You Probably Had to Be There

What the what?  Every freakin' day?  What the hell was I thinking?  When is Easter again?  This is fun, totally, and kindsa exhausting too.  exhale.

I did get the call from Cindy Brady and Blackbeard last night.  At 9:30.  After a text message leading me to believe all plans were off.  After I had climbed into pajamas and TV and a case of...well, nevermind. 

Cindy Brady (full of wine): Whachoo doin' sistah?  We're coming to pick you up!
Me: Wha?  I thought...dude, I'm in pajamas right now!  I thought you were hanging out with Linds.
CB (fow): I was!  I'm not anymore!  Get dressed girl.  We just got on the interstate.
Me: ACK!  Drive slow.  I'll be ready in ten.

Brush teeth, eyeliner, hairspray, jeans, shirt, shirt, shirt....BOOB SHIRT, flip flops.  Done!  Tah Dah!

They arrived.  Where should we go?  Godammit...I thought you guys had a plan.  No, we can't go there.  That place is a coke bar and I am totally under-dressed for a coke bar.  I cannot hang out with eurotrash wannabes and Ukranian hookers dancing on the bar in schoolgirl outfits two sizes too small while I am dressed in jeans and flip flops.  I would have to change into a miniskirt and something pleather.  I don't have anything pleather.  We went to the place next door to the coke bar.  They have better food anyway and faux brick walls.  Faux brick walls are so gutsy for a suburban non-coke bar!  And the red and black tulle hanging from the acoustic ceiling tiles...MUAH!...genius!  ANYway...we had fun.  We caught up.  Cindy Brady had been at a bridal shower all afternoon after a long as hell drive up from Savannah.  There were things to discuss!  And we laughed ourselves silly.  Home by midnight.  Last night was a good night.

Today, Cindy, Blackbeard and I went to brunch.  Well, we left after Noon so I can't call it brunch in good conscience.  We went to lunch.  We laughed our faces off again.  You know why?  Because of the phrase "bag of dicks." One or all three of us said bag of dicks at least 57 times and I cried off my mascara from laughing.  I might have made a scene.  I couldn't help it.  You try to keep a straight face when bag of dicks is introduced in conversation.  Dare you.  If you can keep from laughing, you should have stopped reading this blog at the last paragraph.  Sorry?

This evening we had dinner at my Dad's.  I actually exchanged words of conversation with Jan Brady's husband for probably the first time in two years.  So that was surprising.  I'm not internetly ready to get into why I don't like talking to him anymore...just imagine what would make a sister not want anything to do with a brother-in-law.  And then think of West Virginia.  And then back it up and think of the word "attempted."  So, yeah.  I surprised myself with conversation.

Anyway, it was a fun night because bag of dicks was alluded to at the dinner table and I exploded into shaking tears of Gigglefit Round 2 for several whole minutes but I couldn't explain why because the kids were there.  You can't let your boys in on why bag of dicks is funny when they're already having problems in school. 

Thing 1: "Mom, are you crying?  Are you okay?  Are you laughing?  What's so funny?!" 
Me: [dies laughing]