A call to arms...

It's starting to seem obvious to me that they'll issue a man card to pretty much anyone these days and it's no longer a gender specific club.  Last night I had a great time hanging out with two of my three lovely ladies at Bar Louie but let's face it, for all intents and purposes it was a girls night out with a special guest from the male community.  Sitting there last night just brought home the point that there are virtually no men that I know of in this great suburbia that like to hang out.  No one to drink beer, watch a game, eat some wings or bitch about their lot in life.  Nope those kind of men are pretty much an extinct species.  You're more likely to find Big Foot and Jimmie Hoffa playing shuffle board than find a small group of guys hanging out at a sports bar.  There's been a huge shift in the gender paradigm (yes, I said paradigm).  This over compensation in trying to make more husbands more caring, sensitive, thoughtful and nurturing has sapped this great nation of it's greatest natural resource, testosterone, and has put the proverbial "pants of the family" on the lovely gams of our women folk. 

Crazy talk you say?  Let me prove it.  During football season my "guy time" is actually spent texting back and forth with my buddy Gina over the progress of the games.  She can throw down the smack talk with the best of them and she can make a sailor blush.  The periodic comments about how hot Clay Matthews is is a bit annoying but it just reminds me that I'm conversing with a woman.  Most of the folks I know in the surrounding neighborhoods that do anything remotely active are all of the female persuasion.  Running, hiking, skiing, shooting, all women.  Geez, even my trainer, yes Natalie, raced a 10K, is snowshoeing now and later today going to a shooting range.  I thought Colorado was a manly-man's kind of state.  Guys driving around in beat up F150s, hiking mountains, killing bears with homemade spears, drinking beer you can't see through, at least that's what I read in the brochure.  Nope, most men I  know are being held captive pretty much on their own accord, never venturing beyond visual contact of their bridal overlords.  Hey, I have no problem with men being domesticated, especially when they have families to tend to.  Those years with the kids in the house fly by so take advantage but even criminals in solitary confinement get 15 minutes of exercise time in the prison court yard so why not go out for a beer every once in a while? 

To this day the best group of guy friends I've ever had was back in my sophomore days in high school.  Jeff, Jay, Mike and Mike.  They were all cooler than the back side of a pillow.  We played football together, beat the crap out of each other, plowed through beer together and hurled insults at each others mother and but most importantly, we ALWAYS had each others back.  No beer nor buddy left behind, that was our creed.  Hey, you ladies have your girl's night out or your salon days or whatever your estrogen compels you to do.  But what happen to guy's night?  Where's the beer call?  I thought about putting out an ad in Craig's List but I figured that would just draw the wrong type of man.  "Sorry, dude, you want the guys at that martini bar down the street." 

I think there needs to be a certification process in order to reach manhood.  Just having a pair doesn't necessarily qualify you as a man.  First, let's talk age.  Any one in their 20's or early 30's really doesn't qualify.  At that age you're still trying to relive your glory days of high school which is pretty pathetic and besides, you haven't really lived (with the exception of our combat soldiers) or experienced anything of significance.  Besides, at that age you're all pretty much just a bunch of pricks.  Sure you can apply for an exception but the evaluation process is pretty steep and you'll need letters of recommendations from previous girl friends so the chances of you getting in are pretty slim. 

Secondly, vocation.  I really don't care what you do for a living but if your job is the only source of conversation then you're automatically disqualified.  If all you can talk about are switches, routers, operating systems or how you networked your light switch with your toilet then move on.  You don't have to be a sports fanatic, although that helps, or even be exceptionally athletic but you need to have an appreciation for competition and show that you are capable of doing things that take both physical and mental toughness to do.  Being married doesn't count. 

Thirdly, show some appreciation for the opposite sex.  Huh?  Alright, I was just trying to be polite here.  It's sad to think that I've heard this from my wife and other women more than I ever do from men, "Wow, look at the boobs on that girl."  Really?  You guys can't make that observation?  Are you telling me that only women and notice other women?  What the hell happened to you guys?  Now don't try to say you're just being polite or that you don't want to objectify women.  Hey, no one should ever be objectified but if your radar is that broke that you don't even notice an attractive woman then you have absolutely no business being a card carrying member of the men's club.  In a social setting I would expect the occasional remark about the hot waitress although actually hitting on a waitress is severely frowned upon and grounds for dismissal.  Come on, we're not animals and besides that waitress is only being nice to you because she's working for tips and more importantly she's probably younger than your daughter. 

I blame women for the demise of the American male.  Their over exuberance in creating a more sensitive, attentive and caring partner has produced a society of weak minded, feeble and frightened men who are only a mere shadow of their former selves.  We now fear to tread where other real men have gone before.  But that can all change.  Men, let's return ourselves to our previous glory.  Come on guys, Carpe balls!

PS - Now with all that being said, time to get back to laundry, dishes and grocery shopping.  Yeah, I'm currently on probation.