Brauns Bar & Grill
If you're still not convinced that men and women are totally incompatible, then you haven't been out in the world for way too long. At least 30 percent of the GNP is dedicated to mitigating the constant conflict. How else to explain Dr. Phil and daytime TV and in general? The industry jump-started by John Gray's Men Are From Mars and the Women Who Hate Them is now even outsourced to India and China, where less-bloated versions of Oprah and Dr. Phil warp the minds of people stuck at home with nothing better to do than eat bad food and feel sorry for themselves.
Not that guys and girls can't go out and have a good time. It's just that they won't, unless the guys remember to bring women in multiples of two. The Liaison for Redneck Relations and I were recently reminded of this during an extremely stereotypical night of sports-watching at Braun's Bar & Grill (1055 Auraria Parkway). We're certain this establishment is a popular guy haven after a Nuggets or Avs game -- the downstairs "Penalty Box" area, with its huge barrels of peanuts and no obvious trash receptacles, pretty much guarantees that. Your typical guy will discard not just peanut shells, but shrimp tails, beer-bottle caps and pizza crusts onto a clean floor with a clear conscience, and a guy in a bar that actually condones throwing garbage on the ground is happier than any Iowa pig wallowing in its own filth.
But other than that, the place wasn't too rowdy, and that was disappointing -- although the girls with us liked the quiet, because they could converse without straining their vocal cords. Unfortunately, they were trying to converse with us. This illustrated a fundamental problem between the genders that leads to divorce, sexual harassment, gingivitis and the Fox News Channel: Guys want action, or maybe inaction, as long as there's no discussion, while women live life by committee. On this night, we just wanted to watch the highlights of the game we'd been at moments before without getting a running commentary on our behavior. We were fully aware that the F-bomb we'd dropped after a horrendous traveling call was caught by the adorable two-year-old who was going to get the grandfather who'd taken him to the game forever banned from supervising the cute two-year-old, who now swears like a longshoreman. Still, we reserve our right to scream like maniacs at the refs from thirty rows up, or even through high-definition television screens, because guys know they are able to influence the course of sports history through sheer force of will. We do not need a reminder that the laws of physics do not allow sound waves to help direct a critical three-pointer into the net.
We did become interested in one conversation that evening, much to our chagrin. I'm pretty sure it related to the recent earning of Mardi Gras beads, although I missed the full exchange between the women. The Liaison for Redneck Relations and I felt that the only way to fill our knowledge gap was to have his wife and my fiancée touch boobs, or something along that vein. After making that suggestion, we were quickly forced to return to yelling at the basketball court, wondering all the while if it hurts to roll your eyes all the way back in your head.
Even when guys attempt to wade into the conversational pool, we know we're not welcome. So except for those times when men and women must share the same space, such as during the birth of your mutual children, the two sexes should probably stay separate. I recommend that the guys go somewhere like Braun's -- because they'll be made to regret it if they throw peanut shells on the floor at home.
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