The Secret Life Of Lauren

It seems someone has stolen my brother’s booger. That or the disintegration factor on boogers is in fact much faster that I would assume. You see moments before I arrived to meet my brother at the local bar said booger was placed by my brother himself on the south side of the pool table, just to the left of the bathrooms and directly in front of the white trash playing on the other table. Upon my arrival news of this so-called “large nasty” booger was relayed to me, by of course my brother himself. I was ecstatic not only because of the actual booger it self but the chosen placement of it, which I must give full credit to my brother for. In my head I was thinking the sick thought of how I just had to see this booger. My brother rushing to my rescue offered to show me before I even had to ask.

Before I go forward with the explanation of the disappearance of the booger I must first give you some background on myself. I grew up along side my brother and my cousin, whose favorite word was butt-hole. I opted away from girlie Barbie’s; I traded Cabbage Patch dolls, for He-Man action figures and transformers. I didn’t own the patent leather Mary Jane shoes, rather a pair of high top red Converse. I even at one point tried to teach myself to pee standing up. Ask my mom or my brother, no matter how hard a girl tries, it just doesn’t work. I never had a pretend tea party. However we did play this really cool game where we’d fart in someone face to see how long the person could stand the smell. You should try it, it’s a blast.

So you can see how the booger in question might have intrigued me. It’s not that I have a specific obsession for snot, boogers or mucus. It’s more a general obsession for the totally gross.

I spent the greater part of my childhood and teen years trying to stifle this obsession. Trying to hide my roots. Trying to repress the memory of the smell of my brother’s ass in my face. I pretended to be grossed out with the other girls when my neighbor would pull down his pants and “Moon” people. I pretended, although deep down I wised I could be right there along with him showing my ass to the world. I was a boy girl. Not a Tomboy. That’s just stupid, no one even knows who the hell Tom is. I bought makeup and dresses, although I’m pretty sure I looked more awkward in them than Denis Rodman does. So I gave up. I threw in the towel. Accepted who I was.

Being much older now I often worry. Worry about who the hell is ever going to marry me. Girls that laugh at the dirty jokes boys tell, then one up them with something ten time cruder don’t make for good wives. Wives don’t fart, and they don’t search for missing boogers. Once I didn’t shave my legs for a few weeks just because I thought it was funny. Good wives don’t think this is funny. Unfortunately no matter how hard I try I do. So I might never find my brother's booger and I might never find a husband who can appreciate the humor in me looking for Matt’s booger. That’s ok though because I’d take my brother’s ass in my face any day over some stuffy businessman in a suit looking for a lady-like wife.

# posted by laurenblogs @ 7:41 PM