Baby to Homer, Baby to Homer: "Wah."

It's 9:15 on a Friday night, and I ain't got shit to do. While most other females in my age demographic are probably well into their first Mega WhattaMelon-tinis by now, talking about how had "their highlights done today by Jean-Luc just because it's Friday and I deserve it", and scoring digits from wealthy entrepreneurs, who they will no doubt go on to conduct lurid, steamy affairs with (at least that's how I imagine it), I am sitting at home, wearing a soccer teeshirt from a thrift store. And flipflops.

Blogging.

*suicide*

Kidding. I've got crafting and shit to do, people, and a case of Heifeweisen with my name on it. (No, seriously, I wrote my name on it. Those keychain Sharpies are for sure my quickest way to a costly fine for "tagging.") Where was I?

Oh- I'm at home. Here's the scene - I have a LYLAS BFFFFF who is a prolific procreater, starting her uterus all young and strong and thus far, not letting up. It's slightly puzzling, especially given that her female friends that have known her the longest (her friends are, obviously, separated into 2 distinct groups: The BC's and AD's. "Before Children" and "After Diapers." The BC's are still around because we're practically blood kin, and she has no right getting rid of us, no matter what assy antics we pull. The AC's she met at church, or puppet shows, or whatever those people do) don't have children. Anyways, I love her little beasts, and I currently owe the latest a gift because, uh, he was born. (?) They are brilliant for short, half-formed people that have troll-doll hair and drool a lot. They remind me of a group of rugby players who lived in my sophomore dorm, BADA BING. I've recently decided that the reason she's having so many kids is because the rest of us are refusing on the grounds that we're too young and have alcohol problems, so she now feels she's the only one that will safely re-populate the world.

Whatever. The baby present still isn't getting done (thus the reason I keep repeating to myself for staying in tonight. FINISH GIFT! FINISH & WRAP GIFT BEFORE IT IS PERMANENTLY WATER DAMAGED!) The baby, may I add, is several months old.

Friday nights at the homestead, yo! The Nabob is currently losing our measly savings in a poker game, other people have some sort of creepy illness, there are no movies that I want to see, the bars I could frequent alone in my youth have been taken over by strange, unknown bartenders and just that - uh, youth, and the rest of my friends have fled the city screaming for the past 3 weekends, all "beach! um, wedding! err, funeral! uh, I just have to get out of here." They fear the intern swarm more than the cicadas. My street, the street where I often have to carjack my neighbors and force them to park a few blocks away just so my lazy ass can have a parking spot in front of my house, is DESERTED. There is not another car in sight. It's creeping me out. Maybe there are neighborhood meetings, or parties (!) that I am unaware of. Maybe they hate me because of all the carjacking, and therefore I am not invited.

Sigh. I'm not wrapping the gift. Instead, I'm going to watch "Child Stars" on VH1, and start reading my new book, which is about cadavers. A beer and a book about cadavers!

I've changed my mind, I'm now actually looking forward to my night.



PS 1: I may very well delete this entry to save any sort of minute cred I still have. I just blogged about baby gifts, and how I don't have a date tonight. Christ.

PS 2: At the risk of coming off like some sort of nepotistic pimp or something, just go listen already. I promise you nothing but wonder and light, in the form of good rock.