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.

(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.