I Think I Might Be A Boy
For the past 27 years I've been firm in my belief that I am a chick, but now Shorty's starting to make me wonder. He's brought a few past experiences to my attention to support this new theory, and I'll have to admit, the evidence is pretty damning.
Exhibit A: Roy & Terra's Christmas Eve Party; Roy offered us drinks and motioned us over to the plethora of adult beverages spread over the counter. I indicated that I'd prefer a beer. Shorty tried to urge me to have a glass of wine, which I would normally go for but, honestly, at that time a cold Corona sounded really good. I didn't realize it at the time, but, while all the other women were in the living room in their cute little dresses, drinking wine and really nice champagne punch and talking about whatever it is that girls talk about when they get together in small herds, I was in the kitchen with the guys, in my black pinstriped dress pants and a sweater, drinking beer and talking about snowmachines, football and Arctic Man. (In my defense, I was having a kick ass hair nite, I had on my new jewelry that Shorty bought me for Christmas and the sweater was a fitted pale blue v-neck, so I was showing off a tan and a tiny bit of cleavage. Tasteful cleavage, not porno cleavage.)
Exhibit B: UFC vs Girl Party; I declined an invitation to one of those girly purse parties where everyone sits around, munches tiny sandwiches and ooohs and aaahhhhs over cute little purses (At least, I think that's what goes on - it can't really be much more exciting than that.) in favor of sprawling in front of the TV with a plate full of meatballs and a beer and watching a UFC fight on pay-per-view. That's right, I would rather see a couple of guys pounding on each other than be trapped in a room with giggling, simpering females fighting over an ugly piece of leather.
Exhibit C: Softball season; I turn into a boy during softball season. I'm dirty, dusty, and I'm always at the softball complex playing ball, teasingly insulting the umps and other players and spitting seeds. I schlump around with my hair pulled back, a visor on my head, Oakleys perched on my nose and my idea of after-game down time is meeting up with our softball buddies at the Red Fox for a beer and bragging session about awesome catches and ripping balls past the outfielders. Sometimes I'll throw on a clean shirt, but most of the time we just show up in our stinky softball clothes.
Exhibit D: Boxing; Since Shorty got me thinking on the subject, I've been comparing my behavior to that of other chicks, and I've noticed that I act a little differently at Thursday Night Fights. Yeah, I get dressed up, fix my hair and slap on some make-up, but that's pretty much where the similarities end. You'll see other girls sitting at their tables checking out guys, drooling over a hot boxer's chest and sipping girly Smirnoff watermelon drinks as they plot their next foray past a table of cute boys and into the bathroom. I'll be the chick at the front of the table washing my burger down with a beer and screaming, "UPPER CUT!! USE YOUR UPPER CUT," " COME ON, PRINCESS, HIT HIM," or "PICK UP YOUR SKIRT AND THROW A DAMN PUNCH, SALLY!!!" I think that's why Shorty agreed to start reffing the matches - he gets a little more distance from me that way.
Exhibit E: Morning TV; While other chicas have E! News or the Regis and Kelly show for background noise while they get ready in the morning, I listen to Sports Center and Cold Pizza. While I will admit to a rather embarrassing addiction to gossip blogs, US Weekly and I can tell you that K-Fed's pathetic attempt at a rap album is the joke of the Internet (and rightly so!), Sienna Miller and Jude Law are apparently still having issues, if recent pictures of her snuggling up to Hayden Christensen are any indication, and Jessica needs to bail on the Maroon 5 duder and go back to Nick, who is incredibly hot, sweet and loves her, I'd rather be talking about the Steelers' chances on taking the Super Bowl and the fact that, while Lofa Tatupu is a great player in his own right and may generally play a little closer to the front line and the 'action,' I think Troy Palomalu will be more of a force in the backfield, picking off passes and laying bitches out. (On a side note, I still think it was garbage that Antonio Davis got a 5 game suspension for rushing into the stands. He saw some commotion going on around his wife - give the guy a break!)
Exhibit F: The above picture of me after a soccer game; My hair's pulled back, I'm sweaty and nasty, and I really think I look like a boy. None of the other chicks on my team looked as masculine and gross. Hell, Mel even had cute little pigtails going on! (I'd include the whole team photo, but I'm not sure how excited everyone would be at the prospect of being immortalized on La Blog.)
Now Shorty's got me all paraniod and freaked out. I've been disecting my behavior and actions and now I think I'm developing a complex. Maybe a nice pizza and a cold beer will help . . . . I wonder if there's a game on . . .
posted by Arctic Skipper @ 11:10 AM
6 Comments:
Let me offer a different perspective....you're getting close to being the perfect woman....
Steph, I think you might be on to something . . . . Shorty feels threatened because I'm more of a man than he is?? :P Big Ben played like he'd been partying pretty hard - he sucked the first half!
Scott - I knew there was a reason I missed you! *love*
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