Guy Stuff

Guy: A rope, chain, or rod attached to something to steady or guide it. Oops, rather: English conspirator executed for his part in the Gunpowder plot, an unsuccessful plan to blow up Parliament. D'oh! Maybe: a boy or man; fellow; chap.

I go to an off the books men's meeting from time to time. They let me attend even though I'm not sure I qualify as much of a guy. Secretly, I think I would be more attractive in panty hose and a tight skirt but that's a another topic, probably one best discussed with Sigmund Freud, in private, with no one else around. I don't think the solution to that tendency can be found in The Steps.

This is mostly guy guys. You know, the kind who go on fishing trips and don't shave or bathe for a week, eating nothing but cooked meat and raw meat and potato chips. I get freaked out if I don't have good conditioner with me for a day, and special lotion. I have no interest in sitting in a rowboat in the baking sun on a lake somewhere, catching something I'd be afraid to eat. I'd be happier shopping for frilly things in a cute shop.

The thing I like most about this meeting is that we call each other on our crap. If I get off base, someone stops me, rudely and to the point. I don't get to spread my disease around, only my solution. I think some meetings fail at making sure that its members are adhering to the basic principles of recovery. We get too concerned that we'll hurt someone's feelings. The result is that these meetings attract people who are careful not to hurt anyone's feelings and you end up with a wishy-washy, light-hearted love in. We're dealing with serious stuff here and sometimes we need to get our hands whacked.

The problem with men is that sometimes we go too far with this behavior. It gets so over the top that it seems forced. One of my buddies asked if they still do all of that grab-ass stuff at that meeting. I don't know what grab-ass stuff is but I think it captures the tone of the gathering.

I'm a real bad ass. Definitely.