Men vs. Women: The Camping Edition

Harassing Indians at Chippewa Landing
I've decided that a weekend camping with mostly couples is one way to psychoanalyze how different men and women are on so many levels. (Male readers, don't go getting defensive now. This is all in good fun.)

Don't go jumping to conclusions either. The weekend was great, the people were amazing, the location was spectacular, my packing list was perfect, and the entire experience lived up to every promise that had been made about it. Without a doubt or hesitation, I would go back again (with the same people!) tomorrow if I could.

However...I would be remiss if I didn't comment on this one aspect.

NEWSFLASH (at least to me):
Men and women are pretty different and handle most tasks in a totally opposite manner.

EXHIBIT A:
We arrived at the campsite on Friday afternoon, and several of the people were already there and were set up (tents up, coolers out, chairs set around fire, etc.) and were already in "happy hour" mode. Despite the fact that it was only in the 3 o'clock hour. We were on vacation!

As soon as my car full arrived, I began to unload the stuff (SO MUCH STUFF) and began to logically and in an organized fashion pull stuff out, set in on the ground, and begin the process of "setting up camp."

For me, this was no different than moving day. I want to do as much as I am physically and humanly able to the first day, right away, so it feels like home as quickly as possible.

Camp was no different. This meant setting up the tent, putting on the rain fly, inflating the air mattress (I know, cheaters), making the bed, moving all of our bags into the tent, and getting things generally organized in there.

Then, I wanted to deal with the food. Pull coolers over to the camp kitchen, put the dinnerware and serving-ware out on picnic table, put paper products in appropriate areas (kitchen, outhouse, you know the drill), etc.

Finally, I envisioned us setting up our folding chairs around the fire (in a nice orderly circle) and grabbing a beer to relax and unwind. I could see myself really kicking back, knowing that the work was all finished, long before nightfall, dinner or the onset of our drunk stupors.

THEN I would relax and have a beer.

Here is where men and women differ.

I turn around, with both hands full of stuff, trudging across camp back and forth (finally got wise and backed the car up closer) and spotted my two male counterparts doing just the opposite.

They were drinking beer. Standing around. Totally idle. Chatting with everyone. Not working at all. Too soon! We're not ready!

I took a deep breath and kept on my way. It was not that big of a deal. I'd handle it myself. I'm domestic, I am powerful, I can do this. On my own. Without your help. Umm...this is heavy. I'm sweating. I only have two hands. I can't reach that alone. I need help already. I'm thirsty too, damn it!

GET OVER HERE AND HELP ME!

Yeah, it didn't go quite like that, and most of the above OCD ramblings were in my head, and not said out loud, so I'm not a total crazy. But, I must admit, that it just struck me as funny how different we are. The other girls in the group concurred—their approach was get unpacked and set up first, THEN relax.

SUV: Some Ungodly Volume (of junk)
EXHIBIT B:
When setting up the incredibly enormous and fairly complicated 6-man tent, my approach was to lay the whole thing out, get my bearings, choose the appropriate poles, and work my way around the tent and get it together in an organized way.

The two guys wanted to just jab the bendy poles in wherever and see what stuck. Then fix it if it fell over. They were happy to be in charge of the big giant heavy hammer that was used to drive the stakes into the ground, but when it came to deciphering the tent poles (sans instructions), they were more of the "just shove 'em in!" philosophy.

The tent ended up going up smoothly, and there was no bendy-pole-to-the-eye injuries to report.

Jessica and I did a great job at it, thank you very much.

Jess and I working on the tent, Brett "helping"
EXHIBIT C:
Men are hungry most of the time. On this camping trip, they were holding beers in one hand for 99% of the time that we were awake, and the other hand was often used to swat a mosquito or pry open a plastic container with a rainbow-colored Jello shot inside. They were BUSY.

Women, however, were also hungry at the appropriate times. You know, like dinner. When the hunger struck, we began to move through the process of getting out of the boxes/bins/trunks the necessary items (read: buns, burgers/brats, cheese, chips, pasta salad, potato salad, condiments, plates, plastic silverware and cookies).

Men, well, they sat there.

Dinner was served, and enjoyed by all. I'd bet that 7/8 of the men on the trip don't even remember how the meal got to the table, or where it came from, but they could tell you how good it tasted and how quickly it was devoured.

How's the brat, Brett?
EXHIBIT D:
Saturday's activities were all about canoeing. Waking up to rain, we were not pleased with the sky's gray hues, but soldiered on. Boarded a school bus and made it to the river. Two by two we climbed into enormous metal canoes (not so smart immediately following a storm, in retrospect) and pushed off the landing.

Primarily, the men were in the back (the steering) and the women were in the front (the power). The back person does most of the strategic maneuvers, and the front person does most of the rowing for speed. I'm not sure WHY we had it set up with me in the front and Brett in the back, but we did. As did most of the other couples.

Brett and I are rookie canoers. And by rookie, I really mean totally clueless and partially terrified. The weather wasn't all that warm, and even after the rain stopped, we had no desire to accidentally tip into the Manistee River.

Nonewhatsoeverthankyouverymuch.

So, we moved along the river at a turtle pace, out rowed by everyone in our group (the other 8 canoes) and were quickly left to our own devices at the back of the pack, running into trees, bumping into rocks and heading straight for each bank. Again and again.

Seated in the front, I was quickly advised (read; told under no circumstances should I touch the thing) not to paddle. That he'd take care of it. So I sat like a lame duck.

I gently tried (I promise, it was not controlling, bossy nagging!) to impart the few quick over-the-river lessons that the other guys had shared as we boarded, but they were not really welcome. HE'S GOT IT.

Okaaaay.

And into another tree we went.

I then realize, as I was biting my tongue, holding my oar dead in my lap, and dodging the 13th branch thus far, that this was no different than driving a car. Men want to figure it out, and women want to stop to ask directions. Just different approaches.

Yes, we finally got caught up, but only after getting "rescued" off an enormous log submerged just below the surface (onto which we proceeded to get ourselves stuck and rock back and forth like a see-saw), and re-joined the group.

My side of the story was this: we sucked, and our relationship may not have withstood the pressures for five hours; every girl in the group nodded, laughing, stating that their first time canoeing with their boyfriend/husband was just the same.

His side of the story was this: it wasn't fun, and he was cursing at the river, not at me (which may have been true, but who was there to translate!?) and that it wasn't that bad, and that we would have gotten the hang of it eventually.

Like, on Tuesday. (in my estimation)

Despite the early challenges, we barged up with the rest of the canoes with bungee cords, and proceeded to have a wonderful day of it on the river, drinking beer, chewing Jello shots and laughing with everyone.

And, we never tipped. And, we never discussed the first 15 minutes on the river again.

I'm wise enough not to bring THAT one up.

What happens on the river...
CONCLUSION:
So, despite our companionship, love and laughter, it truly is amazing that men and women get along at all. We just function so differently, think differently, react differently and approach life differently.

I should probably get used to the differences and find a way to laugh at them. While drinking. Because everything is funnier with a beer. And, then you have a prop to throw at the male in question should the need arise.

I'm just saying.

Part of the male/female group on the way out of town

I Guess Mowing the Lawn is a Given?

I just saw this article in Esquire and it is truly great. Entitled "The 75 Skills Every Man Should Master," it not only lists them, there is some sideline commentary that cracks me up.

The author, Tom Chiarella, asserts that no man can be an expert in everything, but racking up these skills as he moves through life is one way to guarantee manly success.

I'd have to agree.

Specifically, I'm a fan of the following, complete with my own sideline chatter:

• #3 Take a photo. Everyone should know this, and men aren't the only ones who suck. I abhor handing my camera to someone who offers to take the group photo, only to get it back and see 40% of the photo is allocated to the roof, or the table covered in beer bottles. Thank God for the cropping tool.


• #5 Name a book that matters. And no, Stephen King doesn't count.


• #24 Know his poison, without standing there like a dope. Amen. Isn't that a huge turn-off for women? A man that flounders at the bar, only to quietly, timidly order something girly and pink? Honestly, I was out with a friend and her (now ex) boyfriend, and he ordered a Stoli Orange with a splash of grapefruit and a dash of Diet Seven-up. I almost croaked on my Miller Lite. Not only was his drink something only to be sipped while in Mexico on the beach, his order included the words 'dash' and 'diet.' Not manly, my friend.


• #31 Make a bed. Admittedly, this one parlays into my OCD/neatness tendencies. But seriously, how hard is it to pull the comforter up? Place a pillow or two at the top? PRETEND you have nice bedding and a headboard that matches the footboard? (Sorry, Brett.) I am guessing that when men get married, they also get furniture and a made bed.


• #35 Jump-start a car, change a flat tire and change the oil. Frankly, this one is good for a man who is with me, because short of checking the oil or adding wiper fluid, I'm toast. Side-of-the-road-and-stranded toast. Thank God the one time I had a flat was within about 7 miles of my parents' house and my Dad rescued me.


• #41 Speak to a waiter so he will hear. My feeling on this is not so much about the volume with which you address the waiter, but the manner and temperament with which you address the waiter. If a man is rude to a server, he's also likely to be mean to his mother, and may kick puppies on the side. Having waited tables many times in my life, it is not that hard to be kind, direct, respectful and polite. On either side of the table.


• #51 Build a campfire. I like this one strictly because for me, the image of a man building a campfire, bonfire or fire in the wood-burning fireplace in the basement, is just hot. No pun intended.


• #54 Break up a fight. Yes, please. I hate violence, and fighting is something I just don't get. I know, I know, #13 says you should know how to throw a punch, but I'm more a fan of the guy who is breaking up the fight, urging the guys to speak rationally about the issue. Maybe I'm dreaming, but after witnessing a few drunken brawls in college, and even ducking once or twice when a bottle sailed our way, I'm out.


• #59 Write a thank you note. I threw this one in here for all my girls who have gotten married, or had kids (or both!) and had to spend hours writing the notes alone. My cousin asked her husband to write the notes to his family and friends, and she wrote her half, and it seemed like a great idea. His note was cute, charming and a tad bit hilarious, but at least it was heartfelt and genuine. Don't worry, men, the article breaks down the note's structure for you. Maybe a thank you note to the author is in order?


• #62 Hold a baby. Why, I suspect this skill will come in handy at least one day. And, the Heisman Trophy pose will only work on the kid when he is REALLY small. And it scares the mother anyway.


• #71 Iron a shirt. I can't help but recall a time when my friend Brad was staying with my family for a summer in college due to an internship a few days a week, and the "ironing board dance" is still a family memory that is guaranteed to stir up some laughs. The author doesn't tell you this, but the secret is two-fold. Starch makes everything easier, and always do the front last. That's the part that matters most anyway.


• #73 Caress a woman's neck. Quite obviously. Brett, your technique makes up for the unmade bed. Almost.

There you have it. A concise list of 75 easy ways to become a well-rounded, skilled manly man.

I must admit, I'm happy to say that most of the men in my life (read: my boyfriend, few close guy friends and my father) are all quite skilled. I wonder who has the most? I'm pretty sure men like a good competition...

Maybe we should develop a bracket and keep score?

Wires vs. Boxes

As a young(ish) woman, I have spent the last decade, admittedly, trying to figure out men. As my girlfriends and I can attest, they are simple creatures whose actions and words often betray the layers of complexity that may be found within.

That is, I thought that until I discovered, through a blossoming and very healthy relationship, that men are actually pretty simple through and through. As Seinfeld once said, "When a woman asks a guy what he's thinking, and he replies, 'nothing,' it's true. We're actually not thinking about anything." This theory is seconded by the recent "nothing box" discussions seen in this funny (and true) video.

The subject is the difference of how men and women's brains are wired. Men are more simple, according to the speaker, Mark Gungor. Women's brains, which will come as no surprise to anyone who is a woman or has ever known one, are connected like a superspeed highway with many twists, turns, overlaps, interconnections and jumbles of wires. A topic, to a woman, is never a singular one. It is attached to everything else in the brain.

For example, when a man mentions a party to a woman, she isn't just processing the invitation, she's thinking about what she'll wear, who will be there, if they'll accept her into the group, how she would feel if they didn't, what she needs to do in order to get ready for the event, what she may be missing out on if she does attend, and how the man in question will respond to all of the above. Because she'll undoubtedly share most of these intersecting thoughts with him, much to his dismay and/or confusion. To him, it was just an invitation to a party.

Men's brains, to the opposite, are organized into boxes. There is the Sports Box, the Food Box, the Sex Box, the Work Box, the Friend Box, the Family Box, the Beer Box, the News Box, the TV Box, the Weekend Box and the Girlfriend/Wife box. Hidden way back beneath all of the other boxes are the unsightly In-laws Box, the Ex Box, and the Exercise Box. When a topic comes up, a man's brain goes to the box in question, accesses the information necessary to compute the response, and then puts it back away, being careful not to touch, open or disturb any of the other boxes. It's like a well-organized garage, albeit with a little dust and a few random "collectibles."

And, finally, there is the "Nothing Box." This is the one that when a man is sitting still, walking down the street or watching TV, he accesses. This results in absolute nothingness. No thoughts, no activities, no obsessions, and no required response. When a woman asks him what he's thinking while this box is engaged, his honest reply is, "nothing."

This isn't to say that men are less intelligent, or less engaged in everyday life, it is just an assessment on how men like things to be. Simple. Why confuse things if they are better left alone? Why add complexities where one simple answer/activity is enough?

I think this theory of men's simplicity is best exemplified, of late, by the recent commerical for the new product, the Old Spice Hair & Body Wash. View it below if you haven't had the privilege to see it on TV just yet.


Because it would just be TOO MUCH TROUBLE to use two separate products. One for your hair and one for your body. I mean, come on. Men just want things to be easy. Give me a product, that I can buy for under four dollars at CVS, that I can open in the shower, rub all over my body AND my head, and then I'm finished. Hand me a towel and I'm ready to go. I am guessing this product can be found in the very small, rarely considered "Grooming Box."

Unlike the female wires of makeup, body image, salons, shopping, hair products, cosmetic surgeries, figure flattery, and other more complex, and misunderstood interconnected issues, the Grooming Box has two things inside. A razor, and this lovely Old Spice product. [Warning: Blanket Generalization Alert—this excludes many metrosexuals and most gay men. I'm certain, to their credit, that their Grooming Box is easily accessible, fully-packed with the latest products, tips and salons. Come on, they just smell too good for this not to be true.]

At least then there's no mildewing, hairy, slimy soap to drop in the shower. Because the "Cleaning Box," which includes scrubbing the bathroom, rarely sees the light of day. It is placed WAY back in the brain, just to the left of the "Anniversaries & Birthdays Box."

It's simple, right?

Simple Genius

While watching a Tivoed episode of Oprah, I heard something that struck a chord. And, yes, this is primarily for my single female readers, but I suspect that all women could benefit from this nugget.

The show featured Patti Novak, the straight-talking, tough-as-nails, East Coast matchmaker from TV fame, and the subject was 'why can't eligible single women find love?'

I have felt that way before so many times, for myself and for friends and family. Wondered what we were doing wrong. Blamed ourself and analzyed it to death.

Patti broke it down. She calls it the "pickle jar effect."

Now, before I share this, please refrain from any comments that fall into the categories of Oprah-hating, men-bashing, women's lib promoting, or any others that are heavy with argumentativeness.

Because, as much as we may not like it, she has a point.

Her "pickle jar theory" is that since women are more educated, more succesful, more talented, more well-paid and more independent than ever before in history (and yes, this is still deemed a good thing), we are also more and more intimidating, and alienating, to the men. At the core of their being, men want to be needed. And, sometimes this is just as simple as needing them to open the pickle jar.

Yes, we can dig out a knife and bang it on the lid and strain and open the stupid jar ourselves, and we WOULD do that if we were home alone, but it never can hurt to turn to the guy and ask for his help opening it.

It is a very base, simple and innocent gesture that allows men to feel strong, manly and necessary, and it allows us to dig into the pickles much faster.

Feed the ego, feed the stomach.

Seems like a win-win to me.

Shouldn't Be Surprised...

...that men don't seem to want to get married. Cue "Vortex" music.


Good God.

I'm running off to an island somewhere. That's it. Not that a wedding is a near-to-me possibility, or even a tiny threat to my sanity in the imminent future, but this is ridculous.

Plus, I don't even like cake.

*Yeah for me. My first video post. Aren't I sassy?

Empty Promises

While celebrating the holidays with extended family, the innocent question "So, Colleen, are you seeing anyone?" keeps coming up. It is practically the first question I'm asked. I'm sometimes not even fully in the door. The coat has definitely not even been yet hung in the closet.

This casual, yet loaded, inquiry inevitably leads to a laughing, joking, somewhat cynical conversation of The Vortex that has sucked in (and sometimes spit back out) the guys in my life, and the lives of my other single cousins.

The stories are piling up (I made notes on the plane and realize I currently have no less than 11 stories to tell) of the myriad vortex tales. The airplane napkin is chock full of my love disasters.

I promise the publishing of these stories is coming soon. For now, begin to collect yours, and send them my way.

Just be sure that you change the guys' names, to protect the guilty.

I'm Such a Tease

Yes. You are seeing that correctly.

I have embarked, though slowly, on a new blog. Not to replace this one, but in addition to it (because I have the time!?!?).

This one is big. Huge. Legendary. I feel obligated, like I owe it to girls everywhere, to do this.

And, yes, I will provide an ample, and well-crafted definition of this theory of mine about the vortex.

Tales of the Vortex will be about, and comprised of, the world-class, hilarious, painful, ridiculous, nail-biting, boot-stomping, mind-numbing, frustrating, stupid situations that have happened to me or to one of my fabulous friends as we traverse the dating universe.

These tales make great "let's have a glass of wine and talk about men" kind of stories, but they make truly finding happiness in dating virtually impossible. Laughable even.

Maybe, just maybe, with me displaying this kind of "flirty, easy, teasing attitude," you'll actually drop in and visit when I'm ready. You'll settle in, share a laugh, and find some kindred-spiritness to it all.

You know, like you said you would.

As you said goodnight.

After introducing me to your parents.

And never did.

My New Man

I must admit it isn’t my style to take strange men home from bars, but Fonzie was the exception.

I found him laying, face down on the bar, after everyone had gone home from my company holiday party. Someone must've left their gag gift for the taking.

All wrapped in plastic, he seemed harmless and safe. Nice, even. He is wearing a mechanics outfit (fix my car, Fonz?) and he was dressed and ready for work (in coordinating top and pants, he totally matched!)

He even fit in my purse! What a guy.

He’s not much of a conversationalist, by the way.

However, upon further consideration, that may be the best kind of boyfriend.