Peter Pan syndrome and Penis Week

This morning when I left my house at 6:30am my mother stopped me at the door and said, “You do know there’s a towel on your head, right?”

I think that’s a pretty good indication of how today will go. I have my absent minded hat on and it’s blue and white striped terry cloth.

Anyway, isn’t my best friend lovely? I was worried that she might tell an embarrassing story or make fun of my crush on her brother, but there wasn’t one snide remark. I didn’t edit her entry at all...except to put spaces in because I’m anal like that. (No butt jokes please children.) AND not once did she call me a lesbian! Bravo, Rachel. (Haven't read it yet? Do.)

We’ve both been moaning lately about how boring our lives have become. Just the other day I called her on my way home from work and our conversation was a little disheartening.

“What did you do today?”

“Well...” She launched into a list of household duties and internet rubbish. Then came the kicker...

“Oh! There’s this pan that had eggs stuck on it for days. No one has been able to get them off, not even my mom when she came to visit. But today, I scrubbed and scrubbed that bitch and I FINALLY GOT THEM ALL OFF! I was standing there, grinning over my accomplishment, and then...I wasn’t. Because all of a sudden I realized this is the most excited I’ve gotten in a long time, and it’s all over scraping a fucking pan of eggs!”

I howled with laughter. Then I told her about my own excitement.

“We borrowed this really kick ass carpet shampooer. I was tired when I got home from work and I didn’t want to do it, but we had to return it the next day. So, I filled the bastard up with the soap stuff and water, threw all my shit on my bed and started shampooing. And for some reason, I got all hyped up. I was all “OUT DAMN SPOT!” and “HAHA!” and “HEY YOU GUYS! LOOK AT THIS SHIT! LOOK HOW WHITE THIS IS!” Dear gawd...what’s happened to us?”

She was laughing. “I don’t know.”

“I have nothing else pertinent to talk about. I’ll call you later if I have an interesting run in with the laundry.”

“Ok, later.”

And that was that.

Honestly! What have we become? Is that what adults do – get excited about cleaning? Am I doomed to discuss things like politics and the weather? Would it be cliché of me to go all Peter Pan and declare war on adulthood? Sigh. Probably.

We used to do crazy things!

Like climb into parked vehicles that weren’t ours and talk our way out of getting arrested for it, dance in the fountain downtown, yell belligerently at cars driving by with their windows rolled down, dance with hot foreigners and maybe sleep with them and maybe laugh at each other through the walls because things are a little too vocal on one side and not vocal enough on the other, wear ridiculous outfits on St. Patty’s Day and get so drunk by noon that when they vacate the area for a tornado you wonder where everyone has gone while you were in the bathroom, pull over the car every 10 yards so one of you can puke but on the 3rd stop come back to the car and declare you must go another 5 yards because a couple is sitting on a bench right in the puking area and you’re positive they are getting engaged, get tattooed together, have ridiculous contests that no one else can ever know about, attempt to attack a flock of geese, do the worm and tell the guy that said you can’t dance that he has a receding hair line and sucks at life then do the Pee Wee Herman off the dance floor and hit on his friend, make out with each other and find pictures of it the next day and destroy the evidence, trick a fireman into believing he’s getting a threesome then drug him and crawl around on hands and knees looking for pictures that were probably deleted ages ago but leave laughing because one of you had to dress up like a dominatrix for no apparent reason, teach the kid to tell her grandma she wants to go to the liquor store and get wasted, put I’m Bringing Sexy Back on repeat for 45 minutes and refuse to change it when people complain and instead make them line up and slap your ass.

Yeah, we were cool once.

If I’m going by the conversation from last night, maybe things will get...better. Ok, maybe not.

We talked about the Halloween party (unfortunately she has to work and can’t be there), the costume I chose, what she was going to dress up as for work, my conquest plans for Nate, and her recent drunken night with her boyfriend.

Apparently they ran into a group of his friends and she regaled them with stories of how enormous his cock is.

About the time she was telling me this; I was attempting to put on my robe and holding the phone with my shoulder. My face hit the speaker button and out into the living room came, “...HIS HUGE COCK! IT’S MY HUGE COCK AND YOU BITCHES CAN’T HAVE IT. THE COCK...”

Giggling like an idiot, I finally managed to take it off speaker. My mom sat on the couch gawking at me, which made me laugh even harder.

“What in the hell is that girl talking about”, she asked.

“Her boyfriend’s cock, obviously”, I said.

She rolled her eyes and from the next room the kid yelled, “GOOO COCKS!”

Mom glared at me. I shrugged and went outside to finish talking. At least the kid was associating it with football...

Anyway, maybe one day when we aren’t both broke and tired from work...we’ll got out and get into trouble again. I do so love trouble.

In other news:

I’ll be taking next week off from blogging. I’ll still read and comment where I can, but I need a break...and possibly I need to get some work done. Eh, whatever.

Fear not! Next week I’ve asked some of my favorite male bloggers to take over. It’s sure to be interesting. Just...don’t let a week of yummy men make you forget what’s important around here: Me.

I’ll announce the line up and the topic by the end of the week. (Fellas, remember the deadline is Sunday.)



Oh! AND I just reached 100 followers! WOOT! That's exciting business. Maybe I should do something to mark the occasion? Suggestions? Other than sexual favors please...I'm far too busy. Anyway, welcome to you new folks who have yet to comment. Have a look around and feel free to give me money.

Oh, and one more thing. Those of you that don't have a blog, no picture, and just one letter for your name....say, my mom's initial....who are you? Seriously. Creepy....

Thank you. Come again.