I am currently looking for a new place to live.
As a single guy, I don’t need much. Do I have a place to park my car? Is there a place to put my television? Does it have a bathroom?
In short, guys are pretty easy.
(For the purpose of this blog post, we will pretend I am your garden-variety, single guy. In other words, there will be no mention of how I need a dining room big enough for the antique table I bought three years ago. Or how I would like a kitchen with lots of storage and counter space because I have awesome culinary skills. Or how it would be nice if I could find a place with a deck, balcony or porch so I could sit outside in the shade and watch the squirrels run around and the birds sing their bird-y songs. Ah, little bluebird, your voice lifts my soul…)
Of course, as a single (manly) guy who does not wish to remain a single guy until the end of time, I have to consider the female perspective.
What would a lady I am entertaining think of the place?
(So that no one gets the wrong idea, I mean “entertaining” in the most wholesome way possible. For example, we might watch a movie together on my couch. Or we’ll have dinner together while sitting on the antique table I bought three years ago. Or we’ll sit outside on my deck and watch it rain while anxiously waiting for Captain Jack Bluebird to make an appearance and treat us to a song. Or I’ll show her the Nobel Prize I won.)
A guy can look at a place and think, “Hey, this isn’t so bad.” A woman can look at the same place and think, “What circle of Hades is this!?”
I’m not an expert on women, but methinks it’s a bad sign if the lady you are trying to woo thinks of Dante’s Inferno when she walks through your front door.
Of course, it’s one thing to know your place needs to be female friendly. It’s quite another thing to know what exactly makes a place female friendly.
So, beyond “needs actual toilet instead of men’s urinal” and “no signs that say ‘no girls allowed’”, I don’t have the foggiest clue what makes a home or apartment friendly to females.
That’s why I need all of your (my readers) help. An overwhelming majority of you are female. Therefore, it stands to reason you should have at least a tiny inkling what would make a place female friendly.
Share this information with me perhaps you will?
If you have some helpful advice (or even unhelpful advice for comedic purposes), feel free to share it by leaving a comment or two or ten below. Any crazy girl who agrees to go out with me one day will be most thankful for your input!
In an Esquire interview several months back, Clint Eastwood called today’s generation of men a generation of pansies. Actually, he used a much more colorful word than “pansies”, but you get the idea.
Men used to be tough. Now they aren’t.
What happened?
It used to be reasonably easy for a girl to find a “nice guy” who was still a guy. Now an overwhelming majority of the “nice guys” are so weak they practically wet themselves if a female raises her voice to them.
Now, I’m sure some women like spineless men. Clearly, such men aren’t having much trouble finding women. Go to any store that sells women’s clothing and you’ll see numerous guys holding purses while their wives or girlfriends are picking out and trying on clothes.
You can easily spot these guys.
Well, one, they’re holding purses (duh). That’s a little hard to miss. But you can also spot them by the dead look in their eyes. They look like they’ve been sucked dry of their joy.
Occasionally, I will walk up to one of these guys and try to free them.
“You don’t have to live this way,” I will tell them. “Drop that purse. Let’s go look at the plasma televisions. There is a football game on!”
“Ssssssshhhhhh,” they will whisper.
“She’ll hear you.”
“I don’t care if she hears me,” I will shout.
“Look at you! Look at what you’ve become. You make me sick to my stomach.”
“I know,” the guy will sigh. “But…”
“But nothing,” I will interrupt. “Are you wearing a sweater vest? Is that a pink shirt? Did she dress you?!”
Eventually, the wife or girlfriend will make an appearance. I stand back and watch the spineless master at work.
“Did you find anything you liked, dear,” the guy will ask.
“Do you want to watch Beaches when we get home, dear?”
How did this happen?
How did we reach the point where 48% of the men in this country are jerks, 48% are “nice guys” who let people walk all over them, and only 2% are genuinely nice guys who would have no qualms about punching a bully in the face if they tried to take his lunch money?
Allow me to present a few theories:
#1: Everyone Deserves a Trophy (or Why Should He Have to Fight His Own Battles?)
Somewhere along the way, parents decided that EVERY child deserved an award regardless of whether or not they did anything to earn one. This is merely one example of how boys of today are babied while growing up.
In sports, the last place team got a trophy just like the first place team did. Heck, these days, when the kids are young, they don’t even keep scores of the games.
“Who’s winning,” someone will ask.
“Oh, we don’t keep score,” a parent will explain. “We don’t want to damage anyone’s self esteem.”
This might be okay if the children weren’t still handled with baby gloves when they got older. Instead, “mercy rules” are put into place so players on losing teams don’t lose too badly. Some leagues will let every team make the playoffs so no players feel left out. Some leagues choose not to participate in “all-star tournaments” because they don’t want children who aren’t good enough to make the all-star team to feel like failures. And, as I mentioned earlier, every player gets a trophy.
This mentality isn’t limited only to sports either. Look at academics these days.
Parents and school administrators practically bend over backwards to make sure Little Timmy and Little Suzie get good grades. Teachers are forced to give numerous makeup assignments and extra credit. If a student fails, Little Timmy and Suzie rarely have to shoulder any of the blame.
“It was the school’s fault. They shouldn’t make you take Algebra if you aren’t good at math.”
“It was the teacher’s fault. Your teacher didn’t do a good job teaching you.”
“It was your father’s fault. The dog kept eating your homework, and your father kept forgetting to put him in the backyard at night.”
“It was my fault. I was so preoccupied cutting your food for you and changing your diaper, I didn’t have time to write your research paper on World War II for you.”
And so on.
And so on.
And so on.
For boys, this mentality leads them to grow up into “men” who rarely had to face failure and hardly ever had to be accountable.
Losing sucks. It does. But you know what? Losing is also an excellent motivator. It makes you tougher. It makes you try harder.
The boy who never had to face losing or had adults constantly making excuses for his shortcomings inevitably becomes an adult with the mental toughness of a boy who never had to face losing or had adults who constantly made excuses for his shortcomings.
#2: Everybody Loves Raymond-itis
Now, I enjoyed — and still do enjoy — the television show Everybody Loves Raymond. One, it was a funny show. And two, I realize it’s fiction and for entertainment purposes only. The show’s content does not alter my outlook on life.
I am that way with all television shows and movies.
I can watch a movie with profanity in it (even though I don’t like it) and not have my own vocabulary become littered with the sporadic use of four-letter words.
I can watch a television show that features an unmarried couple living together and not think to myself, “If I had a girlfriend it would be totally okay to have her live with me.”
And I can watch Everybody Loves Raymond and not think all husbands are bumbling fools married to women who wear the pants in the relationship.
However, many guys cannot.
Raymond is just one example of an assembly line of television shows and movies in the past decade or two where a weak and/or inexplicably stupid man is dating or married to a strong and/or inexplicably intelligent woman.
It’s little wonder why I see men in clothing stores holding purses and men in video stores carrying some random chick flick.
To them, fiction (TV and movies) is reality.
#3: We are Living in a Metrosexual World and I am a Metrosexual Girl. Err, I Mean Boy
Believe it or not, just a decade ago (give or take a few years) there weren’t personal care products tailored to guys.
Back in the day, we didn’t have shampoos made specifically for men. We could use Head & Shoulders, Pert Plus, or we could use one of the hundreds of women’s shampoos that smelled like fruits and flowers.
Today, there are shampoos and conditioners specifically made for guys.
Back in the day, there was no such thing as men’s moisturizer. We had after shave, which either came in liquid form (i.e. the kind packed with alcohol that set your face on fire) or lotion (i.e. the “cooling” kind that still set your face on fire). The notion of a men’s moisturizer product that improved the quality of a guy’s skin and helped prevent or treat wrinkles was insane.
Today, there are all sorts of men’s moisturizers for every skin type. Want SPF protection in your moisturizer? They have it. Want something to help with dark circles under your eyes? It exists. Want one type of moisturizer in the mornings and another type in the evening before going to bed? Then it’s a great time to be a guy, my friend.
And then you’ve got body washes. And body sprays. And body powder made specifically for men. And two hundred brands of razors to help us achieve the perfect shave.
And so on.
And so on.
And so on.
I’m not saying these things are bad. I’m just saying they are a recently-new development.
Personally, I like having a shampoo and conditioner that doesn’t smell like tropical gardens. I like using body wash instead of unscented Ivory bar soap or bars of Irish Spring. I like having an after-shave moisturizer with SPF protection in it so my face doesn’t look 60 when it’s 40.
I like all that.
But the problem is way, way, WAY too many guys don’t know where to draw the line.
They get pedicures and manicures.
They spend $60 or more to get their hair cut.
They wear body lotion.
(Guys should never wear body lotion. They just shouldn’t. Those who do are just one step away from shaving their legs. And unless you’re an Olympic swimmer, there’s never a good reason for a guy to ever do such a thing.)
Anyway, I guess I’m saying that while some of these things are okay, for the most part it’s gotten out of hand. Guys of today find themselves living in a world where there is an implied expectation to primp themselves much the same way women do.
Show me a man who gets pedicures and I’ll show you a man who is one medical procedure or blujean-zipper accident away from being 100% woman.
These are just a few of my theories. What do all of you think? Is Eastwood right? What happened to men? Do any of you ladies in the audience actually prefer one of these spineless or metrosexual types? If yes, I’d love to hear why.
As always, feel free to leave a comment or two or ten. Oh, and for those curious as to my current body wash of choice (you know you are), here it is. It smells like baseball, but without the beer.
Dear Women Who Go To My Gym,
I assume — much like the women I work with, the women at the grocery store and the female drivers I see in traffic — that you are here to be near me.
Now, now, don’t be shy. Wait, what am I saying? You?? Shy? I forgot who I was talking to for a moment. You ladies are about as shy as Robin Williams in Patch Adams or Jim Carrey in…well, Jim Carrey in anything.
That’s actually the reason for this ol’ letter here. You girls need to tone it down a bit. Strike that. You need to tone it down a lot.
Let’s go over a few ground rules, shall we? Consider this new gym policy. Yes, I realize I don’t technically own the gym. What’s your point?
Rule #1
Unless you are a 12 year old or are the size of a 12 year old, you should not wear clothes small enough to fit a 12 year old.
Rule #2
A woman’s perfume is a wonderful thing — except when worn at the gym. You want to smell nice? Go anywhere else. In the magical place known as “elsewhere”, your pleasant-smelling scent will be welcomed and appreciated. But at the gym, you and your perfume are mingling with an assortment of smells that, when added together, cause me to be envious of those who suffer from anosmia.
Rule #3
Do not wear shorts or pants with words written on the butt. If I wanted to read while working out on my elliptical machine, I’d reach for a magazine.
Seriously, I’m not a prude, but you might as well be wearing a shirt with the words “Look at My Butt” in bold letters and a giant arrow pointing downward.
Rule #4
Stretch at home before coming to the gym. If you must stretch at the gym, could you possibly not do it directly in front of me? Seriously, there are numerous places in the back where you can do that stuff.
Between you stretching in front of me to my left and the girl wearing shorts that read “hot stuff” on the treadmill in front of me to my right, I either have to close my eyes or look upwards towards the ceiling. And either way I look silly.
Rule #5
Put down the cell phone. Seriously, just put it down. If you are going to use the machine to my immediate left or right even though there are several others available, you cannot proceed to blab away on your phone while working out.
I don’t care that Katie’s boyfriend is a jerk. I don’t care where Kyle is going on vacation. I don’t care that there are “barely any cute guys” at the gym (a comment I can only interpret as either an insult to me or the lamest line in the history of lines considering the fact you know I’m on the machine next to you and can hear you).
Either put your cell phone away, or I’m taking it from you and giving it to the guy on steroids who is bench pressing a small village. I’ll tell him it’s a protein bar or something.
I know these rules might seem unfair, but it’s the way it has to be.
Of course, in the off chance you wear the things you wear and do the things you do to catch the eye of a guy who is not me, keep doing what you’re doing. You’ll end up with a superficial jerk who is only interested in one thing, but at least you wouldn’t have to buy new workout clothes.
To the rest of you, I’m going to help you by making every effort to not be so gosh darn awesome and appealing.
You’re welcome, ladies.
Sincerely,
Kev
Except for the parts I meant, everything I wrote above was a joke. How about all of you? Are you appalled at the things people wear, say and do at the gym (or anywhere else, for that matter)? Let’s vent together, shall we?
A few random thoughts about nothing in particular. Pretend to enjoy them, okay? Writer’s block has been hitting me hard (and I bruise easily).
Which Sounds Better, Blalking or Wogging?
I’ve been told in the past that blogging comes as naturally to me as walking. I assume this was a compliment, although if this individual was thinking about a time I tripped or something it’d have to be categorized as an insult.
Still, compliment or kick to the shin, I have to agree with the statement. Blogging IS like walking to me. And no, it’s not because I walk funny. Although, I once had a freshman student of mine tell me I walked like a pimp. I’m assuming this was a compliment, too. Pimps are cool, right?
No, blogging is like walking to me because I blog and walk at my own pace. Others might be running around airports and malls like chickens with their heads cut off, but not me. I walk at a nice, comfortable pace. And no amount of masked gunmen and sales at the Gap is going to make me walk faster.
The same holds true with my blogging. Do others blog more frequently than I do? Sure. Do I wish blogged more? Of course. But this is my pace. If I blogged faster, I might pull a hamstring.
Wait a second…
My bad. It wasn’t walking. The person said blogging came as naturally to me as BREATHING. Okay, forget everything I wrote above.
I have to agree with that statement. Blogging IS like breathing to me. And no, it’s not because I breathe funny. Although…
There’s a Kick to the Baby Maker
I’m not sure what’s more embarrassing about the 50-game suspension for substance abuse by baseball player Manny Ramirez of the Dodgers.
Is it the fact he’s been caught and suspended for taking a substance typically used by steroid abusers? Or is it the fact the entire world now knows that, thanks to steroids, he won’t be having any Manny Ramirez Juniors anytime soon?
Personally, I think his hair is the most embarrassing thing. Thanks to this story, there are thousands of articles written about the man. And most every story includes a photo with his inexplicable hair.
That’s got to be embarrassing.
Why Buy the Cow…
You know what’s not awesome?
Turning on HGTV and seeing yet another episode of House Hunters featuring an unmarried couple shopping for a home. Let me paint a picture for you.
I’ll turn to the show when it’s already been on for a few minutes. I’ll see a man and a woman, and their realtor, looking for a new house. Immediately, my brain thinks, “Here is a married couple. I think they should pick house #2.”
Fast forward to the end of the show. They’ve selected their house, and now we get to see how they are doing six months or so later. This is how it usually goes down:
Woman: “We love our new house.”
Man: “One of the first things we did when we moved in was paint the kitchen.”
Woman: “We finally have a fenced-in backyard for our dog. And if that wasn’t wonderful enough, (name of man) proposed to me two weeks ago.”
Call me old fashioned if you must, but when did the whole “living together before marriage” thing become commonplace?
I don’t mean to offend or pick on anyone’s life choices. It just frustrates me that this has become the norm because it means people like my younger sisters grow up seeing (and possibly believing) it’s the norm. And if it IS the norm now, count me among the prudes who believe it shouldn’t be.
“How can we know we’re compatible if we don’t live together first,” some would argue.
“You don’t buy shoes without trying them on first, right?”
No, no I don’t.
But I also don’t take shoes from the store home with me and sleep with them for a year or two before deciding to buy them.
I’m classy like that.
I'm a cypher, wrapped in an enigma, smothered in secret sauce. Also, my name is Kev and I own this here website.
Should be easy, right?
House A has one full bath and one half bath. However, the half bath (off the master bedroom) is barely big enough for an infant child to fit inside. This is bad.
