Friday, February 19, 2010
Where the boys are...
I am forever complaining to my husband and anyone else who will listen that I never get out of the house. It has become my mantra of sorts, my sad, motherly martyrdom. I can not log onto Facebook these days without seeing scores of pictures of giddy mommies out on the town with their large posse of very-best-girlfriends-ever engaging in drinking and silly picture taking. I feel a twinge of jealously each time and think, “Why don’t I ever get to do that?”, but then I only have to ponder that question for a few seconds before remembering why it isn’t me at the karaoke bar tossing back strawberry daiquiri’s and dancing to Lady Gaga: I like guys. I really, really like guys.
I somehow missed my invitation into the Fun Girl Club, and that is okay by me. I don’t have a best girlfriend and haven’t since I was a teenager. Even in school, there were only a handful of females that I would consider my close friends. I was always too busy chasing boys to cultivate deep and long-lasting relationships with women. I guess that is why when I’m with a large group of women, I always feel like the dorky wallflower who doesn’t speak the language. I always nervously disappear into the background while trying to use my super powers to will my phone to ring so that I can feign an emergency and escape. “What is it, Lassie? The little neighbor girl fell down the well? I’m on my way!”
Girls are trouble. Girls are drama. I don’t need trouble or drama in my life. I have plenty of both as it is. Guys are no nonsense. Guys are straightforward. Guys don’t want to talk about it - whatever IT is - and neither do I. I don’t care for a bunch of silly chattering on the phone, or having to worry about whether Kelly and Stacey are ripping me to shreds over my choice of outfits or hairstyle. I don’t want to have to defend the fact that I wasn’t the slightest bit moved by Susan Boyle or that I don’t give a crap about Team Edward or Team Jacob. Can’t we just be quiet, have a beer and watch “Caddyshack”?
I have to be honest and admit that there are some wonderful women in my life that I thoroughly enjoy on a one to one basis. These are women who, if given a chance, might let me assimilate into their Fun Girl Clubs. At my age though, I’m not sure I have the energy or desire to go through the initiation process. I might have to actually talk to women I’ve never met, and the pressure to be funny and engaging while maintaining a cute hairstyle makes me tired. They might ask my opinion on their crisis of the day, and I’d have to pretend like I care. Also, I doubt the Fun Girls are into avoiding eye contact and discussing the merits of Mel Brooks films like me.
I’ll keep searching for the right girl. I don’t want to make any hasty decisions when it comes to choosing my female soul mate/best girlfriend ever. I know she’s out there, probably looking for me, too. We’ll bump into each other while ordering a Mexican swill beer at some cheap, dive bar. As we look into each other’s eyes, we’ll know at that moment that we’ve finally found the one…the other one that hates “Grey’s Anatomy”.