Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Slumber Parties Part One
Slumber Parties. They're a childhood rite of passage. For girls anyway. I don't know if boys have slumber parties, but if they do I'm sure they're pretty dumb. Ride bikes, watch sports, play Nintendo. Or something.
Slumber parties for girls, on the other hand, are freaking awesome. They've been taking place since the dawn of (wo)man. And while I wasn't around for said dawn, I'm pretty sure slumber parties back then weren't too different than they are today.
Cleopatra and her friends stay up way too late watching spooky hieroglyphics and scare themselves silly, they laugh so hard Athena and Hera pee their pants and they debate whether Hercules, Zeus or Thor is best at killing wild game. They wait until Cleopatra's older brother has fallen asleep to steal his loin cloth and freeze it in the last remaining block of ice from the ice age.
Hieroglyphics? Ice age? Athena and Zeus? It's possible I have no idea what the dawn of (wo)man was like.
There were no spooky hieroglyphics in my slumber party days but there was Ernest Scared Stupid, and although I haven't seen it in nearly 20 years, I can say with little doubt it is one of the dumbest movies in the history of ever. But to a bunch of ten year old girls it was THE SCARIEST MOVIE EVER. So scary that we no longer wanted to have our midnight water balloon fight in the back yard. Instead? We blew up the water balloons in L's bathroom and stored them under her bed. Why?
Because we were ten. And there were water balloons waiting to be filled. Thus? We did.
This is the simple science of slumber parties.
We managed to soak her entire bedroom whilst filling up said balloons and passed out around 4 a.m. But not before we sneaked oh-so-giggly into L's brother's room, stole a pair of his underwear, ran it under the faucet and threw it in the freezer. Seriously, is there anything more hilarious than frozen teenage-boy-underwear? I think not.
Come to think of it, there is nothing more hilarious than frozen boy-of-any-age underwear. I know what I'm doing tonight after the husband falls asleep!
One of the main objectives of slumber parties is staying up all night. We'd fight the battle of slumber as if our lives depended on it. We'd even resort to taking turns. One person would stay awake while the rest of us slept. The sum of the parts is greater than the whole, or something. You can imagine how much fun it is for "the night-watchman" to stay awake and stare at the wall while the rest of her friends slept. Not surprisingly, this transitive-property of staying awake all night method was rarely successful.
One night, T, A.B. and I were successful in staying up all night and decided to make A.B.'s mom breakfast in bed. We were ten. We made breakfast. It was not good. Scrambled eggs with forty pounds of salt, burnt toast and coffee thick as mud. And also? Made a YUGE mess in the process and fell asleep as soon as the breakfast was delivered. You're welcome, mom.
As we got older we became less concerned with staying up all night and more concerned with talking about boys. In seventh grade there were seven us. We slumber partied every Friday night, an event we called Gatherings. Eventually Teenage Drama happened and we split into two groups. My group consisted of A.R., J and I. Of course we could no longer have "Gatherings," so we had...Smotherings. Yes, smothering as in I am going to smother you with this pillow. I have no idea why we called our slumber parties this. Probably because we are geniuses. Smotherings consisted of eating brownies, an entire bag of Cheetos and cheese stuffed crust pizza. But only after we ran/walked a mile because we were healthy.
Recently, I participated in something I've waited my entire life for. A co-ed slumber party, better known as an orgy.
The husband and I got a hotel for C's wedding in March. After the wedding A.R. hung out in our hotel room. She told the most hilarious stories and all three of us were like, "this is so much fun, let's make a night of it!" So A.R. slept on the pull-out couch (not in bed with us, I told you I was kidding about the orgy. let it go you pervy perves). Before we fell asleep, we talked and the husband was all, "is this what it's like to have a slumber party?!" And A.R. and I were like, "yea! smotherings! woo hoo! this is just like the old days. except instead of J, it's you."
Then I told the husband he had to pretend to be thirteen year old J and we would all talk like we did "back in the day."
The husband (eagerly) agreed.
This was going to be AWE-SOME.
The husband: So guys, what do you think it's like to kiss a boy?
Me: No! That is all wrong. You're J. You're 13. You've kissed five boys by now.
(Just kidding. J had not kissed five boys by the time she was 13. She'd kissed ten. How else do you think she got the nickname Ten-Star? We don't just give that stuff away. You have to earn it.*)
The husband: Oh.
Me: Try again.
The husband: So guys, funny things happen to my body when I kiss boys.
The husband: Wasn't bra shopping embarrassing?
Apparently, the husband is terrible at being a 13 year old girl. I suppose I should be comforted by this fact.
Honestly, who wants their husband to be good at being a teenage girl?
I do. Because the reality is, when you're nearly thirty and your life is all responsibilities and bills and soul-crushing work, and you have an opportunity to escape to the carefree days of your youth by re-enacting a Smothering, you want nothing more than for your husband to be very good at being a 13 year old girl.
That? Is the sad science of life.
While I do miss those carefree days (although at the time, they seemed anything but carefree. woe is me, I am a teenager and my life is so hard.) and their stay-awake-underwear-freezing-talk-about-boys-and-the-dance-contests-I-didn't-even-get-a-chance-to-mention-slumber parties, they are nothing compared to the AWESOMENESS that is the slumber parties of our adult-hood. We'll explore this awesomeness in Slumber Parties Part Two. And, we'll examine the difference between adult male slumber parties, aka Golf Retreat and adult female slumber parties aka Another Glass of Wine Please.
One of them consists primarily of talking about your swing and that crazy dog-leg on hole number three and the other involves talking about sex, and...that crazy dog-leg on hole number three...You know what I'm talking about, ladies.
You don't? Well then you definitely want to check back later.
*J is not a whore; she did not make out with ten boys by the time she was thirteen. She made out with ten TIMES ten.**
**I heard a rumor that this blog is positively dripping with sarcasm.