Yay Fratboy!
Ordinarily this would be the point where I'd be coming here to whinge and moan about Fratboy leaving and all the weeping and wailing that accompanied it. And then I'd tell you how sad the kids were too.
Ha.
Except this Sunday the only place Frattie's going is to bed when I tell him to, erm, I mean when I ask him to nicely cuz he has a gun now (and handcuffs. Hey now...) when I tell him to. With a whole lot of lip and sass...
Because, of course, Thursday Fratboy graduated OPC:
The small folk are understandably giddy about the whole thing. I might not be complaining too hard either.
You know those fantasies some guys have about how when you get a bunch of chicks together clearly we automatically strip to our bras and panties and start pillow fighting? Yeah, that was OPC, except in reverse. One communal shower and an endless stream of hot naked men parading back and forth to it wearing nothing but towels. I. Died. Quietly of course what with my husband being right there and so me supposedly not even noticing. But all I could imagine was the sexual assaults that would have occurred had my ladies been there and then the dramatic arrests that would have followed, towels flying...
Erm.
What was I saying again?
Blah blah blah, family stuff, santa claus parade, small towns make my hemorrhoids itch...
Last night the Kneegs and the Pole and I actually went out. Like left the house. I know, I'm as shocked as you are. What's even more shocking is that this was one of the confirmed attendees on Facebook AND WE STILL WENT...
And yes, he did show up. Fortunately wearing slightly more clothing. Apparently I dr0nk texted a bunch of people about hot guys in wheelchairs, because I am all class when I'm out in public drunk. My personal highlight though was a literal doppelganger of Pooh, circa '85 in attendance:
His hair was actually higher than that. Except this is no longer '85 so it was considerably more sparse, so much so that I was watching teevee through his hair. I'd be sad I forgot to bring a camera to document all of this except that means I also do not have any photographic evidence of the inappropriate things I did to that stripper pole.
The world is a better place, trust me.
And tomorrow is the triumphant return to Dance Cave for the first time since August. I'm a little worried. I mean I had a glass or twelve two last night but nothing that should have resulted in the abject retardation I subsequently proffered. It's not like I'm new here, people. I've been diligently working on my alcohol tolerance like it was my full time job these past three months. How is it I step off the porch and turn into an 18 year drunk, drooling retard who's flashing her tits for mardi gras beads? Is there some warp in the time/space continuum on my porch? Am I destined to shame my few remaining, long suffering and sharted upon friends every time I leave the house?
Stay tuned my friends, stay tuned...
Pee Ess. Every damned time I see pictures of myself I feel the need to immediately hack bangs back into my hair to cover my large and intimidating forehead. Or. You know. Maybe I should just go get a fucking hair cut proper. But, I'm just sayin'...
Ha.
Except this Sunday the only place Frattie's going is to bed when I tell him to, erm, I mean when I ask him to nicely cuz he has a gun now (and handcuffs. Hey now...) when I tell him to. With a whole lot of lip and sass...
Because, of course, Thursday Fratboy graduated OPC:
The small folk are understandably giddy about the whole thing. I might not be complaining too hard either.
You know those fantasies some guys have about how when you get a bunch of chicks together clearly we automatically strip to our bras and panties and start pillow fighting? Yeah, that was OPC, except in reverse. One communal shower and an endless stream of hot naked men parading back and forth to it wearing nothing but towels. I. Died. Quietly of course what with my husband being right there and so me supposedly not even noticing. But all I could imagine was the sexual assaults that would have occurred had my ladies been there and then the dramatic arrests that would have followed, towels flying...
Erm.
What was I saying again?
Blah blah blah, family stuff, santa claus parade, small towns make my hemorrhoids itch...
Last night the Kneegs and the Pole and I actually went out. Like left the house. I know, I'm as shocked as you are. What's even more shocking is that this was one of the confirmed attendees on Facebook AND WE STILL WENT...
And yes, he did show up. Fortunately wearing slightly more clothing. Apparently I dr0nk texted a bunch of people about hot guys in wheelchairs, because I am all class when I'm out in public drunk. My personal highlight though was a literal doppelganger of Pooh, circa '85 in attendance:
His hair was actually higher than that. Except this is no longer '85 so it was considerably more sparse, so much so that I was watching teevee through his hair. I'd be sad I forgot to bring a camera to document all of this except that means I also do not have any photographic evidence of the inappropriate things I did to that stripper pole.
The world is a better place, trust me.
And tomorrow is the triumphant return to Dance Cave for the first time since August. I'm a little worried. I mean I had a glass or twelve two last night but nothing that should have resulted in the abject retardation I subsequently proffered. It's not like I'm new here, people. I've been diligently working on my alcohol tolerance like it was my full time job these past three months. How is it I step off the porch and turn into an 18 year drunk, drooling retard who's flashing her tits for mardi gras beads? Is there some warp in the time/space continuum on my porch? Am I destined to shame my few remaining, long suffering and sharted upon friends every time I leave the house?
Stay tuned my friends, stay tuned...
Pee Ess. Every damned time I see pictures of myself I feel the need to immediately hack bangs back into my hair to cover my large and intimidating forehead. Or. You know. Maybe I should just go get a fucking hair cut proper. But, I'm just sayin'...