Come and join in the debauchery and hilarity of TMI Thursdays. You know you want to.
So this past Sunday was, as you all know, Easter Zombie Jesus Day which was also the day of my Confirmation. Which means that I had about 11 people coming over for Easter supper that afternoon.
Now normally I hang around after Mass and eat breakfast/lunch with the other college-age kids in Raleigh but I had other plans so I needed to book it back to the Hill.
I am sitting in the pew, talking to one of my friends from Cary, when I feel and hear the rumble. Worse still, she heard the rumble. At this point, I excuse myself and leave the sanctuary to go to the bathroom.
Here’s the problem though kids. Half of our church is being renovated right now which means two of the four restrooms in the building are out of service.
At this point Murphy kicks in to remind me of just who’s boss. Both bathrooms are occupied and neither has less than five people in line waiting for their turns.
Not wanting to find myself literally in deep doodoo.
So I hotfoot it out of the church, knowing I have maybe half a minute tops before I had a rather embarrassing incident on my hands and in my pants.
My best alternative? A porta-john around the corner.
With hindsight, I know it was a little too good to be true. It was unoccupied. Hell, the thing was even fully stocked with toilet paper. False sense of security, much?
There I am, cleaning up after relieving myself when I feel the intense need to pee. This should have been a no-brainer as I was all ready hovering over a waiting toilet. Well folks, things with me are never quite that simple.
As I’m aiming, my foot slips on something wet and I start to fall sideways. Reflex kicks in at this point and I put my arm out to stop myself from crashing head first against the wall.
Given the reality, I now kind of wish I had.
My arm was now bicep deep in shit and other fluids that I couldn’t begin to categorize. But wait, it gets better still. Attempts to simply pull my arm out so I can change into a t-shirt proved futile. My hand was, again literally, plastered to the bottom of the john by a large piece of shit.
Eventually one of the foremen working on the church heard my struggle and asked what was wrong.
The look of shock on his face upon opening that door almost made the experience worth it.
This week’s shockfest isn’t quite normal TMI-Thursday fare. It’s more a story of when an embarrassing moment goes quite wrong. Hopefully the hostess won’t mind too much.
Our story begins during my senior year of high school, on the day of the homecoming parade actually. I had only just gotten to class from physical therapy when one of my friends told me we had to head down to the gym to hang our (chess club) banner. So I walk with her across the school and merely hold the ladder as the banner is attached to the rafters.
After the parade was over, we were all sitting in the science room our meetings where our meetings were held with me sitting against the wall trying to massage the knots out of my rapidly-tightening knee. I had all ready had a therapy session and walking all over the school had not helped matters. I was tired, in pain, and ready to just go home and sleep. This same exhaustion was what made me grab the first pair of jeans and t-shirt I could find to change into before leaving home. This was my first mistake.
So I’m talking to The Spawn and The Gomez when I notice this absurdly tall freshman (ATF) staring at me. At the moment, I figure it is because I am a 17 year-old who uses a cane and decide to ignore it. That, dear friends, was mistake number two.
As I’m walking towards the cafeteria, a friend of mine comes up and starts chatting to me. I’m nodding along with her, half paying attention when she asks me what I think of the ATF. I tell her that my only real conversation with him was when I broke up a near fight between him and The Gomez so I knew nothing about the kid. She says OK and disappears into the band room. By the time, I have my food and am sitting down with friends I’ve forgotten this encounter. Mistake number three.
So one night the next week, I’ve gotten home from work and am doing homework on my computer when I hear the familiar ding of an incoming IM. I don’t recognize the name but decide to accept it anyway. It’s the ATF who after some small, sporadic messages proceeds to tell me that I had should check the pants I wore the day. Feeling confused, with a tingling sense of foreboding, I look at the pants I had worn that day and at first, don’t see anything unusual. They’re very baggy so I could wear my knee brace comfortably, the cuffs of the legs are worn, but as I’m feeling around I figure out what he’s talking about.
Right in the crotch of my pants is a hole, not large enough to be seen from the front or back but large enough that as I was sitting with my legs pulled up to my chest that morning, I probably flashed the kid with my commando self.
As I have no sense of bodily modesty, I’m only slightly embarrassed and go on to apologize for accidentally flashing my bits at him. He says it was OK and signs off.
Thinking the incident fully done with, I go on with my life.
But then I start to notice something. That every single time I pass him in the halls he wants to have a long conversation. And after about a month of this, he starts trying to hug me. At the time, I did NOT like to be touched by anyone I didn’t trust completely so I would always walk away at those points.
Then one night when I’m studying for a Spanish test, my phone rings. And as my room phone had no access to caller ID, I pick up without going downstairs to check. It’s him. I tell him quickly that I am too busy to talk and hang up, wondering how in the hell he knew my home phone number. It’s not like we were listed in the phone book and even if we were, my last name was different than my parents’.
From there it was tracking me down in the halls, wanting to eat lunch with me, asking to hang out with me on weekends.
I may be slightly dense people, but I’m not blind to the writing on the wall.
A few days of sleuthing reveal that it was my friend from earlier who asked me about him that had given this guy I barely knew from Adam my number. Something I let her know was unappreciated. Her explanation? That she wanted me to find someone and as she had never seen me date girls, she figured I must like guys instead. Most guys would be kind of pissed at this point, me? I was just exasperated.
Now those of you who’ve come to know me fairly well know that I’m a pretty kind person. That trait kicked in when I sought out ATF and explained what I had told my erstwhile but overly meddlesome friend. I thought the matter was finally closed.
Murphy, the smug bastard that he is, must have looked down at that moment and decided to remind me of his law in typical fashion.
It was a Friday and the day before my 18th birthday and I was ready to go to hang out with my friends that night. So I’m walking out to my car and as I get closer to my parking spot I see something under my car. There, just behind my front tire, is a wrapped box. I open it, only to find this pink and blue striped monstrosity. I check for a card and find it is from the ATF.
I handed the gift off to a friend and let her turn in back in for $20 before trying to forget about it.
Valentine’s Day, I get a flower and a card taped to my locker.
St. Paddy’s Day, there is a small stuffed leprechaun on my desk when I get to AP Calc.
Fast forward to a few days prior to graduation when I get home and find him waiting on my front porch.
And that, dear friends, is the story of how one wardrobe malfunction turned into my very own suspense film.
~WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT AHEAD~
Apparently in a previous life, I looked up at both Murphy and Karma, flipped them off, before pissing in their cereal bowls. That’s the only explanation I can think to describe Tuesday’s situation.
It is normally pretty hard for me and Eva to spend time together in the middle of the week so when an opportunity arises we’ll more than likely take advantage of it.
So when I get a text message during class asking if I had time to meet Eva back at my apartment for lunch and sex, I was all too happy to say yes. I pick up some Chick Fil-A for us both on my way home and meet her down in the parking lot of my complex.
Actually let’s skip the food and conversation to get right down to the nitty gritty.
Now I love oral sex. Both giving and receiving. So as I’m relieving some of Eva’s stress, I notice she starts to squirm and thinking it’s just an orgasm I keep focused on my task. As I was expecting fluid to leak into my mouth, I wasn’t at all surprised when something hit my tongue.
Then I notice that what I’m tasting has a copper taste to. In fact it tasted a bit like…
My eyes shot wide open and I had hopped off the bed and shot toward the bathroom sink in the span of less than ten seconds. By the time Eva realized I had moved away, I was all ready brushing my teeth vigorously. I spat the toothpaste down the drain before rinsing my mouth out and going back into my bedroom.
Apparently there was still some blood on my chin as Eva thought my sudden departure was due to injury. “Did you bite your tongue open or something?”
I shake my head.
“Then where did the blood on your lips and face come…from…please tell me that what I think happened did not really happen?”
“You mean I started my period while you were licking me?”
I nod again.
She covers her head with one of my pillows and lets out a muffled scream. I go over to her ginormous purse, riffle through it for a few moments, find a tampon, and place it in her hand. She goes off to put it in while I try and wrap my mind around what just happened.
When she comes back into my room, all plugged up, she looks down at herself and asks out loud why her period had to come early and “can’t a girl just get laid around here?”
I start to snicker.
She gives me a death glare. I start to actually laugh.
She huffs and throws a pillow at me. I take it to the head and am now nearly crying from laughter.
As I’m wiping the tears from my eyes, she asks in her most indignant tone just what about this was funny.
I look at her for a minute, shrug, and say that this must be karma’s payback for me vomiting on her boobs.
When a group of my friends rescued me from studying for an upcoming bio lab exam by inviting me to come play pool, I jumped at the break.
Playing pool? Awesome.
Drinking vanilla malts? Even more awesome.
Earning money from suckers who play against me while drinking said malt? We’re breaking the scales people, breaking the scales.
So after we realized we had run up a $30 tab, that was our cue to head out.
So it’s about 12 in the morning and none of us really want to head home yet even though we’d been hanging out since 9. One of my buddies, we’ll call him C, says we can start a bonfire behind his house in the sticks and hang for a while with some drinks.
We were playing charades when the conversation turns to Friday the 13th superstition. Me, being an idiot, say it’s a crock. Basically saying that Murphy was all in people’s heads. At that moment, Murphy looked down upon me and says, “Oh really?”
I drive back to the bar as we carpooled to C’s field.When the person leaves, I turn my ignition to head home myself. No go. I crank it again. Still nothing. So the bartender says she can give me a jump if I have cables. Always. I rig them up and even after 20 minutes of juice, my battery is still every bit as dead as it was to start with.
Then I remember that I have Verizon Roadside Assistance. I make the call and about 4o minutes later, the tow truck arrives to pick me up.
One, it was about 40 degrees and I am wearing short sleeves. By the time he arrived, my fingers were slightly numb and my teeth will not stop chattering.
Two, my phone died maybe five minutes after I called the Verizon representative. This means that had the truck driver not been able to find the bar, I would have been boned.
Three, it is about 2 AM and I notice a cop at the corner, staring at me in my car mighty hard.
I’m not stupid enough to try and face down Murphy twice in one night. So when I saw the truck pull into the parking lot, I was so happy that it’s ridiculous. Best part of all? The tow was completely free of charge.
So Verizon, if I could, I would ask you to be my Valentine for life.
A Very Satisfied Customer
I have been asked by the fantabulous Chelsea over at Chelsea Talks Smack what my most embarrassing moment is. As The Bait is fond of saying, “life is just a series of one embarrassing moment to another.” For those of you with easily upset stomachs, you may want to stop now. And the ladies who wear even slightly low cut tops might stop after this.
If that last sentece doesn’t sound wrong, I don’t know what does.
But I digress.
For those of you who’ve been reading for a while, you know I have stomach issues. So last November, the stress of finals kind of had me looking like death warmed over. Since this post is all about TMI I’ll go ahead and tell you that I had not kept anything down for two days at the time of this story aside from water. Even that was touch and go at times. If that weren’t enough, I had started to come down with a rather nasty case of flu.
So Eva, bless her cotton socks, comes by one day to check on me as she hasn’t heard from me in a few days. She brings me some crackers to try and get food into my stomach and then sits with me on the bed for a bit after I had eaten what I could.
She leans down to kiss my forehead when I feel my stomach clench.
I try to tell her to hand me the wastebasket beside the bed but as soon as I open my mouth a stream of vomit comes out and finds a new home. Down my girlfriend’s tank top.
Hello moritfication, it’s me Kendall. Me and you got to be really good friends that day.
Eva stares down at her formerly white top, gives me the most exasperated look imaginable and then says, “I’ve used my boobs and bra as a cell phone holder and wallet. Hell, I’ve used them to get out of a ticket. This, this is a new one for me.”
The only thing that made this anything other than a complete disaster was the fact that she has several changes of clothes in my closet.
As she took out a new shirt and headed to take a shower all I could do was hide under my comforter and hope to high heaven that it was all a NyQuil-induced nightmare.
So what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done?