I'll Never Look at Tacos the Same
Dammit to hell, why won't it get cold already? It's almost October, and it's eighty degrees outside. I want to wear my coats that I spent my last little bits of money on. Coat time. Coats and boots, coats and boots! (Please note: my husband does not find it cute or exciting to hear the phrase "coatsandboots!" over and over again while watching the weather forecast.)
Anyhoo. This is the first weekend we've had in almost a month where we're not obligated to do anything for anyone else. Beholden to no one (I don't think I've even typed the word "beholden" before, and I just wanted to test it out a bit.)
We don't have a single thing planned for tonight or tomorrow, and we're going to a Titans game on Sunday. Yay!
I was so excited about having tomorrow all free and clear, with the possible exception of going to the flea market and looking at doggie sweaters. (Did I just admit that? Oops!) Anyway, I was actually sitting at my desk, thinking about how nice it would be to have a day to do whatever the hell I wanted, when my sister called me and tried to GUILT me into going to the fucking UT homecoming game in Knoxville.
Um, I didn't go to a single football game when I was a student there; why do I want to drive my ass up there into all that madness now? Also, two days in a row of football? Um, no. Doggie sweaters? Yes, please. And don't even get me started on doggie cowboy and pirate costumes. Yes, I'm afraid I'm becoming One Of Those People. Those people with dogs dressed like pirates. Ahoy, matey.
So, what else is going on? I got an invitation to a bachelorette party next Saturday for one of my closest friends from high school. It's going to be one of those uncomfortable parties where some awkward woman tries to make everyone buy sex toys and lube. Then, after that, some skanky male stripper will show up. Did I mention the words "NO Babies, Kids or Men!" and "BYOB" scrawled on the invitation, which included an advance copy of the SEX TOY ORDER FORM, in case anyone wanted to preview it first?
All of this will take place after I've put in a full day of work at the library. Grand. Stephanie and I have each already made the other promise that we're both going, we're sticking together, and we're going to need to be very drunk in order to have fun. Seth will be driving our drunk asses to and fro.
The last time I went to one of these shindigs, I was nineteen, and my friend Sarah was getting married. The sales lady was from "Surprise Parties" and had a very large hairdo, scary tinted glasses, and a habit of rubbing her abdominal area while she talked. All of this, as you can imagine, made me a little uneasy.
Stomach-Rubbing Sex-Toy Lady used really gross nicknames for all anatomical words. For example, anything in the crotchular region was "south of the border," and the royal area itself was "the taco stand." I know. Lady, I would really prefer you to just yell out the word "VAGINA!" than to associate tacos with my nether regions. Yick. Other phrases she was fond of were "the little man in the boat" and "toy soldier." Whoo, how sexy!
Yeah. I'm going to have to be drunk, I'm pretty sure.