HE SAID: Packing

May 22, 2009

TravelMedicineSuitcaseThis will be my shortest post, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing because I can be a bit verbose at times, to say the least.  The reason for my short windedness? I am heading to Paris in a few hours, and still haven’t packed a fucking thing.  Am I all frantic, rushing around the house (condo) in a frenzy because I don’t know what I’m going to bring?  No, not at all.  I am after all, a male.

I am going to go upstairs after my last load of laundry gets done, throw a bunch of crap in my duffel bag, put some nice clothes in a garment bag, do the Triple S (shit, shower, shave) and head to the airport.  This is in stark contrast to most females I know, who seem to have their bags out at least three days in advance.  What the fuck is with that? Do you have that many outfits it takes more than an hour to decide what to bring?

I think most guys will agree with me when it comes to packing…I am gone for two weeks, I need a few long sleeve polos and a few short sleeves, I throw in my favorites and call it a fucking day.  Females pack their shirts on Tuesday, change a few out on Wednesday, change again Thursday, only to use completely different ones when the packing is complete.

Finally there is the amount of bags…I’m gone for 17 days, and have a duffel bag and a garment bag.  A lot, I realize, but I feel like the duration of the stay warrants it.  Most girls  I know use that amount for a weekend jaunt to Florida.  Why? Room for tampons? Sexual devices should you not meet a guy?

I guess this post might be a little less interesting than most, but we do advertise that we write on “arbitrary themse,” so if you don’t like it I don’t really care.  Ok must get going, I have a feeling the first S is going to be an adventure, dirty chinese food yesterday.

SHE SAID: Packing

May 22, 2009

A short post on how little you pack.  Fitting.  Only, I remember this one time, at band camp, where we were traveling together and you dragged me around for the better part of two days to find you a full zip sweatshirt, a pair of corduroy pants, and a pullover sweater.  And yes, the list was THAT specific.  The quest was fulfilled despite a foreign city and a picky shopper thanks to an efficient and capable assistant.

You bring little, but bring back more.

Which most women also do, so I’m not going to get all uppity on you there.  But I will say that I am the wrong woman to be responding to this post.  Perhaps 99% of women would have a different response, perhaps, but I pack with minutes to spare and usually have little to no thought about what goes into my bag.  Often times upsetting while unpacking at my destination, but I prefer to think of it as exciting.  For example, I have to figure out how to make a sweater and wool pants work and look comfortable and planned in 85 degree weather.  Which did happen once, but weather.com was also to blame for that, and I now use weatherbug religiously.

Focus, Nifer.

Also … garment bag?  WOW.  You’re claiming to be all tough and male, Mr. Shit Shower and Shave, while packing your garment bag!?  You’ve got nothing.  You lost me at garment bag.  You can’t play both cards at the same time.  In packing a garment bag, in the delineation, you’re exposing your forethought, your meticulousness.  Your fly by the seat of my pants kind of guy argument lost all steam.

Men have it easy.  Enter a men’s store and it’s all pretty straightforward.  Enter a women’s store, after you’ve decided which one to enter of the multitude available, and you’re still both overwhelmed and under equipped.  We have so many more options and circumstances to plan for while getting dressed that you cannot fault someone for having difficulty tackling this while packing.

Take a black tie event.  For the male, ridiculously simple: get a tux.  All you need is your measurements.  For a woman, you could fit the same body a million different ways, each with a different visual depending on neckline, draping, material, sleeve length, hem length, cut, design, and at this point, color isn’t even part of the equation.  The main decision for a man is bow tie or tie (okay, so windsor knot, half windsor … there are a few decisions there) and color of said tie.  There are so many more options for a woman, and if we’re seen twice in the same thing, people start talking and judging.  So many more ways to fail – god forbid we show up somewhere in the same outfit as someone else.  The upside is, when a well dressed woman enters a room, all heads can and will turn.

We think about this while packing, even if it’s a flurry of last minute activity.  Even if we would never admit it, we want heads to turn.  We want someone or one person to think, “oh yeah, she came/will leave with me.”

SHE SAID: Rock Band

May 19, 2009

We had a Nintendo Gaming Console while I was growing up and there was a short span of time after I mistakenly skied through a fence while experimenting with exactly how much air I could get off of a jump and not focusing enough on direction in relation to that air, when I had two broken wrists.  Suddenly, since I couldn’t do much of anything other than work the NEC controller, I was playing a lot of Super Mario Brothers and actually had enough free time and limited enough mobility to invest the time into finding all the secret hidden stuff in the levels.  It was during this period of time that I also discovered that I can move six of my ten toes independently of the others, which is always a fun party trick.  Anyway, other than that short foray into video games, I haven’t spent much time playing, and I was bored by my friends who were enamored with them.

So when my 55 year old friend brought Guitar Hero, that she had confiscated from her son as a disciplinary measure, to a hockey tournament, I wasn’t excited.  Still wasn’t excited when the rave reviews were pouring out later that night at dinner.  Once I found out there was beer in her room, I found myself watching two friends duel it out.

To say I was hooked on Guitar Hero would be an understatement.  I was like Keith Richards with his first 8 ball, Angelina Jolie in an unsupervised orphanage, Buster Bluth with access to juice.

But it was just for a weekend.  I returned home to my video-game-free house and that was it.  I quit cold turkey.

Until I discovered Rock Band.


Rock Band has two guitars AND drums AND vocals.  You are an entire band (minus keyboards, the horn section, tambourine and the back up singers, but a band nonetheless).  A band that can support each other, bring dismissed players back into the fold by stepping up the energy level of performance, and work together for the greater good: seriously rocking out.

For a few brief moments, or an entire evening, my mediocrely musically inclined friends and I can get lost in the dream of our youth.  Because let’s be real, although we might not have had Tiger Beat mug shots lining our walls (it wasn’t out yet), we all either crushed on, or wanted to be, a rock star.

I still don’t own a video game,but I’m hooked, more so than my cheap tryst with Guitar Hero and I have found myself googling Rock Band … just to window shop.  I would probably have to get a bigger TV, or at least one that you could see something on from 6 feet away, so I build that into the expense.  And so far that’s kept me from purchasing the entire package.  But I still dream about it.

HE SAID: Rock Band

May 19, 2009

First off, let me get this straight – you had two broken wrists but decided the only thing you could do was consume your time with an activity that requires movement from only your wrists, hands and fingers?  I’m not calling bullshit or anything, but as someone who played plenty of video games growing up, I know first hand (shitty pun) that it takes all these parts in good working order to really delve into a game as complex as Super Mario Bros.

Anyway, that’s besides the point.  Rock Band is the point.  And Rock Band is fucking lame.  I played all sorts of video games growing up, through college, and even my first year out of college.  Sound somewhat lame? Of course, but just take into account that I spent my first post grad year in the depths of hell, AKA – working for a Minor League Baseball Team in Mobile, Alabama.  The  games I probably played the most are Super Marios Bros. when I was young, any form of John Madden Football or Mortal Kombat through my teens and college, and any form of Grand Theft Auto the end of college and after.

The beauty of these games was that they were all completely fiction.  Last I checked saving Princess Toadstool in Mushroom Kingdom, freezing someone then ripping their head and spine off, or gang banging on the streets of Padanaram were never really an option for me.  Football, a little more realistic, but three on three in someone’s backyard is not quite the same as using Barry Sanders to run for 1,000 yards in a single game.

I guess I got lost a little there in some childhood memories, but back to my point about Rock Band being fucking lame.  Instead of hitting a bunch of fake plastic buttons or durms , how about you go out and buy a starter drum set or a cheap guitar and play it for real?  It’s much cooler, and far more gratifying.  The only song I can still play on guitar all the way through is ‘Glycerine’ by Bush, and the joy that brings me is immense compared to the boredome created by hitting those plastic buttons.

rockband2Last point – let’s say you are at a bar/party and you bring a girl back to your place, you are obviously going to hook up, but what are the chances you are getting laid? While it might be close, it’s probably not 100%.  Well, you increase those chances exponentially if you whip out an acoustic guitar and break into your cover of something like “The Scientist” by Coldplay.  But something tells me if you bring said girl back and offer her a rousing round of Rock Band, she will probably be reminded of douchebags she sees in Best Buy and hi-tail it out of there.


May 18, 2009

20060925-pdapicMaybe this comes as a direct result of my days as a camp counselor, when I was told to police any signs of Public Displays of Affection (heretofor known as PDA), but it really pisses me off.  I’m not talking about a light graze, some hand holding or even the occasional peck; but when I see couples groping each other, making out and more or less trying to get each other off in a bar/restaurant/park it makes me want to inject myself with swine flu and then spit in their faces.

I was at a bar in Burlington a couple of weekends ago, enjoying a Mojito (I was going to go with a Vodka-Soda, but the bartender pissed me off so I made him do some work), having some good conversation with friends while some people we were with were non-stop fondling each other a few feet from us.  Now they are good friends, so I gave them a bit of shit the next day and laughed it off, but it really forced me to think about why PDA happens.

And I came up with two reasons – 1. the people PDAing are so genuinely happy with each other they literally can not keep their hands off each other and 2. some guy is making an effort and hooking up.  Sure, both have their merits but I also think both are unacceptable.  I’m no cynic, I’m ecstatic for couples like that…but get it out of my fucking face.  I realize you aren’t intentionally showing off your happiness to others, but that’s what it always seems like.  And as for the guy trying to hook up, if you are having to resort to that level of cheesiness you might want to figure out a new game.

Oh shit, I’m recalling some of my exploits this past weekend, and I’m as guilty of No.2 as anyone.  Even worse, it was with a girl I barely knew.  She was a friend of a friend, some drinks were consumed, and next thing you know I’m all over this broad.  Hand holding constantly walking from bar to bar, groping thighs, hands constantly moving around, talking all close like we were about to make out.  I’m throwing up in my mouth a little just thinking about my PDAing.

PS – The girl had a friend who was way too intoxicated leaving the girl I was all over responsible for her, so my PDA didn’t even pay off.

PPS – The next morning I saw I had a missed call from said girl at about quarter to 4, my phone was right next to my ear.  I get a booty call about once every two years.  Moral of the story – don’t drink so much that you can’t hear your ringtone (“Alive,” by Pearl Jam) after a night at the bar.


May 18, 2009

We’re getting boring here because I agree with you on this point as well.

I don’t know anyone who would willingly admit to liking PDA.  And I’m also pretty sure that’s not because I hang out with people who are pretty low key.  I think other than many attention starved and insecure middle school girls, most people aren’t that into it.

While I have been guilty of PDA, I’m not a fan, I don’t want my friends to see the private moments of my love or like life while we’re out having a good time all together.  I love when a guy I’m with pulls me towards him by grabbing my belt loop or feeling the warmth of his breath on my shoulder while we’re out.  It’s incredibly sexy and low key, which is what makes it tantalizing.

Have we all been somewhere with friends and had one of them unnecessarily groping someone in our company?  I’m going to go out on a limb and say hell yeah.  Are drinks usually involved?  Hopefully, because I would have to reconsider a friendship if sobriety and PDA were closely linked.  To be super specific, if I’m sitting at a table, committed to my location to a certain extent, trying to talk to a friend who either has their tongue down someone’s throat or has someone else’s tongue down their throat, I’m annoyed.  If I wanted to watch a good sex scene, I wouldn’t request any of my friend’s appearances in said film, and that, essentially, is what dislike of PDA boils down to.

I’m not annoyed because my friends are throwing their happiness in my face, I think that’s kind of a lame reason to dislike PDA.  Simply enough, it’s not necessary, and there’s nothing being thrown in anyone’s face.  We’ve all been guilty of it at one point in time, regretted it like hell (if we remembered the offense the next morning), and taken the shit that our friends dish out as we should.

On a side note, probably best that you didn’t pick up your phone, if you couldn’t hear it, it probably wouldn’t have been the best night of sex either of you had ever had.

SHE SAID: Marry/Fuck/Toss Round 3

May 15, 2009

My theme for this week – 80’s sitcom dads.  First up, Steven Keaton from Family Ties, next we’ve got Dr. Jason Seaver from Growing Pains, and finally we’ve got an adoptive father, Henry Warnamont of Punky Brewster fame.  Remember, Nifer, you are selecting from the characters…and I know Henry is old, but he’d make a great father figure!


Thanks for the father figures, Jeremy.  My dad died.  Super smooth, jackass.

This is easy.  Henry is getting tossed only because I have no interest in necrophilia, and he doesn’t look like he would even make it to the edge of the cliff before kicking it, so it’s not like that would be a struggle to get him off of it.  Oddly enough, that is the first time I have tried imagining getting someone off the cliff.

Next I’m going to marry Steven because he’s a decent, fun, liberal guy and I feel like we could have some halfway decent conversations throughout our golden years together.  Not sure if I want to know what’s under the beard though.

I’m going to fuck Jason, but only if we can refer to him only as “the doctor” from now on and the lights are off.