Every girl should have at least one obnoxious “Bro” night and this past Friday I got mine over with. My BFF and I went out in Boston, which happens to be Bro-capital of not only the United States but the entire universe. I know that different regions of the universe have different definitions of what “Bros” are, but mine is the only right one because it matches the best-voted definition on Urban Dictionary:
Boston is “Bro” -nation not only because of the rich-kid college scene but because of its proximity to Fenway Park, Cape Cod, Nantucket and Newport, Rhode Island, which are the only “red” areas in the predominantly “blue” state of Massachusetts. (I know Rhode Island is its own state, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.)
Anyways, I’ll get back on track. My friend and I were dancing when Brian Littrell’s doppleganger started to white-guy dance with us. I noticed some solid “Bro” indicators immediately: classic good looks, a pastel buttoned-down Oxford, a pair of aviator sunglasses (Hello? It’s December!) and the inability to fake sobriety.
Now, despite living in Brosephotamia, I don’t dig “Bros.” I find them updatable and I respect my Dad too much to ever bring one home to meet him. My friend, however, was in heaven. Brian Littrell seemed to dig her too, so I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to play wingman and flirt with one of his “Bros” because I’m a good friend.
I met Jason Segal, Marty McFly and Matt Damon. I mean, I didn’t actually meet them, but those are the celebrities his friends most closely resembled and I want to give a visual here. I kind of started hitting it off with Marty McFly. Now, I want to make it clear that I nicknamed him Marty McFly not only because he has the same haircut, but because he was wearing one of those bubble jackets resembling Marty McFly’s orange vest. This is another “Bro” indicator.
We chatted and old-people danced for a while. He bought me a drink, which was surprisingly un-Bro-like. I mean, aren’t “Bros” spoiled rich boys who expected to be waited on? Maybe I was wrong my whole life. Seemed gentlemanly.
This image was shattered once Marty McFly started to get all roid-rage on some nice hippie I was making polite conversation with. I guess I’m his property now.
Anyways, the night progressed and we decided to go back to their apartment. I agreed to do so for journalistic purposed only. I’ll admit- I was kind of intrigued. It was like watching the National Geographic channel.
Since I was drunk and I’m mean when I’m drunk, I decided to tell these “Bros” they’re “Bros.” Funny thing about “Bros” is that it’s OK for them to call each other it, but once they get called out, they get defensive and sort of hate you. They kept asking me why they were “Bros” and despite being intoxicated and bitchy, I didn’t have the heart to tell them. Instead, I’ll tell all of you here and hope they never read it:
- Everything in bold mentioned above.
- They had cardboard sides of Busch Light thirties taped on the kitchen wall.
- They yelled and high fived more than anyone should.
- They bragged about banging chicks. (All guys do this, but “Bros” are extra douchey because they brag about taking a woman to classy dinner for the sole purpose of “getting it in” and then ignoring her calls after. This was an actual conversation they had with me in the room. WTF?!?)
- They got into arguments with each other rather quickly and then got over it by “hugging it out.”
- They all owned and wore those trucker hats that Ashton Kutcher made famous.
- They listen to house music but also like classic rock more than you do.
- There’s always at least one fight to assert their “Bro” alpha-male status.
Right, about that fight part. Well, since no “Bro” ever ends a night without some sort of conflict, Brian Littrell decided to start screaming obscenities at Matt Damon, puff out his chest and head-butt him. Blood was everywhere. Needless to say, my friend and I decided to dip out at that point, ending my first and (hopefully) last “Bro” encounter.