Okay, so it’s Friday night and that feeling’s in the air. You know, the sensory overload that IS FRIDAY NIGHT….
The smell of dirty wet wood at the too dark dive bar, the sound of sluts snorting coke in the bathrooms of clubs, and the feel of elbows jabbing your ribs at the band performance you wish you could ditch out on if only your friend wasn’t the fucking bassist.
Look at what you might be missing ladies!!
Well, being that I’m a mom now, it’s not as easy to get out on the most splendid night of the week! Arrangements have to be made, babysitters hired, puke buckets placed prophylatically on the sides of beds, legs shaved and the like… and for what?
In the old days, Friday nights meant something. Mainly it meant the possibility of getting laid, and if that didn’t happen you could at least get drunk enough to act a like a complete fucking fool and wake up the next day bragging about your epic night of douche-baggery.
Since those days are over, I’m actually proud to say that I’m much more choosy about being debaucherous. People need me now. And just any people, people I actually made that came out of my vagina. So you see, I can’t just go and be flagrant. I might have to tie a shoe tomorrow or cook something and it takes a damn good reason for me to want to do that in between puke sessions.
Below are three more Reasons I’m Home on a Friday Night:
I’m a cheap bitch. Yeah beers are cheap if you like to hang out in dive bars with a bunch of 16 year olds flashing fake IDs and drinking Miller Piss, but since I’m in no mood to look like a senior citizen, I might have to actually go somewhere a bit more ‘grown-up’. Now ‘grown-up places’ have ‘grown-up prices’ and that $4.00 dive beer just inflated to $8.00. Fuck that, for another couple of bucks I could enjoy a nice glass of wine… but then again, I could just stay the fuck home and get a whole goddamn magnum for $14.00! So I’ve not only at least tripled my alcohol intake but avoided the whole getting-ripped-off-by-the-cab-driver-’cause-I’m-too-wasted-to-see-what-denomination-bill-I-just-handed-this-mother-fucker part.
Did I mention that at home I can be totally naked without worrying about my bare ass somehow being put on Facebook?
I can get sex anytime I want. Why go out and whore around drunk looking for sex when I have a husband? I mean, he’s been trained for almost ten years now to know exactly what the fuck to do to me. Why would I jump in to the sack drunk with another drunk fool who doesn’t know my hole from a hole in the ground? And THAT’S considering his drunk ass can even get it UP. Also, there’s NO walk of shame thing. Nothing makes you feel more like a whore then stumbling home, panties in purse, while the rest of the world is going to work. Besides, saying
“I do” automatically gives you an “I Don’t Swallow Anymore” Pass so I can get it in with zero expectations. Now THAT’S sex worth having!
You people. I couldn’t sit here on my ass and write this shit for you other moms who are home on a Friday Night if I’m out being freewheeling, now could I?? I mean, if you’re home right now you’re probably a bit tipsy, or perhaps your kid is still fucking awake and your ready to kill yourself… or both. In any case, it’s a sad fucking state and so how else would I let you guys know that you’re not alone in the whole “Am I a loser ’cause I’m not going anywhere?” moment you’re having? I’d much rather be here, in front of my computer imagining you in your nursing bra chuckling in front of yours. Heeey now, I’m not a lesbo bitch, and I can be just as satisfied imagining you in a Snuggi. The point I’m trying to make is that I love writing and I love laughing and if I can make just one of you laugh too, it’s worth all the piss beer in the world.
Ok, I’m pretty wasted now, time to make sex. TGIF!