As Lilu always says: ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. 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!
***Carissajaded here. As today is my best friend LA’s Birthday, and I am poor, I granted her the only wish I could. Oh yes, I have handed my blog over and given her the opportunity of a lifetime, to tell the most embarrassing story she can about me. And she knows a lot. I am not allowed to edit this story in any way. I now hand the mic over to LA!
It might have been a regular hungover Sunday afternoon. Either way, it’s a great story.
I should take this one small moment to say, this is not a CarissaJaded. I was given an opportunity today to “guest blog” because it’s my birthday. I’m taking full advantage. Karma is a bitch.
And without further ado… I need to start at the beginning.
We had a friend who was soon to be married. I know, I know… To many, that’s the scariest part of the story – it gets better – trust me.
We, of course, did what every best friend does and threw a bachelorette party. To mix things up, we decided to go to the River Walk in San Antonio, TX. There were 8 of us in total and I will leave it up to your imagination as to whom the star of this story is. However, this is obviously CJade’s blog so I’ll go ahead and make the point that she was definitely a witness to what happened (insert dubious smile here).
It was a wonderful night filled with stories about exes, “do you remember the time you”, and about twenty or so shots. You know? The norm. At around 2am we went back to the hotel because it was closing time. Everyone, of course, cozied in for the night. (Note to the reader: I may or may not have omitted some key moments that occurred this evening. Excessive drinking may or may not have occurred after 2am. Because I have not chosen to write a blog about my life, I do not necessarily want to share those things with the world. I am, however, giving you the option to read between the lines and use your imagination about what could have possibly happened… until around say…5am that following Sunday morning.)
We all awoke that Sunday, hungover and wishing we were dead bright eyed and bushy tailed. It was a 3 and 1/2 hour drive northward – not a big deal- and we were all at that point in a vacation where you just want to be home. This is when it gets scary.
We had an hour left to go. Wait, did I forget to mention that at hour 2 we stopped at the “Beef Jerky Farm” to buy a pound of habanero beef jerky? Who wouldn’t? Duh!
We’re cruising right along (45 minutes left) when I notice that something isn’t right. My nostrils are twitching. They have somehow caught wind of something that my brain has yet to catch up to. It’s unmistakable. It’s a fart. Yes, I said it. It’s a fart.
I immediately do what EVERY person does when one is laid in their car. I roll down the windows and yell. “Eeeeew!!!! You are soooo disgusting!!! You have to warn me before you do that!!! What did you eat (habenero beef jerky)???” And after a few seconds of us laughing and fake vomiting, I roll up the windows.
The windows are up.
My nose begins to twitch again.
I look at her curiously.
She looks at me with a look of horror. “OH MY GOD!”
The look is unmistakable. In that one instant I knew what she could not say.
I yell, “LIFT UP! LIFT UP! DO NOT SIT ON MY SEAT!”
She says, “PULL OVER! PULL OVER!”
I say, “GET SOMETHING! PUT SOMETHING UNDERNEATH YOU!”
And I did. I pulled over to the nearest exit. And she did. She grabbed the paper sack the beef jerky came in.
I should also mention that there is a third party in the backseat at this time, the bachelorette, who has been laughing so hard that her her shrieks and tears could easily be mistaken for those of someone in labor. Mine however, could not be. I was of course, very worried about my light beige cloth seats. Neither one of us, the bachelorette or myself, are of any help at all. All I can do is yell and shove my passenger from my car. All the soon-to-be-married girl can do is gasp between her laughter and tears.
And this is where the story ends my friends. I pulled over at the closest, yet most inconvenient place. She got out and changed her pants using my car door and the nearby dumpster as her cover. We met our friends who were driving in front of us (and wondering about the hold up) at the Chili’s that was an exit ahead of us. “She” passed on the queso they’d just ordered. Amidst her embarrassed tears and nervous laughter she retold the story just as I’ve now told you.
I love you friend for allowing me to put this story out for all to read. And oh yeah, you deserve it.