Debbie Does Drivel

I saw Love, Janis over the weekend and loved it.
Based on letters Janis Joplin wrote home during her rise to stardom, every word in the musical was right out of Janis' mouth.
Plus, a full band played about 20 songs, and the singer-actress had Janis' voice/mannerisms down.
It was so good.
I even got into the part when they made the audience stand up and clap (usually HATE this stuff...akin to having "Happy Birthday" sung to you by people you don't know well) to "Mercedes Benz."
Fab, fab, fab.

Could I be a beatnik?

Did I mention I love girls?
We have so much fun together.
I cannot imagine that guy time is as fun or mutually fulfilling as girl time.

This past Friday, I went to a viewing party for my friend Nancy's boobs. They recently transformed from a 34A to a 36C, and she wanted to share the joy.

So, about 15 of us girls gathered at Nancy's place and dined on cupcakes (with nipples), button mushrooms, brie circles, and other circular delights.

Of course, martinis, a nice selection of wines, and hard alcohol "rounded" out the menu.

Nance had the foresight to wear a zip-up sweater, so she could just flash new guests as they walked in.
(she had on a bra, you perverts...
that is, until about 11:30).

Posters of Nancy with other big-boobed babes adorned the walls (Nance hanging out with Marilyn Monroe, etc.) and there was a blank piece of paper where the girl guests could write down pre-party quotes from their husbands/boyfriends. (Mine was:
Kev: Nancy's so cool, if I ask her she'll show me her boobs and I don't even have to go to the party.
Deb: You pervert! You can be such a pig!!!!!
Kev: Are they big?
Deb: Yeah.
Kev: That's cool.
Deb: Yeah.)

Later on in the party, we settled down and watched Barbara Walters interview Brad Pitt and George Clooney. Oh Yeah. Julia Roberts too.
Then, we leafed through People and commented on any actresses who looked like they gained weight.

We also talked about our mutual hair salons, beauty products, and where we shop for clothes.

Oh girls, girls, girls! They name is trite, and I love you!

I really should not have just turned 33.
I am not meant to be 33.

Evidence:

--I cried at Harry Potter, and generally consider it to be the best thing I've every seen.
(33-year-old observation: it has perfect mythological story structure. Humble hero with sad past goes on a "quest" with trusted friends and conquers evil).

--Whenever Kevin walks in front of me, I stick my keys, pencil, finger up his butt crack and laugh uncontrollably.

--I peak at my Christmas presents.

--I pick my zits.

--I pretend I'm a ballerina.

--I play with my food.

--I say to Kevin: "Hi Poopie, poopie, poopie, poopie, poopie, poopie, poopie, poopie, poopie, poopie, Buddy Bear!"

There's more...but now, I'm kinda getting embarrassed.
Seeing it in print and all...
so me and my Harry Potter mousepad are signing off...