A good friend (yes Dink you are) recently said to me:
Wendy you are more dude than most dudes I know
I can’t stop thinking about it, and let me just say without reservation it is quite possibly the BEST Compliment I have ever gotten. I have been waiting almost a lifetime to hear such praise from my fellow human. I am sorry it took so long, but thankful it was someone I respect so much for being all over awesome that it was indeed a compliment I know was said with merit and not just a pick up line.
I would love to pin point exactly what this cool fellow meant when he said that great line to me, I doubt I could because I do not see me through his eyes. But I think all girls should try to be a little more dude like, you know, for the good of female kind and all that. So I have compiled a list of things that make me “more dude than most dudes you know” just to help out those ladies in the audience who have forgotten why guys are cool and why we are often so unbelievably lame (trust me, we are).
It is with all due respect to myself I compile this list, let me stress that I am indeed also very female and some might even call me attractive (some, not all; I am nothing if not humble), but I guess when I call you up out of the blue and ask for help trouble shooting my truck’s “death wobble” I get a few props for being just a little well hung (figuratively speaking).
- I named my dog Rutger, after the actor (as most men guess) not the university (like most women assume).
- I know what a Chiltons Manual is and how to use it. Yes, I was disturbed when my husband said “What’s that?”.
- My “purse” is smaller than most men’s wallets. I consider most women’s purses to be carry on luggage. Below is my “big” purse.
- I only own one pair of jeans. I do not have a fancy pair, a fat pair, a skinny pair, a dark pair, or a pair with a strategic hole. I have 1 pair. Period.
- I only have 1 piercing (in my ear, don’t be gross). My husband has 4. Enough said.
- I own big dogs. None of my dogs would fit in a purse or can be hand carried anywhere. Anything with 4 legs was meant to walk, trust me.
- I own a gun and before children I used to keep it under the bed; then I would practice and execute perfect commando rolls to retrieve it.
- I smell my clothes to determine their cleanliness.
- I might be able to build a pipe bomb. I admit nothing, deny everything.
- It takes my husband longer to get ready for a date than me. He’s bald, what is he doing in there?
- I love science and engineering and learning how things work.
- My “makeup kit” consists of sunscreen, Chapstick, and eyeliner.
My point in all this, besides being grateful that someone finally sees how supertastic I am, is to remind women that most of what we do as women is a waste of time. No seriously. Our culture, society, media, or whatever you want to call it has us convinced that we need to be a certain way, look a certain way, and have a certain level of maintenance attached to us because we are women. That men will never want us if we don’t look like super models or we don’t carry a bag of all the items necessary to keep us “put together” for the day.
Women have become a joke; high maintenance creatures that spend countless hours of our lives on fruitless pursuits that mean very little in the grand scheme of the world and even our own lives. We put on our masks (makeup) and decorate ourselves (manicures) in a way that make most men roll their eyes with anything BUT admiration. We have lost the respect of the very partners we hope to win. We have stopped using our brains for anything more than how to apply a great eyeliner or when is the right time to do a pore minimizing mask. We have stopped using our bodies for anything more than bait. We are helpless when it comes to getting things done and we worry about our hair, clothes, and shoes when life presents a real problem for us to solve. Really, everyone should know how to change a tire, more importantly though, women should be able to do it without being worried about how we look while doing it.
Don’t get me wrong, ladies, I love ya, I really do. I just could never be you. I’d rather my husband look at me adoringly because I fixed his death wobble or trained his dog to shake, than because my hair looks perfect and my ass looks good in those pants. I prefer his look of adoration when I flip the giant tractor tire because he is admiring my ability, my strength, my resolve, more than the amazing legs I’ll attain by flipping it a bunch of times. I love that when something goes wrong with the TV or he needs his Xbox hooked up he calls me over to troubleshoot and seems genuinely proud that I can make his worries go away. Sure his eyes may gloss over when I explain how buffering works and why Netflix works better on my iPhone than our Blu-ray player, but I know deep inside he is grateful that one of us knows why and can solve the problem so we can watch more episodes of Breaking Bad.
I spent a few years in my younger days obsessed with looking perfect. I spent money on clothes and makeup and shoes ( I won’t lie I still like shoes I just don’t buy them anymore), and what I learned from that was happiness didn’t come from standing on the sidelines looking good, it came from jumping in the fray and getting dirty, sweating my ass off, snorting when I laugh, and taking risks.
All things dudes do. I discovered that the time I spent in front of the mirror was better spent under a car or digging a fire pit. I learned how to truly get shit done and have fun while doing it. I will never be the girl pushing her boobs together and bending over in front of a cop to get out of a ticket. I hope I am always the girl the cop secretly wishes was his wife because I am such a kick ass driver he feels a little guilty for pulling me over.
I take pride in my ability to be gentle and kind, feminine and strong. I am thankful that genetics have given me a fair deal and that I cry probably more than I should and that I will always, always think with my heart first. But I take far more pride in being “like a dude” because when someone says that, what they really mean is I am smart, capable, fun, interesting, low maintenance, and easy to get a long with. I can’t imagine a greater compliment than that. Sure you can tell me I’m pretty, but that doesn’t hold a candle to calling me “Dude”.
So women, I implore you, stand up, heed the call. Rise to the occasion of your own potential and life. Stop the hair twirling and pouty expressions. Stop the selfie post with duck lips and instead gloat about your accomplishments in life. Start living. Because as far as I know, you only get the one life. So you can choose to spend it on maintenance and upkeep (things that get harder and more time consuming as we age with little to no actual return on the investment), or you could spend it laughing and scraping dirt out from underneath your broken finger nails making friends who may not remember that you once looked hot at that dinner party, but instead will remember how fun and thrilling you were climbing up that rock face. Trust me, it is way better. So get out there dudes, put the lipstick down, take those high heels off (they are only giving you a bad back and deformed feet anyway).
Live, learn, experience, risk, create.
Make being a girl something I would consider as high a compliment as being more dude than most dudes you know.
PS. You can still look good doing it
What I am reading: Reached by Ally Condie it is the third book in a trilogy of YA dystopian novels. I am strangely addicted to the dystopian novels at the moment. BTW I need iBooks money, this 3 books a week thing is killing my wallet.
What I am listening to: House of Gold by 21 Pilots
What else I am listening to: Compass Lady Antebellum my heart has never led me astray.
Inspirations from the ether: We take so much for granted here.
Now moment: Nothing beats Christmas Morning with two little kids. Magic is real.