Wahoo! It's Thursday again, which means it's time for another TMI Thursday post, brought to you by Simply T, the letter B for Booze and Bodily Functions as well as the letter L for the Lovely LiLu of Livit, Luvit.
The rules? Well they're the same every week:
"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!"
So, I get to amuse you with another wildly inappropriate story of me doing something dumb. I know I have a lot of those, but I try to save them Monday-Wednesday and Friday-Sunday so that I can post them for you during TMI Thursdays!
Let's get down to the nitty gritty of today's TMI Thursday story, shall we?
For this story you will need to know a few things about me.
First, when I was 18 I was a bit of a lightweight. I didn't drink too much in high school up until my senior year and even then I only drank a handful of times. So, by the time I got to college I had some catching up to do.
The other thing you should know is that I tend to believe I can do anything. Especially once I've been drinking. Like R. Kelly, I believe I can fly. I believe I can take on a group of 4-5 people (sometimes dudes too) in a fight - a TMI Thursday for another week. I believe I can run faster than anyone else. I believe I can fool the cops into not giving me a drinking ticket. I believe I can drink a lot more than I actually can. I believe I'm indestructible. I'm... not. But we'll get to that.
Third - if you dare me to do something, I'll probably do it. Even if it seems really stupid. Even worse, sometimes I'll make you dare me to do something really stupid, just so I have an excuse to do it.
The year is 2001. I am a Freshman in college and I had gone to visit my friend L at her school - another state university in Illinois. L had told me about this guy she'd been dating and that we'd be hanging out with him, his frat brothers, and his real brother. His twin.
Now, girls don't get nearly as worked up about twins as dudes do, but the idea is still pretty cool. Two dudes, especially if they are hot ones, that look exactly alike? Where do I sign up?
Well, I decided it would be pretty damn cool if my best friend and I could both be dating... or at least hooking up with... twins. Not to mention, girl's talk and L had told me that her twin only had one testicle. And I was just dying to find out how many his brother had. I theorized that either the single testicle was a family trait and that they each had only one testicle, or that perhaps this was one of those conjoined twins situations and maybe L's twin had one ball while his brother hogged the other 3. I wasn't sure, but I was anxious to find out.
I'm forgetting the names of these twins, so for the sake of minimizing confusion, let's give them names. Why don't we call them Thing 1 and Thing 2? Thing 1, being the uniballer that L was hooking up with, and Thing 2 being the one that I was determined to hook up with.
L and Thing 1 both lived in the same dormitory and Thing 2 lived at an off-campus apartment. Thing 1 met L and I at her dorm room, and first brought us to a party at his frat house. After the party, we stopped by Thing 2's apartment for a small-ish house party. I always get what I want, so I flirted relentlessly with Thing 2, ensuring I'd be able to get into his pants to count his balls. One thing led to another, and somehow we ended up back in his bedroom.
It was innocent enough, we were just sitting around talking at first. Then I looked up at his window sill and saw about 10 of those mini souvenir bottles of Bacardi lined up all enticing and tempting and boozy.
T: "Hey, dare me to see how many of those I can drink in five minutes?"
Thing 2: "No."
T: "Come on, it will be fun! Here, give me one."
I didn't even wait for him to hand me one of the mini bottles, I just reached right over him and grabbed one. Down went one. Two. Three. Four.... Five... Six... I'm really not sure how many after that, I lost count after awhile.
For about 5 minutes, things were awesome. I'd never been more smart or attractive or witty in my life. Or confident. I grabbed Thing 2's face and just started making out with it. Yes, I was SO close to finding out how many testicles Thing 2 had! But then... the room started spinning. Why, oh why, does Thing 2 live in a spinning apartment? This is insanity! I have to sit up. I have to pee.
T: "I havessshhhh to peeeeeeeee....."
I leave the room and sit down on the toilet to make pee-pees. And luckily, this time I actually made it to the toilet prior to wetting myself. Well, I'm peeing, and I look down in amazement at the huge waterfall of pee coming from down below. And I'm looking down.... and I'm looking down.... looking down...
And then, without warning, I puke. While sitting on the toilet and looking down at my crotch, I puke. I puke all down the front of my shirt, onto my lap and inner thigh region. I puke rivers of bacardi and whatever I'd eaten earlier that day. I finish puking, finally. Well, now what? I gotta get back in there and figure out how many balls Thing 2 has!
So I wipe the excess puke from my lap, remove my jean jacket and stand up. Okay, well my lap and legs are clean enough, so I just put my pants back on, but nothing can be done to disguise the massive amount of vomit on the front of my shirt. So, I take off my shirt, fill up the sink with water and some hand soap and deposit my barf soaked shirt. Now that the shirt situation has been handled, I put my jean jacket back on and walk out of the bathroom.
I stroll back into Thing 2's room wearing tight black pants with boots (This was 2001, remember?), a black strapless bra and a jean jacket as if this is totally normal.
Thing 2 wasn't stupid. He has a drunk female in a bra in his bedroom. He didn't ask any questions. We got back to business - yeah he kissed my puke mouth - standards aren't for everyone. Unfortunately, I greyed out at that point and I don't fully remember everything. I know we didn't go much further than 2nd base, but I definitely think I got my hands on his ball(s) at one point. Too bad I either A. forgot to count or B. counted, but forgot how many there were.
The next morning, I picked up my shirt from the sink, buttoned up my jean jacket over my bra, and let Thing 2 drive me back to L's dorm room.
I never saw Thing 2 again, but to this day, I still wonder how many balls he has.
Have I scared you off yet? No? Then stick around for Dear Diary and come back next Thursday for another tale of humiliation!
Dec. 6 1995
Hi Diary! How's it goin? Dude guess what? (chicken butt!) The Christmas dance is this coming Friday! Yippee! I hope Zachary asks me to dance with him! I love him so much! Anyways he talks to me every day now! I think he likes me as in (love)! Oh, Sassafras you're the best friend I've ever had! <3 Smack <3 Kiss kiss kiss! Anyway Sass I've got to go now! O.K. Bye! See ya, Bye! Ciao! Bye Bye! Later dude! Later Debbie! Bye! Sionara! Alfeider Zein! See ya later!
Hahaha, who DIDN'T use the Chicken Butt joke back then? Reading that reminded me of something I drew on the computer a while ago. I found it on my old photobucket account, check it out:
Can you decipher the answers to the questions? Below is the answer key:
Guess What? Chicken Butt
Guess Where? Chicken Hair
Guess Why? Chicken Eye/Chicken Thigh
Guess Who? Chicken Poo
Guess WHEN? As in When I drew this? 1995? No, you'd be wrong. Try 2007. At age 24. I drew it for my friend E and posted it on her myspace wall. Yes, I know, my maturity knows no bounds.
Later Gators! See you all tomorrow, happy Thursday!