Wednesday, July 17, 2013

If You Can't Beat Em, Join Em

 It's become glaringly obvious that my girl time is not only's almost nonexistent. Even though I desire girl nights, girl weekends, or even a spa day with anyone with two X chromosomes, those dreamy ideas never truly come to fruition. They're but a dream...a wistful hallucination for which I secretly long. Alas, my connections with anything female tends to be few and far between, and the poor female sap that mistakenly engages with me in idle conversation usually tends to find herself trying to escape my death grip on the fleeting moment! I find myself clinging to her...desperately trying to win her friendship hoping she will want to hang out with me. I'm constantly searching for the chosen one that will be my partner in crime as we navigate this man's world all the while staying in touch with our softer, feminine side. Unfortunately, at this point in the game, most of the possible confidants with whom I feel a connection already have their girl posse in place, and very much like Fort Knox, adult girl posses are all but impenetrable to outside forces.

So I've resorted to forging into this all-male battle alone. Well, not completely alone...I'm surrounded constantly by all-things boy. Seven "things" boy, to be exact! Lucky for me, I don't really know any different anymore. After 14 1/2 years of  "the boy, the whole boy and nothing but the boy",  I'm fairly accustomed to the dude-dom in which I now dwell. In fact, one could say, I'm in my element...whether by choice or not is still undecided, but whichever the case, I've become quite versed, and fairly savvy if I do say so myself, with the boys in the hood! 

My knowledge of and comfort with the elements and idiosyncrasies of those containing the XY chromosomes is almost scary. Farts and other bodily noises haven't phased me in years. I'm fairly comfortable in a world of stink no matter from where it is emanating either north or south of the border. I've learned that food is more precious and valuable than air and am amazed at how much the male species can consume. Showering, I've discovered, is simply a formality forced upon dudes by their mamas. And laundry baskets are truly invisible to anyone other than a female. 

I'm not's just the way it is. What does have me somewhat concerned, however, is my desire to, in some ways, be like them! This is something I've noticed recently, and I'm starting to wonder if my second X chromosome is morphing onto a Y...kind of in the same way that girls who live together will start cycling at the same time. Occasionally, I've noticed a new tendency of  NOT holding in farts so as not to offend others. I'm breaking wind and bragging about it...and every now and then challenging my stinkiest offspring. I've long ago given up the need for personal hygiene...I'm hairy, stinky, and dirty, and I seem to like it like that. I often envy my male counterparts ability to not only poop in public but to not even care who knows. And I've even considered the idea of adjusting my lady bits without a second thought! 


In the very near future there may be a need to stage a serious that involves massages, pedicures, beautifully smelling lotions and potions, wine, dark chocolate, and fits of laughter with those that are of the female variety. I fear that without afore mentioned salvation I will need to be referred to as Chris (or Pat, for all of you SNL lovers from yesteryear!) because no one will be completely certain of my gender. 

Until such an intervention takes place, I will continue to cruise with my dudes hoping that my male mutation slows down. My estrogen levels may be dangerously low, and I worry that my fate may already be sealed. So I leave you with the same adieu with which my boys impart upon that is of the silent but violent variety! 

Peace out peeps!

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