one of the boys

Despite the rain and the fact that Iran is most likely going to nuke the shit out of us any day now, it was a relatively successful weekend for me.  Friday night I experienced the first-ever semi-public reading of my first-ever full-length play. “Under Construction,” and, miracle of miracles, it was not as scary as I thought it might be.  (Like many writers, I am my own worst critic and cringe at hearing my own work.)  But luckily, my gracious readers told me with fervor that I’m off to a good start and offered lots of good feedback and ideas.

Saturday night was a success for an entirely different reason, as I found myself in the company of no less than eight attractive single men.  Let me repeat that – the ratio of single attractive men to Krissys = 8:1.  Now, I’m not good at math, but even I know those are some damn good odds.

Basically, it all went down because one of my former co-workers, Ben,  from my pre-Philly newspaper days was in the city visiting friends, and wanted to hang out, so I wound up chilling with him and his friends at Mad River in Old City.  I think Ben was kind of hoping I could provide a little more T & A to balance out the male/female ratio, but unfortunately for him (and all my single ladyfriends who were MIA this weekend), I was flying solo.  Not that I minded.  Rolling into a bar surrounded by eight guys was without question the pimpest moment of my life, one I doubt can ever be reproduced.

What I found particularly amusing about the whole scenario was that Ben and his friends kept apologizing to me because I was the only girl.  As if I cared.  Here’s a little secret that’s probably not a huge shock to anyone who knows me well: I  like hanging out with dudes.  I’m not even talking from a romantic or physical perspective;  some guys are just fun to hang out and shoot the shit with.  I guess it helps that I have a pretty wide tomboy streak (thanks to my dad, brother and uncles).  Farting and bodily humor don’t offend me; I can cuss with the best of them, and any time someone starts busting my (figurative) balls, I can dish out the sass with both hands.  As long as you can put up with occasional conversation forays into football and liberal use of the word “pussy,” for a girl, hanging out with the boys can be a refreshing change of pace.

Not that I don’t love my girls to death; all my best friends are female, and I love spending time with them.  But you have to admit, guys tend to be a little less…high-maintenance.  For example, on Saturday night, thirty seconds after the decision was made to leave the apartment where we were pre-gaming and go to the bar, we were walking down the street towards our cars.  It was almost simultaneous – “Let’s go to the bar” – BOOM! We were in the elevator.  Now, with women, chances are the process would have taken a little longer.  Once the decision to leave was finally made (after much discussion and weighing of options), someone would have had to go to the bathroom, someone would have decided to change her shirt, someone would have had to switch purses or reapply her mascara, or – well, you know what I mean.  Likewise, when the time came to leave the bar, everyone just – left.  There was no corralling of all parties with whom we had arrived, there were no group hugs or gathering of personal belongings, resulting in the departure process taking a half an hour.  It was a decision (“Let’s leave”) followed by action (leaving).  Not that I’m saying there’s anything wrong with the other way of doing things, it’s just nice to see how the other half rolls from time to time.  Like said…refreshing.

All in all, it was a good night with some good drinks, good people, and good entertainment (To the bachelorette in the black leggings – if you want to get that drunk and dance with that many different guys, maybe you should rethink marriage.  To the chick in the hot pink mini-dress – I saw your cooch.  I’m just saying.)

Yup, as Borat would say, “Great success!”