I know I left my clothes all over the place
And I took your twenty bucks
No I didn’t get the front yard cut
’cause I had to wash my truck
Will you bring me a cold one, baby
And turn on the TV
We’ll talk about this later
There’s a ball game I wanna see
Guys do it all the time
And you expect us to understand
When the shoe’s on the other foot
You know that’s when it hits the fan
Get over it, honey, life’s a two way street
Or you won’t be a man of mine
Sure I had some beers with the girls last night
Guys do it all the time
– Mindy McCready
Have you ever ordered three airplane bottles of whiskey and a can of Bud Light on an hour-long flight… at one time? Have you ever negotiated a mid-crash make out session between a stranger and one of your oldest guy friends, prior to takeoff? When asked what team you are pulling for at this week’s game, have you ever looked at a plane full of people headed to Milwaukee and said, “Oh, we’re non-denominational.” Have you ever did a burnout at every. single. stoplight you came to in your rented minivan?
Well, have you ever been a girl and went on a “guys trip?”
Heat (Midget’s girlfriend) and I made this mistake last weekend. We voluntarily got into a car, onto a plane, and stepped out into Cheese Country with four grown-ass men with brains the size of our tubes of lip gloss. Yes, my friends, we spent an entire weekend in Green Bay, WI, with a bunch of idiots. Although, I must say, it was very entertaining and I bet most of you cannot say you’ve ever did half of the things we were able to. For instance:
- Have you ever accidentally drove 20-miles down the interstate before you realized you weren’t driving toward Green Bay… you were actually driving toward Chicago?
- Have you ever toured Lambeau Field? (BELOW 1: Heat and I in front of the Atrium… and Byerley photo-bombing us.)
- Have you ever sat in a suite, or ran through the home team’s tunnel, or stood on the sidelines and heard the echo of your fight chant vibrate off the stadium walls? (BELOW 2: All six of us [left to right: Mustache, Byerley, Big, me, Heat, and Midget] ballin’ in a the big boys box! BELOW 3: All of us, you know, chillaxin’ on the field.)
- Have you ever paid a dollar to ride a roller coaster? (BELOW 4: That’s the Zippin’ Pippin’ down by the Bay.)
- Have you ever paid $25.00 for a steak at a restaurant, and then had to grill it yourself?
- Have you ever started tailgating at 8:00 a.m… in the rain… at Brett Favre’s Steakhouse?
- Have you ever been picked to play one of those silly games in front of the crowd, and then won?
- Have you ever let strangers write all over your boobs?
- Have you ever been a part of a record-setting NFL game attendance?
- Have you ever slept through the first and third quarters of an NFL football game?
- Have you ever stolen someone’s purse, re-gifted, and then gotten thanked by the original owner for “finding” and returning said purse?
Look, I could keep going. We could play “Never Have I Ever…” for the next three weeks and I could still trump your ass with stuff that went down from our weekend in WI. I have never been around so many people who needed to shit so much in my entire life. Their priorities went as follows: shit, drink beer, annoy the f*&k out of one another, eat. Oh and they yell – a lot. They yell, and scream, and make loud sounds, and sing, and talk, and bicker, and fight, and carry on… and on… and on.
I would imagine this weekend getaway was just a little preview of what I would be in for if I had, say, four kids under the age of two who really like bluegrass and beer. It was the most stressful three days I have ever had to live through. But we had so much fun. Not so much fun that I would want to go on their next stadium trip… just enough fun that I don’t regret going in the first place.
We were all exhausted by the time we got home. I couldn’t wait to catch up on what was going on in the world. It literally felt like I had been in a totally different country for three days. I couldn’t wait to sleep in something other than a full-size bed with Big. I couldn’t wait to eat something other than cow. I couldn’t wait to walk into my house, take a deep breath, and smell – well, anything but stank. It was finally over! And then, for shits and giggles, I thought, “I wonder what kinda trip we would have had if the roles were completely reversed…”
What if those boys had tagged along on one of our girls trips? And what if we had wanted to go to New York to see a show, or Los Angeles to shop Rodeo Drive, or Milian for Fashion Week? Would they have went without a fight? Would they have put up with our incessant chatting, and Katy Perry blasting through the rental speakers, and popping bottle after bottle of Moscato? Would they still have gotten up at the ass-crack of dawn to chauffeur us around to our many little activities? What if one of us got our period – would the boys be able to handle the drama? Would they have enjoyed countless meals of pasta, and salads, and chicken, and fish? What about when all we wanted to do was relax and watch a little reality TV in the hotel room before bed, would they have liked that too? Oh, oh, what about the unplanned adventure to the boutique we have no idea how to find on the map – would they be okay with just driving around an unfamiliar city until we found it?
Me thinks – no.
Absolutely not to all of the above. Just the other day it took all but an act of Congress to get Mr. Big to let me out at the mall so I could run into Victoria’s Secret for a free bra and a free pair of panties. That bastard even timed me! (I was back and buckled in nine minutes flat, thank you very much.) I hardly think he would be down to accompany me and a couple of my girlfriends on a trip across country fueled by hairspray and high heels. (ABOVE: Big and I by the Bay.)
And that’s bullshit.
Total bullshit, I say!
Why should we have to acclimate to balls of all kind, and cars, and dirt, and whatever the hell else he’s interested in just because he is the man?
Since when did I take on the role of girlfriend and personal shopper? Are your legs broke? Obviously not, because they work well enough for you to wear out those pants I bought you this time last year. The mall doesn’t have a giant pair of wiener cutters at the front door… it isn’t going to kill you to go inside with me and help me pick out the clothes you plan to wear on your body. And what the hell is up with you changing all of the friggin’ channels on the TVs at my house? I am sick and frackin’ tired of coming home from a long day’s work, turning on my television, and hearing the sound of the NFL Network blasting through my speakers. Watch your own shit, on your own TV, at your own house, and leave mine on Bravo. And when I tell you I’ve got to run inside to Victoria’s Secret to grab a free pair of panties, use a $10 off any bra coupon, and redeem a $45 Angel card before they expire… you had better say, “Well damn, babe, why didn’t you tell me sooner?! Are you going to have enough time?” Why, you wonder? Because that is $75 worth of free shit that I wear every. single. day. and I’m not just going to piss it away because you would rather be scratching your balls somewhere else. Speaking of your balls, how in the hell do you manage to sling that much water from one end of the bathroom to the other? It’s like a f*&king slip ‘n slide in there by the time you get done. I almost bust my head open every time I walk into the bathroom behind you. Clean that shit up, brah!
Sometimes, you men never consider how selfish you truly are. You just assume that just because we love you – just because we spend whole weekends away with you and your silly ass friends – that we love all of you. Well, I hate to break it to ya but we don’t. Most of us are over football by October, we aren’t interested in your bowel movement play-by-plays, and – brace yourself – everybody thinks you pick your nose entirely too much.
If our weekend in WI taught me anything, it’s that gender-specific trips should remain just that… ’cause if I never have to hear “I wouldn’t go in there for another 35-45 minutes” again, it’d still be too soon.