A List: Being a Man

I am man! I lift block of cheese above head!I was flexing (quite pointlessly, rest assured) in front of the mirror this morning and trying to set the mood for the anniversary of the day I was born (you can only have one actual birthday, now can’t you?) when a question popped into my mind: What does it mean to be me, a son, a brother, a citizen, a writer—a man? Is there more to it than just failed workout routines, bad relationships, and bald spots (—and worthless weblists)? “No!” said I, and shortly thereafter compiled this weblist of perks to having a kickstand over a coin-slot.

  • Being a man means…
  • Knowing how to assemble furniture without using all the pieces.
  • Not crying during the tender parts of a chick flick, but bawling like a little schoolgirl when the Lakers lose.
  • Eating a turkey sandwich while standing over your bedroom wastebasket…without a plate…on Thanksgiving Day…while wearing nothing but your underwear.
  • Wearing an extra layer of clothing in order to mask certain specific odors on those hot summer days when you just don’t feel like showering.
  • Leaving beard stubble in / around the bathroom sink and blaming it on your 10-year-old sister…or your 75-year-old grandmother.
  • Saying “thank you” when your best buddy tells you that you look like shit.
  • Dating a 40-year-old when you’re 18, and dating an 18-year-old when you’re 40.
  • Giving biker names to your testicles and then using those same names on credit applications.
  • Thinking of breasts during jury nominations.
  • Thinking of ass during a wedding ceremony.
  • Thinking of pussy during a funeral.
  • Having a Christmas wish list that reads: socks, underwear, “that blonde down the street.”
  • Understanding that your family will always respect the nine-to-five, minimum-wage-earning grunt in you more than they’ll ever respect (or even acknowledge) your desire to become a writer, an artist, or a porn star.
  • Sleeping on the couch because you came home with knock-off brands instead of what was really on your wife’s shopping list.
  • Three words: Eighteen-year commitment (sixteen if the kid goes off to college early).
  • Assuming you’ll look as good in a pair of boxer briefs as does the bodybuilder on the package.
  • Never saying “I’m sorry” until after you’ve beaten up the wrong guy for getting your order wrong.

(Any comments / additions / rebuttals should be directed to my MySpace page.)

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About jesse

Book designer and formatter based in southern California. Supreme overlord of the SuperMegaNet pseudoverse.
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