It’s been a while since I’ve last sat down and organized my thoughts. I’ve been trying to learn Italian. And making shelves. And painting. And reading. Did I mention how much I love being on Winter Break? All this free time to be artistic and pretend I’m H.D. Thoreau are coming to a halt as I start student-teaching full time. All of this me-time has been quite eye opening.
I have almost zero female friends. I have a handful that I enjoy hanging out with on occasion and a couple who are my favorites. However, I don’t often get along with other girls. Drinking at a brewery last night with two close male-friends merely reinforced this. I am crass. Down right crude, coated in a heavy sarcasm. I don’t handle crying or whining very well, it makes me homicidal and/or uncomfortable. Men don’t seem to have these problems as openly as most women, which I appreciate fully. No awkward head patting necessary.
Today women are more free to be awkward and less “lady-like”. I was told by a co-worker (in the most condescending tone known to humans) that cursing isn’t lady like. Well, I am a fucking lady.
Why having men as your best friends is awesome:
1. I don’t have to look pretty. I could wear a pair of sweat pants under a cocktail dress and I’m fairly certain they would not notice.
2. The male perspective is freely and openly given. Any risque questions or wonders about what men like or think about? Um, they just tell me. It’s usually so simplistic I can’t believe they can make toast, sometimes.
3. Air soft guns. We spend our free afternoons geared up shooting at each other at an old warehouse. Its such a better stress relief than shopping or painting my nails (which I love). Having guy friends treat you like an equal is so subconsciously rewarding. Sexism is such a part of life, no matter how small, that getting shot multiple times without mercy as if I were one of the guys is my favorite part. I’m not seen as an inferior sex; I’m just another opponent about to capture their flag!
4. No gossip. They just don’t care. No catty cuts at each other behind everyone’s backs. No worrying that they might be talking about me behind my back. Trust.
5. Crying makes them just as uncomfortable as it does for me. If I cry, it’s sure as shit not going to be in front of anyone. We all handle crying girls with an awkward pat on the back and shifty eyes.
6. That one time I cried (yea, sometimes my hardened heart melts), they bear hug me and hand me a beer. Perfect. No fuss. Just a true hug and an, “It’s ok. Here [insert beer].”
I’m an equal, I don’t have to be anything but myself (as un-lady like as it is), there is no awkward chit-chat, no need to be dolled up all the time. These guys keep me sane.