Tickasaurus

Grow up. What does that really mean? Is there really even a definition? Not drinking every night? Saving money for a house? Keeping my apartment perfectly clean? Getting married? Having a kid? Making car payments?

I've been thinking about growing up a lot lately, but I'm not really sure what I even need to change in my life for this to happen. Maybe it comes with age. The older I get, the more mature. But that is definitely not the case. I've been more of a shit show since I graduated college than I was all of college combined.

So I came to a simple conclusion. I just can't drink every night. I need to be sober at least 3 out of 7 nights. Simple. Last night was my test. I needed to clean my apartment, paint my toenails, do laundry, etc. etc. Around 8:00, temptation came knocking at my door. Or came through a text message rather.

7:53 PM
Tusk "Work party at roadhouse!" (Damnit)
Me "Haha nice."
Tusk "Wuss" (Oh hell no)
Me "What?"
Tusk "Comon"
Me "I havent showered and look disgusting." (Being good and trying to give an easy excuse)
Tusk "Like when u come 2 werk? perfect. Boss is here." (So rude)
Me "How far is that from me?" (Starting to give in...eeek!)
Tusk "10 min"
Me "Liar" (Its in fucking Southaven. That's more than 10 min.)
Tusk "U coulda been here bi now jackass."
Me "On my way. Changing clothes, jackass." (Fuck)

Do you see what happened right there? I failed miserably. All it took was an invitation.

The plan. 2 beers. That's it. Trying to grow up, remember?

Well, I ended up having 3 beers and failing my second test of the night...but all is well. I realized that I'm more grown up than my coworker Tusk and my boss (in their 40's), and immediately felt better about cheating on my new goal. Tusk is already crazy and bizarre as fuck, but give him a few beers, and you're in for a treat.

Check this shit out.

As soon as I arrive, my boss and Tusk are going on and on about a guy across the bar that looks like Jerry Garcia. Tusk has already taken a picture with the poor man and is dying to get his autograph. My boss has his phone out taking pictures of him, and Tusk is calling all of his friends to tell them that THE Jerry Garcia is at Texas Roadhouse in Southaven, MS. Quite unlikely if you ask me. Then Tusk suddenly transitions into a lovely little story.

"Merekat, I gotta tell ya a story about a tick that got killed by my taint. A little tickasaurus. This little tickasauarus was found on my taint. I went to shaving and shit and getting those wild hairs...not that you know about those yet, Merekat. You're still young. So after I shaved, I pulled this little tickasaurus out of my taint. He had planted his little tickasaurus head into my taint. I threw him on the table, and this little son of a bitch died from my taint. My taint killed him! A tainted taint I tell you!"

WHAT THE FUCK. His poor girlfriend is burying her head into my shoulder out of embarrassment, another coworker is laughing hysterically, and our big boss is saying "Ohhhh my gosh," with eyes wider than baseballs. I start slapping Tusk's arm to stop with this little leather tassle from my purse. BAD IDEA. How could I forget that Tusk and his girlfriend are in to whips and chains and the like? Their eyes light up, are immediately turned on, and Tusk starts trying to steal my fucking purse and slapping his girlfriend with the tassle. Too much. This is just too much. I end up allowing them to remove the tassle from my purse to take home and play with. As they leave the bar ready to be whipped and tied up, Tusk is dancing through the crowd twirling the tassle in the air. All I can even do is shake my head, look at my boss, and say "How can you not love Tusk?"

So, this whole growing up thing kind of came and passed in a couple of hours. I think I'm just going keep on doing what I'm doing. Sure is a lot more fun that way. Dueces.

XOXO,

Honey