Guns don’t always scare me. I’ve shot them from time to time, and I’ve actually enjoyed it. I am from Texas  after all.

I do however, have an extremely deep seated fear of being shot with one, despite the fact that  (Mom, Auntie Linda, and P.J.) please skip over the next sentence) I once played a game of indoor Human Duck Hunt- a game where my friends and I shot each other in the backs with a BB gun.

I can actually pin point the exact moment when my fear came along, and as jokey as I might be whilst telling this story, you have to realize that this was, quite literally, scariest moment of my life.

A few years ago on St. Patrick’s day, a few friends and I went to a bar in Ft Worth that was in walking distance from LA’s apartment. There was a patio out back, and we spent the night drinking green beer and having a blast. A few of our guy friends decided to take off a little early, but LA, Moops, Sally and I all decided to stay back and have one more drink.

By the time we left, we were all quite tipsy… or if I’m really honest, we were down right drunk. We stumbled out the door and proceeded to make our way across a dark parking lot towards the apartment complex. When we were about half way there, LA and I, in our usual fashion, started hitting each other with our purses. Every once in a while, when the moon is right, we are struck with the desire to wrestle, (don’t get happy boys) for entertainment purposes only. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw 2 people walking toward us, but I didn’t think much anything of it at the time.

By the time they approached us, we were so caught up in seeing who could de-foot the other first, that we didn’t get any weird vibes from the two. In any right state of mind, one of the four of us would have thought it strange that the two young people who were not wearing green were standing uncomfortably close to our circle. But no, we kept right on laughing and swinging our purses like drunken asshats.

When one of them tapped me on the shoulder, I assumed it was someone who Lauren knew. I laughed and casually slapped  their shoulder, thinking they were just enjoying the show. After a few more seconds I finally realized that Moops and Sally were laying on the ground, belly down, and one of strangers were standing above them.

I was about 2 sticks away from being this naive.

It wasn’t until saw the gun that I truly realized what was happening. From that point, everything started moving in slow motion. I saw then that they were both holding large, silver guns, and that they didn’t look happy. There was a boy and a girl, both in their twenties. The girl was wearing a large sweatshirt with the hoodie pulled over her face, and the boy was wearing a beanie low on his forehead. Just as I started taking it all in, the girl put a gun up to LA’s head and demanded that she hand over her purse. I watched dumbly as she quickly followed her directions without a protest.

I was then the only one left standing. I can’t remember who, but one of my friends grabbed at my ankle and angrily whispered to “get down.”

“Gimme your purse and get on the ground,” the guy demanded.

Even though I knew what I was supposed to do, I couldn’t make myself move. When I finally remembered how to make my arms work, I struggled with getting my new Beatle’s purse, which had been tightly wound around my wrist for the fight, loose.  When I got it free, I had the thought that I should retrieve my credit card before handing it over. Making what could have been the dumbest decision of my life, I slid my hand into the purse, grabbed the card with my cupped hand, and swiftly put the card in my pocket before thrusting the clutch in their direction.

The guy robber asked me angrily if I had taken something out, and I shook my head to say no before I got on the ground. Luckily they believed me. As we all lay on the ground, the robbers stood over us for what felt like an eternity. Even though my eyes were tightly closed and I couldn’t hear anything except for my own heavy breathing, I could feel the burning of the gun on my back. I was sure that every second would be my last.

After what felt like an eternity, LA shouted  “RUN!” and took off. She was halfway to the gate before the rest of us had even gotten off the ground, but we all followed quickly behind her. I was roughly 250 lbs at the time, but I ran faster than I had ever ran in my life.

Once we were in the apartment, we all got quite emotional. One of my friends who had left the bar early was quick to call one of our stolen phones. The mugger answered and some words (that I won’t repeat) were spoken. The police came and our cards and phones were cancelled.

Looking back, it was quite funny that in the short time it took us to cancel our phones, rap song ring tones had already been purchased and downloaded.

You can bet your sweet ass that none of us slept that night, or slept easy for many nights to come.

So you can probably understand why I got so freaked out when I heard a loud bang out my window the other night. Within seconds LA had rushed out of bed and met me at the office door.

“That was a gun shot, I’m sure of it,” she said.

I screamed something like “OHHOLYFUCKINGSHIT” and ran to the hallway where I slid butt first to the ground. “GET DOWN AND DUCK!!!!”

LA stood above me and calmly told me to get up. “It’s not a drive by, it was just a gun shot. I’m calling the cops.”

So I got up off the ground and dramatically tweeted that gun shots were being shot in my neighborhood. LA went back to bed and I sat up for hours fantasizing about the dramatic shit that went down just across the street. When I drove home for lunch the following day and a moving man and about 4 men mowing the lawn and moving stuff out, I’m pretty sure I was right in my conclusion.

I don’t know the details, but if my imagination serves me correctly, the scenario involved a midget, some drugs, the CIA, and an underground sex tape. I hope I’m wrong.

Wowsa. When did life get so cray cray? Ohhh it seems about 2 months ago, and it just keeps getting faster and harder to keep up with.

This wekeend was one of my BFF’s graduation from GRAD SCHOOL! Yes, I have some smart mofo’s in my life. I was really bummed that I didn’t make it to meet up with a bunch of local bloggers, but when it was all said and done I just booked too much for one day. Plus after grad-party numero dos, it would have been detrimental to put me out on the streets, or even around people who don’t know me and love me unconditionally.

And luckily my friends love me lots. Although I’m pretty sure LA didn’t want to be my friend for about 5 minutes when I told a group of strangers about how she once performed an enema on me. We heard later that it started a very in debth conversation between a group of girls, and I’m always glad to be a conversation starter (or ender) so I don’t feel so bad. Plus I always let LA tell lots of stories at my expense, so all was equal in the world. Or something like that.

So we spent the majority of the weekend in Denton, and it’s always a blast to go back. Plus, (even though I missed the busting of it) she had a pinata with mini-tequilas and shot glasses in it. Have you ever heard of such a thing?! Have you ever heard of a more genius idea??? After the party we made our rounds to all the local bars, and I have to tell you, I did something that I feel very, very, VERY embarrassed about. Which, I can’t believe that after telling strangers about my enema that I had the ability to be embarrassed by anything.

The first person that I saw, and recognized when I walked in was one of my favorite movie bloggers. No big deal, right? No. I made a very big deal about it. I pretty much cornered him and oogled him and I probably would have told him my ten top favorite movies if he would have let me. But alas, I think he was very scared, and rightly so. At some point after I proclaimed my fandom, I took a nap in the car, and somehow woke up alive in the morning, although I am still missing a bit of my dignity, about 200 dollars, and about half of the items in my purse.

Speaking of graduations, my little sister  is graduating from college next weekend. I can’t believe it. My little sister is all growed up and she is so smart and I’m so proud I want to squeeze her until it hurts. Not only is she graduating, but she is getting a DOUBLE MAJOR in BIOLOGY AND PSYCHOLOGY! Seriously!? Even in my smartest days when I used to take adderol I couldn’t even get through a biology class, much less a whole bunch of them. Although I have to say that her love for bugs has really rubbed off on me.

 A couple of years ago my sister and I went on a bug collecting expedition which was one of my favorite times ever. We spent the day at my farm collecting all sorts of weird bugs and soaked them in alcohol and put them up on a styrophome board with pins. It sounds all sorts of nerdy but it was actually really cool, until I woke up in the middle of the night to see that this gigantic huge moth that was supposed to be dead was flapping it wings like a madman with a needle through it’s heart. I screamed bloody murder and spent the next week feeling sure that I had caused  some sort of mothman prophecy and that I was going going to go crazy and start drawing weird pictures and then, you know, die.

Oh I got way off topic there… Back to my sister. She definitely got the smarts out of the family, and she is making all of the men in the family proud by following their lead and getting her degree in something science related.

Did I ever tell you I come from a long line of scientists?

My grandad is a chemist and is one of the guys credited for inventing kiss-proof lip stick, and that is just one of the reasons why he is amazing.

Then you have my dad, the geologist. Besides giving him a free pass to wear tye-died t-shirts and cut-offs to any public event, it also means that I had the most awesome rock collection of any girl on the block. Also? I had really good stuff to sell. Other kids on the block were selling lemonade and homemade brownies from cardboard tables on street corners, but I walked around the neighborhood with a radio flyer full of hand painted rocks, and actually made about 4 bucks total in three years.

I’ve been thinking of taking it up again to make some supplental income.

The only downfall to the fact that I was brought up as a rock-lover is that now I have to lick them all the time. I know it sounds weird, but it’s something I have to try really hard to resist.  I think it’s because my dad used to quiz me on my rock collection, and the easiest one to guess Halite because it tasted like salt. Now I have the urge to see what other rocks taste like, and mostly so far they just taste like dirt. But one day when I find some rock that tastes like ketchup or cheese cake that no one has ever thought to taste, and I’l be famous and all of you will also want to taste my rock.  

This weekend also made me recall my college graduation, which was what I set out to blog about but seeing as how I have already novelled this post,I think I’ll save that for another time… So stay tuned!

Also congrats to my friend Julie for grad-yee-ating last week. You make me proud!

Oh and.. I still love John Cusack. ( I’m losing steam on the google searches so I thought I’d throw that in there)

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!

Remember how a few weeks ago I told you that my friend Moops has been wanting to start a blog? Well he’s been working on it. He’s even written a few posts, but nothing is live yet- and he’s not sure he wants me to reveal him to the world just yet. However, I did convince him to write a guest TMI post for me since my life has just gotten absolutely crazy the last few weeks. Maybe after reading his awesomeness you can help me convince him that he needs to go public!!!

And without further adieu, I present to you: Moops…

I am about to share a most pathetic tale of over indulgence; this story goes down as one of the worst nights of drinking I have ever had!  Wait a minute, who am I kidding?  I have a resume full of bad nights…with references.

Let me preface the detail of this story with the fact that I am not a delinquent, I have a good job, I contribute to society every now and then, and all in all I’m a pretty decent individual; I just get really drunk from time to time.  I’m about to be 30; I feel that I am fast approaching (or have long past) that threshold where getting boozed up and stripping down to my boxers can be considered acceptable if not slightly amusing behavior (not that that sort of conduct is ever acceptable). In my opinion, drunken behavior is on sort of a sliding scale. For example, when you’re in college, you can get naked and jump on a pogo stick in the front yard and it’s cool; but as age increases, even the slightest drunken mishap can be highly inappropriate and or embarrassing, and for me- this seems to happen at an exponential rate.

And so the story goes.  Halloween 2009.  At the time I was dating a girl who’s birthday was at the end of October. It so happened that her roommate’s birthday fell right around the same time, so they decided to throw a sort of joint birthday/Halloween party.

The night went like this- keg beer, lots of keg beer, my consumption could probably have been measured in gallons; this was supplemented with a cornucopia of shots, you name it I drank it; and then there were the few games of flip cup I participated in. PERFECT, I was ready to go, nothing could stop me, time to hit the bars.

Bar # 1 – I was now at the level of intoxication where I think I am inherently wealthy and feel the need to buy a round of shots for everyone within a 10′ radius of me. I remember the first shot, rupplemintz – GREAT IDEA!

I don’t remember much of the bar scene after that initial round; but from some forensic investigating I conducted in the days that followed, mainly examining my three separate tabs (all different cards,) subsequent bars were visited and many shots consumed.

Fast Forward – A couple of hours later we were back at the house for the after party – yeah, this thing doesn’t stop.  I start emerging from my self induced anesthesia, good, I made it back in one piece, I even somehow managed to make it to the couch and lie down, WAY TO GO!  But wait a minute, it seems that the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed over the last 12 hours combined with my horizontal position on the couch was making me a little nauseous, make that a lot nauseous, yep I was about to puke.  My body seemed to be paralyzed, so there I was, on this girls nice white couch vomiting a vile substance while a host of characters looked on. Some watched in amusement but most watched in horror (when I say characters I literally mean characters…it was Halloween).  29 years old, and I just puked on myself, just wait it gets better.  I was then thoroughly scolded and clumsily escorted upstairs and thrown into my girlfriend’s bed.

I did attempt one more trip downstairs for an alcohol fueled spirited conversation with my girlfriend, not sure what prompted this one.  There was one eyewitness account that I actually fell up the stairs (vs. down the stairs), pretty impressive.

My first lucid moments the next morning were a bit of a sensory overload; my head was pounding, my mouth was completely dry, my contacts were shriveled up like little raisins in my eyes, my body was totally void of any hydration and my pants were wet, OH SHIT!  MY PANTS…I PISSED THE BED!!!!!!!  At this point I quickly gathered my things, walk downstairs past all of the girls sleeping on a pallet and left, didn’t say a word to anyone.  AWESOME night!  Not only did I puke in front of everyone, but I pissed the bed too, definite high point!  It’s on my way home, with quite possibly the worst moral hangover ever, that I pulled my phone out and tried to make a call; it wouldn’t turn on, great.  You see, my phone was in my pocket when I passed out, it was around the pocket region of my pants that there was the highest concentration of urine; hence my phone not working.  I think I am the only person who has ever pissed on their own phone rendering it useless.

A side note:  Two days prior to the incident I had moved into a new apartment by myself, literally all I had was a bed (I do have furniture now – FYI), so not only did I not have any furniture or cable- but now I didn’t have a functioning phone either. Hungover- this is particularly  lonely and depressing state to be in.  I was forced to go to the Fiesta grocery store down the street to use the pay phone.

Well probably you don’t, but just in case you DO – I have compiled a list so that you can be just as awesome as I am!!

*** Do not try to achieve “hot-mess” status unless you have some good friends around to make sure you don’t take it too far. You will also need some people that you can count on to help put your life back together once it is all said and done. You also will want to surround yourself with patient friends, who know how to have a good laugh.

*Start out your Friday night by jinxing yourself. It’s pretty fail-proof if you utter the remark “I’m not drinking very much tonight,” that you will actually drink that much and probably more.

*Begin the night with double vodka soda’s.

*Supplement drinks with shots.

*Do a few performances at a karaoke bar, including the “always a crowd pleaser” “Total Eclipse of the Heart” – Old School version.

*** A karaoke performance is not complete if you don’t include a leg kick at some point.

*Talk to any person who is willing to talk to you, and tell your entire life story.

*Make your new bar friends look up what you proclaim to be the “funniest blog in the world,” (mine) (which I know is certainly not the case) and make them save it to their phone.

*Go back to the microphone and sing “What A Wonderful World,” in the voice of Louis Armstrong. Again.

*End said performance by saying something like “SORRY IF THAT SUCKED AND IF YOU THINK SO WELL THEN EFF YOU BITCHES.”

*Wake up in the morning 30 minutes before you need to be somewhere that is forty-five minutes away.

*Realize that you left your phone at the bar.

*Realize that your wallet is also missing.

*Scratch that.

*YOU HAVE LEFT YOUR ENTIRE PURSE AT A BAR.

*Drive back to bar and recover your life.

*Arrive at new landlord’s house  to sign your lease 45 minutes late so that he is no longer home.

Put your money in his mailbox, call and leave a message to let him know that you’ve done so.

*Don’t hang up phone after you leave message, and accidentally record yourself saying something to the likes of “this effing blows, we get up early to get this shit taken care of and he isn’t even effin here.”

*Meet up with a friend and drink two of her mother’s Mikes Hard Lemonades.

*Proceed to go to lunch and have 2 bloody marys.

*Take a 3 hour nap.

*Wake up and go to a bar for dinner and drinks at about 6, having not showered and wearing the same clothes you wore the night before.

*Text people that you definitely have no business texting, and that you shouldn’t even be talking to.

*Get your phone taken away by a friend, but it’s for the better.

*Leave the bar at around 10 and pass out on a friend’s couch while everyone else is watching a movie.

*Wake up at 8 with a dead phone,  having no clue where you are.

*Luckily, you will still have time to make the sausage biscuit breakfast at Whattaburger.

*Go to see Valentines Day, looking, feeling, and smelling like three day old dogshit.

*On a Sunday afternoon proclaim with pride that “I haven’t showered since Thursday night!!!”

*Get in your Hurricane car and drive back to hurricane room, where you will ponder on these events and then the ones that you don’t remember so much about.

*Blog about it all so that the whole world has the opportunity to read about your awesomeness.

*Do things to help you forget your night/s.

*Relive it all again when a friend posts pictures of you in your worst state possible.

That. Happened.

There you have it, somewhere around 30 easy steps to be a hurricane.

Happy Monday folksters!!

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!

As I sit here writing, I am actually extremely close to having a TMI experience. My stomach is churning. I’m not sure if it’s because of the antibiotics I’m currently on, or because of the nearly 2 cups of peanut butter I spread over celery sticks last night in an effort to wain my sweet/carb tooth. Or it could be the gigantic bowl of beans I just ate. It’s most likely a combination of all of the above.

Refraining from eating carbs and drinking wine this week has resulted in my overindulging in protein in a not so healthy way. I’m not sure if this lifestyle is any better.

But that’s not my story. I’m gonna try to keep this short, because I may have an episode of emergencias de frijoles one way or the other in the near future. EEEEEK.

This particular tale occurred once again back in my days o’ college, or back when I was a still drinking. Which if you’re paying attention, was anytime before this Monday.

My friends and I were out in our college town, having our typical college night full of chugging nickle-natties and blasters. (Blaster= Fry St. code for Jager Bomb.)

I started out the night in typical “Hurricane Carissa” fashion- by dinging my best friend LA’s brand new (I mean within the first week brand new) car door against another car. She was a little peeved, but after the first few drinks and a few rants, she let it go.

On this particular night, we (read: I) were particularly boozed up. We made our way around all the bars and shortly before they closed at 2am, we decided it was time to call it a night. LA was playing designated driver for the night, mostly because she wanted a chance to drive us around in her new ride, but also because after the first bar it was apparent that neither I, or our other friend KT would be able to do the job.

Before we had even gotten to the parking lot, I made a loud announcement… “I have to pee.”

KT and I lived only a few blocks away, so they both quickly waved away my announcement and continued towards the parked car. Just as we were arriving at LA’s new car, KT’s ex-boyfriend spotted her in the parking lot. The details are blurry, but I do know that a heated argument started up between my friends and her ex’s group of friends. I stood a little behind the group, trying not to fall over as I looked longingly over my shoulder at the bars across the street, where I knew I could find a toilet street to squat over.

At some point during their argument, a couple of cops approached our group and started asking questions. Knowing I was not in a particularly good state of mind, and also that I didn’t have the best luck with the fuzz, LA sternly told me to go and get in the back seat of the car and to stay put.

“But I really have to go to the bathroom! Can’t I just run into one of the bars real quick,” I slurred. Or something to that effect.

“Absolutely not. Go and get into the car,” LA told me again as she pushed the clicker thing to unlock the door. “And do not get out of the car, no matter what.”

It all seemed a little dramatic, but at that point, I knew that my friend probably had better judgment than I, so I decided to follow her orders.

I got into the back seat of LA’s new car and settled in. I kept myself low in the seat as to not call attention to myself. The last thing I needed was to be interrogated. After about 5 minutes of waiting, I started to get a little restless… and my level of having to pee reallllly started escalating. I remember looking  out the back window and saw that the cops were now making my friends do the standard drunk tests. Walking the line and what not. Or at least that is how I remember it.

I contemplated getting out of the car and running to the nearest bar to relieve myself, but I knew that probably wouldn’t end well, so I ultimately decided to stay put for the time being. At this point I was going between squirming unrelentingly, and literally holding my crotchal area, trying to keep it in.

After about 5 more minutes I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had no choice. It was either pee now, or pee now. There was no longer the option of forever holding my pee.

My options were limited. I couldn’t run for a bar, I would surely be stopped en-route. I couldn’t get out and pop a squat, that would surely end with a public urination ticket, though at this point I hardly cared.

I crawled up into the front seat and started rummaging around.

AHHHH AHHHH AHHHH (heaven sound effect)

There it was, sitting in the cup holder… glowing in the dim light of the parking lot.

A 32oz wide-lip bottle of Lemon-Lime Gatorade.

I could do this.

I carefully unzipped my pants and pulled them off where they settled on the floorboard of LA’s new car. I put both feet up on the back seat, and shuffled then out until I was in frog squat position. I positioned myself so that my face was away from my group of friends, who were still talking to the cops.

And then I positioned the bottle.

Just as I was relaxing into my squat and gearing up to make careful aim, I heard a loud bang from behind me that caused me to lose my footing. Luckily, I hadn’t yet completely relaxed my urinal muscles.

I turned to see a cop shining his light through the window, where only seconds before my bare-behind had been. I quickly pulled my pants back on and hung my head in shame as I opened the back door.

The cop grabbed me by my arm and asked if I had managed to “do anything.” I told him that I hadn’t, and that I still really had to go. I think he must have felt bad for me, because at that point he swiftly drug me over to my friends, looked at LA and said “I’m not even gonna tell you what she almost just did in your car, but yall need to get her to a restroom.”

Everyone was so relieved that they were finally able to leave that no one even mentioned what the cop had said about me. We quickly left, and LA drove us home where I was finally able to pee.

We all lived happily ever after.

Until a few months later when LA was telling the story about the cops in the parking lot to another one of our friends. It was all fun and laughs until she got to the end. She stopped abruptly and looked at me with fire in her eyes.

“What DID you almost do in my brand new car????”

Oopsie. But you know what? It was not as bad as it coulda been.

-John Cusack’s girlfriend.

If you missed my vlog a few weeks ago where a tell a story in which I wasn’t so lucky, check it out here.

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I posted this yesterday, but not many people responded so I’m posting it again.  I’m stubborn like that!!!

I’ve been thinking a little bit about the future of my blog. I’m  close to 200 posts and will hit my 6 month bloggaversary in a few weeks, and I want to try something a little different. I have often been told that I have a story for pretty much every subject (that’s just my life) so I think in order to get me writing about things other than John Cusack, I would like to ask you to do a little blog assignment.  I give you dear readers, the task of asking me any questions you want to know about little ole me (and I will answer with complete honesty unless you’re a dick) , stories you would like to hear extended versions of (My 100 things post might give you some ideas,) or any other subject matter that you would like to know my opinion on (or a poem about)…. and if I don’t have an opinion on the matter, I’ll get one!!! Just send an email to me at carissajade@gmail.com, tweet me, or pop it off my comments. Thanks and I love you guys!

I also plan on doing a giveaway in the next few weeks, so keep your eyes open. I promise I won’t be giving away one of my decoupage art pieces. Unless you want one I could decoupage something of your request.

Remember when I told you that little fairy tale about my… uh… friend…uh…” Cari,” and the time that she thought a peen was a piece of feces??

Well luckily for you, I have several more stories about Cari and her misfortunes up my sleeve.

I am not sure if I should actually be sharing this story, as the second leading character is a casual reader of this blog and is still a friend of Cari’s… and she has yet to confess this to him. If you are reading this (you know who you are) then I am going to go ahead and apologize on Cari’s behalf… and I really hope you’re not completely disgusted.

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Once upon a time there was a girl named Cari, who at one point in time was kinda-sorta-long-distance dating a friend of her’s named… let’s call him Sam.

Cari and Sam were still friends, and this particular weekend Cari was going down to H-town to visit her friends for a fun-times reunion.

The first night when Cari got in town began as every night with Sam began- with a vow not to get so drunk that they would be miserable for the rest of the weekend. A vow that was immediately sealed with a “cheers” and a shot of whiskey. And in their usual fashion, that shot was followed by a MANY more beers, several more shots, some conversation about politics, and a few rounds of shooting each other with a BB gun.

At some point in the night one of them got the bright idea to take half an ambien, stay up, and see what might happen.

The next few hours, as you can imagine, were a blur. Cari remembered watching some online comedy videos and…well, that’s about it.

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Oh yeah, so I guess I should probably tell you that, literally, the exact same thing that I wrote about in another TMI story happened to Cari on this particular trip down to Houston.

The short version: On the trip down to Houston, “Cari” remembered mid-drive that she had left the same tampon in for way over 12 hours. Fearing toxic shock, she then proceeded on taking it out whilst driving, putting it in a paper bag she found in her car, and promptly forgot about the said tampon, and completely forgetting it ever happened until several weeks later.

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The following morning Cari and Sam woke up feeling a little foggy headed, but all in all, they felt a lot better than they expected. They decided to continue with their weekend as planned, and head to Galveston for a relaxing day at the beach.  Somewhere along the drive Sam had to stop to fill up on gas and beer, and Cari took the opportunity to go to the restroom. She hadn’t thought about her period since the drive down, and was surprised to see that she had started back up a little. Luckily she had a tampon in her purse, so she quickly fixed the problem, no biggie.

It was a perfect day at the beach and everything went smoothly. After the beach, Sam and Cari checked into a hotel room and got ready to go have a nice dinner. Cari put on a dress and Sam put on a pair of khakis… the same khakis that he had been wearing the night before.

It wasn’t until they were in the car, well on their way to dinner that Cari noticed a peculiar stain above the knee on Sam’s pants.

Cari: Dude, you look really nice… but what’s all over your pants?

Sam: What? Ewww I have no idea!!! What is that??

Cari: I dunno, but it looks disgusting!

And it did. It basically looked like a few smears of  nastiness up down his thigh. Imagine eating cheetos, then wiping your fingers down your legs… only instead of orange, this shiz was brown.

Sam: Did I get into a wrestling match with someone in the front yard or somethin? It kinda looks like blood.

Cari: I have no idea… I don’t remember a single thing after taking the ambien! Maybe you spilled dip on it or something…

At that moment Cari had a random brief flash from the night before… in his bed.. kissing…  maybe?

That really wasn’t the type of relationship that they had…  Cari didn’t want to ask what happened as to create an awkward situation, so she decided to brush those thoughts away and change the subject.

Neither the oogey stain or anything that may have happened the night before was brought up again… until they got back to his house the following day and started to unload their  stuff in his room.

As they were unloading their things, Cari noticed Sam stooped over the bed examining the sheet.

Sam: Look! There it is! The same shit that is all over my pants!

Cari went to see what he was looking at, and sure enough… there were a few brownish splotches on the sheet around the foot of his bed.

It was at that point that Cari had a second flashback from her first night in town.

Yes… there was definitely kissing… And maybe a tiny bit more.

A feeling of dread washed over Cari’s body for the million and tenth time in her life.

For that’s when she knew exactly what those spots on his bed and on his pants were.

And she wasn’t about to admit that to Sam.

Cari: Oh yeah… I’m sure that’s dip. Or you know what? I think we may have spilled a cup that had cigarette butts in it!

Cari then changed the subject, and didn’t bring up the stains for the rest of the trip… or ever.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Until now.

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.

We need to have some words.

Before you think that this is all going to be bad, I did have a lot of fun. I especially enjoyed petting the llamas and watching those baby piglets drink from the mama pig. Who knew pig-nipples could be so big?

i heart llamas

Additionally, I really actually enjoyed the diving pirates show. So much that I think I may learn how to dive so that I can join them. Oh sure, it was a little cheezy and I’m a little out of their goal age demographic… but I have a love affair with pirate jokes and this made me very happy.

RRRRRR you serious?

But I do have a few bones to pick with you…  First, I left feeling a little like you ass-raped me a little bit, or at least took advantage of the fact that this was my first time.

I knew you weren’t cheap… but 10 tickets for a tiny beer? Over twenty dollars to ride the Ferris Wheel? And with so many yummy treats with each turn of my head, how do you expect me to resist eating a turkey leg, roasted corn, popcorn, and a tornado tator? You can expect me to forward you a few health bills, as I am positive my stomach will never be the same.

And also, you really should have a warning on a few of your rides that says “Not meant for persons over the age of 26,” because I feel a little bit like my head is going to fall off of my neck I meant it when I yelled “I’m never going to ride a ride again,” and also when I said “I’m too old, too old for this you mother fucker- stop the ride.” And guess what? Nobody stopped the freaking ride.

Alas, even though I am still a little mad at you- I was thankful for all the good people watching that you provided. . I think I saw several people who  (judging on appearances) spend their entire years salary on the fair.

Until next year,

Going to the gym 4 hours a day for the next 3 weeks.

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Guy who sold me the John Lennon Necklace at the fair,

I don’t care what my friends say- there is something very attractive about your long bushy beard. My friends all said that they think it would be smelly, but i tend to disagree. I  could also smell that patchouli oil even from the other side of the counter, and I love it!
I have spent my morning researching different images that I want to order on necklaces from you. If only I can find your business card.

My necklace was definitely one of the better parts of the day, as was your beard.

My new favorite necklace.

I wonder if I could squeeze in a trip to Denver. Maybe I’ll see you at your next show!

Sincerely,

Not a stalker

_________________________________________________________________________

To all other patrons of the state fair,

If you went into the indoor arts section and happened to purchase a flattened glass necklace from a man with a very long beard, would you kindly check and see if you picked up a business card? And then just forward me that email address.

Thanks so much,

Not desperate

_________________________________________________________________________

Dear zombie shirt boy,

I really did enjoy talking to you the other night but I know I acted a little weird the following day. I feel I should explain. I don’t really remember the last part of our conversation and I erased my drunk text messages because I don’t like to feel shame…  but in the event that you got a message from me that said “I am already in love you” 3 hours after meeting me- please either assume that

A. Some stranger broke into my house wearing a banana suit, ate a block of cheese, held me up with a hack saw and then stole my phone and must have texted you himself.

or

B. I was just joking! I’m funny like that!

I’m also sorry if I made my friends called you… I’m sure that was a little awkward.

I’m not usually crazy and I’ll leave it at that because in my experience the people who have to say over and over again that they are not crazy, are usually the craziest.. and I am definitely not crazy.

I understand if you never want to talk to me again but it was very nice meeting you and I think your super cool.

I love you,

I like your facebook picture,

Sleepless in Dallas,

I‘m available every night this week,

Can we at least be friends?,

Not a desperate crazy stalker

___________________________________________________________________________

My dearest kidneys,

I’m sorry. Very sorry.

Love,

NEVER DRINKING AGAIN

___________________________________________________________________________

To several of my Facebook friends who I saw at homecoming,

Sure I know it has been a while, and I probably look a little different than you remember me… But I remember having several conversations with you back in college. I even knew some of you well enough that I considered you a real life friend.

Regardless, I was super offended at how many of you I waved at, with no response. I mean, even if you don’t recognize me- DO YOU NOT WAVE BACK AT STRANGERS? How rude can you be!? I try to smile at all the strangers that pass by, and even more at the ones who are at my college homecoming because there is a chance I know them.

Let me refresh your memory. I’m in the one in the middle. You saw me this weekend. You looked me in the eye, you asshole.

Maybe I don’t have much of a life, but even though we haven’t seen each other for a while, I try to keep up with your life. I look at your pictures from Vegas and your new baby just took his first steps, congrats!! I know every time you have been drinking because facebook friend, you tell me and I listen.

Well I, for one, am not going to stand for this abuse. If you don’t even look at my pictures enough to recognize me- then why are we “friends?”

So just a heads up, don’t be surprised if you get deleted from my friend list. Not that you’ll even notice, but still.

Your not aging as gracefully as I would have thought,

Needs everyone to love me.

I have told you before that technology hates me. Like, bad.  I pick up a phone, and it loses service. I sit in front of a computer, and it completely quits working. Since I’ve been at my current job, (for a year and a half) I’ve gone through 3 computers.

3 computers. One which was brand new.

I’m sure my bosses think I’m on porn sites all day contracting computer AIDS, purposely sabotaging my computers so I have an excuse not to work. In actuality, I have NO FREAKING IDEA how or why these computers keep breaking on me. I treat them well. I run anti-virus programs regularly, and I’m very careful about what sites I go to. The only reasonable explanation that I can think of, is that I have been possessed by a frequency demon. I’m not sure it is actually a frequency demon. It may be a computer demon or a technology demon, but I personally think frequency demon has a better ring to it.

But I digress.

I will state for the record now, I am in no way responsible for my current state of, yet again, being without a work computer.

I’ll start from the beginning. (Imagine the following told to you in a ghost story voice. It’s not the most exciting story ever… but I think that will help.)

Last Friday was a normal day at work. It was rainy, and I was planning on leaving early to head to Austin to see my little sister.

As usual, my bosses left (even earlier) to go either hunting, golfing, or fishing… I forget which- on this dark and foreboding day. As usual, I cleared my internet history and shut my lap top down before I headed out.

*Side note- I actually have two work computers. My desktop has Vista, and the marketing software I use, naturally does not work on Vista. Therefore, my bosses begrudgingly had to get me a second computer to use for marketing purposes. A computer which I need in order to get anything done.

Monday morning I came back into work. It was still raining, and I was in a particularly foul mood. The bosses were going to be out until Wednesday, but regardless, since I had left early on Friday, I had plenty of work to do. The early morning was business as usual. I updated the blog, checked my email, and caught up on my friend’s weekends via facebook. Around 10:00 am I turned around to start up my laptop and get started on some mailings.

DUN DUN DUN….

The laptop…. was gone.

At this point I actually didn’t think much of it, and I was a teensy bit excited that I DID have an excuse not to spend the rest of my day swamped with the monotonous task of sending out mailings. The bosses have taken the laptop with them on their hunting trips before, (as my screen saver slide-show of dead deer proved) and I figured that they had taken it again to showcase their killings. Plus, the case was gone- so I was confident that they had packed it up, because the case was nowhere near the actual computer. So I spent the next two days outwardly cursing my bosses for leaving me bored and with nothing to do, but inwardly thanking the heavens that I had extra time to do as I pleased. By late Tuesday though, I was as bored as I have ever been on a 13 hour road trip with my parents. I was racing to answer the phone. Giving insurance quotes never seemed so fun.

First thing Wednesday morning when the bosses returned I popped right in their office to ask for the laptop.

Boss: Distracted that I’d come in without knocking “Ummm… OK.. we’ll get it for you.”

I returned to my desk and about 5 minutes later I was called back into their office.

Boss: “Did you say something about the laptop?”

Me: “Umm yeah… I need it back, so I can… do some work.”

Boss: “Well where is it?”

Me: “Uh… umm… you… have it?”

Boss: “Noooooooo…..”

By this time, everyone in the office (all 6 of them) were up and in the bosses office, eager to know what we were discussing. I explained how I thought that they had taken the computer to put their pictures of bloody deer on, and they acted surprised at the prospect that I would think they would do such a thing. There was no sign of foul-play. No broken windows. Nothing else was missing. We looked in every drawer, under every desk, and in every corner of our tiny office. They asked me about five times if I was sure I didn’t accidentally take it.

Oh sure, I packed a laptop and carried it out without realizing it.

Did I? I seriously started questioning my sanity. I clearly remember leaving the office and driving straight to Ft. Worth to meet up with my friend LA, and we headed to Austin as soon as I got there. But what if I had a crazy drunk ambien moment and drove back to Dallas, stole the computer, and drove back to Austin without even remembering it?

Ok, even I am not that crazy.

The bosses called the cops and talked in length to the owner of the building. They all concluded that, besides the cleaning ladies who the building-owner fully trusts, there is no way that anyone could have gotten into our office without a key.

Its been nearly a week now and there are no new leads. Oh sure, there have been the daily jokes… “So Carissa, if you just bring the laptop back- no charges will be made.” Or the ever so clever, “So, hows that laptop treatin you? You sure were smart in stealing your own work computer to have an excuse not to work.”

I’m over this shit. Even if they decide to get me a new computer, it will take me at least a week to get everything set up again… that is if my software is even compatible.

So I’ve decided to take matters in my own hands. Seriously, I’m thinking of coming to work tomorrow donning a trenchcoat and very large pipe. I WILL get to the bottom of this.

In other words… To whoever is out there, typing away on my work laptop. I hope you are enjoying yourself right now. Because in the very near future (*shaking fist) “I’M GONNA GET YOU!!!!!