10 Signs I'm Turning Into a Chick
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Hal Wastes His Wages
November 17, 2008
Right after we moved in to our apartment, the wife got one of those bathroom
vanities—the kind that sort of straddles the toilet, positioning the storage
unit above the cistern. This was all well and good for her, but it posed a
problem for me in that the lid was impeded from resting in the open position,
creating substantial awkwardness while performing the male version of a certain
bathroom process. After several near-re-circumcisions I simply gave up, deciding
to take the feminine approach. Seemingly horrified, my father even went as far
as to install lifts on the vanity, thus rectifying the emasculating situation.
But I have to admit, I kind of like the other way. I mean—why stand when you can
sit?
I suppose I should take this opportunity to apologize to any readers who have
made it this far, as I realize the preceding paragraph contains way too much
information. But I’m beginning to wonder just how far-reaching the effects of
this phenomenon may be and if in fact I have become a chick as a result.
Since I stopped peeing like a man, I’ve taken note of the following:
1) I’m eating more salads. Sure, I still hit 5 Guys Burgers and Taqueria
on occasion, but all that heavy food leaves me feeling bloated and tired.
Sometimes I just like to have a nice, healthy salad. The wife is raving about
her success on Weight Watchers, and it has me keeping tabs on what I jam down my
throat. Granted, I usually take that healthy salad and drown it in bleu cheese
dressing, but the nancy-boy intent is there.
2) I’m growing tired of the NFL. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the
product, it’s the packaging. Sitting for 3+ hours to see a handful of plays
sandwiched between an endless stream of Toyota “Save By Zero” commercials just
doesn’t cut it for me anymore (Side note: what the hell does “Save By Zero” even
mean? That’s terrible diction if nothing else, yet some $*@%!^& hack probably
made a mint coming up with that grammatically flawed tagline. I’m in the wrong
damn business…). Between pre-game circus shows that last longer than the
on-field action, cutting away from the climax of out-of-market games and this
whole NFL Network clusterfunk, you can take your strutting robots and Frank
Caliendo and stick ‘em in your pocket with the challenge flag, because this crap
needs no further review. To fill the void, I’ve been watching a lot of rugby and
soccer—games with clocks that run without commercial interruption. That doesn’t
necessarily make me a chick, but it makes me pseudo-European, which is close
enough in my book.
3) On that note, I can whistle the theme music to EastEnders. Last week I
was watching a rerun of Deadwood and just as Swearengen has his foot on the
hooplehead’s throat while drowning him in the bathtub, the DVR cuts away to a
synthesized drum beat and a satellite photo of the Thames. I never should have
taught her how to use that bloody thing...
4) Along the same lines, it took me nearly half a dozen episodes to
realize that True Blood is little more than a soap opera flavored with blood—the
black pudding of nighttime romantic drama, if you will. She’s a proper little
Southern girl and he’s a vampire, so what’s next for star-crossed Bill and
Sookie? Now that I’ve snapped out of it, I don’t care—bring back Swearengen…
5) I’m drinking a lot of tea. Not just the odd “cuppa” Barry’s to keep me
going, but some seriously girly herbal stuff. At the end of a long day, I often
find myself curling up on the couch with a nice mug of chamomile and honey. I
may as well throw on a blanket, put on an Enya CD and get myself a cat.
6) If you leave my iPod on shuffle long enough, it will expose me as
being a huge Duran Duran fan. This is nothing new, as I’ve been a fan since 6th
grade. But it’s because I thought they were cool, not hot—there’s a BIG
difference. I saw them on that boat in the “Rio” video and thought, “Damn, those
guys know how to do it right.” My love for George Michael’s hit song “Freedom,”
however, is admittedly harder to defend.
7) I got one of those shower scrubber thingies. To make it easier on
myself, I got the macho one by Axe Body Wash that looks like a hockey puck, but
you and I both know it’s one step away from a loofah.
8) I own and wear Crocs. There’s not much I can say in defense of this
one.
9) I’m wearing more sweaters. I used to be a strict fleece or a
sweatshirt guy, but now I’m wearing the wool. Cable knits, cardigans, crew
necks—you name it. They do a good job covering my paunch and really accessorize
my outfit, which I apparently now care about as well. So now I’m body conscious
and fashion conscious, all from sitting on the can.
10) Oh, and I just voted Democrat in a national election. I slunk into
the privacy of that voting booth and gave away “my special gift” to some guy I
hardly know. What’s worse is I don’t even feel that bad about it. He was tender
and compassionate and cared about my feelings. And hell, I’ll say it—he’s a good
looking man…
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Christopher M. Halleron, freelance writer/bitter bartender, writes a biweekly
humor column for The Hudson Current and websites in the New York Metro area. He
spends a lot of his time either in front of or behind the bar in Hoboken, New
Jersey where his tolerance for liquor grows stronger as his tolerance for
society is eroded on a daily basis. Feel free to drop him a line at
c_halleron@yahoo.com
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