The other Sunday my wife took my son over to grandma’s house. This was a fantastic turn of events as it left me alone for one of my favorite past times, watching 3.5 hours of commercials with a couple of football plays mixed in here and there. I got my beer, my fat guy shorts, and sat down on the couch to enjoy some man time. The game started out as expected. The ball was kicked off, it flew out of the end-zone…and…commercials. Perfect. Why bother showing some plays and introducing the players when there are clearly numerous goods and services I need to buy. First up was Dominos pizza. They showed a guy talking into his phone to some app named Dom. He turns out to be not so helpful with various tasks until it is time to order a pizza, which is accomplished by talking into your phone. Wow, not since I was a kid, talking into my phone to order a pizza, could I even dream of such technological advancements that would allow me to talk into my phone to order a pizza..#genius Must be really tough to get a job over there at Dominos Corporate. Maybe commercial 2 would prove more fruitful. Ahh Chevy trucks, a football Sunday mainstay. At least they moved musically from Like a Rock to the new Meloncamp version of Born Free. Although I do enjoy being yelled at by Bob Seager and his Silver Bullet Band. I bet they would come in handy in a Werewolf fight. Toward the end of the ad, the narrator mentioned “truck guys”. Hmmm…this peaked my interest. What exactly is a truck guy and more importantly what “guy” am I. Maybe I’m a truck guy. I watched the commercial and saw that “truck guy” is tough, rugged, in shape, works with his hands, and every time his pants move clouds of dust blast out in all directions. I figured this is either dirt dust or, more likely, sprinklings from the tough guy fairy. I quickly took a self inventory..tough?..nope. Rugged?..nope. In shape?..depends on the definition of in shape so that is probably a nope. Now unless cheese doodle dust counts as tough guy sprinklings, safe to say I am not a “truck guy”. I sat there wondering what type of “guy” I was. I really need to find out, otherwise how can I buy the right products that suit my lifestyle. Thus began my several day journey of self discovery. What “guy” am I?
The obvious choice would be “family guy” since I am a guy and have a family, but that would violate most copyright laws so I needed to find something else. That would have been sweet though since I wouldn’t have to do anything to maintain that status. Just keep my family alive. As I thought long and hard about what to do while scratching my belly, I realized I really should get into better shape. That is when it hit me…”workout guy”…I could be “workout guy”! It requires no real talent or advanced athletic ability of any kind, just workout clothes and some type of gym membership. So I headed for the closet, dusted off the workout gear, and headed out the door. Next stop, a gym for a workout. After paying a small workout fee, I was in the mix, in my gear, looking not so good, and feeling even worse when I saw most of the people there….except for the few people just like me who were red as tomatoes and struggling not to pass out on the elliptical machines. In the middle of the gym there was a group of people doing some type of intense workout thing I had never seen before. Lots of crazy exercises that involved something called a WOD and what appeared to be an ultimate goal of severe injury and vomiting. I asked someone what is was and they said Cross-Fit. It sounded interesting, but if being “workout guy” meant injury and vomiting I wasn’t sure if it was for me. Seems like there are much easier and less painful ways to accomplish that goal, like a trip to Vegas, french kissing a homeless dude, or eating at Long John Silvers. But I need to be “workout guy” and “workout guy” would not back down, he would get out there, injure himself, and barf in a small plastic trash can. I decided I would give it a shot but it didn’t take long for things to go wrong. My journey into the land of Cross-Fit ended quickly when it was clear my idea of what a Burpee was and apparently how the exercise is really performed were not even remotely the same. After the looks of horror wore off we all agreed it would be best if I just left…which I did. Cross “workout guy” off the list, which was fine because I have hairy shoulders and don’t look good in tank tops.
As I drove home slightly dejected, I thought more about what to do. I went through some things I have done in the past and thought, how about “bike riding guy”. You know, those groups of weirdos, dressed in colorful outfits, constantly getting in the way of your car then glaring at you like your car doesn’t belong on the road. Yeah…”bike riding guy”, that could be just what I need. According to what I have learned from Lance Armstrong all you need is the right equipment, the will to be a champion, 1 testicle, and 45 gallons of steroid infused cheetah blood to pump into yourself before each ride. The more I though about this the less I liked it. The crushing ass pain from constantly sitting on a bike seat, those horrible shorts with the weird maxi pad sewn into them, those awful shirts, the blood transfusion gateway to intravenous drugs abuse, no good fridge space for all the cheetah blood, cutting out one of my testicles…nah, sounds like kind of a shit deal.
So into the house I went to get into my standard weekend attire. I made the change and stopped in front of a full length mirror. God, I am such a dad. From toe to head I am sporting all kinds of Target sale rack gear. Sneakers, socks, shorts, shirt, the entire outfit purchased for under $20 off a sale rack. My beard was a bit out of control and body hair was spewing from all different places, some of which I didn’t even know could actually grow hair. No man-scaping for this guy, that kind of crap went out the window about 5 years ago. Then it hit me…”Dad Guy”. I can totally be “Dad Guy”. I was a walking poster for it. I quickly ran down the benefits…1)no man-scaping of any kind..sweet, 2)constant supply of cheap clothes and it doesn’t matter if they ever match..awesome, 3)copious amounts of Gold Bond powder on my every shriveling ball-sack…crazy awesome, 4)honey-do list…shitty but tolerable, 5)occasional sex without having to do much talking or wasting of money on drinks…solid. Ding Ding, we have a winner. As I sat down to watch some college football for the 30 minutes of weekend time I have just to myself I thought “Dad Guy”, yeah that suits me just fine. But more importantly, I now know what commercials I need to pay attention to during televised sporting events….none of them.#merica!
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