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.

Yesterday was my mommy’s birthday.

I won’t tell you how old she is, but since she has recently taken an interest in my blog, I have decided to dedicate a post to the awesomeness that is my mother. I mean she did create me, right? At the very least we can halfway blame that on her.

But really. I think I can honestly say that I can owe a lot of who I am (the better parts) to my dear mom.

When I was young, my mom didn’t work full-time until I was started high school, which was precisely the year that she started teaching again… at my high school. It could have been really bad if my mom wasn’t the cool person that she is. At first, when I thought all of her students hated her (and consequently hated me for being related) it was her idea that I use that as my “in.” So I did.

When the other kids would say things to me like, “yo, your mom’s a bitch, yo.” I started replying back with “Yo, I know… that bitch is crazy. But she wears big tall jockey underwear just so you know.” And they seemed to like it when I dissed her so they started liking me a bit more. My mom didn’t even mind. It didn’t hurt that I once had to be escorted by a security guard into her classroom.

To make a long story short, I had this biology teacher who was very mean. She also smelled of phemaldehyde, which made me want to vomit daily. I finally got the bright idea to put Bath and Body Works lotion on my hands so that I could put my hands over my face when she walked by so that I would smell Plumeria rather than dead rabbit. When the other students saw what I was doing, they all wanted to get in on my genius idea. Pretty soon, I looked around the classroom and every single person was covering their face with their hands which made me crack up uncontrollably. My teacher asked what I was laughing at, and I obviously couldn’t tell her, so I told her  ”it has nothing to do with you.”

For some reason this pissed her off, and she said to me “march yourself out into the hallway,” which is exactly what I did. I marched. Like a soldier… or a Rockette. My biology teacher REALLY didn’t like that so she had a security guard (my school was ghetto) escort me to my mom’s classroom, which was still  in session. Her students were very happy to see that I was in trouble, just like they usually were, and automatically thought I was a bit cooler.

In addition, I got to use her classroom as a locker and I stole all her caramel apple suckers and passed them out to her students when she wasn’t looking.

But I digress. Making me cool in high school is only one of the reasons I love my mom. And on a side note, these days, I don’t know any students who don’t love my mother. I’ve met many over the years, and they all have nothing but good things to say about her.

My mom, my sis and I: circa 1987

Here are just a few of my favorite memories:

* She took me to the zoo literally, every week. She let me get popcorn and peanuts and let me feed the animals even though the signs clearly read “Do Not Feed The Animals.” Even better, she encouraged me to tap on cages of the snakes and reptiles. She knew just how to make the papa rattle snake hiss. Last week when we went to the zoo for mother’s day, she proved to me that she STILL had what it takes to stir the rattlesnake into a tizzy. And she swears it was the same angry snake that we used to nag so many years ago.

* My mom never let me go without. Even though I know we couldn’t afford it, she always made sure that I had something cute to wear to all the important events. She also knew how to pick out the best earrings. I had a huge collection of earrings that included big coke bottle tops, sharks eating people, and huge eyeballs. Even later in life, she always encouraged me to dress how I wanted, even if it wasn’t in style at the time. She took me to vintage stores and instilled in me a love for retro clothing. When I was in Junior high, she even made me homemade bell bottoms with an old tye-dyed shirt.

*She taught me how to wrap houses. For those of you unfamiliar, wrapping is what some of you may have called “toilet papering” a house. She would drive my friends and I around to all the popular boy’s houses, and wait patiently until we were chased away with a water hose. Then, when we got home, she would wait with us in the bushes until they came over to retaliate.

*She gave me my intense love for music. I remember so many days when we would drive to school or swimming lessons with a cassette tape blaring The Beatles, Van Morrison, The Cowsills or Mr Big. She may now be a little embarrassed when I sing loudly in department stores, but she really shouldn’t be, for she is the one who taught me to sing loud and be merry. And I do, everyday.

*She instilled in me a love for all things scary, especially zombies. Some people may look down on the fact that she introduced me to scary movies at such a young age, but I wouldn’t have it any different. Some of my favorite nights in my life were the nights that we would spend cuddled up in her bed watching zombie movies. I remember many nights that my dad would put me to bed, and she wouldn’t even get mad when I snuck back up to play “Zombies ate My Neighbors” with her until late in the night.

Really, this barely puts a dent in all that she has done for me.

More than anything, my mom has taught me that it’s ok to be different. She taught me to laugh, and to embrace the quirky. She gave me a love for reading and dancing and always supported me through all of my endeavors. She has always had faith in me and has shown me a love that only a mother can do. She always believed in me and taught me to believe in myself, even when others didn’t. And she continues to teach me to be a better person every day of my life.

Mom, if you’re reading this- I forgive  you for all mornings when you woke me up blaring the Star Trek theme song. I forgive you for giving me a fear of boogers (threatening me with them when I acted up in the car) and for my fear of sharks (reading me shark attack stories on the way to the beach).

I know we’ve had some tough times, but in the long run, none of that will matter. What I will always remember is how you have always been there for me. You have always been a person I strive to be, and I look up for you for all that you have done with your life and for how many people you have touched. You are honestly the best mom and friend a gal could have. I love you so much and I hope that you have a wonderful birthday!

I love you!

Carissa

And as a bonus, I don’t think I mentioned how talented my mom is at making videos. You can check out some of her videos on her youtube channel, but I also want to share a video she made (we both filmed) when we went to the zoo on Mother’s day.

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

Have a great weekend!!!!

A few years ago some genius, and I do mean genius, created a site called “Jeff Goldblum is watching you poop.com. The site is no longer active, but from my extensive research- (one quick google search) it seems that the whole site was simply dedicated to this picture.

I think there was even a movement to try to get people to print out the picture and post it in bathroom stalls around the world. I know the site is no longer active, but I think I’m going to do it anyway. Maybe I can restart the movement… because goshdarnit, I would die of laughter if I went into a bathroom and Jeff Goldblum was watching me poop.

Or maybe I should switch it up a bit.

This might sound strange, but I’ve always thought that Jeff Goldblum looks nearly identical to Orlando Jones, yaknow- except for that whole skin color thing. So I’m thinking we intensify the whole movement and replace Mr. Goldblum with his identical non-twin…

But then again, my mom (always one to tell it like it is) once told my friend Moops that he looks exactly like Jeff Goldblum… So maybe I should go the obscure route and use his pic instead…

(Isn’t it incredibly absurd that 3 people can look so much alike-ish?!?)

So I think you should all print out that last pic and hang it up in restrooms worldwide. I’m thinking this could really catch on. Or not…

And just so you know…

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

First off, I want to start by saying that while this definitely goes into the TMI category, the following post is by no means written with the intent of solely being gross or disgusting. This is a topic that I have been thinking about for a while, and it is something I truly feel needs to be discussed.

Queef is one of my least favorite words in the dictionary, though I’m not even sure it is in the dictionary.

Hold on. I’ll check Dictionary.com…

Queef: No Dictionary results

Well damn, dictionary.com- get with the times.

Thank goodness we have Urban Dictionary to rely on.

The top entry:

1. Queef: an expulsion of wind from the vulva during coitus; a vaginal fart.

You see people, I have a slight problem with this. While technically, yes, a queef is an expulsion of wind from the vulva- it #1. doesn’t only happen during “coitus,” (who uses that word besides teachers?) and #2 I wouldn’t necessarily call it a fart.

While queefs are similar to farts in that they both are air escaping a cavity in our nether-regions, I think a queef is more of a distant cousin to a fart, if anything. Basically what I’m saying is that I think that for centuries now, queefs have been highly misunderstood.

Farts are the result of the food that you put into your body. The odor and air comes from a place deep down in your bowels where undigested food festers and rots. (I have no idea if this is correct, but it’s the way I imagine it, shut up.) Farts are capable of causing an odor, not unlike the scent that comes from a dumpster or food rotting in your desk drawer. Essentially, it seems to me that is precisely what they are. Your ass is the dumpster or disgusting desk drawer in this scenario, if that wasn’t clear.

I’m getting tired of using the word queef, so from this point on I shall call it by it’s homonym, a Ppfffsshhhhhh.

Ppfffsshhhhhs on the other hand, they are simply the result of extra air being released from a woman’s special parts. There is no odor unless you have a nasty wanana, or have been storing food items up there for reasons that I don’t want to hear about. They aren’t the result of a diet. They don’t mean someone is disgusting. And most importantly, they cannot be foreseen and they most certainly cannot be controlled.

I’m not bitching about this because I’ve had a terrible experience with ppfffsshhhhhhing or anything. Oh sure, I’ve experienced them, plenty of times, but it wasn’t really anything too drastic or embarrassing, and that’s kind of my point. I feel like most adults are to the point where they know there isn’t anything mortifying about ppfffsshhhhhing, yet there is still this stigma that comes along with the real word for ppfffsshhh. I feel like as we get older, it becomes not so much a big deal, but I remember hearing high school boys talk about it and I thought it would be the end of the world if it happened to me during sex.

Though it isn’t the end of the world or a deal breaker (I don’t think) I do still get a little embarrassed when it happens during sexy time. It’s either completely verbally ignored but dwelled upon, thus ruining the remainder of the tromp; or it is followed by an awkward giggle and the comment “ummm… that wasn’t a fart.”

To be honest, most of my experiences with ppffsshhhhhing haven’t even happened during sex. I was a dancer. There were times when we would have to lay on the floor with our legs above our head and one would inevitably escape. Even now when I do yoga, I’m quite sure that there is at least one ppffsshhhhh that occurs in every session by some woman in the class.

That is why I believe that ppffsshhhhhs shouldn’t even have a place in the TMI world. They need a new name that doesn’t sound so gross, and then they need to be de-stigmatized.

My motto? Shit happens, and so do ppffsshhhhhs.

So let’s all come together for the cause. Help me think of a new name for ppffsshhhhhs. We can enter it into Urban dictionary and do our part to change the world and make it a better place, for you and for me and the entire vaginal race.

A sample entry:

V:_____________ (syn) queef, pussy fart (homonym) ppffsshhhhh

1. An expulsion of wind from the vulva that can happen during coitus, stretching, Dr.’s visits, baths, or basically during any activity where any amount of air is pushed up into the vaginal cavity. Although______s do come out of a woman’s woohoo, there is absolutely nothing gross about them. They are usually the result of a pleasurable activity, and even Oprah Winfry, Michelle Obama, and Megan Fox have ______ed on many occasions.

***Feel free to add to that definition as well.

And also?

What has two thumbs and can ppffsshhhhh on command?

Oh yeah, this girl.

ALSO! It’s not too late to enter my Brentalfloss CD Giveaway. Contest closes Midnight on April 4th I will announce the winners next Monday, so get on it. If you are unfamiliar, familiarize yourself with this dude here.

Well recently my aunt (whom I love dearly) has posted a few pictures on my Facebook page, which you may have already seen if you’re my facebook friend. If you’re not, feel free to add me now…

These old pics got me thinking thinking that maybe I should take you through a little hot tub time machine of my life… the good, the bad, and the completely awkward. So ummm let’s all get naked and go for a ride, shall we?

I don’t really understand the concept of baby time, so I have no idea how old I was here… but I’m going to go with baby. Maybe even newborn. I do know I was born with hair… so possibly?

Here I must have been a little bit older. Still have no concept of age, but it looks like maybe I was taking a first step or attempting it? No clue. Still, I don’t look so happy to be wearing a weird jumper thingie.

I guess I should count my blessings none of my baby-pics were taken with me in an eyepatch….

What appears to be shy and innocent, is in fact -never shy and innocent.

Ugh. Yeah.. I was a girlscout. Or “Brownie” or whatever we called them. Those cheeks are evident of the fact that I ate a lot of cookies…

Check out those Keds. And also that feather.

I wan’t homeless… this was just an “Annie” costume.

Things only got more awkward from this point… If you look closely, I needed to pluck my eyebrows at the ripe ole age of 7. Awesome.

(5th Grade) No wonder I didn’t have any friends… EEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK What was I wearing mom? What was with that hair?

Ok… this was probably 7th grade. With the exception of the overalls…  I think I had a bit of an improvement.

I don’t have any pics to share with you at this time of me in between the ages of Jr High and Sr Year… but just imagine an awkward girl wearing either Umbros, Long Pepe shorts, or vintage clothes that had no business appearing in the mid-nineties, and you should get the picture.

The classic graduation pic. I can’t believe my 10 yr reunion is this summer. What in the hell?

So yeah. Thanks for viewing my lame post. I have shied away from posting old pics mostly because they’re awkward and yucky and I hate the and I think you probably don’t care… But I figured they were at my disposal, so why not?

And on a very similar subject, some of my bestest buddies, my old roommates whom (who?) (at this hour I don’t care) I miss  dearly just started a website, Relive the 90′s.com but it doesn’t seem to be working at this moment. So what you need to do is follow them on their twitter here.. and when the site becomes available, submit your favorite pic/memory/toy/movie WHATEVER you love and find near and dear… It was up and running earlier today, so hopefully it will be by now!

Happy Wednesday people!

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.

First off, I have a confession. I totally cheated on my “no drinking for almost a week” pact with myself. I have no excuse, except for I really suck at life. If it makes up for anything, it was only a few beers, and I still didn’t get any sleep. But i did have a good night.

Moving on…

Every month or so I like to take a looksie at the search terms people have used to find my page. I really hate for people to end up on my site looking for some specific information, only to leave dissatisfied and empty handed. Therefore, I will do my best share with you my knowledge about some of the more popular search terms used to get here.

If you came here by way of one of these terms, you’re welcome!

“hairy arse removal pads”

You’re not being very specific, but I am guessing that you are searching for ways to remove the hair from your “arse,” and not remove the hairy”arse” altogether (although I’m sure I can find someone for this as well.) I am no expert on arse hair, but I do have my experience (as you know) with hair on other parts of the body. If your arse hair is especially thick, I’m thinking you should stick with old fashioned shaving. If it is more sparce, you could try burning the hairs (in an open, well ventilated area) just be careful not to pass gas. You could also try plucking them, but you may need ass-istance, and that may be hard to find.

“carissa blog dallas”

There is a chance you actually found what you were looking for. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

“picture hand with red dot due to liver”

Why? Why would you do that to me?  You freakin bastard. I am already really paranoid about a little red dot on my arm and my liver. So sorry, won’t find any information on this here. I try not to think about it, maybe you should do the same. Or try out web MD. But if it makes you feel any better, my doctor said it’s nothing to worry about. But then again, I don’t trust that guy. He once falsely told me I needed gallbladder removal.

“free pant pee poo movies”

I”m not so sure how you ended up here on this one. I can’t provide you with what you are looking for, especially for free, but you may want to google a little word called “scat.” (thank you gay friends)

“do you know that demented person?”

I’ve been called crazy, eccentric, nutty, unhinged, and cuckoo… but never demented so I know that you came here by mistake. Perhaps you were looking for him,  or him, or  her….

“how to make a pair of saggy boobs for haloween costume” (this was how it was spelled)

This was a popular one. There were also a few variations of this search including “home-made saggy boobs” Making Golden Girl boob sag” and “homemade booby.” I am no expert here, but I do have an idea. I say take a pair of pantie hose and cut them off around the calf. Stuff them with sand bags then sew the open end to your shirt at chest level. It doubt it will work, which is why for MY costume, I simply purchased a pair of saggy boobs on the internet. Good luck!

“a dying bird on the road bit my feet”

How very unfortunate for you! First off, you can’t be surprised that a dying bird bit your foot if you were stupid enough to stand in biting distance. You must have been nearly on top of that bird. It’s not like that bird has arms to reach out and pull your foot to it’s mouth. And what did you expect? The poor thing was dying and needed to take it’s anger out on someone!

And yes, you probably have rabies.

“diarrhea every time i urinate”

First off, congrats on your superb ability to spell diarrhea, I never get that right! Second, so sorry to hear about your problem. I wish I could say I haven’t been there. I bet it burns. I’m no doctor, but I would say to decrease the burning sensation, try sitting on a cool washrag or an ice cube. Otherwise, quit drinking so much beer, try to eat some more veggies, and maybe try to squeeze to hold it in.

“effects of swallowing a spoonful of cinnamon”

It’s a good thing you asked before you tried. While this may seem like a fun party trick, I can tell you first hand- there is nothing fun or funny about it. When you first swallow a heaping spoon full, you think you’re going to be able to handle it. After the first little bit goes down, you start to wheeze a little, and small particles of cinnamon start to float around in your trachea. Then you will undoubtedly try to take a sip of water because you are nearly choking to death, which only solidifies the cinnamon into a mush in your throat. At this point, your best bet is to start trying to push it out the way it came in.

“carissa mustache facebook”

There is only one picture that I can think of that you may be referring to:

Unless of course you zoom in, then any of my pictures may apply.

“holy shit its james franco fuck me sideways”

I’m not sure why this brought you here, but I agree full heartily. In fact, I’ll expand on sideways, and go ahead and include any missionary, doggie, fuck! I’ll take any position in the book. I wish I could share him with you… but I can’t let you leave here empty handed, so…

Image by danzden via Flickr

“my pee hole dropped to my vagina”

If this did in fact happen, then bravo to you my friend. Ohhhh… I wouldn’t be too proud or go around telling potential boyfriends or anything (because you are a freak.) But dude! Go turn yourself in for medical research! You could probably make loads of money. And when you do, don’t forget who told you this golden advice.

“pooping”

This is a very broad subject. I think I’m just going to have to refer you to my friend, Dr John Dorian for this one.

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

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.

Which was actually what I was posting about, so right on.

That made me curious to see some of the other search terms that have brought people here so far.When I got to looking at them, I realized that I probably did not actually provide these people the information that they were seeking.

I will do my best to provide the information I assume they were looking for now.

* Ernie Bert Gay? – Although there are fervent rumors going around that they are gay-I think its safe to say that all clues point to no. Just because two men live together past the age of twenty doesn’t mean they are gay. Half of the time they didn’t even get along. Also, I specifically remember them having 2 separate beds. Most importantly; really- do you think a gay guy would let his eyebrows get so out of control? I think not.

*Puking on me- No thanks, I’m really not into that sort of stuff.

*How do I know if I’m correctly brushing my teeth? – Do you notice people cupping there hand over their face when they talk to you? If you lick your hand, and then smell your hand does it smell bad? Is your tongue white? If you answered no to all of these questions, then your brushing them good enough by my standards.

*Hairy Ladies- For this, you did come to the right place. If you are looking for advice on how to treat a hairy lady, just never mention the hair and all should be fine. Remember, hairy ladies are people too. If you’re seeking advice on how to tell a lady she is hairy- you don’t need to. She already knows but has probably grown so tired of plucking/nairing/bleaching that she just doesn’t care anymore. If you were looking to meet someone- why yes, I am single.

*Her Morning Breath- I’m not sure why everyone is coming here seeking hygiene advice… but it’s a good thing I’m an expert. I’m assuming on this one that you weren’t actually looking for me. If you were, your search phrase would have been: ” Her morning breath smells of roses and wine.” If you were trying to find out if the band name you want to use is available, the answer is yes- but you should only use it if you’re genre is heavy metal.

*Nair burns look like herpes- Why yes, I suppose they can. But if you are googling this for reassurance, I wouldn’t rely on the voice of the internet to tell you what you want to hear. From one paranoid cyberchondriac to another- you are going to google this every day until you go to the doctor to find out for sure. Just do it already.

*Hurricane Carissa- Really people? this nickname is getting old.

*500 days of shit- You did come to the right place for this one. Just keep reading. I think I’m currently somewhere around day 90.

Lyrics to Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now :
Lyrics by Stephen Morrissey
Music by Johnny Marr
I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
But heaven knows I’m miserable now

I was looking for a job, and then I found a job
And heaven knows I’m miserable now

In my life
Why do I give valuable time
To people who don’t care if I live or die ?

Two lovers entwined pass me by
And heaven knows I’m miserable now

I was looking for a job, and then I found a job
And heaven knows I’m miserable now

In my life
Oh, why do I give valuable time
To people who don’t care if I live or die ?

What she asked of me at the end of the day
Caligula would have blushed

“You’ve been in the house too long” she said
And I (naturally) fled

In my life
Why do I smile
At people who I’d much rather kick in the eye ?

I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
But heaven knows I’m miserable now

“You’ve been in the house too long” she said
And I (naturally) fled

In my life
Why do I give valuable time
To people who don’t care if I live or die ?