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Saturday, April 30, 2011

Apparently I will never grow up.

I am fairly successful as an adult. I work, I pay my bills, I raise my kids relatively well. Soon, I'll even be going to school on top of all that.

But sometimes... I just can't hack it. All of the adult just kinda oozes off of me and I become this overgrown child- acting impulsively, giggling uncontrollably, being ridiculous.

Not surprisingly, this tends to happen when the brothers congregate nearby.

Earlier this week, I found myself in these circumstances. There was a strange series of events that led up to my inner child breaking free. It started when I got home from work (see? Responsible adult.) to find my youngest brother, who lives with me, out front working on his car. He stood up to say hello and I saw his charming face... covered in a giant scab. It was lovely.

Pictured: Bad Idea.


Truly beautiful. He didn't want to tell me what happened... which means he got drunk and decided to spar with someone. Judging by his face, they sparred on concrete. And he lost.

I guess my laughter (what? That's what sisters DO) was distracting to him because when he finished with his car and took it for a test drive, it went badly. Mostly because he put the tire back on but didn't tighten the lug nuts. I imagine his tire damn near fell off as he turned the corner, but I didn't ask. he was busy running toward a tire iron.

After that he was feeling the need to one-up me. But genetics requires that he not act rashly but rather plot his revenge. It's a family thing.

Later, we had a run-in with an old acquaintance who had clearly had a psychotic break of some sort. Very interesting, that. And after that we decided beer was required and deserved.

Somehow... some things got set in motion. For whatever reason I decided my old ass could wrestle with my black belted brother who outweighs me by who-effin-knows-how-much and actually have some sort of success with that. All I got was pinned. Oh, and a Wet Willy. I got that too. Then we found glow sticks. And we broke glow sticks. And I decorated him with the glowing (probably toxic) weirdness inside. I got more Wet Willys for my trouble. Then we found this:

Pictured: Worse idea.




 I'd bought these for my daughter's birthday party. But since they were here and not being used... yeah. We played. I have never before been in any sort of situation that had me knocked on my ass as consistently as this situation did. And never with as much ridiculous laughter. And I also got... you guessed it- Wet Willys.

I should probably mention that by this time it was roughly midnight- on a school night- and we were still outside acting like idiots. Loud idiots. Loud, intoxicated idiots.

I'd like it noted that I held my own in Body Bopping. I may have been knocked on my ass, but I wasn't alone in that. A fact I made sure to point out at least 4,742,673,395,038,378 times.



The next morning I took my battered self back to work. Like a damn ADULT, thank you very much.

And then, the very next day, we were engaged in a war to see who was the best Ripstick rider.

He is. And that pisses me right off.

The Ripstick and I have a history, damn it. A long, painful history involving fractured elbows, blood, and near misses in traffic. It took me an entire freaking month to get that damn thing to work right and this child just jumps on it like it's nothing.

There will be a rematch.

Oh, yes... there will.

Translated, that means I plan to injure myself severely in the name of ridiculous pride.

Should be fun.

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