Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Fashion Tips for Men...from the experts (not me)

It has become very aware to me that I seem to have spent a lot of time denegrating the fashion sense of "certain" women. I believe that this mainly has to do with the fact that I am a straight man, so naturally, I'll tend to glance/glare/ogle/stalk women. Makes sense, right? Some women deserve it, as most of you have agreed.

Well, the time has come with much requisition and desire from you ladies for me to "hop the fence" with this topic. I guess that's fair. After all, it is warmer out, people are starting to wear less (although I wish some of you would wear more) and apparently guys keeping up on casual fashion is just as likely as asking Paris Hilton to speak to Congress about Darfur. So I'm told.

I am, by no means, a fashion expert. I am a guy. We are stubborn. We'd for the most part rather use a dull, rusty razor and give ourselves a vasectomy than set foot in a mall or store for more than five minutes, especially for our own clothes. We hang onto certain items, to be discussed, like a fat kid on a Ho-Ho. This isn't news to all of you ladies, of course. I have to state the obvious, however.

With the aforementioned in mind, I had to consult a few experts. A few women I chat with and one openly homosexual male, whom I'll call "Fashionista Freddy". I've known them all for a while, and I have to consult since I am a). not a woman and b). equipped with 1945 German issue World War II gaydar, which can be screwed with by simply being anywhere near tin foil, unlike the "Doppler Gaydar 2000" that my colleague has.

My intent is on letting men know what is and what is not acceptable attire in casual situations. Or, I'll just do it so the women readers can get a much needed chuckle out of it.

The Head:

Visors are not acceptable. Only a select few can pull it off, like millionaire golfers and one specific T-Ball coach north of the 43rd Parallel. The rest of you guys are looking like assholes. Wear a freaking hat. Or put a yarmulke on top of the visor to make...a hat.

If you do choose to wear a hat, make sure that it has a slightly bent rim, worn frontwards. There is no tolerance for the cocked 30 degree angle look with the straight brim and the fucking tags on the hat still. I tried that once. I was eight. I forgot to take the tag off. I got beaten mercilessly at Little League and there is a warrant out for your pummeling too by anybody that agrees with me. K-Fed.

If you are balding...go bald. No combovers, skullets, wraparounds...either shave that peach fuzz shit off or wear it proudly, a la George Costanza.

Serenity now, people, serenity now.

The Tops:

No black concert T-shirts are ever permitted outside of a concert venue. And that shirt at said concert cannot ever be of the band you are actually seeing. So, according to "Fashionista Freddy", don't wear your Purple Rain T-shirt to see Prince. Not the example I'd use, but hey. Just don't be that guy.

No wife beaters allowed without a cover shirt. And if you do have a cover shirt, make sure that nobody can see that nasty ass thing underneath it, which means that you, Hip Hop, need to button it up a bit. Otherwise the above-mentioned Warrant for Pummeling goes into effect.

Want to dress to impress for a first date? Or for the slightly less "I wanna look like a complete wanna be gangsta asshole look", men must avoid the button down short sleeve dress shirt. Now, personally, I thought that these things went bye-bye around the time Bananarama did, but apparently not so, to fashion consultant "Darlin' 'I aint no fuckin' Prince song' Nikki". I haven't worn one since I qualified for shopping in the "Slim" or "Husky" section at Sears. My mistake. They are alive and well with men over the age of 40 apparently. They look like shit, fellas. And they should come with a pocket protector and a tag that says, "I haven't been laid in...well, ever".

The Bottoms:

According to fashion experts, denim shorts are waaaayyyy out. Well, denim anything other than pants are out (jackets, shirts). Not cargo shorts, not even painters shorts, all within reason for 2007 fashion. The chatter is those cut off, ratty ass, stonewashed Whitesnake shorts, or just plain ol' jean shorts, is, or never really was, a good look. Now, I understand that men and jeans are like hanging onto their penises...we never let them go. That's the point, says "Cameltoe Carol", its time. The Warrant for Pummeling is extended to the self cut, ragged so the pockets hang out the bottom...along with your nut sack shorts. Enough said.

This is also extended to:

80's ballzak tennis shorts

Elastic public.

Shorts that hang down to a man's long they look like Capri's...Freddy says that you might just wanna "come out" with those on

Swimsuits that allow the little mouse to poke its head out

Speedos that show the world what the term "shrinkage" means...

...especially on fat guys.

The Feet:

According to Darling Nikki, If one wears tennis shoes, white socks are allowed. Sandals, no socks are allowed. Never mix these up.

If one wears black socks with either, you deserve to be called stumpy as you hobble around on your ankles. The ONLY time I can think of to not wear socks with tennis shoes is if one is tredging through a river trying to pull up the sunken canoe in hopes that the case of beer that went down with it is still drinkable. And then said shoes must be burned and never spoken of again. Ever.

And I did see a guy wearing the 80's Turf Cleats the other day. Again, more reason to get a camera so I can document these monkey fucks in their glory.

The Accessories, including your Stench:

Do not bathe in cologne, especially Drakkar Noir, Obsession or Polo know what, each and every possible cologne. Here's an idea guys, and this one I agree with.

Fuckin' shower.

Go buy a bar of $.99 Irish Spring and hit a water hole or something. It does more for a guy that pouring on four gallons of noxious chemicals destined to clear out even the harshest of strip joints. If anything, that cologne gives off the scent that you haven't bathed in weeks and gives off the impression that your ass is as swampy as the Congo.

Jewelry. Men, if single, are allowed a watch and a necklace, with, if religiously inclined, a classy crucifix or something of that nature. The gold tire chains that would choke off a Humpback Whale look uncouth and unrefined.

If a man is married, they are allowed a wedding band, along with the watch and classy neck shit. But, hey, this is the 21st fuck it! Loyalty and fidelity went out the door along with Brenda Walsh. Those wedding bands are apparently optional! Can I get a hell yeah! Sorry.

I'm freaking tired of this. I am asking for reader participation here since I am well aware that I missed a TON of stuff. Tell me your thoughts.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

I have come around full circle in this...

It doesn't seem too long ago that it was me at the check out counter, trembling with irrational fear. At least it doesn't seem that long ago.

But, the other night I witnessed perhaps the most seemingly embarrassing thing a teenage "man" could get himself into.

Buying condoms.

For what looked like, from the box, a night "ribbed for her pleasure". His, too.
Yes, this poor guy, (wait, screw that, THE MAN), was enduring one of his rights of passage into manhood and I, the masterful child psychologist, was there to witness it. And, of course, I was more than willing to offer my plentiful, sage-like advice. Allow me to explain.

He correctly performed all the standard tactics of buying jimmy-caps for the first time.

We were at a party store, not a CVS or Rite-Aid or any other high profile pharmacy...just a seedy party store where I, after glancing at the latest editions of Swank, Asian Persuasion and Juggs, was purchasing a six-pack of Natty Light. He picked an out of the way place to buy them. He chose this locale presumably to limit his chances of people actually seeing him buy rubbers, a good choice, unneccesary in the mind of an aging veteran like myself, but understood.

He made the lady stay in the car listening to REO Speedwagon, Hinder or whatever sappy "wanna-get-in-your-panties" music those asshats listen to today. I imagine to make him look nonchalant and a professional. Good move.

He waited until he was sure that there was nobody left in the place to uncomfortably step forward and slink the Trojans onto the counter. But, he didn't see me creep up behind him with a smirk on my face and a six pack in hand. As soon as he put them on the counter though, he realized I was there. I know the owner of this place, since I make it a regular reading library, and I saw he had a smile on his face as well.

The poor kid made his mistake here.

He tried paying with change.


Trembling, nervous, anxious, turgid, however you would describe a sixteen year old about to lay the pipe for the first time (maybe), he was it. The change was all over the place, he was disoriented and I was laughing my ass off. I'm very senstitive to teens needs for "releasing pressure".

After a minute or so of him fumbling around like a monkey fucking a football trying to figure this out, and with "Dave" the store owner becoming agitated, I made a decision that I wouldn't make 99 out of 100 times...I politely interjected, said I understood what he was going through with a chuckle and I offered to purchase them for him. At first he was stunned. Then he accepted. Who wouldn't?

So, I put in on my tab, he picked them up, glanced at me weirdly and saw my goofy ass smile, and walked out the door toward his lady friend and what I hope was an eventful night of teenage fornication at the cemetery, a baseball dugout or a parking lot...romantic places, you know?
What I should've done was made him wait and told him a few things about the situation he was in. I would've said this had I had the chance.

"There is no need to be embarrassed to buy condoms. For two reasons:

1. You obviously understand this phrase:

2. You are getting laid tonight, my man! That's a hell of a lot better than my evening which will consist of me drinking crappy beer, scratching my ass, fidgeting with my balls and watching Borat for the 20th time.

So, relax, have fun! That first raincoat you attempt to put on, by the way, is shot already since you won't even get it on the tip of your dinghy before it becomes a "creamy sticky-sickle"...

The second one won't last more than 15 seconds either since you are a young-un, so you're a two-pump-chump. The third one will be OK. But, I recommend you purchase the box of 12 next time.

And remember, if she claims to be a virgin, but you wienie slide in there pretty damn easy, she's lying and is as loose as a screen door in a twister. (Another great reason you buy meat covers. Avoiding "The Clap".) Finish and then head for the hills...yelling all the way to your buddies, 'I hit that!' "

Ahhh...those were the days...