Where Good Boys Go When They Die

Yesterday I found myself the only girl in a room full of caveman-like boys, who intently watched the All Star game with beer in hand. Most were still in corporate attire, but ties had been loosened and shirts un-cuffed. I sort of felt like I was inside one of those National Geographic specials. I was the explorer in a cute tan outfit with a camouflage hardhat and a necklace of binoculars observing a watering hole of man beasts alone in their natural habitat. I thought I might get a sneak peak into the inner workings of the male mind and come out of the situation with the inside skinny on what guys talk about when they’re alone (How much they trash talk their girlfriends? What they’re really think about during your heart to heart talks? How to decipher the male grunt?).

Sadly, this didn’t happen. I had to prop my head up with pillows just to keep myself from passing out in boredom. All they talked about was their jobs, the economy, the stock market, the baseball game, the players’ stats and personal histories and this website called Where the Hell is Matt.

Zzzzzzz. Zzzzzzzzz.

So I started asking questions about game to keep myself awake like, “Why is that player so much larger than that player?” and “Why are they all wearing jerseys from different teams?” and screaming, “This is so confusing!” At which point the host locked me in his bedroom with his Guitar Hero so they could watch in peace. I proceeded to play in Quick Mode and earn high scores over this girl names Kelsey. It got competitive and soon I had an interior monologue of, “Kelsey’s going down! My name’s going to be above yours on the bathroom wall, bitch!” I started to notice that Kelsey was all over this game – in every song, in every high score.

How much was this chick over player my guy friend’s Guitar Hero? I was irrationally jealous.

When he came back check on me I hollered at him, hurt, “Yo! Who the Hell is Kelsey?”

Turns out Kelsey’s the computer.

Yeah.

The computer fills in a bunch of names so you have someone to beat. When I still didn’t believe him, he pointed out that all Kelsey’s scores were even numbers like 2,000 or 3,000.

Woops.

Anyway…this entire boy experience reminded me of an apartment party I attended a few weeks ago, a party pad I’ve titled, “Where Good Boys Go When They Die.” Continue

Going Out Style: The Group vs. Just the Girlfriend

Everyone has their own going out style. Some like to make a theatrical production of the night with designer clothes, extras, cameras and mass texts. Others like to sneak out of their apartments at 1 A.M. without telling a soul. Some of us like to pregame profusely. Others nurse one drink the whole night.

This range of styles came sharply into focus for me after an increasing number of party arguments I’d experienced with one of my newer friends. The dilemma every night was essentially this: I wanted to go wherever my friends were going so that we’d have a table, home base, and people to keep an eye on us (safety in numbers). And she wanted to go someplace just her and I.

Apparently, I’m a pack mentality going out person.

She is not.

And I never even realized this about myself!

Maybe I’m an insecure partier, but I like to enjoy a club with all my friends around me (preferably multiple groups of friends around me) and usually with someone who’s acting as leader / entrance aficionado / alcohol provider. I find that this leaves me with less to worry about.

Full article and my second fun poll here