sink it, you wild bitch
June 09, 2003, 11:19 pm

In gathering evidence for my wee rant yesterday, I discovered I hadn't talked about Sarah's birthday on the 30th with the Shore Boys.

The Shore Boys are my adopted friend-family, in-laws if you will. My buddy Brad (Ann's husband) grew up with these guys, and I met them all at Towson, where they immediately took a liking to me and christened me both "Wild Bitch" (from Blazing Saddles: "Read it, read it you WILD BITCH") and Sally O'Malley, after one of the greatest SNL characters EVER. In fact, they all call me Sally; Sam the Farmer jokes that he didn't even know my real name for months after calling me Sally.

You don't know any of these people, so I'll spare you the family-friend tree, but all the Shore Boys have devoted and wonderful wives and girlfriends, one of whom I've been friends with since 7th grade. Since I am neither a) a girlfriend or b) a wife, I have the responsibility of keeping the Shore Boys entertained while the girls chat about weddings, stain removers, and their jobs as highly successful financial planners and/or stockbrokers (the running joke of the Shore Boys is that they're all very, very comfortable making less than their spouses). How do I keep them entertained? By virtually drinking them under the table, or at least hanging with them.

I am the quintessential beer pong partner; I am the crazy drunk girl that flashes the boys, but it's okay because I'm not a threat. I am the reckless and the wild one that steals the wedding spotlight by singing "Brown Eyed Girl" to the bride (yeah, that was me at Ryan and Sarah's wedding last year). I am, in short, one of the guys, but with the added benefit of boobs.

Around 11:00pm, the wives/girlfriends were getting tired (we'd been drinking and eating crabs since 4ish) and all decided to go home. Since we were at Ryan's parents' house (they're out of town; house on the bay; needn't tell you how unfuckingbelievably gorgeous this house is), they all left, and the boys were to stay and have a boys' night. Just as I'm gathering my Kate Spade (don't get excited; it's real, but it's just a super-small evening bag that I paid too much for as it is...*sigh* A girl's got to have hobbies...), I hear "Bye honey! Love you! Sally, don't even think about getting up. You're here. It's boys' night, and you're a Shore Boy, so you stay."

And that was that.

Four winning games of beer pong, one crushed tiara, a second round of cold crabs and colder beer, and the soft breeze blowing on the bay to lure me to sleep later, I considered my evening with my boys a success. It's nice to be popular.

Bully for the Devils, eh? Scott Stevens was my favorite Capital when I was a kid, but then something happened in a limo that I was too young to know about, really, and they shipped him off to St. Louis and Dino Ciccorelli to Detroit. Nothing though, matches my love of Jeff Halpern. Rrrrooowwww.