All My Rowdy Friends

I want to see a show of hands. How many of you feel like there's a kid trapped in your body somewhere? "I do! I do!" (imagine me yelling this as I voraciously thrash my hand through the air.) You know, when I was younger I believed 20 to be the defining age of adulthood. I assumed that at twenty, the naivety of youth slowly faded into the background and adult concerns such as money, work, and marriage took precedence over shootin' the shit and having fun. For me, twenty has come and gone, and indeed, money, work and marriage are definitely a priority and in the following order: "Will I have enough money to go out tonight?" "Will I be too hung-over to go to work tomorrow?" and lastly and most importantly, "Will I marry Johnny Depp or George Clooney?" These are the burning questions that I ask myself on a regular basis that lead me to believe that I might just be the most immature 24-year-old ever (as if the rest of the posts on this blog couldn't tell you that). It just feels like everyone around me is growing up, getting a lucrative sales job, watching the Food Network, purchasing dogs and houses, going to bed at 9:30, driving a German car, getting married and buying wood at Lowe's. Then there's me. The crazy single friend. I only go to Lowe's to check out the hot guys that work in the lawn & garden section. And you want to know the worst part? I am totally fine with it. I mean, part of me does care, otherwise I wouldn't have addressed it, but the truth is that in my heart of hearts, I desire none of these things. Not a one. Except for maybe the dog, which would be a Shi Tzu that I would name Wootus, and it would shit and piss all over my house and would probably die of either starvation or dehydration, because after two weeks I would suddenly forget that I owned a dog. Poor little Wootus. I suggest that someone call animal control right now just to warn them about me. Seriously though, I am still having way too much fun. Not that growing up means you stop having fun, but it does mean you have to fill up your entire gas tank at the BP station instead of only getting what you can afford (which for me is about $8.00) and that, my friends, is not fun. It requires actually being friends with your neighbors instead of referring to them as "the people that always call the cops on us." Not fun. It means having to attend an entire engagement party without getting wasted. Again, not fun. Neither is yard work, book clubs, mattress shopping, being a respected member of society, regrouting the shower, Bunko night, investments or 401k's. In fact, I just found out the other week that a 401k is not a race, which sucks because I've been running an extra 2 miles a day at the gym just to enter one of those damn things.

It is whacked out delusions such as these (and the fact that I still say "whacked out") that forces those nearest and dearest to me to declare that I'm "a mess". But if it is a mess that I am, then it is a mess I shall be. In fact, I wish I could be a mess forever, because I am loving life right now. I can't help it if I'd rather have a hangover lunch at Bojangles than a Saturday brunch and Mimosa at the cafe. Sorry if I enjoy talking with the girls about (and doing impressions of) embarrassing sex noises rather than my latest Tiramisu recipe. Or raving about the badass halter top I got for $9.99 at TJ Maxx rather than the $200 I just spent on my new Lily Pulitzer sweater set. Don't get me wrong, Tiramisu is yummy and I'll slurp down Mimosas with the best of them, but these things just aren't me. Truth be told, not everyone I know has lost their wild streak. Trust me, I wouldn't be friends with anyone who isn't willing to make a complete ass of themselves, and luckily, all of my old pals still posess that unique quality. Regardless of what point they are at in their lives, they still know how to embrace the immature ways of the good ole' days with open arms. Really it comes down to my own insecurity about where I am in my life. Maybe one day, I'll want the "grown-up" things that everyone else seems to want or have. Or maybe none of us are really grown-ups at all? There's that old saying, "Act your age", but maybe we really are acting. Maybe everyone is just pretending to be an adult. They put on a straight face for the rest of the world, when what they really want to do is skip work, get drunk, and streak naked across their just mowed front lawn with nothing on but a cowboy hat and a smile. Maybe for most of us, I would like to think, it's really all just an over-rehearsed act. And me, well, I guess I'm just not a very good actor.

Have you ever Googled your own name or learned the dance from a Britney Spears video? Well then this list is for you. Check out the following things that I shouldn't enjoy, but secretly do:

- Bathroom talk.

- Pointing out someone that has a wedgie or visible panty line.

- Handi-Snacks, Slim Jims, Lunchables, Fruit Rollups and McDonald's Happy Meals.

- Calling it a weenie instead of a penis.

- Laughing uncontrollably whenever I, or someone else says the word "Duties".

- Mocking small children.

- Doing cannon balls into the swimming pool.

- Making erotic sand sculptures at the beach.

- Jesse McCartney. I want you and your beautiful soul.

- Faking a British accent whenever I meet a stranger.

- Jagerbombs.

- Picking my nose. I hate boogies.

- Moist wipes. They feel good on my bum.

- In response to Brokeback Mountain, my gay cowboy impression: "Isn't this Italian Leather saddle absolutely fabulous?"

- Doing The Robot, The Roger Rabbit, The Cabbage Patch, or the MC Hammer. Anytime. Anywhere.

- Playing M.A.S.H. at the company meetings. Fittingly, I always end up in the Shack.

- Playing shadow with the lady at the grocery checkout line. "Code six on aisle three!" "Code six on aisle three!"

- Stealing a Crunch bar from the checkout line. Just call me Winona.

- Watching animals do it.

- Writing poetry in bar bathrooms and by poetry I mean, "Amanda is a slut".

- Three Words: "I'm gonna tell".

- Na-na-nah boo-boo.

- Pointing at a stranger and telling a friend, "That's your boyfriend".

- Any food made by Chef Boyardee.

- Hiding in the racks at department stores and jumping out when people least expect it.

- Seeing someone bust ass.

- Playing the "Next guy that walks through the door is your future husband" game at lunch.

- Writing the cryptic message "Poop" on a steamy bathroom mirror for the next shower taker.

- My stutter impression "Wah-wa-wa-wa-wah-wa-wa-wah-wa-what's up?"

- Deodorant, douche, tampon and laxative commercials. Especially those Phillip's Milk of Magnesia commercials where the woman is pronouncing to everyone in the grocery store that her husband, Raymond, is constipated.

- Ice cream, and pronouncing it like Michelle Tanner on Full House. "Ows Kweam".

- The game of Hide-and-go-seek, especially when you find the bomb-ass hiding space.

- Bengay.

- Trying to catch the ever-elusive seagull at the beach. Those fuckers must have eyes in the back of their heads.

- Seeing the dad get hit in the nuts with a bat by his kid on America's Funniest Home Videos. It never gets old.

- Giving my friends ghetto nicknames like, "Princess Afro-Bear Raymond".

- Walking up to a cute 20-year-old boy and saying "You're hot".

- Having a cute 20-year-old boy walk up to me and say "You're hot".

- Staying out until 7 in the morning.

- Pretending I am one of those kids talking about a book on Reading Rainbow. But don't take my word for it.....

- Pretending I am the soulful black woman that sings the theme song to Reading Rainbow.... "Butterfly in the sky, I can fly twice as high......."

- Seeing a grown man cry. Just kidding, that's not funny.

What are the immature things you secretly covet? You fools better leave me some comments.....