I peed in my suitcase.

"Guess what I did last night?"
"What?"
"Peed in my suitcase."

After work Wednesday, me, K, Seestar and brother in law, Johnny Bananas, hopped into my sister's car to begin the grueling 12 hour drive to the mitten state, for JB and Seestar's engagement party--and also to scope out wedding venues for the happy couple.

I managed to make it there and back without taking a driving shift, mainly because I am lazy, and also because I was very busy knitting a scarf in the backseat. (Don't judge me.)

Ring Pops, fo sho!

The party was an epic success, and we all got stupid drunk and ate ring pops until the wee morning hours.

...so successful, in fact, that my brother in law apparently awoke in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and mistook his suitcase for a toilet.

Naturally, my sister lept out of bed to do major damage control when she heard the sound of peeing, repeating "NONONONONONONO stop stop STOP," to which Johnny Bananas replied:

"I'm GOING."

Did I mention we were staying at his mom's house, and we woke her and his stepdad in the ruckus of our return from the bar?

Thank god my second mother in law is the coolest on the planet and we all woke up the next morning to laugh about JB's pee-filled suitcase.

Three loads of laundry later, we were back on the road to NY. I can't WAIT for Johnny Bananas' bachelor party. They better all wear Depends.

Shit Girls Don't Say: Baby's First Bikini Wax

Where the hell is Skipper? (Image: www.ry.com.au/ontrend/brazilian-waxing-bare-all-down-under/)

I felt like a hooker on her first day of work. I picked out my outfit the night before, stressed about how to do my hair, and showered twice yesterday.

My appointment was last night at 7pm, which meant I had to sweat it out (literally) all day long. I was so nervous all day I could barely focus.

After all, what could be more nerve-wracking then a stranger approaching your nether-regions with hot wax?

It was a no-pants-dance of epic proportions, worse than a gyno appointment. Because I mean, doctors HAVE to be professional. This was one of my peers. A lady, who no doubt had seen more va-jay-jays than she'd like to admit, and knew what was weird and what wasn't.

She instructed me to strip and lie on the table covered with a sheet, which I did, feeling a little like I was about to undergo an alien experiment.

Suddenly, insecurity flooded over me and I felt 12 again. What if mine wasn't NORMAL? What did she really think? Did she appreciate that I had spritzed a little Japanese Cherry Blossom down my trousers?

She was very professional, and quick, which I appreciated. And I giggled and yelped through the entire procedure with as much maturity as I could muster, lying sprawled out nekked in front of a stranger.

She has me on a strict 4-week schedule now, which I'm sure is some kind of horrible corporal punishment. And as soon as I'm able to put my pants back on without wincing, I'll let you know how I feel about the results.

Useless Boating Crap: Session 2

Last night, we dove into more useless boating crap that you must know so you can be a ship captain. I almost failed the unit 5 exam because I was so busy taking screenshots and cracking up at the hilarious illustrations.

Here are some of the highlights:

Smiling and wearing hats on a boat is strictly forbidden.

If a guy in a cutoff T offers you a beer, give him a high five.

Don't throw your cans and keys in the water...

... or this will happen to you.

Black men with six arms can do jumping jacks.

Thanks for identifying that green button!

Oh NOES! That boat is on fire.

What else would you use to check for gas vapors?

Our ample-busomed professor of boating.

As a completely unrelated and inappropriate sidenote, we determined that the host of tonight's exam has ginormous machine-gun jumblies and was probably a porn star before she did boating videos. I can't wait for the day she hands me my boat captain diploma.

An 80s Mullet and Origami Napkin Hats

I'm a 5-year-old in a 27-year-old's body. No, seriously. I'm a giant baby. I sleep with carebears, a stuffed purple unicorn and a pink gingham pillow. When K gets home from work, I hide around the corner and jump out to surprise him. I ask lots of questions, and I get REALLY fussy when I don't eat.

Yet I'm 3 years short of 30.

But isn't that the fun of it? Being able to act ridiculous with your friends? Honestly, that's when I find myself the happiest. This weekend was no exception--one of my best girlfriends Em came in to visit from Chicago, see the house and hang out with K and I. We went out to a delicious Mexican dinner with some great friends, and I haven't laughed that hard in SO long.

Caught with a paper napkin hat on.

We also went to see HOP at the movies on Friday night, and ate giant buckets of popcorn like we were back in middle school. It was AWESOME.

The first hilarious event of the evening was a drunk bachelorette in the bathroom declaring that she was having a sneezing fit at 8pm. Then, Em slipped on her way to the bathroom about an hour later and gave the waitresses a good giggle. Next, the boys started making origami hats out of their napkins which drew a shoutout from the live band playing next to our table. Annnd the cherry on top was the cab driver at the end of the night who had a straight 80s mullet and drove like he was an extra in Talledega Nights.

It doesn't matter how old you are, sometimes you just have to take it back to the old days, when hanging out with your friends and laughing your face off is the best remedy for any stress in your life. Because what's better than snorting milk out of your nostrils with good friends, acting like an idiot (and making hats out of your cloth napkin at the dinner table--*COUGH* K started it. *COUGH*