for a role model ... some one to look up to ... a resourceful person who can accomplish unaccomplishable tasks ... look no further.
I am here. A woman, who has made the roster of a 'Guy's Night.' Worship at your leisure.
How was this accomplished? With patience and an abundance of coolness, my friend.
I became acquainted with a particularly entertaining foursome; Firsty, Brawny, Ginger and Fatboy through a mutual friend and would happen on their special night once in a while while out with other friends. But that wasn't enough. I wanted a regular invite. I wanted to be "one of the guys." I wanted that elusive glimpse into their monkey world ... to cease being the curious naturalist and jump into a gorilla suit.
"But how?" I pondered ... I couldn't just ask. That would have been weird and certainly would have looked desperate. A "guy's guy" never looks desperate. He's cool, tough and cocky. He scratches his balls when a pretty girl walks by and just belches when asked a stupid question. Or any question really.
Fortunately, for a woman I possess unique characteristics that helped to put my foot in the door. I have little or no tact. I don't go out to pick up men, so I never primp. I drink scotch and curse like a sailor. Most importantly, I can handle going to the bar bathroom without a girl friend.
These special qualities fortunately did not go unnoticed. I scored an invite to Mohegan Sun for a weekend, do to our mutual friend Heddy, then a few golf outings with Ginger and Brawny ... who of course were blown away by skills.
Then ... one day it justs happened. I got notified about the sacred Tuesday Guy's Night plans. It just sat there in my inbox ... glowing just a bit brighter than the other messages. I replied with something cool and noncommittal like "Why not, bro." and rushed home from work to prepare.
First off ... duct tape. Had to flatten out the girls. Boots with thick heels ... gotta get some height without looking girly. Socks for my pants ... need something to grab at every 5 minutes or so. Not too big though ... don't want to intimidate them anymore ... especially since they were already shamed by my gambling and golfing skills. Poor fools.
And I was off. My trial night was a success. We went one for one with the scotch. I talked sports and politics with the appropriate amount of grunting and pointing. If I didn't have anything smart to say, I mocked one of them mercilessly. Cause that's what guys do. "You're a f***ing idiot" actually means "good point, I just disagree."
Now, while I continue to let out a manly chuckle of glee every time they invite me out, and though little has lifted my heart more than when Fatboy said I was cool and "one of them now," I have to admit I'm a bit disappointed. These guys turned out to actually be intelligent and considerate men.
I embarked on this mission to get the real dirt on guys when they're out in the wild ... but the truth is, they aren't overly rowdy, they don't talk about raunchy sex, and I've never heard them compare porn collections.
All my girlhood perceptions are a bit shattered ...