The Princess is now officially a Teenager. I still don’t know how I am going to handle this.

We had 11 girls spend the night at our house Wednesday into Thursday. I got a total of 2 hours of sleep before I had to go to a work meeting that made me want to curl up in a fetal position and beg for mercy.

Maybe it was just the sleep deprivation. Or the echoes of screams in my head from the girls watching scary movies. Or The Princess making that announcement that “Dudes! My official birthday is in 7 minutes.”

That announcement was at 1:12 am. The Princess was born at 1:19 am, on July 31st, 1995.

And shortly after THAT announcement, one of her friends informed MLW, who bravely chose to try to stay awake, that The Princess’ first Teenager fart came at 1:30 am.

She is such a girly-girl.

Friday night it is the concert in Scranton. Make that THE CONCERT. MLW is taking The Princess, and a friend to see The Jro Bros sing and dance and try to make themselves heard over that hordes of screaming girls that promise to be in attendance. I will be working.

I got the better part of the deal.

Namaste.

Yippee.

‘Ceptin’ I won’t be there. Even though guy bloggers can be BlogHers. I don’t think that MLW would be all that accepting of me attending a conference that is listed as “BlogHer’s mission is to create opportunities for women who blog to pursue exposure, education, community and economic empowerment.” It would be the opportunities part, along with the exposure parts that would get to her most.

That and the fact that I would be drinking with a bunch of women. Trying my best to make them understand that Bud Light, and Coors Light is on the same level as goat urine.

But I am bitter. Why don’t men have a BlogHim? And then, of course I came across this. Men will never have a meaningful convention because unlike the women blogger out there, we won’t be interested in making connections and establishing relationships. We wouldn’t be concerned with meeting with corporate sponsers and making the world better. We would be drinking, eating, and holding farting contests.

Sigh.

Sometimes it all seems so hopeless.

namaste.

Dooce dot com.

Namaste.