Early on in every new female friendship I have, I hear these words, “I don’t usually hang out with girls.”

I’m not sure what that says about me.  Or what that says about my choice in friends, because, as many guys as I hang out with, I have a lot of girlfriends.  I have three sisters.  I was raised in a family that’s primarily female.  I’m definitely a girl.  I think my friends are all in denial.

But it’s gotten me thinking, because recently, I’ve actually heard these words from my own sister, Sadie, the ex-NFL cheerleader turned hockey mom.  Well, she says something like these words.  See, I always ask her opinion when it comes to men, because she’s usually dead on.  So when I comment on how much she thinks like a guy, she says, “Yeah, I’m thinking about starting my own blog one day.  I’m going to call it ‘Someone Stole My Junk.’”

Even Carrie, the girliest of my friends, who looks like a miniature Barbie Doll, went to college on a basketball scholarship.  She golfs, watches sports, drinks beer.  She’s a guy’s girl, too.  But she’s a girl’s girl for me.

She’s flying in Wednesday night to hang with me for the weekend. Every time she comes for a visit, we watch every chick flick I own, stuff ourselves with chips and salsa, and paint our nails.  It’s just so cool doing nothing with her.  This is our last real chance to hang out and just be girls.  The next time I see her will be when I fly up for her wedding in April.


So, this outreach thing at work is coming to a close.  Thank God! I’m so ready to get back to my real job. Everything’s coming together here at the end, so that’s good, too.

I spent the evening with the local handyman, Tim, who is, literally, an artist when it comes to woodworking, and he’s working on a project for me.  I sit on a towel on the floor of my garage watching him work for about three hours while I’m checking my email and taking phone calls from the guys in my group.

One guy calls me because he can’t get in touch with two others, both of whom pick up right away when I call them from my work phone.  I can tell he’s thinking, “WTF?” as he listens to me talk with them. Then, I get another call from one of the guys who sounds entirely too happy to be sober.  I make sure he’s got a designated driver with him before promising to meet him tomorrow.

I’d told Tim I’d get a pizza for us to share while we’re working together tonight, but every time I offer to order delivery, he tells me he’s not hungry.  So, instead, I feed him chocolate covered pretzels and beer until about nine o’clock when we call it a night.  I’m such a gourmet.  Apparently, I’m not the girly-girl I think I am…

Maybe I’m the one in denial.

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