Packers

"See, honey, I told you everything would fit."

Not the fudge nor Green Bay variety.

I’ve lived in Pittsburgh for two years and during those two years I’ve lived in the same apartment. It’s treated me well and I’ve had some great memories here. Alas, every good thing must come to an end and I will be moving to my new apartment tomorrow. Why the move? I was paying much more for rent than I should be to live in Pittsburgh. Money talks. Anyway, as I was packing my belongings last night, I started talking to Suki on GChat. I was talking her about having to put together a plan of attack for moving my stuff in an efficient way onto my friend’s pickup when she gave me this little gem:

Suki: maybe u just need a woman to help u. guys SUCK at packing

Really? I immediately admitted that women are, in my opinion, better at packing luggage than men are. But loading up a car? Nope. I don’t buy that for a second. So I took it to twitter and most people seemed to agree with me. (Disclaimer: I’m not saying that men don’t know how to properly pack luggage nor am I saying that women don’t know how to properly load a car. However, women seem to be better than men and men seem to be better than women in those situations, respectively.)

Women have a way with luggage that most men are just not able to duplicate. Every luggage bag that a woman packs contains 3 closets and 2 bathrooms in them. Either every woman’s luggage bag is also a doorway to Narnia or they’re really good at packing. I actually envy women for their skill. The only reason women take more than one luggage bag with them on a trip is that they have about 12 closets worth of clothes in their houses, which requires them to pack heavy if they want “options”. Men seem like they know how to pack luggage, but that’s because we only have to pack 5 items for a week-long trip. In reality, we usually just throw things in a bag, sometimes haphazardly. There isn’t really any blueprint to how we pack. We just kinda shove stuff in there because space is never really an issue. And if we need more room we press down on the items in the bag with our hands/feet/ass/child to try to flatten everything. That seems to work fine most of the time. Hell, that’s how I’m currently packing all these boxes for my move.

On the other hand, loading a car seems to be a different story. Men take items that need to be loaded into a car and all of sudden it’s a game of Tetris (relevant Simpsons reference). You can literally see men working out geometric equations in their mind while they do this. And no space is too small to fit something in (pause). I feel like women are a bit more cautious about breaking something (either the cargo or the car) when they try to load a car. Most of the time, men don’t believe anything will break. Because of that, we’ll use spaces that would otherwise be ignored. “See that 4 inch gap between the crockpot and the guitar amp? Yeah, that’s where the flat screen will go.” And somehow it ends up fitting.

But maybe I’m wrong. What do you guys think?

-TDA

Smartly Sexy

Ya'll betta WORK those invisible strings. Rawr.

So we have in our midst a woman who needs no introduction. A woman who embodies the definition of “foolery” and who continually works to bring ratchet discussion to the forefront of our society. To her, foolery is not just a habit, but it’s a lifestyle. Please, join me in giving a great big fuck you welcome to Cheekie.

Or “sexily smart.” Either way. Choose your own adventure.

One afternoon, I happened to be aimlessly watching an episode of CSI: [insert popular city and/or witty term here] with my sister at her place. There was a particular character who encapsulated the very idea of a “know-it-all.” Like, he knew everything about… um, whatever he was supposed to know about. He deftly spit out jargon in such confidence, it could give you whiplash. My sister turned to me and said, “Ya know, I love dudes that know everything. Dudes who know just… a LOT about what they know. Like, that is so sexy to me.”

And I have to say, I agree with her. That IS sexy. It got me thinking about the different classifications on what makes someone “smart.” And the various labels that are attributed to a smart guy. The most common being, “nerd, geek, and dork.”

Though these are often deemed as interchangeable, they are anything but. Those who truly embrace these labels know the difference. And I have to admit, I find something I like in each one.

Allow me to dissect what I just said. Ya know, get froggy (see what I did over there?):

1. The Nerds. These are the truly intelligent, in the purest form. They know things that are commonly unknown (particularly useful things) and are pretty much the rulers of the world. Sans Oprah, of course. There is something completely irresistible about a guy who knows everything about something I know little to nothing about. Like, for instance, I’m more of an artsy person. Right-brained, yadda yadda yadda. A guy that knows how to logically stimulate my mind? A mathematical master? Swoon city. Yeah, basically I’m saying: Engineers NEED apply. NEED. This intelligence I adore applies to vocabulary as well. As a writer, I’m definitely a logophile (which sounds dirty; and I’m cool with that). So, I especially love when a man teaches me a new word or pronounces one of my favorite words in THAT voice (sidenote: I have a thing for the word, “poignant”, so fellas? Please send all audio files of you reciting that word to pinchmycheekie(at)gmail(dot)com. Merci and whatnot.), which sends me into daydreaming bliss.

2. The Geeks. These are the guys that are intelligent in terms of interests. Hence the term “movie geeks”, “Star Wars geeks”, “music geeks”, etc. What I love about this guy is the passion. Sure, said passion can delve into side-eye territory, but even then, there is something endearing about it. I am a self-proclaimed Disney and Pixar geek (though, I prefer “stan” since I’m dramatic) so I know a little about putting all of yourself into something. Obsessing over random facts, geeking-out (you see, again, what I keep doing there?) over national conventions, proudly showcasing adoration… the list goes on and on, my friends. There isn’t much sexier than a guy being totally enthralled in his interests. Watching a guy excitedly regale me with stories/facts involving his interest o’ choice is a special kind of aphrodisiac.

3. The Dorks. This may arguably be my favorite. Well, not my favorite so much as it holds a special place in my heart. These are the silly, sometimes clumsy and rather awkward guys. Dorkiness is such a loveable quality. I especially appreciate when said dorkiness comes out in snippets; in unsuspecting moments. A seemingly cool guy unpredictably showing his more dorky side is like manna to me. Because I view it as him showing some vulnerability. Some quirkiness. And I love an all-around goofy guy. One of THEE hottest things to me is combining foolery with intelligence. I call it “intelligent ignance.” Remix a ratchet southern rap lyric using Ye Olde English and you have my heart. Basically, dorks get boob hugs. You too-cool-for-school mofos can kick several pet rocks.

Pinchers (or would that be That Damn Africans?), what do you think about nerds, geeks and dorks? Oh my! Male or female, is there anything about these three classifications that appeal to you? And hey, go crazy, add some of the sub-classifications (like “dweeb”) while ya at it.

Whisper that Pythagorean Theorem in my ear, boo-thang.

Love ya like soccer women love to celebrate a win by taking off their shirts,

Cheekie

Pool Parties And Titanium Fists

Apparently this is how my friends imagine I'm going to die

#Pause at that title.

I can’t swim. *stops to give everyone a chance to side-eye me*

Yes, I never learned how to swim. Ten points will be awarded to stereotypes. I took swimming lessons as a kid, but never finished them (I don’t remember why). When I got a little older, my uncle tried to teach me, but I could never learn how to float. My body would just sink every time. I’ve spent my life stuck in “wade in the water” status.

Fast forward to this past weekend. I went to a pool party hosted by one of my friends. It actually was more of a small gathering at the pool area at my friend’s apartment building. No matter. Almost immediately after we arrived, all the women jumped into the pool. The men? We sat at a table and chilled. Why? Cause most of us couldn’t swim. Of the four guys there, only one could swim. An additional 100 points will be awarded to stereotypes. We were all met with insults and boos from the women, who were confused why men who couldn’t swim wouldn’t be eager to jump into water. We were called “lame-os” and our table was designated “Loserville”, insults that got us talking about how ineffective insults usually are at getting a man to do something he doesn’t want to do. Oh, you calling me a pussy ass nigga?!? Well, I guess I’m a pussy ass nigga then. *George Jefferson strut*

While the women enjoyed the water, some of the 2520s at the pool asked us if we wanted to play a game of volleyball with them. Seeing as how we weren’t doing much of anything else except being verbally harassed by women who only knew insults from 1986, we decided we’d play. It was a fun game and not too competitive seeing as how most of us weren’t that good. I was one of the worst though. Every time I’d try to do a forearm pass, the ball would get knocked into the heavens without exerting that much force at all, thus leading to my nickname “Titanium Fists”. And TheChampmighthavespikedtheballinmyface, moving on….

After the game the men went back to chilling at our table. After a little while, I decided to jump into the pool. I figured I might as well take advantage of the fact that the pool has a shallow end that I’m not too short for (I foresee Cheekie making a comment about how incredibly shallow the pool must have been to accommodate me). The women cheered after I removed my shirt, I assume because they were fawning over my visible ribcage, and I made my way to the pool. I obviously spent most of my time standing in the pool, but at one point Gem and Saks did try to teach me how to float to no avail. I do appreciate them trying though.

Anyway, fun was had, jello shots were consumed, and no one drowned. That’s about as successful as a pool party can get (don’t refute that). One day I may learn how to swim, but until then I’m going to be whatever the opposite of Aquaman would be. That sounded better in my head.

-TDA