Don’t Be That Guy: The Oakland Raiders Fan

It’s here! It’s finally here! The 2013 NFL Season is upon us!

Last Thursday’s Broncos-Ravens game kicked off the next 16 glorious weeks. I love football season because it’s the only thing that will get to me out of my house and to a bar in broad daylight. On Sundays, I suit up in my Eagles attire and head out to meet the guys and some sort of chicken wings configuration. Every game day is a celebration and every friend is a potential foe. Even God rested on the seventh day to watch football.

Sports notoriously brings people together. It can put wars on pause and turn even the churchiest female into a screaming wild beast at least once a week. But there’s always one guy at the bar who has to kill my football chick boner, and that guy is always the Raiders fan.

My advice to you is this: Don’t be a fucking Raiders fan.

LA has no football team, leaving the locals to pick the San Diego Chargers or Oakland Raiders as their “home” team. Those who choose the Raiders have chosen poorly. Raiders fans are at the bottom of the NFL fan totem pole and by no one’s fault but their own.

During football season, Sundays are the Benetton ad of sports bars. They invite people from all walks of life and supporters of teams in every division: Cardinals, Pats, Texans – you name it. But Raiders fans are different. They don’t blend into the sea of football fans enjoying nachos and beer like the rest of us. You can hear a Raiders fan before you see one. They have a distinct sound, a mating call of sorts that’s several decibels louder than your typical crowd cheer. The Raiders Roar, as I call it, is not just reserved for big plays or touchdowns. It’s every play. Every yard.

Check out the following clip to hear this Raiders Roar:

Do you avoid bars with Raiders fans? Is this limited to Raiders fans in Southern California?

It’s the Final Countdown

Well here we are. We made it, we finally made it to the home stretch. Today, we celebrate like heroes. Look at the person next to you. In 30 days, he or she will be your brother, your sister, your family. We’ll be bonded by what we’ve endured in these long, grueling summer months. In 30 days, we’ll begin the next chapter of our lives – one where we are united. Stronger. Better. In 30 days, our lives will start anew.

Ladies and gentlemen, today marks the 30-day countdown to the 2013 NFL Football Season. The new testament opens with an epic tale of birds and horses, battling to the death on Thursday, September 5th.

For 16 glorious weeks, the week will only be six days long. That’s just six days of making plans you pretend to be excited about, and a mere six days of wardrobe choices. You’ll spend Sundays in uniform, beaming with pride, assembling promptly with your league at 1PM (EST), and breaking bread(sticks) with your brethren.

Thirty days. Cheers to you, America!

Bitches Be Like, “I Wish Him the Best.”

Dude, remember the last time someone asked your ex-girlfriend if you two were on good terms and she said “Yeah, we’re cool. I wish him the best”?

Well what she really meant was, “No we’re not on good fucking terms. I hope he gets hit by a bus and I hope I’m the one driving it. Also fuck you for bringing it up so I’m going to sip my drink now.”

“I wish him the best” is the polite and concise way to tell someone to fuck off. It’s the covert breakup lingo, the celebrity go-to line, and is most often used by chicks who want to be on good terms with everyone everywhere ever. It exists so a lady can keep playing nice and never break character. It’s the equivalent of “bless her heart” in the South. (They really think you’re an idiot).

But all women can incorporate “I wish him the best” into their repertoire because it’s quite versatile . I can tell you that “I wish you the best” when I quit a job, dump your broke ass, or want you to stop talking to me forever even though we share many mutual friends.

When was the last time you used the “I wish him the best” line? Did people buy it?

Top 3 Worst Questions to Ask a Person With Tattoos

Guess what? I don’t want to talk to you about my tattoos at the crosswalk, in line at Starbucks, or at the pharmacy checkout counter. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

Yes, I elected to ink my body in visible locations – four in fact.
Yes, there is a story behind each one.
Naturally, they spark people’s curiosity and as my Best Male Friend (BMF) puts it, “Lydia, you got ink on your body. If you don’t want anyone to ask you about it then next time don’t get tattoos where people can see them.”

Touché, BMF, touché. Still, in spite of my ink, I see myself as a person and not a zoo animal.

But I may be the only one. Everyday I watch manners and literacy rates nosedive off a building as soon as someone opens their mouth to ask me about my tattoos. So let me help you out. Today I’ll be the Ms. Manners of Tattoo Inquiry Etiquette.

Here are the Top 3 Worst Questions to Ask a Person With Tattoos:

1. “What does your tattoo say?”
I get asked this at least once a day. Every. Day. Of. My. Life. It may seem like a harmless question to the virgin skinned inquirer. But it drives me absolutely insane because they’re never asking about my French cursive tattoo, they’re asking about the others, which are in English. If I had an obscure portrait of Jimi Hendrix with script embedded deep into his eyes or the Chinese characters for Sum Ting Wong, maybe I wouldn’t get so annoyed.

Screen Shot 2013-07-22 at 8.45.17 PMBut these are in English, mother fucker. And the one on my forearm that people ask most about, is in typewriter font. How am I not supposed to think you’re an idiot when you ask me to read you 12 monosyllabic words in plain sight? How lazy are you? I don’t have the entire collection of Game of Thrones books inked on my skin. I have simple, English words – one of which is even facing you.

The Polite Alternative: Read it yourdamnself.

2. “What does your tattoo mean?”
C’mon you guys. Tattoos are personal, unless you’re the oh-so-literal guy with the angel wings tattoo. (Editor’s Note: Don’t be that guy.) If you have to ask what it means, then they’re even more so. If you’re a complete stranger and the meaning isn’t spelled out for you, it’s not for you to know.

The Polite Alternative: Tattooed people get around this by simply saying, “I like your tattoo.” It’s the polite way to comment. It’s gentle, it’s flattering. Sometimes this is followed with, “Why a [insert tattoo noun]?” That’s an organic lead into a conversation and less of a demand from a complete stranger.

3. “Did that hurt?”
I had ink injected into my skin, pixel by pixel. My tattoo artist wears latex gloves. Have you ever done anything involving latex gloves that didn’t hurt?

And if one more old white person asks me if I’ve “ever heard of Lydia, the tattooed lady?” I’m going to eat my hair and burst into apocalyptic flames.

Tell me honestly, are any of you guilty of these tattoo etiquette offenses? Or should people with tattoos just sack up and deal with it?

Don’t Be That Guy: The White Guy With Bad Shoes

Mornings must be so simple for guys. All you have to do is start from the top and work your way down to the bottom.

Hair – check.
Shirt – check.
Pants – check.
Shoes – check.

Yet white guys with bad shoes run rampant in our streets. Why do so many of you self-sabotage by picking shitty footwear? That’s a 25% failure rate on a daily basis. Look, you’re a white guy. You have the upper hand as one of the few dudes women of all races will at least consider dating. And to make shoe decisions bad enough to undermine that, as a woman in my office calls it, “disgusting.”

It’s undeniable that men have more limited options when it comes to fashion. The basics consist only of hair, shirt, pants, shoes. There are only so many haircuts and shirt-and-pants combos to choose from on any given day. And if you hate shirts that need to be ironed, you’re pretty much stripped down to a loin cloth and a pack of matches.

Women, on the other hand, have a bounty of options. Bangs, curls, updos, cheetah or leopard spots on our toenails – you can’t blame us for taking forever to get ready. It’s almost unfair how many more choices we can wrestle with each morning compared to men. So I ask you, white guys with bad shoes, if you make bad decisions in broad daylight, why would a good woman risk opening her vagina doors to you?

Don’t Be That Guy: The Guy Who Pays for Porn

Welcome back to the work week, gentlemen. I hope everyone enjoyed their July 4th weekend – everyone except the asshole who still pays for porn. He doesn’t deserve to celebrate America’s birthday because he’s the guy keeping this country’s XXX video stores in business. Who the hell still pays for porn? Fools, that’s who. How did Blockbuster go so broke that it shut down most of its locations, but these neon-lit XXX video stores are still standing?

Clearly, there are enough people out there who still making bad financial decisions and people who have never heard of the internet. In the true spirit of America, it’s our patriotic duty to civilize these savages. Do you have a friend who frequents XXX video stores? Or maybe just a friend who mysteriously still owns a VCR? Welcome them to America by showing them how to close their AOL account and google their jollies instead. No rewinding, no trips to the video store. What a friend you’ll be!

I don’t have a problem with seedy sex stores, I have a problem with the guy who is creepy enough to walk into the last place on earth that still carries VHS tapes for rent and purchase, instead of getting off for free, anonymously, and in the privacy of his own man cave like the rest of America.

Don’t Be That Guy: The White Guy Who Uses the N-Word

Summer after senior year, escaping the Virginia heat in a friend’s basement with the white boy I liked. He was playing video games with his best friend. I sat on the couch next to him, fanning myself like we were waiting for someone to serve us sweet tea. The boys were shit-talking each other and battling it out on the screen. Then one of them threw out the N-word and they laughed while my pword slammed its doors shut.

We were in the affluent suburbs of Washington DC. Northern Virginia is the well-landscaped home to the CIA, high school parking lots filled with luxury cars, and steady Abercrombie sales. We don’t even have to dive into the obvious racial aspects of this issue. It’s really just a stupidity issue.

So I ask you, white guys who say the N-word, why would you make yourself a target like that? Whether you are going through a Vanilla Ice identity crisis or a nerd gamer in your thirties playing WoW in your mom’s basement, you can make better decisions. And today is as good as any to start.

Before you argue your laundry list of times when you think it’s okay for white guys to use the N-word, just remember: If Eminem won’t do it, you shouldn’t either.

Are you friends with the white guy who uses the N-word? And if you are, are you okay with it? Are we being too sensitive or politically correct?

Tampon, Tampoff.

Gentlemen, by now you’ve been told countless times since adolescence to never trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn’t die. But instead of being grossed out and weary, I invite you to look at it the way I do: A woman’s vagina is her mutant superpower.

Bear with me.

It’s not a glamorous existence all the time. In fact, only about 50% of the time: Count the full week before your girl’s actual period as a bye-week. Including the week of the game, that leaves two good weeks a month. Disheartened? Not so fast. That means you get two girlfriends in one – two completely different personalities. It’s like dating two chicks at once, but one will never find out about the other. Right when you get sick of the grumpy sassy pants who can’t sleep because she has cramps and hates men, you switch over to your fun-loving, doting girlfriend who surprises you at work with your favorite sandwich.

I’m always happy to get my period. It reminds me that the money I spend every month on my birth control is worth it. So don’t be the asshole who wants to banish women on the rag to the outhouse until it’s over. Use the opportunity to be an outstanding boyfriend. Rise to the occasion and give your chick a care package this month with the essentials: tampons, some chocolate, a pack of AA batteries, and maybe even a Ryan Gosling DVD.

Let’s face it, you may scrunch your face when your chick gets her period but you’d be shitting your pants if she didn’t. And didn’t we all read enough X-Men growing up to learn that mutants shouldn’t be treated like outcasts? Guys, is there anything women can do to get you over the gross factor?

Summer Fun Tips

It’s finally heating up to 90-degree temperatures over here in NYC, which means that summer has arrived. Your calendar is probably filling up quickly with cookouts, parties, and outdoor music festivals. In addition to plenty of sunscreen, here are 5 summer fun tips to ensure a successful season:

And most importantly, don’t fuck it up for the rest of us.

What are your summer debauchery plans? Do you have any tips to save the rest of us from summer stupidity?

Don’t Be That Guy: The White Guy Who Licks His Lips

Gentlemen, good morning. Welcome to another Monday. I hope everyone had a good weekend. I spent mine wondering if I hate Justin Bieber or not. If that sounds like a complete waste of time to you, then you’re not so bad and you can stay. What I realized is that he doesn’t really bother me. The kid has a great voice and considering how much he’s accomplished at such a young age, he’s put off the inevitable child star breakdown pretty well. But I digress. This post isn’t about Bieber because there are clearly larger offenses out there. My problem, however, is that he is one of many white guys who thinks licking his lips increases his “thug appeal.”

I’ve seen it one too many times: Some awkward white kid’s balls drop and he decides that he hates being white. He discovers hip hop and starts experimenting, trying other cultures on for size. He shies away from white chicks and asks himself questions like “Can I pull off cornrows?”

No, you can’t.

But listen, there’s hope for you yet. Justin Timberlake went through it and still blossomed into Justin Fucking Timberlake. So get yourself some chapstick and stop being a cultural chameleon.