Hey there kids. It's Thursday, which means it's time for another TMI Thursday post for the fabulous LiLu's blog, Livit, Luvit.
Really, folks. If you're not reading her blog, you're not living. Or luving.
The rules are simple:
Let me take you back to a simpler time. The year is 2005. The setting is a central Illinois Big Ten University. 2 recent graduates of said university, S.G. and M.U., are down from Chicago for the weekend to visit their friend and sorority sister, Simply T.
The night started out no different than any other night in college... or at least those that I remember. My roomie at the time, C.K., and I were hosting 2 of our recently graduated sorority sisters for the weekend.
At the time, I was employed as a bartender at a campus bar, which meant 2 things for us:
1 - My friends and I never wait in line - typically the line for this bar went down the block
2 - My fellow bartenders will make our drinks larger, stronger and cheaper. They will also over-serve us when we are falling down drunk.
Screw health insurance, THOSE are benefits!
Okay so, we have established the fact that I was getting schwasted like it was my job... which it was... so it's no surprise that after bar time everything got a little fuzzy. Okay, a bit more than fuzzy, I flat out didn't remember a thing that happened after we left the bar.
The next morning, the only thing that could jump start our hangover recovery was some IHOP. Luckily, the IHOP was only 2 blocks from my apartment. M.U. and I volunteered to go pick up the food and bring it back to the apartment.
While waiting for the elevator, I mentioned that I had to go to the bathroom. M.U. smirked at me and responded, "Yeah, not like you need a Burger King to go to the bathroom."
As we stepped onto the elevator with a few other residents, I gave her a puzzled look and said, "Huh?"
"You really don't remember?"
"No, what are you talking about?"
"Really?"
"No, WHAT?"
And then, in the words of the wise Celine Dione, "It's all comin' back, comin' back to me now..."
Let's just say... if peeing your pants is cool, then consider me Miles Davis.
Let's backtrack to the point where my memory blacked out.
As the bars were closing, we all decided that we were just famished. On the corner of my block was a little grease pot called Niro's Gyros. The place was always packed after bar time with drunk college kids itching to get their hands on some cheese fries, mozzarella sticks, burgers, and of course... gyros.
Well, we popped into Niro's and I said that before ordering I needed to find the bathroom to pee. Only thing was... Niro's didn't have a bathroom. It didn't even have tables for people to sit and eat, it was strictly a take-out joint. By now I think my bladder is going to explode and I've gotta get to a bathroom NOW. So, I tell S.G. and M.U. my order and give them some cash and run next door to Burger King to utilize the facilities.
Alright, have you ever had to pee so bad that it takes every ounce of your concentration to keep your urethra sealed? Well it was like that, but 100 times worse.
I scurried into the BK restroom and slammed the stall door closed. While struggling with the button on my jeans, the mere sight of the toilet turned my situation from Code Red to... Code Yellow, I suppose.
Before I could even get my jeans unbuttoned, the pee just started flowing. I kept trying to stop it, but I couldn't. I tried doing my kegels, crossing my legs... but to no avail. I continued to struggle with the button on my jeans and my underwear, peeing all the while. By the time I had gotten my pants off I had peed my entire bladder's worth. Wow. That's new. Well... what now?
Okay, time to strategize. I'm only about a block from home... I just need to make a quick exit and make a mad dash for home. I took my black, puffy, down jacket and tied it around my waist to hide my pee stained pants and bolted.
Have you ever seen a girl in wet pants, with a puffy jacket wrapped around her waist, running at full speed while wearing 6 inch stilettos? No? That's too bad, because I'm sure it was awesome.
I got to the door of my building, but damn it all to hell, I had to choose to live in one of the few campus apartment buildings with a security guard. Meaning that any guests needed to sign-in with a resident to be allowed in the building.
Well, M.U. and S.G. were still at Niro's and I didn't have time to eff around, so I buzzed myself in and frantically told the guard that I had 2 friends coming in, but I was having an emergency and needed to go up to my apartment immediately. I told him their names, and signed them in on the sign-in sheet as "S....scribble" and "M...scribble," because apparently it was easier to put their first initial and scribble on the line than to actually write their names. I threw the pen back at the guard and ran for the elevator.
When I got back to my apartment, I rushed into my room and stripped myself of the pee-soaked jeans and underwear and tossed them into my laundry basket, then went to take a body shower. I then changed into my favorite sweat pants and awaited the arrival of M.U and S.G.
They returned shortly, gyros in tow. At which point I promptly forgot my pee fiasco and decided to drunkenly maul my gyro, getting tzatziki sauce all over my face and hands. No need for napkins, just lick your whole hand clean. I gave my audience an encore by eating french fries by the fist-full dipped in ranch dressing. Think I just got the fries in that dressing? Nope. I just dunked the entire hand. It's more efficient that way. It's science.
There were pictures, apparently. I looked like a neanderthal attacking a wildebeest... if neanderthals had booze and ranch dressing.
The next morning, I woke up in a ranch induced haze and knew nothing of the events the night before, until M.U. reminded me of my little adventure in pee-pee land.
Apparently when M.U. and S.G. returned to the building, they told the guard who they were so they could sign in and he said, "Your friend was very intoxicated. VERY intoxicated."
I wonder if it was my scribble writing or the scent of pee emanating from my body that tipped him off?
Ah, college. Good times. Luckily, I was an idiot in college, so I've got TMI Thursday entries for the next 10 years from Sophomore year alone. I am really looking forward to humiliating myself for your entertainment.
No Dear Diary tonight because it's gotten very late and I needs me my beauty sleep.
Take care all, and don't eat ranch with your hands.
Really, folks. If you're not reading her blog, you're not living. Or luving.
The rules are simple:
"Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!"I've never been one for discretion, so naturally this is right up my alley.... and I normally don't allow things up my alley. My alley is an exit only... wow already TMI and I haven't even begun telling my story...
Let me take you back to a simpler time. The year is 2005. The setting is a central Illinois Big Ten University. 2 recent graduates of said university, S.G. and M.U., are down from Chicago for the weekend to visit their friend and sorority sister, Simply T.
The night started out no different than any other night in college... or at least those that I remember. My roomie at the time, C.K., and I were hosting 2 of our recently graduated sorority sisters for the weekend.
At the time, I was employed as a bartender at a campus bar, which meant 2 things for us:
1 - My friends and I never wait in line - typically the line for this bar went down the block
2 - My fellow bartenders will make our drinks larger, stronger and cheaper. They will also over-serve us when we are falling down drunk.
Screw health insurance, THOSE are benefits!
Okay so, we have established the fact that I was getting schwasted like it was my job... which it was... so it's no surprise that after bar time everything got a little fuzzy. Okay, a bit more than fuzzy, I flat out didn't remember a thing that happened after we left the bar.
The next morning, the only thing that could jump start our hangover recovery was some IHOP. Luckily, the IHOP was only 2 blocks from my apartment. M.U. and I volunteered to go pick up the food and bring it back to the apartment.
While waiting for the elevator, I mentioned that I had to go to the bathroom. M.U. smirked at me and responded, "Yeah, not like you need a Burger King to go to the bathroom."
As we stepped onto the elevator with a few other residents, I gave her a puzzled look and said, "Huh?"
"You really don't remember?"
"No, what are you talking about?"
"Really?"
"No, WHAT?"
And then, in the words of the wise Celine Dione, "It's all comin' back, comin' back to me now..."
Let's just say... if peeing your pants is cool, then consider me Miles Davis.
Let's backtrack to the point where my memory blacked out.
As the bars were closing, we all decided that we were just famished. On the corner of my block was a little grease pot called Niro's Gyros. The place was always packed after bar time with drunk college kids itching to get their hands on some cheese fries, mozzarella sticks, burgers, and of course... gyros.
Well, we popped into Niro's and I said that before ordering I needed to find the bathroom to pee. Only thing was... Niro's didn't have a bathroom. It didn't even have tables for people to sit and eat, it was strictly a take-out joint. By now I think my bladder is going to explode and I've gotta get to a bathroom NOW. So, I tell S.G. and M.U. my order and give them some cash and run next door to Burger King to utilize the facilities.
Alright, have you ever had to pee so bad that it takes every ounce of your concentration to keep your urethra sealed? Well it was like that, but 100 times worse.
I scurried into the BK restroom and slammed the stall door closed. While struggling with the button on my jeans, the mere sight of the toilet turned my situation from Code Red to... Code Yellow, I suppose.
Before I could even get my jeans unbuttoned, the pee just started flowing. I kept trying to stop it, but I couldn't. I tried doing my kegels, crossing my legs... but to no avail. I continued to struggle with the button on my jeans and my underwear, peeing all the while. By the time I had gotten my pants off I had peed my entire bladder's worth. Wow. That's new. Well... what now?
Okay, time to strategize. I'm only about a block from home... I just need to make a quick exit and make a mad dash for home. I took my black, puffy, down jacket and tied it around my waist to hide my pee stained pants and bolted.
Have you ever seen a girl in wet pants, with a puffy jacket wrapped around her waist, running at full speed while wearing 6 inch stilettos? No? That's too bad, because I'm sure it was awesome.
I got to the door of my building, but damn it all to hell, I had to choose to live in one of the few campus apartment buildings with a security guard. Meaning that any guests needed to sign-in with a resident to be allowed in the building.
Well, M.U. and S.G. were still at Niro's and I didn't have time to eff around, so I buzzed myself in and frantically told the guard that I had 2 friends coming in, but I was having an emergency and needed to go up to my apartment immediately. I told him their names, and signed them in on the sign-in sheet as "S....scribble" and "M...scribble," because apparently it was easier to put their first initial and scribble on the line than to actually write their names. I threw the pen back at the guard and ran for the elevator.
When I got back to my apartment, I rushed into my room and stripped myself of the pee-soaked jeans and underwear and tossed them into my laundry basket, then went to take a body shower. I then changed into my favorite sweat pants and awaited the arrival of M.U and S.G.
They returned shortly, gyros in tow. At which point I promptly forgot my pee fiasco and decided to drunkenly maul my gyro, getting tzatziki sauce all over my face and hands. No need for napkins, just lick your whole hand clean. I gave my audience an encore by eating french fries by the fist-full dipped in ranch dressing. Think I just got the fries in that dressing? Nope. I just dunked the entire hand. It's more efficient that way. It's science.
There were pictures, apparently. I looked like a neanderthal attacking a wildebeest... if neanderthals had booze and ranch dressing.
The next morning, I woke up in a ranch induced haze and knew nothing of the events the night before, until M.U. reminded me of my little adventure in pee-pee land.
Apparently when M.U. and S.G. returned to the building, they told the guard who they were so they could sign in and he said, "Your friend was very intoxicated. VERY intoxicated."
I wonder if it was my scribble writing or the scent of pee emanating from my body that tipped him off?
Ah, college. Good times. Luckily, I was an idiot in college, so I've got TMI Thursday entries for the next 10 years from Sophomore year alone. I am really looking forward to humiliating myself for your entertainment.
No Dear Diary tonight because it's gotten very late and I needs me my beauty sleep.
Take care all, and don't eat ranch with your hands.
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3 comments:
"I wonder if it was my scribble writing or the scent of pee emanating from my body that tipped him off?"
Probably it was the stench of AWESOME.
Hahaha!
I'm so dunking my entire fist in sauce next time.
I just linked to this post through LiLu's blog, and I have say...I really enjoyed reading it. Definitely a good first impression.
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