When I was a little kid, I followed a strict nightly ritual.

My parent’s house used to belong to my great grandparents, so it was quite old, even when I was a child. My sister and I shared a pink tiled bathroom that didn’t have a shower so we always took baths. After a dinner of either cheese and crackers or chicken nuggets, I would spend an hour or so soaking in the tub, playing with My Little Pony’s or pretending that I was a mermaid named Christina.

After my bath, I was allowed to watch about an hour of television. I was never much into cartoons, so I usually chose to watch something on Nick At Night. I would sit through “My Three Sons” or “Leave it to Beaver” if I had to, but my favorites were the ones that had a magical quality to them like “Bewitched,” (the fact that there were TWO Darrens always confused me) “I Dream of Jeannie,” or my all time favorite, “Mork and Mindy.”

After pleading “tennn morrree minutesss” at least 3 times, I would finally sulk my way to my bedroom, where I would put on a long nightgown and a pair of socks, one of which I would inevitably lose at some point in the night. I then went around to each of the dolls and toys around my room, kissed them, told them I loved them, then made sure that their faces were turned away from my bed so that they wouldn’t be able to see that I had chosen a different toy to sleep that night. I always slept with a brown teddy bear that my Grandma had given me, along with one other doll, which was usually my Mork doll. What can I say? I guess I had a thing for funny weird guys, even at an early age.

At this point, one of my parents would either read or tell me a story, but my dad always had the honor of tucking me in. We would start with a prayer. If I remember correctly it went something like, “Dear Jesus, Thank you soooooooooooooo  much for everything. I love you soooooooo much. Please take care of my mommy, my daddy, my sister, my grandaddy, my grandmommy, my other grandma, my other grandpa, my cousin Andi, my cousin James… ect ect ect. Thank you sooooooo much for food, school, dance lessons, Mork and Mindy, Teddy Ruxpin, my daddy, my mommy, my sister, my grandaddy… ect ect ect.” At the time I was actually quite sincere with my praying, but I also have to admit that I may have been using my time with Jesus to evade sleep just a little bit longer.

In the telling, this part gets a little weird, even by my standards. Not creepy weird, but weird as in my nightly tuck-in ritual was more of a secret handshake between my father and I than your standard “hug and kiss” tuck in. There were a few times I can remember when my dad was out of town and my mom would attempt to fill-in but it was never the same.

Big hug,  little hug. Big kiss on the left cheek, Little kiss on the left cheek. Big kiss on the right cheek, little kiss on the right cheek. Leg hug. Butterfly kiss with each eye, and then lastly, Eskimo kiss.

He would then prop the door open with a large rock (my dad is a geologist so we have them lying around everywhere) and that’s when my real night would begin.

I would lie in bed, still as a corpse for at least ten minutes, or until I heard my parent’s shut their bedroom door. I had learned early on to keep a heavy stock of flashlights that I found in various drawers around the house hidden in my room. I would tip-toe across the room, grab one, then run-tip-toe back to my bed where I would either play pretend that I was camping in the wilderness, or I would read. Even before I really even knew how to read, I would make up stories to go with the pictures, partially because I knew that my parents (the cool kids) did in their bed.

After about 30 minutes or so, my dad would come in and check on me. Usually I was able to turn off the light and feign sleep quickly enough, but quite often he caught me in the middle of an intense Indian invasion and I would get a stern talking to, and be put back in bed.

Once I was caught or had grown tired of playing pretend, I turned off the light and genuinely tried to sleep, but even then it wasn’t easy for me. Life got about 3,000 times more tricky once the lights went off, because that’s when the monsters came out. Duh. I had to roll my self up in my comforter because I lived in constant fear that a monster would eat off my limbs if I left them out in the open. Whenever I went to the bathroom, I had to do jump as far out from my bed as I could get so that the monster under there wouldn’t grab me and pull me under. And then once I got to the toilet there was no time for wiping or flushing, because of course there was also the monster that lived in the toilet that would pull me in if I sat there for too long. Then I would retreat back to bed where I would eventually fall asleep, and dreamt mostly of cock roaches or the Jabberwalky.

As I grew older, I started losing bits and pieces of my nightly ritual. Five minute showers replaced hour long baths.  I started watching Beverly Hills 90210 instead of Nick at Night. My dad stopped tucking me in, and goodnight stories and shared prayers were replaced by a quick “goodnight.” All the toys and dolls were boxed up and stored in the attic.  Long, frilly, nightgowns were replaced with shorts and a t-shirt. Instead of staying up with hidden flashlights, I stayed up on hidden phones that I plugged in and talked on for hours on after my parent’s went to sleep. The monsters were still there, but in the form of worries about school, boys, and whether or not I would get a part in the community theater play.

In more recent years, the last remnants of my nightly ritual have all but disappeared. I’ve spent many nights playing board games, writing in journals and blogs, watching movie marathons,  and drinking until late in the night. I usually sleep in a t shirt and whatever dirty pants are in eye sight when I crawl into my bed. I don’t say goodnight to anyone, except occasionally my roommate or to the internet via twitter. I’ve spent most of my nights making sure that I’m too tired to have a thought, much less worries by the time I hit the hay.

The last few weeks I’ve been trying to get back into a ritual. I’ve gotten back into working out. I’ve started reading and taking baths again. I’ve refrained from drinking during the week. I’ve started painting and watching movies on a nightly basis. But still they’re there. Those damn monsters. My fears of life, money, decisions, and what the next day… the next year… the next decade will bring. I’m not sure how the normal people fight these thoughts, but I’ve made it my goal to conquer them once and for all.

So bear with me if I’m a little moody for the next few weeks, as I am likely to get much sleep until I figure out how. But for now, I’m going to get into bed and read the bedtime stories that my grandfather has written out for me. I’ll probably share a few of those too.

Goodnight world. And Let’s just hope tonight it’s a dream about my boyfriend John Cusack and not one about my current financial state.

And only slightly related, a scene from one of my most favoriteist movies of all time… The Science of Sleep…

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You know how when you’re down- people start talking your ear, and your ass, and your face off about how if you have a positive attitude good things will start happening?

It reminds me of this corporate job I used to have that was probably the most boring/yet fun/ at least I had health insurance – where they made us watch this “Fish training video”, that was supposed to teach us to choose your attitude. If you haven’t been forced to sit through “Fish Training” -it basically is about these dudes in Seattle who work with smelly, slimy fish all day and LOVE IT because they get to throw fish around to each other and entertain people even though they smell of 27 day old underwear.  I don’t remember the details, but I do remember that they said the phrase “choose your attitude” about fifty bajillion times. At the time, all it made me do was buy a big bag of yummy Swedish fish and try to hit my unsuspecting co-workers in the head with them. And that WAS fun. Kind of.

Sooooo…I spent the majority of last week moping around the house listening to the Grizzly Bear’s and Elliot Smith’s most depressing songs, and purposely slow-walking through the rain (ever notice John Cusack does that in pretty much every movie?) because sometimes it just feels good to wallow in depression. Or not good, but if you’re already there, you might as well make a movie in your head about it.

After I got tired of being wet and cold and mocking Kristen Stewart’s facial expressions-I finally was like, What in the name of Oprah are you doing? Dude. Life is good. Being all passive aggressive and fifteen-year old angsty about shiz that you probably don’t even really care about and won’t matter 2 weeks from now, is just… donkey shit. Life can be hard, families have problems, and work and boys can both suck… Get over it.

Except this face looks more like someone might be following her...

The truth is, when I get like this- more than anything, I find that I’m just bored with life and so I start creating drama in my brain to spend my time obsessing over. At least I can admit that I am an emotional cutter.

So, being the non-nonsensical person that I am, I totes decided that I’d bite the bullet and give this fish/choose your attitude/ positive thinking -a chance.

And by gee golly, paint me purple and sparkly and call my grandmother- I think it’s working.

Good things are happening people.

My shuffle function on the ipod is my friend again. Last week during my semi-mediocre depression it was just pumping out the sad tunes. At one point it even played Jann Arden’s “Hanging by a Thread.” I didn’t even know I had that song. I mean you could have just found out that you won the lottery, that you don’t have any cavities even though you haven’t been to the dentist in like 9 years, and that Zach Braff  has been the one calling from an unknown number and breathing into your ear the last few weeks, and you will still want to cry when you hear this song!!!!

Now my ipod is back to being all jokstery with me and playing Copa Cobana every time I get in my car, and that’s totally cool. I laugh and say “ohhh youuuuu…. you get me every time,” and I change the damn song.

And other good stuff has been happening too.

I got word from the awesomeness that is Candice that the magazine that she writes for wants to run my weight loss story, which made me nearly pee my pants from excitement. I won tickets to go see Timbaland, whom I normally wouldn’t have gone to see, but this whole “positive” thinking led me to believe that it might be fun even though I haven’t listened to “that” kind of music since I quit dancing. And you know what? It was a blast. We danced and met a ton of people that I have already added to my friends for life list. Or at the very least, to my facebook friends  for life list.  In addition, I’ve been really trying to balls up and go for new opportunities in things that I have been avoiding (like performin some funny,) and now it seems I even get some stage time next week. But more about that later…

I think that’s enough butterflies and sunshine for one post.

Except for one thing. I told you a couple days ago that my friends and I got a little noshed last week and made a few dance videos. Well, I finally got my hands on the first one we did.

The sound is a little off and you have to skip to about 1.40, but I promise it’s worth it. LA’s the first one to boogie- and I have been cracking up at the image of her first moves all week. I’m the third up to bat- and I swear- it’s like I literally tried to dance out of my pants, I was so excited.

Enjoy internets. I would only do this for you.

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Pee Ess (what,what???? thanks “Julie”) (go read her she’s fantabulous with three scoops of ice cream a cherry on top) ( Julie -don’t leave yet, there’s one more down there for you)

Attention Dallas Peeps!!!

A few of us Dallas bloggers have decided to blatantly plagiarize off of the D.C.-ERS and have planned a night of kickassery and drinktivities next Wednesday!! This will be my first time to meet ANY bloggers in real life and I am so totally pumped I actually googled “Real life Time Travel Techniques,” with no avail. So even though I have to wait, I figure it gives a few of you DFW’ers time to jump on board!!! Since we are all kind of spread out (TWHW) (That’s what he wishes) we are meeting a bit later than happy hour, but I can guarantee you there will still be happy hours to be had.

When:  Wednesday, February 10, 2010 @ 7:30 pm

Where:  Sherlock’s @ Park and 75

Who’s Coming: Shine, Gofahne, Graygrrrl, Natalie, Mary, and Carissa (me)  (and hopefully you?)

Let us know if you’re interested!!! We would love to have you!!

email me at carissajade@gmail.com

And “Julie” if you want to make a four hour drive, you can totally couch it at my house or in between my gayboy roommates since I know you will love them so much!!

A couple weeks ago you may recall me telling you a story about my, ahem, ” friend “that I shall call “Cari.” It seems that Cari has a way of putting her way into interesting situations with guys. Today I will be sharing another one of Cari’s “hook -up” stories. This one is actually a little lamer than some, but still quite funny.

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Once upon a time, there was a girl named Cari.

There was about a 5 year period when Cari had a humongous, nearly embarrassing obsession with the popular boy band *NSYNC. If you asked her about it these days, she would probably deny it at first, but then she would spend 15 minutes telling you the details of how she got to meet them, and even got a kiss from Joey.

But I digress, that is a whole nother story.

One thing you should know about Cari, is that she, at least at the time, tended to fall for boys hard.  She doesn’t have a single “type,” per se, but she does seem to always fall for boys who are passionate. Whether they have passion for riding horses, Nascar, comedy, politics, sports, or music, it doesn’t really matter… as  long as it is  something. I guess you could say she falls with a passion, for boys who have passion. She falls even harder for those who love the same things she does.

Back in her sophomore year in college, Cari met a boy, who we will call Jack, with whom she shared a very special something. Something that should have sent off crazy alarms in Cari’s brain, but you know- sometimes she choose to ignore those blaring signs for the sake of a little attention.

Like many of the boys that Cari met, she met Jack at a local bar. She knew of Jack and his reputation of a ladies man, but didn’t know him personally, and certainly didn’t think he would give her the time of day.

This particular night was Cari’s lucky night. The bar started playing several *NSYNC songs, to which Cari had taken the time to memorize all of the dance moves to. She wasted no time jumping on the dance floor and showing off her moves, and her ability to perform them in a way that would give her favorite boys the justice they deserved. After only a few short beats, Cari was surprised to see that Jack had joined her on the floor, and he too knew all the moves perfectly.

“SWEEEEEEEETTTTT”

At the time, none of this struck Cari as in the least bit odd.

After they successfully pleased the crowd with several performances, Jack offered to buy Cari a drink and they were quickly engaged in a deep conversation about their favorite boy band. Cari casually mentioned that she had several tapes that she had compiled and edited of every single *NSYNC video and performance that they had ever made. Jack seemed very interested in Cari, and she was all too quick to invite him back to her place after the bar.

When they got to Cari’s bedroom, (where there was a wall size poster of the boys that she had stolen from outside McDonalds)  they quickly began kissing. After a while, Jack asked Cari if he could see the tapes, he said he wanted to see her fantastic editing job. She blushed and quickly jumped to get the tape. Afterall, this guy did seem very interested, and what would set the mood better than a little “God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You?”

She popped the tape in and the kissing and petting commenced. After a few minutes he grabbed her hand and placed it on his buttocks.

Ooohhh Naugh-ty, she thought, and rubbed his cheek awkwardly for a few seconds before she pulled her hand away…

They continued kissing and after a few more minutes he grabbed her hand and put it back  on his butt cheek, this time a little closer to the crevice. This time after a few quick rubs, as she attempted to pull her hand away, he grabbed it and placed it back on his cheek.

Cari was a little confused as to what he wanted her to do, so she tried her best to shut it out and just concentrate on “No Strings Attached” playing in the background, when suddenly he put his mouth to her ear and whispered loudly with his beer scented breath, “PLAYYY WITTHHH MY BUTTTHOLLE…”

Cari was quite taken aback, as no one had ever asked her to compete such a task before. She wasn’t quite sure if she had heard correctly.

“Whhaattt?”

“PLAYYYY WITH MY BUTTHOLE,” he said, unmistakenly this time.

It was at this point that Cari  noticed that during all of this fondling, Jack had shifted so that he could keep a steady eye on the television.

It wasn’t so much the asking to play with his butthole that bothered her, but more so the realization that Jack was way more interested in the boys of *NSYNC, than he would ever be in her.

At that point, Cari  quickly made up an excuse as to why she needed to get up early.. and Jack didn’t seem to be too bothered.

Just as he was about to walk out the door he got a sheepish look on his face.

“Do you think I could borrow that video for a few days?”

Cari obliged to get him to leave, and he promised to return it in a few days, and also that he would be calling her to go out soon.

Cari never saw that tape again.

Cari lived happily after after, and hopefully Jack finally came out of the closet so he could too.

Note: To Cari and all of her friends, Jack is, and will forever be known as simply “play with my butthole.”

The End.

Lilu is out of town for a while, but she has provided us with a series of very special TMI Thursday post secret posts. Make sure to check them out…. And for more TMI than you could ever imagine, check out her TMI archives!

I’m doing TMI a little different this week. I have a friend “Moops” who has asked several times for me to talk about him on my blog.

Well sir, I’ll do better than that. You have officially been email roasted. TMI Thursday style.

The following are emails that I copied straight from an email  conversation that happened yesterday afternoon.

I wrote the first email to a group of my friends when I realized I was having a difficult time coming up with a post for today. Moops spent the better part of the afternoon traveling all over the country for work, so didn’t get to check his email until the damage had been done.

Luckily, he’s a good sport. (I hope.)

Hey friends,

Moops has been wanting me to talk about him in my blog for a while… As I am completely brain dead today,I was thinking that you guys could help me out with thinking of a good story.

I know there must be many stories out there that I could tell that would be considered TMI about our friend in question.

The first one that first comes to mind…

Remember when we were calmly talking in the living room, and out of nowhere Moops reached down his pants, into his butt hole and then proceeded to stick his fingers in my mouth???! Just because ” he had an urge!!!”

I almost had to kill myself by ingesting bleach.

I got him back on the river trip though. heeeheehehee

You got anything better?

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RE: TMI

FROM: SCUBA

This happened,

Outside the Coventry Apts. Justin met our across the hall neighbors in his tighty whitees.  He then helped the girl carry groceries from her car up flight of stairs in his undees.  He then slipped on the very top concrete stair and all of the groceries went flying out of the sack.  He was bleeding and scrounging for groceries in front of our new girl neighbor in his undees.  Her boyfriend then shows up as this is going on.

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RE:TMI

FROM: CARISSA JADE

Orrrr……….Maybe I should switch gears and tell about the time Scuba pooed his pants. I was such a nice friend and told him I would do his laundry for him. I almost died when I saw the skid lake underwear in the laundry basket.

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RE: TMI

FROM: LA

How about the time Moops puked on my couch then had to be taken to bed? Fast forward three hours and he comes storming down the stairs yelling at me me. Upon his return back up the stairs he proceeds to trip and stumble back down to the bottom. To top it off, he jumps up, glares and points his finger at me and says, “Yoooooooouuuuuuu”!

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RE: TMI

FROM: KT

I have a quick couple…

How about the time Moops decided to tell us about his love for couches. He loves them so much that he use to have sex with them, sad but true. Moops use to masturbate by inserting his junk between couch cushions and go to town!

Or how bout the time we went to we walked into an apt. party of people we didn’t even know and Moops drank too much and as usual stripped down to his tightee whitees and the people were so put off they asked us to leave. We do and Moops begins to laugh. Of course we ask “what are you laughing at?” He then pulls out the tube of toothpaste he was so proud to have stolen. His grand revenge for getting kicked out was stealing toothpaste…

Then there is the time that Moops really impressed me. I had just moved in below him and had spoken with him a few times. My roommates were out so I went to go say hi. Moops opens the door and is unquestionably shit faced. We are watching T.V. and I’m telling him a story when he stops me and says “hold on.” He then leans over and pukes the smelliest blach puke onto his carpet, nearly getting it on his boy dog “Jager.” When done he looks at me and says “ok, go on.” Without blinking an eye! Bless his heart!

And then of course there is the time that he asked my somewhat crazy ex-bff to trim his pubes. She then convinces him that he should be blind folded for the event. She did this so pictures could be taken without him knowing. Blindfolded, naked, and holding a beer, Moops let this crazy woman near his manhood with a pair of scissors in her hand! Don’t worry she didn’t hurt him, she just trimmed, but it did make for interesting pics….

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RE:TMI

FROM: CARISSA JADE

HAHAHA I forgot about some of these! Speaking of the puking (not that there aren’t already enough puking stories) I just remembered about the time that I woke up to find a pile of puke at the foot of my bed. That fool woke up in the middle of the night, stuck his head over the foot of the bed, and then straight up went back to sleep.

The funny thing about that night that he stole the toothpaste, is that I’m pretty sure that was the same night we may or may not have dipped someone’s toothbrush and razors into the toilet. Oops.

Oh. And my favorite… (which really needs it’s own post) The night he peed my bed, thank goodness I was on the futon that night (poor shae) That wasn’t really even the bad part. He took the down comforter home and promised to wash it. Three weeks later I go to his loft and that thing was was in his closet with all the other “clean” blankets… and sure nufff …it had never been washed.

And KT. When you get a chance, you must send me those pube cutting pics. I have no idea what happened to my copy. I know it was in my glove compartment for a while- though I have absolutely no idea as to why…

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RE:TMI

FROM: MOOPS

Wow, all of this makes me sound like a really great guy!  I’ll get abnoxiously drunk, puke, piss your bed, might fuck your couch and I might ask you to get some of those hard to reach pubes.  I want to hang out with me!!

Scuba,  speaking of fucking things this one is for you…

I believe this story epitomizes TMI.  This came out of one of those story telling sessions where everyone was boozed up enough to share stories from their sexual past, the story didn’t necessarily have to involve another person, solo acts were admissible.  I’m on a plane and I don’t want the guy next to me to see what I’m writing so I have to make it quick.

So it begins, Scuba, the horny young thing that he was went about the house looking for objects he could have intercourse with, nothing too disturbing or out of the ordinary yet, right?  On his quest for pleasure a furry young thing catches his eye, why of course, what better sexual companion than your favorite over stuffed teddy bear (it might have been a panda).  But hmmm, how to make this lustful encounter logistically possible?  Cut a hole in it!  With near surgical precision (I’m sure) Scuba proceeds to cut a hole ample enough to receive his penis.  Then,  he fucked the teddy bear.

The funniest part is that his mom found the stuffing from the procedure; he told her that a kid down the street went into a rage and stabbed his bear.  So to this day if that neighbor kid is ever mentioned his mom says something to the effect of “ oh that so and so , he’s the one who stabbed your poor teddy.”

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RE: TMI

FROM: KT

It was a cow and he shared that story the same night you shared you love for couch cushions

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RE: TMI

FROM: CARISSA JADE

hahaha ok, thanks guys. I’m gonna have to use all of this…

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Oh yes, in case you were wondering… my friends definitely put the ass in class. Have a wonderful day!

Actually I should rephrase that- I was reminded, once again why I hate drinking and then having to use the restroom at public events.

Port o potties are the devil.

No really.

Can you think of a more disgusting  area to experience a few seconds worth of having nothing between your special parts and bacteria-filled air?

In case it has been a while for you, or you live in a part of the world where port o potties garner enough respect for people not to take advantage- I’ll go into a little more detail about what the state of the port o potties looked like outside of the football game.

To begin with, people seem to lose all inhibitions when they are in line for a port o potty. I think as a rule people lose about 4 levels of class when they are waiting in line for a bathroom after drinking- but for a port o potty they automatically drop to  about a level 8…1 being the classiest, 10 being a contestant on Jerry Springer.

For  example, there was a very drunk girl behind us who was continuously yelling at people to hurry up.

“I’m 34 years old people! 34!! I can’t hold it like the rest of you.. Hurry UP! Respect your elders!!”

At one point, after vehemently criticizing my friend for smoking menthol cigarettes, she grabbed the cigarette from my friend’s hand and started smoking it. And she had a very large something gross on her lip. Ewww.

The line was never shorter than a twenty minute wait. After my fourth beer or so, I was pretty much just drinking one beer, then going to wait in line so I wouldn’t have to do the “pee dance,” or worse- do the “peed in my pants dance.” The port o potties were on a slant so that the corners of the stall were at least 5 empty beer cans deep. Of course you cannot flush a port o potty (unless there is a secret button that I don’t know about??) so the stench was just awful. After only a few hours, there wasn’t any toilet paper to speak of, so the smarter people were taking paper towels in with them, and presumably just tossing them onto the floor. There was also no sink, so I couldn’t look at a person without imaging a layer of gunk on their hands.

As bad as this sounds, the worst part of the situation was the layer of people’s business that was all over the floor… and on the seat.

Even early in the day, it was apparent that people were unaware of where their pee was going, but once it got dark, it became a bajillion times worse.

This is a particularly sensitive subject for me, as I will admit that I have had my own problems in this particular aspect of using a port o potty.

I’m not  proud of this moment, but I have shared way worse information about myself, so what the hell.

It was a few years ago at the local St. Patrick Days parade. I was in a very long line, and had been waiting for close to twenty minutes. The urge was really starting to get to me and I was getting into that crazy state of mind where I was no longer thinking about what I was saying or doing. The only thing that was going on in my brain were visions of waterfalls and swimming pools, and toilets. Shiny clean white toilets with candles lining the sink nearby.

As I got closer to the front of the line, I noticed that one port o potty had a slight river flowing out from the small opening at the bottom. After a few seconds of watching it flow, I started tapping nearby strangers shoulders and goofily pointing to the port o potty that was leaking. I was quite tipsy at this point and probably started yelling phrases like “That girl is peeing the Amazon and missing toilet!!” I was partially jealous at the amount of liquid that this girl was emitting from her body when I wanted nothing more than to have my turn, but the more abrasive part of myself was content with laughing loudly at the fact that she had so obviously miscalculated her squat.

As she exited the bathroom, the crowd started laughing and attempted to give the girl high-fives,  but she ran away in what I can only imagine, was a drunken shame.

Well you know what they say, karma’s a bitch.

When I finally got my turn, I went into the stall and had to deal with the difficulties of being a girl in a bathroom where sitting down would be an eternal sin. By this point I had to go very very badly… Add in the logistics of squatting in a very enclosed space where there is nothing to hold on to… and the odds are against you.

I guess I must have used a little too much power and simultaneously pulled  my shirt down a little too far as I put my hands on my knees, because what happened in that little box of filth was enough to send anyone into a fit of tears.

Yes, it’s true.

I somehow peed my shirt. The entire bottom half of my shirt was wet, and I had no sink in which to play it off as water. And by making myself the center of attention by making fun of the river pee-er, there was no way I could walk away unnoticed.

So you can see why, after my port o potty pee fail, I really try to avoid them at all costs… for more reasons than one.

Excuse me while I go hang my head in shame.

(Make sure you check out Lilu’s  TMI Thursday archives, to read some of the funniest stories you never wanted to hear.)

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Well, since last week I managed to mortify my recent self with a period story, I decided this week to take a stab at a much younger, much more naive version of myself.

The summer after fourth grade, my parents decided to let me go visit some family in New Mexico for a couple of weeks to celebrate my tenth birthday. When we arrived at the airport, I remember telling my parents that my stomach hurt. My mom assured me that I was just having “first flight jitters,” and that as soon as I got there I would feel just fine.

Was she ever wrong! I remember feeling like complete butt (the 9 yr old me wouldn’t have said “I feel like shit or ass”) for the first few days. All I wanted to do was curl up on the bed in pain, and I had no idea why I was dying inside. Why had I thought it was a good idea to go on vacation without my parents?

I tried really hard to act as if everything was ok. I forced myself to go on bike rides and to join in games of football, even though it felt like someone  was jabbing a pogo-stick  up my hoo-ha. I was with my boy cousins and was going through a bit of a tom-boy stage, I didn’t want them to think I was a prissy girl.

About two days after I got there, I was crouched over on the toilet in pain. After I managed to squeeze a little pee out, and I wiped (front to back, just as I was taught.) Then, just as any other normal human does, I took a looksy at the toilet paper before I dropped it in the pot. I remember a feeling of dread passing through my body, even when I first saw it.

Fuck me sideways! (I would have actually said something more along the lines of Holy uh-oh Batman! )

There was totally poop coming out of my pee pee hole!!

I checked several times to make sure I hadn’t mistakenly number two-ed a little bit. Nope, the back end was clean as a whistle.

I may have been young, but I knew something wasn’t right. I also knew there was some sort of connection between the feeling that my uterus was trying to jump out of my vagina, and the fact that my vajayjay was having a horrible case of diarrhea.

Over the next few days, it only got worse. Every time I went to the restroom, I would see the dreaded brown poop spots in my panties. I was in a state of panic. I didn’t want anyone to find out that I was plagued with something that made poop come out the wrong hole, so I denied my strange behavior, stating that I was just home-sick.

Every time I went to the restroom, I would remove my soiled panties, crumple them up into a tight wad, and tuck them into the large pocket on the front of my suitcase.

At the ripe age of  (nearly) ten years old, I began spending a  good portion of my day excavating my private areas, searching for a reason why in God’s name this could be happening to me.  This may have been the beginning of my current recently conquered state of hypochondria, but I began to obsess over what kind of disease would cause my vagina to doo doo.

After a few days, things returned back to normal and I was able to actually enjoy my birthday.

A month later I was back at school, having a grand ole time- when it came back. Once again, I was in fear of  dying, but mostly I was scared that someone would discover  that I was a freak of nature.

For the next few months every time  my symptoms would return, I would carefully tuck my dirty underwear away into my suitcase to ensure no one would accidentally come across them. I took to folding up toilet paper and and putting it in the crotch of my underwear to yield some of the damage. I never let on to my friends or family that I was probably dying from a poopie vagina. It wasn’t until around Thanksgiving when my family was getting to ready to go out of town again,  that the truth finally came out.

When my mother approached me carrying my suitcase in one hand, and an armload of panties in the other- I immediately burst into tears.

“MOMMMMMYY !!! I’m so sorrry!!! I’m so sorry!!!! I’m dyyy-sob-ing!!!”

She hugged me and tried to calm me down. When I was finally composed enough to talk, she asked me why I thought I was dying.

“I poop out my peepee hole…. not all the time… I didn’t want to tell you…”

My mother smiled and gave me a huge hug while I stood there confused.

mom:“Honey, you’re not dying, and that’s not poop. You’ve just become a woman! You’ve started your period!”

And this, my friends, is why I am a huge advocate of sex-education in Elementary School. Do your kids a favor, tell them about the birds and the bees before they convince themselves that they crap out their pee-holes.