Thursday, November 05, 2009

Testosterone Is Catching

When I was a teenager, I had horrible skin that resulted in years of trips to the dermatologist and countless prescriptions written for every pill, ointment and cream that would possibly help. Before going down what was deemed to be THE FINAL PATH (read: Accutane), my dermatologist sent me off to an overpriced endocrinologist on Park Avenue to run a battery of tests. You know what he determined? That I produced an overabundance of testosterone and this was what was causing the acne. It was also causing some sort of issue with excessive hair loss and I stuck a report in a file folder because apparently one day if I ever want to have children this same medical condition might prove to be a problem although for the life of me I can't recall why.

Anyways, I had basically forgotten about my affliction and all that testosterone coursing through my bloodstream until I typed the following Tweet on Saturday night while watching Game 3 of the World Series:

Me. In a room. With 7 guys. Watching baseball. Shouting at the TV. Drinking beer.
11:37 PM Oct 31st from UberTwitter

See? Right then and there I realized that I had officially grown a pair. Dear me.

Let me backtrack, or rather sidestep, for a moment and say this: I am ALL GIRL. I have countless pairs of shoes, drawers threatening to explode on account of all of the make-up shoved in there, and my underthings are delicate and lacy. I refuse to leave the house without nail polish on my toes, I own a $100 hair dryer and there are people in the universe who have never seen me in pants. So yeah...I don't think anyone is going to question my XX chromosome status.

And yet...

My most common companions these days are Sumo and The Kaiser and recently life seems to revolve around the MLB post-season (Hello World Series Champions The New York Yankees!) but there's also NASCAR, football, Oktoberfest, carnivore-themed dinners, trivia, and college basketball is getting ready to start. And I've discovered that after several weeks of hanging with "The Boys," I've apparently become one. I guess testosterone is catching.

Last week we were out at a sports bar watching Game 1 and I called our female bartender sweetheart. That's right. Me - who used to spell woman with a "y" (as in womyn). Me - who has 7 Indigo Girls albums on her iPod. Me - who knows better. Don't get me wrong, I use affectionate, pet nicknames all the time. I call people Sugar and Darlin' and Honey and Cookie. But that would be PEOPLE I KNOW. I don't think I have ever in my life looked at a female bartender and said: "Sweetheart - I'll take another." Until last week. Who am I?

You know what else? I have become one of those people - you know, the ones who SHOUT OUT LOUD at the TV while in public whenever their team scores and/or their opponent fails. These days I can either be heard saying "Go Jimmie" or "Suck it Phillies." I blame The Kaiser for this. Seriously. Not even 6 weeks ago Sumo and I were out watching Sunday afternoon sports (cuz that's what I do these days) and I commented on the ridiculous idiots shouting every time someone did or didn't score a touchdown. Several Yankee games with The Kaiser later (note: he is vehemently anti-Yankees), I have found myself an obstreperous, clamorous and boisterous spectator who is not afraid to make her opinion known (although God help me during basketball season since I am the only person in the entire region besides Lilsaej and Pixie who roots for Duke).

The Kaiser even attempted to teach me the "Pose Down:"

I think it might be time for me to run and hide y'all.

But do you want to know how I officially knew I had crossed over from XX territory into XY territory? I got invited to go on the annual Boys Beach Trip. Kinda. Sorta.

Sumo's brother The BBQ King was the first to suggest it. We were all out at Hooters (natch), watching baseball and playing trivia when he issued the invitation. Some folks had dropped out last minute and no one had been able to fill the spots. I thought the invite was in jest but when I said something to Sumo the next day, he said he didn't see a problem with it. Seriously. I nearly fainted (how XX of me) because this is basically a 5 day trip that revolves around drinking, golf, more drinking, Viking helmets, more drinking, rare meat, pillaging & plundering, still more drinking AND trips to establishments where girls named Candee and Cheyenne dance "exotically" while wearing not much more than...well, while wearing not much at all.

No worries. I am not actually going (although I seriously considered it for like, a nanosecond). One - there's no way I can swing it with my schedule. Two - while The BBQ King and Sumo seemed unoffended by the idea, The Kaiser gave me a flat out "Over my dead, ancient lifeless body" and I am pretty sure the other boys on the trip would feel the same way. Still - I was disturbingly flattered by the invitation.

The thing is - I can actually trace this phenomenon back to an earlier time. A time before too many nights with Sumo and The Kaiser and a time before a hormone imbalance. You see, as a young girl my father made me listen to Howard Stern, and I am pretty sure that has something to do with the fact that I recently wrote the following Tweet:

"A-Rod's banging something besides Kate Hudson - it's called the fucking ball."

Now excuse me, I've got chest hair to braid and nuts to scratch.


Shelly Overlook said...

Heh heh heh. Let's just call you well rounded (and not as in fat) or diverse or adaptable. If you start belching the national anthem, then we have to talk.

Karen from Mentor said...

or the alphabet...

Karen from Mentor said...

PS My favorite part was the braiding of the chest hair


hey my word verification was:

anyone want to touch that with a ten foot pole?