Yes. This is another story where I am going to blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol - cause that shit fucks you up enough to stutter uncontrollably, apparently. I am going to have to admit it. Me drinking leads to a lot of unfortunate incidents. Do I think I have a problem? Not at all. Intervention has thoroughly assured me that until I am drinking hand sanitizer or mouthwash, or my own vomit, I am definitely not an alcoholic.
That being said, this next adventure begins last summer at a friend's birthday party in the city. He decided to rent out a space, and provide an open bar. All night. For free. Open bars are great in theory AND in practice. In hindsight, not so much. Anyways, at any given point during the night I was walking around with about 3 drinks, getting nice and toasty. There are definitely some highlights from the night - I guess I thought it would be okay to booty pop in front of a dude that was blatantly talking to some other broad. I also thought it was okay to go up to my friend's little brother's girlfriend and tell her I was gonna cut her. Oops. Either way I start dancing with this kid at the party (this is about the point when I don't actually remember things.) Straddling, piggy-back riding, I was a one-woman show. At this point, my friends decided they wanted to leave. Instead of taking the drunk girl home, they thought it would be a good idea to leave me there with this dude because I said so. Now, I'm just gonna say - if I thought it was okay to expose my labia to a bar full of people, you probably don't want to trust my decision making. But they leave me anyway.
Fast forward to the next morning - I wake up, completely disoriented, on, of all things, a fucking AeroBed, with my hair looking like I dunked it in a fountain (it was a fresh perm y'all!), my cute outfit all askew, with this strange man next to me and NO CLUE WHERE I AM. After vomiting, because I had to, of course, make the situation as classy as possible, I scrambled out of that apartment with only a debit card and my BlackBerry, while this guy (whose name I did not know at the time), continued to 'sleep'. (Honey, I've faked sleep too many times to avoid awkward morning conversations to know that you really need some practice). Looking like a Class A street walker with this ridiculous-for-10AM outfit on, out-of-control hair and make-up, I trudged down the street with as much pride as I could muster (yes, I did manage to have some left.) Having literally no clue how I managed to get all the way to 59th Street from 17th, with only a debit card and cell phone, I was thrilled to see a TD Bank on the corner - Regis does not lie; definitely America's most fucking convenient bank. I grabbed some cash and went to meet my friends, who seemed to also have had interesting adventures, one involving being peed on (you will soon note the irony).
Fast forward now to later this summer. Somehow I manage to get in touch with this guy and we bone a couple of times (on his fucking AeroBed! - it was kind of like... sledding). Then we end up back at school and I don't hear from him for about a semester - most likely because I was busy getting bruised. Until - I walk into my French class second semester and oh ho, there he is! So we start talking, mostly because he and I were the only people in the room and he had already seen my vagina. Of course, this causes things to start up again, because, why not?
So after a few fun nights during the semester, there was one that really took home the gold (well, actually, I guess it actually luged into a metal pole). It was towards the last couple of weeks of school and I had been out with my roommates. It was one of those lame nights at our campus bar that I ended with some always-comforting McDonald's. (NB: you will never see a negative word about Ronald on this site. He's a good man). As I sat on my couch enjoying my fries, this guy calls me, wasted, and asks to "hang out". Now, this poses a huge dilemma. I love food. But I also love sex. Fries or dick, fries or dick? Such. A. Hard. Decision. Somehow my roommates manage to convince me to let him come over. (Don't worry, I finished before he got there). So he comes, we fuck, the end.
Just kidding. We fuck, and in a brief moment of orgasm-induced weakness, I let this motherfucker stay over. So he's on his side and I'm on the other, because, no, I don't cuddle. All of a sudden at around 4 in the morning, I wake up to a strange noise. Drunkenly thinking it was a bird or some shit outside, I just go back to sleep. Then at 7, I wake up again to another very distinct noise. Completely sober, I realized what it was.
THIS MOTHERFUCKER WAS PEEING.
IN.
MY.
BED.
That noise I heard at 4 in the morning? PEE. URINATION.
I jumped out of that bed faster than a girl who just saw a herpe. I bolted to my roommates' room and woke them up, telling them they had to tell the dude to leave. I just could not do it. I hate pee. So much. But, understandably, they didn't want to approach the naked peeing man anymore than I did, so I had to go back in there and kick him the fuck out. I hid out until I heard the front door click. I then rallied 2 of my roommates to help drag my mattress down three flights of stairs into the backyard. We kind of sprayed it and left it there, presumably to rot. The most affected victims of this catastrophe - my stuffed animals. Still can't talk about it. They're better now.
I was pretty upset about my bed. It was so comfortable and I had paid a good amount for it. I spent the last few weeks of school sleeping on a ghetto Ikea futon. To get rid of my furniture before moving out, I put it all on craigslist. I really wanted to get the Peeing Piper to pay for my bed, but then I had a genius idea. I just put my bed.. on craigslist. And now, some guy has paid a good amount of $ to sleep on a urine-stained mattress. And no, it's not R. Kelly.
Oh and before you all judge me (which if you hadn't until this point, I don't understand), WHO BUYS BEDS ON CRAIGSLIST?? You should expect much worse than pee. He's lucky that's all he got. Shit.
All I have left to say about the situation (ha) is this: "Ronny, like, this is no joke. You traumatized me tonight, like honestly, Ronny, like stop.. No, no, no like stop."
Well, feisty fuckin', y'all.
So after a few fun nights during the semester, there was one that really took home the gold (well, actually, I guess it actually luged into a metal pole). It was towards the last couple of weeks of school and I had been out with my roommates. It was one of those lame nights at our campus bar that I ended with some always-comforting McDonald's. (NB: you will never see a negative word about Ronald on this site. He's a good man). As I sat on my couch enjoying my fries, this guy calls me, wasted, and asks to "hang out". Now, this poses a huge dilemma. I love food. But I also love sex. Fries or dick, fries or dick? Such. A. Hard. Decision. Somehow my roommates manage to convince me to let him come over. (Don't worry, I finished before he got there). So he comes, we fuck, the end.
Just kidding. We fuck, and in a brief moment of orgasm-induced weakness, I let this motherfucker stay over. So he's on his side and I'm on the other, because, no, I don't cuddle. All of a sudden at around 4 in the morning, I wake up to a strange noise. Drunkenly thinking it was a bird or some shit outside, I just go back to sleep. Then at 7, I wake up again to another very distinct noise. Completely sober, I realized what it was.
THIS MOTHERFUCKER WAS PEEING.
IN.
MY.
BED.
That noise I heard at 4 in the morning? PEE. URINATION.
I jumped out of that bed faster than a girl who just saw a herpe. I bolted to my roommates' room and woke them up, telling them they had to tell the dude to leave. I just could not do it. I hate pee. So much. But, understandably, they didn't want to approach the naked peeing man anymore than I did, so I had to go back in there and kick him the fuck out. I hid out until I heard the front door click. I then rallied 2 of my roommates to help drag my mattress down three flights of stairs into the backyard. We kind of sprayed it and left it there, presumably to rot. The most affected victims of this catastrophe - my stuffed animals. Still can't talk about it. They're better now.
I was pretty upset about my bed. It was so comfortable and I had paid a good amount for it. I spent the last few weeks of school sleeping on a ghetto Ikea futon. To get rid of my furniture before moving out, I put it all on craigslist. I really wanted to get the Peeing Piper to pay for my bed, but then I had a genius idea. I just put my bed.. on craigslist. And now, some guy has paid a good amount of $ to sleep on a urine-stained mattress. And no, it's not R. Kelly.
Oh and before you all judge me (which if you hadn't until this point, I don't understand), WHO BUYS BEDS ON CRAIGSLIST?? You should expect much worse than pee. He's lucky that's all he got. Shit.
All I have left to say about the situation (ha) is this: "Ronny, like, this is no joke. You traumatized me tonight, like honestly, Ronny, like stop.. No, no, no like stop."
Well, feisty fuckin', y'all.
