For example: I'm a pretty stout fellow; particularly for my height (I'm 5' 10"), and as a guy, that works for me. A fair portion of men enjoy few things more than hoisting heavy, inanimate, metal objects over their heads repeatedly while grunting. I'm especially talented in this respect. Here I am about to perform an incline dumbbell press.
Just kidding. That's former Mr. Olympia finalist Flex Wheeler about to throw up around 200 lbs...per arm. But, I do enjoy doing this type of thing; albeit with slightly less weight. I also enjoy participating in pick-up games of tackle football and scarfing mustard-drenched Polish dogs at AT&T Park. I was a better-than-average student of boxing in college, and I can consistently throw the 15-yard-out pattern with some degree of success. So when the game is won and the Heinekens have been chugged, I go home, take a shower, and if I'm in the mood... BAM! I'm slicing onions and concocting sauces and basically pretending that it's my face on the package of Uncle Ben's instant rice (I'm certain that line would go over wonderfully with the NAACP). These fits of culinary inspiration come-and-go, but I've grown progressively more focused and Zen-like in the kitchen, which has become the source of much comedy among my buddies. Meet Chef Boy-Au-brey. Charmed, I presume?
In the past I was a slave to animal impulses, and although I knew it wasn't always fair, I demanded girlfriends to paint their toes strange, bright colors and join me at the gym lest they become casualties of dreaded "girlfriend gain." I also unabashedly requested they wear shoes that probably weren't safe (let alone comfortable) from time-to-time. In short, I suffered severe bouts of douche-itis in my 20's. I've shared many a chuckle with the guys over similar Cro-Magnon antics they perpetrated on gals. But those laughs are turned squarely on me if I show up for the holiday pot-luck wearing...
It appears I'm too mixed up and European (my boss called me that today) to know when I'm treading in "fairy-boy" territory. Now I'm even starting to question whether or not blogging is unmanly. I mean, I've searched and searched and besides Badass Geek, I've yet to find a coherent blog written by anyone with a Y-chromosome. There's literally about a 10-t0-1 female-to-male ratio of bloggers as far as I've seen. And that doesn't make me feel any more capable of ripping a phone book in half with my bare hands.
So, should I tweak things to make sure Catnip is TE (Testosterone/Estrogen) balanced? Should the title be changed to "Dogbones for Dipshits"? Maybe throw in some posts about the upcoming NFL season? I could do a comparison piece titled... New York Strip vs. Sirloin: Rage on the Grill. How about the pros and cons of Ultimate Fighting as a high school sports activity? I'm not sure, but perhaps sharing what happened during my day might be too similar to sharing my feelings...or writing poetry. And that's just gross, isn't it?
What do you guys/gals think? Are my testosterone-fueled insecurities founded?
Please share your feeli...err, thoughts on this with me.