St. Patrick's Day! A decently appropriate time to bring up this post. It's something I've thought about with great frequency and something that I still can't determine my feelings towards. I am a bro.
But not like, polo shirt wearing, popped collar, hat turned to the side kind of bro. I'm a "let's just have some beers, guys" kind of bro. The "I wear boxers and a sports bra to sleep" type of bro. The "yeah, of course you can joke around with me, but expect it right back at you" bro. The, "clean-smelling t-shirt? Done." bro. And I love that; I love being relaxed and comfortable and just chilling out with some close friends over a few beers.
But is that enough?
Is that why I don't have a boyfriend? Because I'm more of a man than a woman? Am I not feminine enough in my demeanor? I find that hard to believe, considering I have the psychotic breakdowns that women are oh-so famous for. I obsess over every little detail when it comes to liking someone. I still sleep with a stuffed animal because I just love snuggling! I do enjoy dressing up and doing my hair and getting pedicures and wearing makeup. And an attractive man in a nice suit is practically orgasmic to me.
I love being a bro, I love chilling out with my guys and just dickin' around. But is that all I want? When the guys say I can't come over because it's a guy's night, I understand and oblige. I'm still hurt a little when they arbitrarily decide to exclude me from a night when they will undoubtedly do nothing out of the ordinary. When my boss tells me to grow out my beard for no-shave November, it's all laughable and I do find it funny, but is that what I want to be at the office? In my work place, do I want to be viewed as "just one of the guys?"
Don't get me wrong, I love that I can be that to them. I love that we can all joke around and there isn't an uncomfortable barrier because of gender. I love that in a male-dominated office, my gender is not a hindrance.
But sometimes, I do wish I actually had those Sex and the City girls to go get lunch with and talk about boys. Someone to talk about how great or how terrible that last hookup I had was. Someone to go shoe shopping with and give me a second opinion. Someone to get a pedicure with me while we catch up and grab some coffee after.
I don't have anyone like that because I never grew up that way. I grew up wearing hand-me-down clothes that didn't fit, playing sports and not very successfully, who played alone in her backyard by imagining up scenes of grandeur and adventure. I had a mother who wore facepaint on Sundays to cheer for her NFL team. I transferred schools and didn't really make new friends, and we seemed to outgrow each other after a year or two when I actually did.
You see, I spent high school in a suit, not passed out in the neighbor's tub. I told all of my secrets to the corners I could find in notebooks, song lyrics, pillows, sweatshirts, and stars, never confiding everything to any one source. I buried pieces of myself wherever there was a hole and loose soil, so I've never had that one rock I can always count on. I've been a bit of an island.
I'm not from "Friends" or "Sex and the City" or "Gossip Girl." I watch football and I cheer, loudly. I love t-shirts and I've been listening to Irish punk-rock all day. I could watch movies for 24 hours and call it a successful day. I'd choose a good beer over a cosmo ANY day. I'll defend myself in a fight, but I'll also be too shy to make the first move. I'll cry myself to sleep on occasion. I obsess over that one piece of hair that just won't lay right. I will smile at a baby in a carriage that passes me in the street, but I'll also curse you out if you try to start something in the middle of Midtown.
But today? Today, when there are millions of people flooding the streets in green, when costumes are absurd and goofy, when there are people singing and yelling in every bar, when strangers give me a nod of recognition and pride for wearing a green t-shirt, when there is beer being cheersed and spilled all over the place, when my boss begs me to let him take me out for drinks because he's in a bad mood, we take shots of Jamesson and have some pints of Guinness, and he ends up telling me about his first blowjob, well...
I am happy.
But not like, polo shirt wearing, popped collar, hat turned to the side kind of bro. I'm a "let's just have some beers, guys" kind of bro. The "I wear boxers and a sports bra to sleep" type of bro. The "yeah, of course you can joke around with me, but expect it right back at you" bro. The, "clean-smelling t-shirt? Done." bro. And I love that; I love being relaxed and comfortable and just chilling out with some close friends over a few beers.
But is that enough?
Is that why I don't have a boyfriend? Because I'm more of a man than a woman? Am I not feminine enough in my demeanor? I find that hard to believe, considering I have the psychotic breakdowns that women are oh-so famous for. I obsess over every little detail when it comes to liking someone. I still sleep with a stuffed animal because I just love snuggling! I do enjoy dressing up and doing my hair and getting pedicures and wearing makeup. And an attractive man in a nice suit is practically orgasmic to me.
I love being a bro, I love chilling out with my guys and just dickin' around. But is that all I want? When the guys say I can't come over because it's a guy's night, I understand and oblige. I'm still hurt a little when they arbitrarily decide to exclude me from a night when they will undoubtedly do nothing out of the ordinary. When my boss tells me to grow out my beard for no-shave November, it's all laughable and I do find it funny, but is that what I want to be at the office? In my work place, do I want to be viewed as "just one of the guys?"
Don't get me wrong, I love that I can be that to them. I love that we can all joke around and there isn't an uncomfortable barrier because of gender. I love that in a male-dominated office, my gender is not a hindrance.
But sometimes, I do wish I actually had those Sex and the City girls to go get lunch with and talk about boys. Someone to talk about how great or how terrible that last hookup I had was. Someone to go shoe shopping with and give me a second opinion. Someone to get a pedicure with me while we catch up and grab some coffee after.
I don't have anyone like that because I never grew up that way. I grew up wearing hand-me-down clothes that didn't fit, playing sports and not very successfully, who played alone in her backyard by imagining up scenes of grandeur and adventure. I had a mother who wore facepaint on Sundays to cheer for her NFL team. I transferred schools and didn't really make new friends, and we seemed to outgrow each other after a year or two when I actually did.
You see, I spent high school in a suit, not passed out in the neighbor's tub. I told all of my secrets to the corners I could find in notebooks, song lyrics, pillows, sweatshirts, and stars, never confiding everything to any one source. I buried pieces of myself wherever there was a hole and loose soil, so I've never had that one rock I can always count on. I've been a bit of an island.
I'm not from "Friends" or "Sex and the City" or "Gossip Girl." I watch football and I cheer, loudly. I love t-shirts and I've been listening to Irish punk-rock all day. I could watch movies for 24 hours and call it a successful day. I'd choose a good beer over a cosmo ANY day. I'll defend myself in a fight, but I'll also be too shy to make the first move. I'll cry myself to sleep on occasion. I obsess over that one piece of hair that just won't lay right. I will smile at a baby in a carriage that passes me in the street, but I'll also curse you out if you try to start something in the middle of Midtown.
But today? Today, when there are millions of people flooding the streets in green, when costumes are absurd and goofy, when there are people singing and yelling in every bar, when strangers give me a nod of recognition and pride for wearing a green t-shirt, when there is beer being cheersed and spilled all over the place, when my boss begs me to let him take me out for drinks because he's in a bad mood, we take shots of Jamesson and have some pints of Guinness, and he ends up telling me about his first blowjob, well...
I am happy.
 |
| I don't really look like this at all, but I still like it a lot. |
Happy St. Patrick's Day, bros!
The A.S.S.
PS--I know this is random and a lot of stereotypes being thrown out there and not entirely accurate descriptions of men vs. women... forgive me. The whole gender issues thing is such a delicate line that I just don't even try anymore. Plus, as I said, I had some drinks with my boss. So I just wanted to whip this post out and do some more bar hopping! Later, everyone! And if you're reading this RIGHT now, GO OUT AND HAVE A GOOD TIME. The internet will be here tomorrow. Go celebrate!
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