One of the Guys

I wish there was a way to know how our readership shapes up gender wise. How many guys read this blog versus girls. My guess would be this. It is probably mostly female. Men, please correct me if I am wrong. But based on the fact that our office is entirely female, and I write mostly about girly stuff, I would say that any boys who were reading this blog jumped ship a long time ago.

Which allows me to write this next post with complete confidence that everyone reading it will appreciate it. Last night, I became one of the guys. I played with the boys. And it wasn't terrible. My husband and his friends have a fantasy football draft every year. Basically this is when a group of guys gets together and fantasizes about their ideal football team by electronically drafting actual NFL players to their franchise stored in cyber space. Then these imaginary teams are pitted against each other over the course of the actual real life football season and then, based on how the players perform in the actual games, the fake teams get points. And then at the end there is a winner.

Now I am what most guys would consider to be a cool girl. I have one brother, no sisters. So growing up, I played with Legos and action figures and my fair share of video games. I learned to like Power Rangers and horror movies and the cool factor associated with blowing things up. To this day I follow all the college athletics and all the professional golf and I have yet to be beat by any boys I know in Guitar Hero. I can hang with the boys. But I can tell you for sure that I have zero interest in creating a made up pro football team and pitting it against my friends' made up pro football teams and then saying to them, "Yo dude man I rocked you last week. I crushed you, you suck, don't even try to play in my house. Who's house? MY HOUSE!!!!"

So you can imagine my disappointment when I learned that this year's fantasy football draft would be held at my house. Who's house? MY HOUSE!!!! Don't get my wrong. I love my husband's friends. I have been close with all of them since college, we were even neighbors our senior year. I was more than excited to see them and have them over. However, I understood that my spending time with them would be limited to the two hours before the draft started, after which I would be sent to my room to be quiet and watch "chick shows" until it was all over. Bummer for Aislinn.

However, there was a slight change of plans. At the last minute, one of the guys got free tickets to a Durham Bulls baseball game and had to cancel. But he still needed someone to pick his team for him. Who do you think got recruited to do that?

That's right, at about 6:49, eleven minutes before the draft was set to start, I was being plopped on the couch and given a crash course in nominating and bidding for players. I was told not to worry, that they would help me, and that we could have mozzarella sticks after it was over. Score.

Now remember, I am a cool girl. I know who is good and who is bad in football. Anybody that I have ever heard of before has to be good, since I spend approximately one minute a week listening to ESPN or anything else NFL related. Anybody who has ever dated a Kardashian has to be good. Anybody who has ever played for Carolina (Tar Heels, not Panthers) has to be good. So I jumped right in, molding my team to these specifications.

But don't forget the girl part of cool girl. I wasn't going to let these boys use me as just a warm body to fill their friend's place. No sir. I was going to get the best team and I was going to play dirty if I had to. And who knows better how to be manipulative and sneaky than a girl. So when my husband started to go after a player I wanted, cue pitiful pout face. "But babe, let me get just one guy, please." Which was followed by all the boys saying, "Dude, that's your wife. Let her get one." And before they knew it my team was awesome, not because I did ten hours of research before hand, but because I am a girl. A cool girl.

It was a small triumph, but one that I am proud of nonetheless. They even told me that next year, if I want, I can have my very own team. I think I will name it, "Girls Rule, Boys Drool."



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