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

Before I get started, I have some news that I will tell you with a heavy heart. This is the last week that Lilu will be hosting TMI Thursday. Don’t worry, there will still be plenty of overshare here on the ole’ bloggity-blog, it’s just not going to be on a certain day of the week.

I want to give a huge huge HUMONGO thanks to Lilu, because without her and her TMI Thursdays, I wouldn’t have “met” many of you.  Seriously. I never thought reading about poop and pee and periods and jizz and sex could be so fun. Well I knew the sex part would be fun, but not the rest.

I had thought of a few different things that I wanted to do for today. One was to do a sum of all my past TMIs… perhaps in a song or a poem, but I really didn’t have time. Then there was something completely disgusting that happened to me earlier this week, but it’s just too soon. I haven’t even gotten a chance to do laundry yet.

So instead I give you this.

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I know most of you are probably going to think I’m a major prude when I tell you this but- despite the fact that I’m 27 years old…  until last weekend I’d never baited my hook. I mean…  I’d touched worms before. I’d even held one in my hand a few times, but I didn’t like it. They just feel so awkward, you know?

So I decided that the time had come for me to grab that bait by the balls and stick it, stick it hard. You know, show him who was boss. Turns out, it wasn’t even a worm but a minnow- so you know, I figured it would be an easy catch.

I had heard that the first time wouldn’t be a pleasurable experience, that it may even hurt a little, but I had no idea it was going to be this bad. Even the lead up was awful. I couldn’t even get a hold of it to stick it in, it just kept slipping away.

Well, I guess you can see the end result yourself….

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

This video was shot with no intention doubling your entendre, but when I heard the audio, I was like… Dude! If I wasn’t watching this, I would think it was a really bad porn. Then I heard my dad’s voice.

Ewwwwwww

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.

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

I’m gonna try to keep this short today, mostly due to the fact that I’m busy packing for my move next weekend. Just kidding. I haven’t started packing yet silly face. I’m just extremely ADD and have been sitting here in front of my computer for the last 4 hours, checking facebook, twitter, and watching stupid tv shows… and now that it’s 11:15 and I’m already ambiened up,  I don’t think I have many coherent minutes left in me.

My senior year of college I took an extensive Spanish class, which basically meant 3 hours of non-stop Spanish, 3 days a week. It was miserable.

What could possibly make 3 hours of abburido espanol even more excruciating?

I’ll tell you.

It was one of the first weeks of class, before I had spent a million hours with my fellow classmates and didn’t know anyone very well yet. I sat down, and as usual- attempted to quickly copy the answers from the back of the workbook. Which is something that I don’t understand, but I won’t get into that today.

So I’m sitting there when I notice a peculiar scent. A very pungent scent. To be more exact, it was of the “came from the ass region” variety.

I looked around, not sure whether I should bring it up, as I didn’t know who, or what, it had come from. It was pretty clear from the fact that it wasn’t waning, that someone hadn’t just broke wind.

I examined all of my neighbors, trying to figure out which one of them would be most likely not to wipe very well.

As I looked around the room, I could tell that I wasn’t the only person who was offended by the poo smell. A few people around me were snickering and looking around for the culprit.

I finally decided to speak up, and I asked the boys next to me, jokingly, if they had shit their pants. After a few minutes, pretty much the entire class was talking about the awful smell.

The teacher eventually asked what all the chatter was about. Everyone started laughing, and leave it to my big mouth to speak up.

“Ummmm… something smells REALLY bad in here.”

It was about that time that the quiet boy sitting behind me finally decided to speak up.

“Uh.. well it’s probably because you have a whole load of poop on the bottom of your shoe…”

I looked down at the foot that I had crossed around my knee, and sure enough… that sumofabiznitch was correct. There was a big load of dog shit on the bottom of my shoe.

Awesome.

Which leads me to last night.

I’m sitting here, at my computer, one leg up on the seat with my knee hugged against my chest like I always do… typing up a post- just as I am now… when I smell something rancid. My two boy roommates were both in the room, so I go ahead and assume it was one of them.

After a few more minutes the smell did not dissipate. I came to the conclusion that it seemed to be coming from me!

I hadn’t passed gas that I was aware of, but I decided to sit for a few more moments just to make sure.

I keep my shit clean people. I mean that as much as one can mean that. I may not shower EVERY day, but I’m clean.

Even so, the scent was coming from somewhere so close to my, well my nether-region, that I was sure of. Eventually, I decided to suck it up and bend my head down to get a closer smell.

EWWWWWWW

Something wasn’t right. I went to the bathroom to check things out, as anyone would in my situation, and came out even more confused. I smelled just fine.

I came back to my desk and assumed my position and the smell was back. Suddenly, I remembered the Spanish class incident and checked my shoe.

All was right in the world once again.

My ass didn’t smell.

There was poo on my shoe.

WIN!!!

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

I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be writing this right now, as it is after 12am and I just had an awesome time out with some great Dallas Bloggers, but I’m gonna attempt it anyway.

I just got off the phone with one of my best dude friends, and got permission to tell this story, which has already been briefly mentioned before, but I feel that it definitely warrants a TMI story of its own… but I’m gonna keep this short…

So my friend, “Sam,” (that’s what I’ve called him before) and I have been really good friends ever since college. I can’t remember whether he didn’t have a washer because he lived in his fraternity house, or if he was just too lazy to do his own laundry, but quite often he would bring his laundry over to my house for me to do for him.

Please take note gentlemen: I am not the domestic type. I would not do laundry for just anyone. This boy is not only one of my best friends, but at the time- I was pretty much in that stage of “OhMyGodILoveYouAndYesIWillDoAnythingYouWantMeToDo.”

So he brings over a big load of laundry and I got started. I begin putting the clothes in the washer, when I came across a pair of shorts that was heavier than it should be.

I’m pretty sure at least that it was the weight that made me look twice, and I wish I hadn’t.

I pulled the shorts apart to see what was making them so heavy… and oh yeah…

Skid lake lay inside.

I screamed and called my roommate to come help me out.

His explanation? He had eaten too much Taco Bueno and then had to move all day. Yeah… and I should have gotten over this one right then… notsomuch.

As Lilu always says: ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

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

Last week I gave you a video blog of all the things in the world that make me want to vomit.

This past weekend I was reminded of one that I left out… a very important one.

A  little back story.

Sometimes I can’t believe my friend A, is my friend. While she is one of the most fun and awesome people that I know, she is definitely more of a lady than some of my other friends. I could probably think of a ton of TMI stories about most of my friends, but not many about her.

Of course there was that time on her wedding day that I literally had to perform my Maid of Honor doodies and wipe her ass because her dress was too poofy to do it herself.

But that’s a different story for another day.

So last Saturday, my friend A and went out and got a little crazy. We met up with a bunch of our friends for a Birthday shenanigan… eventually I passed out, she woke me up and peeled my head off of the coffee table that I had passed out on (like she always does,) and we went back to her house where I slept on a little couch (while there was a big bed 40 feet away) with my legs propped up.

The next morning I woke up feeling surprisingly chipper. I was ready for a bloody mary and to start the whole adventure again.

She didn’t feel so great.

I could tell from the queezy look on her face, and because I kept finding her sprawled out on the cold tile floor, that she really wasn’t feeling it.

But like I said, she’s a trooper, and decided to join me for day two of drinktivities.

I think I’ve told you this before, but I rarely drive. I’m not very good at it, my car is a disaster… and frankly I get even 10 times more nervous when other people are in my car. Sunday morning, I had no choice in the matter. A’s car was at the bar that we were returning to, and we had no other way of getting there besides my car.

Before A got in my car, I tried my best to brush all the wrappers, empty McDonalds coffee cups, and loose change out of the passenger seat. I turned the ipod onto the calmest music I could find, and I told myself over and over “don’t be jerky, drive smooth,” as I could see that the girl was capable of tossing her cookies at any moment.

After a few seconds of being on the road- she switlyy put her foot up on the dashboard. She said it was because Dashboard Jesus was vibrating all over the place and it was making her nauseous.

Understandable.

After a few more seconds I could see that A was taking very deep breaths. She unrolled the window to get some fresh, freezing air.

I stiffened my shoulders and didn’t say a word.

The rest of the drive continued in this matter.

Just as our destination was in site, the mood shifted. A’s breaths grew quicker and more desperate. As I was pulling up, I could see A digging around through all the empty water bottles and papers and she came up with a plastic bag. At first I thought it was for her to breathe into, but then I remembered you’re supposed to do that with paper bags.

And then it started.

“Blerrrrrrghgggjgjjggjgj”

Oh no. She vommed.

I turned my head out the drivers side window and tried to imagine John Cusack riding toward me on a white horse. Wasn’t working.

With every lurch I could feel my body tighten. My senses were working on overload. The “blaerrethhrrrsaasrrsschhh” sound of wretched vomiting hit my ears like a tornado siren. The sound of the vom hitting the plastic baggy reminded me of a really fat person jumping slow-mo on a jumbo-tron. And in the split second that I looked over to make sure it was landing in the bag, the chunks that flew out of her mouth reminded me of the time that I ran into a glass door while carrying 2 gallons of curdled milk/old beer mixture) and it exploded all over my face. (Also another story)

I could feel my mouth starting to water and my arms start to shake. I tried to put it all out of my brain but the sounds, the smell…. it just wasn’t working!!

Queue in the dry heaves. “Blerrrrrrccchhhh”

I giggled thinking it was just a sympathy heave.

“blerrrrrrcccchhh” Ok maybe not so much.

I opened my door, and for the next ten minutes, A barfed into that plastic bag, while I heaved out the drivers side door. When I was finally able to compose myself, I looked at A and we both had tears in our eyes. Not a word was said. She wiped her hands on her pants, gathered that walmart bag that luckily didn’t have any holes in it, and took it to the dumpster. I wiped my lips and took a couple more deep breaths.

I suppose it could have been worse…

A said she would meet me at the next bar… and she did. The Drinktivities continued on for another 5 hours without another glitch. We didn’t speak of our barf-o-rama at the time… and we probably won’t mention it again until I get married and she pays me back for the vomit story that I told in my maid of honor speech at her wedding.

But it happened. And it was Legend- wait for it- dary.

Love you A!!!

That being said, let’s do this shiz!

As Lilu always says: ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Make sure you check out Lilu’s site, and check out her TMI Thursday archives for all sorts of hilarity!
Due to the fact that I wrote a novel yesterday, I decided to settle for  video blogging, so I don’t have to make you read any more (but mostly because I didn’t feel like writing.) I’m not sure how many of these you have to do before you start feeling comfortable in front of the camera, but I’m still not there yet!

For the first, I present you with the top 10 things that really make me want to vomit.

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

And even more embarrassing than a simple video blog, I present you with an extremely embarrassing video of me singing a parody that I wrote of “A Few of My Favorite Things,” called “My hated Things.” My boyfriend John Cusack probably won’t like me much after this one. Enjoy, and I’m sorry.

***This is fictitious, and I have not necessarily experienced all that I mention.

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And in case there are any of you that have stopped by that can’t watch the videos because you are at work or what not… I told one of my friends about the subject matter mentioned in my videos, and she sent me a picture of her boyfriend’s toenail. Nosir.com

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.

(I think you’ll find it’s quite clear I did this in one take)

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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.

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.