“One of the Guys”

Growing up surrounded by testosterone-raging men only secured my special place as “one of the guys” whilst being a girl. I spend most of my time playing video games, drink beer more than anything, hate shoes with a fiery passion and 98 percent of what comes out of my mouth is sarcastic or perverted, thanks to my dry sense of humor.

Some guys say that girls like this are the epitome of the “perfect” girl; who exists only in their dreams and fantasies. But the guys who say this are either very wrong and unaware of it or they are flat-out, completely lying.

Photo via workinprowess.com

Being the only girl in a group of guys all the time is something any girl should brag about, right? It’s seen as such a good thing–an honor, a position to be envied, a throne if you will. It means we know how guys operate, we can get along with them just as friends and we can talk about more content than what I bought at the mall the other day or what kind of salad I ate for lunch. It seems like a blessing, yet only serves me as a curse.

I don’t think I can or will ever act like a proper woman, though I wish I could. I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not. I am too witty, proud, sarcastic and perverted to be a mysterious, quiet, obedient lady. Truth is… I’m not girlfriend material. Guys don’t want a girl like me, because I will challenge you, sass at you if you bark orders and if we are in an argument, I will never back down, even if I realize I’m wrong mid-way through the banter. I refuse to clean up after someone all the time. I will say when I’m not okay with something. These are the tragedies men face when dealing with me in a relationship. I am avoided romantically because of these unfortunate circumstances.

For years, I’ve tried accepting the fact that this is who I am. I’ve yet to come to terms with this. When I’m level-99 friend-zoned by every guy I know, I have only just learned that it is all about finding the happy median between being feminine and also being able to hang out with the boys; I intend on practicing this. (Maybe, say, playing video games in my lingerie?) Knock on wood, I am sure that a decent guy will come along and see me as more than a friend and appreciate that I’m not the perfect girl, but I am the perfect me.

For the girls out there who have a seat in the “one of the guys” clan like myself, hang in there. I beg you not to change anything. Someone’s going to come along and sweep you off your video-game-playing, beer-drinking, shoe-hating, sarcastic, perverted feet.

The Attraction Tsunami

It happens every couple of months when you least expect it. The huge, deadly wave.

The Attraction Tsunami: n. When five+ members of the opposite sex hit on you, compliment you, talk to you, or give you any romantic or sexual attention within a small amount of time.

Those who look like a wannabe Playboy model slash semi-cheap, fake-chested stripper get this attention around the clock for obvious reasons. For those of us who look apart of the Susan Boyle blood line, this tsunami is of utmost importance and must be taken advantage of while it lasts. Because when the tsunami is over, all that’s left is a significantly less amount of people (like, zero) and even less amount of self-esteem (like, less than zero).

I’m 99% sure everyone has experienced the gigantic wave of confidence and decent-looking suitors willing to bow down to us that happens once in a blue moon. The magic spell lasts about two weeks. Once the hype dies down, then life goes back to undesirably normal. Kind of like the McRib.

So why does this tsunami occur?

While I’m no biologically-specialized analyst, here’s my rationale, in kindergarten summation: The hideous creations of God and myself get so used to being distasteful to the human eye that we simply cease (for lack of a better phrase) giving a fuck. People like other people who don’t give a fuck because people who don’t give a fuck have confidence. And people love confident people. They eat it up, hoping the confidence will rub off on them. Because everyone is insecure sometimes, even the wannabe Playboy model slash semi-cheap, fake-chested strippers. While this goes on, others notice how wanted you are, and people want what other people want. It’s human nature.

Before you know it, there’s two hot guys from your Intro to Business class texting you, one not-so-attractive guy you used to know messaging you on Facebook, two gorgeous guys you’ve never met liking and commenting on everything within your social media, one guy you’ve been friends with for a while asking you out on a date, three average-looking guys asking for your number, and that one “whatever” guy constantly texting, calling, stalking, and snapchatting you who’s always been in love with you and you can’t really put your finger on why.

A couple of weeks later, you come up from under the water and all you can hear is crickets chirping–the theme song for misery and loneliness.

Moral of the story: Enjoy it while it lasts.

Featured image (c) digitalphotopix.com