Alright – is everyone settled in? You’re all feeling comfortable? Perfect.
First off, thanks are in order for all the lovely praise for the new blog design that I will gladly accept although I had absolutely nothing to do with it. The extent of my involvement was getting wine drunk over Skype with Nicole and Jamie and saying a few buzzwords that gave them absolutely no direction whatsoever.
“I want it to be…amazing…like nothing no one has ever seen…think Neil Patrick Harris meets Reeses Pieces with a dash of third base but as a blog. P.S. INNOVERGENCE! EVOLUSPIRATION!”
Yeah. I’m a dream to work with.
But pay attention now…because I’ve been enjoying something new and shiny, I want to share a brand new toy with one of you. Anyone out there interested in a brand new Flip MinoHD? Just think of all the flirty videos that you can send me!
What I need you to do, is leave a comment telling me about a time that you had to rally. And when I say rally, I mean something like dry-heaving for seven hours whilst trying to pull yourself together for a Kelly Clarkson concert that you traveled across the continent to go see. You know…or something like that. I mean, I don’t know what you crazy cats are up to…I’m far too mature and responsible for messes like that.
AXE Canada, realizing how incredibly influential and important I am, decided to hook up one of you lovelies up to let you know that they’re available to fix you up after you knock yourself down. Hopefully you agree with my flexible ethics that when companies offer my readers $200+ of cool stuff, that I should respond with YES YES ONE THOUSAND TIMES YES.
‘Cause that’s kind of my style.
Now for some rules and regulations. This contest is for the Canadians only I’m afraid, but otherwise anyone in the True North Strong and Free can enter. Entries will be accepted until noon EST on Friday, May 7 and I’ll announce the winner that afternoon.
Excited much? Hell yes. Get crackin’.
{ 74 comments… read them below or add one }
What’s a Canada?
ihateyou.
Boooooooooooooooooo.
No– really, what is a Canada?
There was this time I was up for 4 days straight on 2 hrs of sleep because there wasn’t enough time in the day to party with my visiting friend, go to work, and sleep. That involved both dry and wet heaving and a few pots of coffee a day.
No one ever reminds you of the challenges of entertaining friends who visit, do they? You’re all excited until you realize how much you actually have to do (read: drink) compared to usual. Way to be a trooper.
My examples are not so fun or exciting. I can remember getting a busy 3-year-old to day care and then going to an all-day meeting while having a migraine worthy of screws being embedded in your head kind of day. I hope that suffices as rallying because trying to not look like you’re in pain when you actually are is a lot of work!
That counts and gets bonus points for the involvement of a toddler.
(The points don’t matter.)
A few years back, okay maybe more than a few years now.. 7 or 8 years ago, my first (and only) boyfriend had broken up with me, and I was shattered, convinced that he was my only opportunity to have a romantic relationship. This may have been true since I haven’t had a boyfriend since him.
With this emotional event I threw myself into running and swimming. Determined that if I lost weight and looked fabulous he would come crawling back to me or some such nonsense. While running away my pain, I decided I needed a goal, and thought I’d try a triathlon, and there was a little group that trained out in Kearney Lake together. It was a group of misfits aged 18 to 72, folks who varied experience levels, I was the newbie.
I joined up with the group and was happy to have a new goal, something to think about and work towards. Summers seem to be short in the Maritimes and so the triathlons with the outdoor swims usually take place in July and August. To get us trained for our first triathlon, the group entered a duathlon which was being held on a June week-end down at Lawrencetown beach. It consisted of a 5km run, 40km bike ride then finished up with a nice leisurely 5km run.
Myself (a youthful 20-some chick) and another lady about 60 years or so were ‘early bird starters’ because we were slow and wanted to finished before the last of the regular racers. So I had to get my butt down to Lawrencetown beach at 7am.
The night before this race I was at a house warming, or some such excuse for a party, with a motley group of computer geeks with whom I was friends. I was drinking way too much considering I was supposed to be on top of my game for the ‘race’. I’m pretty sure I spent the night talking about my ‘race’ the next day while swigging back coolers and random shooters at a house party. The shooters were particularly painful because the guy making them didn’t drink, and so just had fun making drinks which caused folks to swear off drinking forever, or running straight to the door and the closest begonia bush in which to hurl. This may or may not have also been the party at which I flashed every single person because I had bought a new bra that day and didn’t want to be the only one to appreciate it.
My designated driver drove me home and dropped me off at 3 or 4 in the morning, I stumbled into the house and fell onto my bed and was out like a light. I cursed my alarm which seemed to go off the moment I closed my eyes, yet somehow I mustered the strength to get up, shower and haul my gear to the car, strapped my bike to the bumper and headed to the beach.
I tried not to make eye-contact with anyone and kept to myself. This was easy because it was only a few folks who were there as early as us early-starters. We started our race, and the pain began. I remember the first 5km taught me something. It taught me that I was an idiot. I could smell the alcohol in the sweat pouring down my face, and there was a lot of sweat. I could not get enough water in me, it seems to go in my mouth and out my pores. Before I hit the switch up area where I would jump on my bike, I took my last water and just tossed it over my head, hoping to wash away the smell of booze to anyone I was going to pass.
The rest of the race improved as I went, by the time I finished I was completely recovered from the drink of the previous night.
At the end of the race, the misfits and I got together to congratulate each other on finishing. By this time they had figured out what had happened last night and were teasing me. We did a group picture, which is still on my shelf to this day, as a memory to my idiocy, and what I accomplished while nursing a hangover.
hahahahahaha I SO would have just given up and stayed in bed.
Dang…I think we have a winner.
Hungover triathlon = EPIC WIN
That’s is. I’m posting Hulu videos for the rest of the week.
That? Low. So very low.
That’s IT, even.
*pours coffee into face*
Fuck you, Canada.
Yeah, I said it.
Goddammit, Canada, I’m sorry. You know I don’t hate you. But seriously – discrimination sucks.
TELL IT TO HULU.
I love Maxie.
Right. So, the time I had to rally. I lived in England for a while and made some awesome, hard-drinking, friends. Like, they drink so much I don’t know know how they’re still alive. Anyway, the night before I flew home to Canada, my peeps threw me a going away party. We started drinking in the afternoon and stopped drinking when I passed out about 6 hours before I needed to leave for the airport. I woke up 20 minutes after I was supposed to leave for the airport, showered, left the house with wet hair and wearing the alcohol-stained clothes from the night before, and just made my flight. I endured an 8 hour flight with broken bones in my foot (from the night before when I was in a hula hoop with my 2 best girlfriends because it was the “magic ring” that would prevent us from being separated and was wearing flip flops while they were both wearing pointy heels) stinking like booze, guzzling water and begging tylenol off the judgmental flight attendants. It was pretty much the best day of my life is what I’m saying.
A plane hangover is something I’ve never experienced and hope never to have to.
I´m from Buenos Aires, Argentina, which sucks in some many levels. The last evidence is being not accepted in this contests.
Just kidding, I love my country, good weather, good and affortable wines and nice landscapes.
Anyways, even knowing that I cannot compete, I will share one story.
Some years ago I did a plane flight to the United States. Travelling for down here usually involves several connections. One of the planes got delayed so I was already thinking about spending a night sleaping in an airport. But as my plane was about to land, the stewardess came to me and informed me that my connection was specially waiting for me. But there was a catch: I had about 10 minutes to sprint from my terminal to my connection. I didn´t know if this was a bluff or not, and had no intention to test it
So, I ran as if I were in a Jason movie and had just lost my virginity. That is the kind of terror that was in my eyes while the people were loooking at this crazy guy running. I knew I was a dead man, it was impossible to make it on time. In the end, I made it. But I didn´t receive any cheers or trophy at the finish line. What I got were angry looks from every passanger in their seats. You could just smell the hate glances. I was the one that made a whole airplane be delayed…
I pulled my best attitude, got to my seat, took my backpack and started to load it in the cabinet. I didn´t notice that one zipper was open until a heavy rain of M&Ms started to fall. This colorfull rain was the answer to more than one passanger who thought that justice was served. I pretended that it was confetti for winning the race.
hahaha reminds me of the time I spent ugly crying in Heathrow on my way back from Ireland. Classy moments all round.
I was out a bar one night. I wasn’t really feeling it, as I was having a bad stubble day. But I was toughing it out. I was talking to this chick. Things were going OK. Anyone who has spoken to me knows that my charm is pretty hit or miss on my best days, but this girl was picking up what I was putting down. Finally she asked if I wanted to get a cab and go back to her place. I shrugged and said, “Carpooling is good for the environment.” So we were in the cab, heading to her apartment when she dropped a bomb.
“I’m a big fan of Family Guy.”
I replied, “Neem me niet kwalijk.” That’s “Excuse me” in Dutch.
Which, admittedly, was kind of weird because I don’t actually speak Dutch.
I was thrown by this new info. But I didn’t want to be rude (and her ass is what they make unicorn tears from). So I walked up the steps to her apartment. A few steps behind her, know what I’m sayin’?
Things heated up, and I tried to put this troubling news out of my mind. But as I shot paintballs at her dangling from her sex swing in her Margaret Thatcher mask, it was all I could think of.
Still, I rallied and powered through. I brought the ruckus. But it wasn’t my A game.
As soon as she fell asleep, I stole some DVDs and got the fuck out of there. I didn’t want to put her through an awkward morning conversation. I am way too much of a gentleman for that.
As I walked home, counting the money I lifted from her change bowl, I was pretty proud of myself for going through with it. You know, considering.
Oh. And that girls name?
Katie Couric.
True story. True story.
I believe every word of this.
I actually DO speak Dutch. True story.
I am going to take a week long break from making fun of Canada JUST because because you hate family guy.
I hope your country thanks you with a medal or something.
Canada is a country, right?
Kidding, kidding. Week startsssss… NOW.
You SO won’t last a week.
You know, it really was the “EVOLUSPIRATION!” that made it very clear to me exactly what you wanted.
I know. Clearly.
Okay, well… I’ll start off by saying I have something called Crohn’s Disease (but definitely NOT for a sympathy vote!! you’ll have to know this for the story!). If you don’t know what Crohn’s IS , SHAME ON YOU!! hahaha just kiddin’. It’s a disease involving your immunesystem (aka: the mafia) sending out their hit men to destroy your guts. Just imagine the fun in that!!! (think food poisioning! sexxxxxy!)…so if you have an problems reading about the effects of a rotten digestive system, skip this post now.
Anyways, back to the story!
It was the day before my trip out west – I was flying from NS to BC – and as I was packing, a friend of mine had suggested we have supper to say goodbye. I figured that there’s no harm in a bit to eat and a lil vino, since it WAS the say before and my flight wasn’t until ya know, 5-friggin’ am the next morning…
so we went out to a posh lil place called ‘your father’s moustache’…. i think this was my first mistake.
my second mistake was ordering a double rum and coke with my burger *yup, i love ‘em dark and dirty*. Anyways, one drink turned into 6, and the next thing i know, it’s midnight and i’m on the dance floor of a sleazy bar surrounded with either youngin’s or grandpas. BUT WHO CARED! i could sleep on the flight!
…..
well, 3am comes around and I closed the bar….
i went home, drunkinly showered, then went to the airport to catch my flight. THANK GOD i had a drive.
…if you know ANYTHING about crohn’s disease, the symptoms are not exactly pleasant, and my disease decided to rear it’s ugly head (it may have been due to greasy burger, the alcohol, or the caffeine i consumed…all no-no’s when you have irritable bowel disease… just sayin’ )
i almost missed boarding because i was puking in the bathroom.
i threw up twice more while soaring to toronto.
i dry-heaved while sitting in my seat more times than i can remember
i ran to my connector in toronto, sweating out rum.
and then my guts kicked in.
well…. if you’ve ever hovered over an airplane’s toilet seat while throwing up in a paper bag, i tell ya, i had tears in my eyes.
i didn’t sleep a wink in fear i’d die in my seat.
so, i rallied together to make it to Van-city to surprize my sister.
…you’d think i’d swear of booze, but what kind of maritimer would i be then!??!
I love your poor choices!
Wow! Amazing giveaway! During my first year of nursing school, I got a chance to shadow a nurse in the ER. Of course, I didn’t know what to expect. Anyways, I guess having a huge meal at Pizza Hut before didn’t help! When the nurse I was following started an IV on a patient, I turned white as a ghost. I nearly fell on top of the patient, but luckily, I didn’t. I mustered everything in my body and told myself not to fall over or faint right then and there. Also, I told my body not to vomit up the Pizza Hut, haha. After she was done, I walked over to the closest chair, sat down and pretended to jot down notes on my notepad. A doctor walked over, glimpsed at me (I guess I was still pale) and asked if I was okay. I don’t know if it was the Pizza Hut or the sight of an IV, but man, it was a crazy night for me. I didn’t faint, I didn’t vomit. Thank goodness.
Ha! I’d be fainting or vomiting even without the Pizza Hut. You’re much stronger than I.
What a cool giveaway! Makes me want to be a Canadian, does it count that I want to say aboot a lot and that I have a secret passion for Mike Holmes?
I figured not : (
Mike Holmes – really? Of all Canadians?
RYAN REYNOLDS.
C’mon now.
omg! i just fell in love with the new design of your blog Ben.. it’s so cute!!
i know i don’t count for the giveaway (and yeah, discrimination sucks
) but i just wanted to tell something about rallying if this one counts for it:
last year i applied for a Master’s Degree and after i travelled for like 7 hours with a bus, i went to have an interview with the professors (i guess) and i had this damn fucking headache because i couldn’t sleep so i entered the room, sat down and received the questions but i couldn’t answer any of them properly because i was not motivated and i thought, from the beginning, that if i would keep that headache i wouldn’t be able to make. so i couldn’t make it. the interview lasted really short. and i didn’t get accepted. just because i couldn’t pull my shit together so..
there you go..
have a nice tuesday Ben..
Oh jeez…I’ve never forgotten the consequences of long bus rides.
Oh my god. I wondered what happened to you. I thought I got lost somewhere in your shuffle. Your blog is rockin’ Well, I don’t have a heave ho aka rally experience. Except when we went to see Adam Lambert concert in Hamilton, YEAH!!! it was the most awesome concert but before that we had Pina Colada’s and seafood, not a good mix. Trust me you are from the east and you know that. So. the concert was finished and I started to feel the sweats and not exactly sure if its going to be barf or diarrhea. But we wanted to wait for Adam to come outside and sign autographs but he didn’t so I puked at the door where all the AI people will eventually walk out. YEAH. take that Chris Allen.
It took a while for the old RSS feed to update but we’re back in full swing now!
Now, it may just be that I’ve been sick for three days, but just READING your dining combination made me queasy.
So this one time I was all “holy shit I can’t believe that I moved halfway around the world to be someones BITCH” and needed wine because I had three weeks off work after being someones bitch for 8 weeks straight. (and for 6 weeks before that, and for 6 months before that, and so on.) So I drank, and drank, and drank…and when the time came for my little wine bar to close, I bought ‘wine to go’ (I loves me some Europe drinking laws.) and took a COUPLE OF BOTTLES with us for the walk to the next bar.
After inappropriately making out with someone who was even more inapproriate than inapproriate, I somehow woke up on a couch on a street in Zurich (temporarily missing a shoe) and stumbled back to a friends apartment wondering how/why the hell a lollipop as big as my face was in my purse.
I woke up to my boss calling my cell from Tokyo telling me that the house had been broken into, and that I needed to go and speak to the police.
FML.
And I needed to do this quickly, while pretending that I was sober, because German-ish police men are not so amused when you show up looking like you’re stuck between drunk and hungover. Trust me. And because as my boss was in TOKYO, I was throwing a party that night. At her house. I mean MANSION. I mean…I never did that..please don’t tell my ex-boss. And being THE BEST HOST IN THE WORLD I still needed to buy booze and snacks and blah blah blah. And I also somehow during this party managed to pack (drunkenly) for three and a half weeks of travelling around Europe as I was leaving at 6am after this party to catch a train to catch a plane to Dublin.
Which goes without saying that I was basically at a crossroads of ‘death’ or ‘rally for the next 24 days’. Because I am so filled with the powers of AWESOME I chose to rally for the next three weeks. Six countries with countless bottles of ‘train wine’, ‘sketchy hostel wine’ and ‘aw shit – where the hell am I wine’ I’m was still alive. Drunk, exhausted and back to being someones bitch..but alive.
I love that cops and multiple countries were involved in your story. Kudos!
It’s beautifulllllll!
Thanks!
What about Americans that know all the words to O Canada?
You’ll have to try harder than that…
In French?
Non.
For Canadians? REALLY? Yay/woohoo/thisneverhappens!
So. Rallying. It was this thing called roadtripping to the Calgary Stampede. A drive that takes 10 hours, and because of whatever reason, my 3 friends and I couldn’t get much time off work. So we were leaving home in the wee hours of Friday morning, and returning Sunday night, in time for work on Monday. We drove on zero sleep, with a car full of balloons because that seemed like it would be fun. And then because we weren’t prepared, all the hotels were full and we had to camp. And our campsite was, oh god I wish I had the picture. Our campsite was a ways out of Calgary. And featured a motorhome half underwater in a shallow lake? And it was less of a campsite and more of old people with trailers. And they hated us. And we drank. And we Stampede-ed. And I threw up in an A&W parking lot for a long time and then danced in the same parking lot to T-Pain with some Enrique Iglesias stunt double. And the weather sucked but we tried to float down the river on these tiny floaty things anyway, which we tied together with rope we kind of stole from children, and we nearly drowned, and my friend cried, and then we got arrested by the water police. You have to have lifejackets and an ore apparently. And no alcohol. And then we got kicked out of a club because my friend found her enemy and poured a drink over her head, and started a brawl. And then my other friend locked us out of the car with the alarm going off, in front of said club. And I managed to get us a free ride back to our campsite by strutting around a construction site in my bikini, and let me tell you, that will forever be a low point in my life. Not a single thing went smoothly, but this was my god damn vacation and a little arrest in a raging river was not going to stop me from having fun.
I just…want to come find you for an epic high five.
I told my parents I was going to church youth group on Saturday night. They dropped me off at the church doors and I literally ran through the church and out the other end. I went to a party and somehow managed to stumble back to the church by 11PM, which was when they’d arranged to pick me up. I had been drinking lemon gin, which my ex-boyfriend had selected for me at the liquor store…I have no idea why. So I wasn’t reeking of alcohol, or slurring my words, or acting like a fool. Dad picks me up, I get in the car…and suddenly I’m feeling sick. Super super sick. I can’t ask him to pull over, because I was feeling fine two minutes ago. I had to think quick. So I threw up INTO MY JACKET SLEEVE as quietly as possible. Just put the sleeve up to my mouth and GO. All was good until the scent of liquory vomit fills the car. “What the hell is that smell?” Dad thinks he’s hit a drunk animal and starts gagging himself. If I could high-five myself, I would. Of course, I threw up again before we made it home…in the end my cover was blown. Sad panda. But I had a solid six minutes of success.
EWWWWWWWW.
EW EW EW EW.
whatever, i fuckin RALLIED HARD
ok I a) drink clearly canadian and b) know about the awesomeness of All Dressing chips…so I *should* be an honorary canadian. Plus, I’m awesome and I’m ALWAYS rallying…especially after drinking/taking a gazillion jello shots (no not when I was 12…sadly it was last year) and having to “rally” so my dear sweet hubs didn’t call me an alchey {alchee, whatever}…I barely crawled home the next morning {crap afternoon} before he got home from work…have I mentioned that I hate jello now? It makes me ill just thinking of it.
{totally unrelated — I hope you are feeling better}
Jello is AWFUL no matter what.
Add alcohol and it’s no friend of mine.
HA! and I forgot about the time for my bff’s 21st b-day I flew up to Buffalo…we had a limo and LOT of alcohol. We were heading to a casino IN Canada and were forced to go inside the building before we crossed the border…ALL of us were wasted already and they gave me the millionth degree since my license was from Texas…they kept thinking it was fake, I was some terrorist {albeit drunk terrorist}, questioning me about Texas facts, it was awesome {ha}. THEN we finally get to the casino and we are in there all of 3 minutes {though somehow I’ve already gambled away 40ish bucks} when we get kicked out of the casino for being TOOOOOOO drunk. Thanks Canada you were super swell to me.
And there was the time about a year ago that I almost wasn’t able to get back into the American side after spending time on Carriage Hill. The Canadian border patrol was like sure go over {though I didn’t have my birth certificate with me since it was a spontaneous trip into Canada when I was in Buffalo}. Well coming back the US person wasn’t wanting to let me back in the country. After being strip searched {I mean inquisitioned} they finally let me go on my merry way. So technically I almost became a canadian.
Oh jesus. I’m just bracing myself for customs when I’m going to and coming from Vegas in a few weeks.
First of all, freaking love the new blog design. Especially the sub-heading, omg.
Secondly, I freaking want a Flip. Can I do a response on my blog? Because it’s gonna take awhile.
YES. All the better.
Here’s Candice’s entry – it includes Gay Pride, Anne Frank and THC.
http://www.candicedoestheworld.com/2010/05/the-spacecake-incident-revealed-my-side-of-the-story/
Giddy up.
Ha! A HUNGOVER TRIATHLON? My idea of “rallying” is sucking it up and letting my boyfriend make out with me when he’s giving me stubble-burn, rather than forcing him to go shave immediately. If I feel even slightly ass-tastic, you can rest assured that I’ll be moaning in pain on the couch all day. But, um, enter me anyway?
You’re entered – if for no other reason than I like your approach to relationships. Generous but on your own terms haha
RALLY? you mean REALLY RALLY? well, than you must mean my every trip to Vegas!? Let’s go with sorority girl senior trip in college. 11 girls, 1 suite at the Venetian, all nighter including a buffet at the Bellagio, 3 clubs and some dancing on bars followed by a marathon session at the craps table. i went back to the room at around 7am and slept for 2 hours under the impression that i was going to be able to sleep on the drive back home. When i woke up, i realized the drivers of the car were in worse shape than i was and i ended up having to drive our stupid asses home. insult to injury? the normal 3.5 hours drive back to Orange County from Vegas was traffic-ridden and it took us FIVE hours to get home. sleepless, hungover and stuck in traffic in the dessert= RALLY. (oh and when i got home, i realized i was so out of it, i 1. i had my yoga pants on backwards and 2. i had twisted my bra into a pretzel before putting it on leaving a knarly knot indention on my chest.)
I’m going to Vegas in two weeks from today and this comment made me barely able to stand the wait. BARELY. ABLE.
…And we expect a detailed Rally-riffic recap post when you return. Nothing says self-inflicted hot mess like vegas.
Oh yes. Probably many.
You know, I was just reflecting that the picture of you at the bottom of your page is kind of Ryan Reynolds-ish in expression. Not bad, not bad at all.
Anyway. I’ll tell you when I had to rally, Canadian-style – it was the day I found out Hulu wasn’t fucking available in Canada, and I had to illegally download the show I wanted to watch, all pirate-like, instead of getting streaming video like those other guys. I’m still pretty pissed about Hulu, to tell you the truth.
That kind of flattery? TOTALLY WELCOME AROUND HERE.
Just think, with the Flip you can make YOUR OWN shows and NOT put them on Hulu.
So if you came to the U.S., you’d be an immigrant, right?
I’m an immigrant.
Therefore, you should let me enter this contest.
No?
OK.
Ihateyou
GO BACK TO MEXICO!
(idunno)
It’s easy to get around the Canadian rules an regulations. Call one of your dogs the winner and fed ex that shiz to me because seriously, a dog with a camera? That’s preposterous.
One time I had to go to Vegas and I stayed up until 4 AM the night before. I drove that car like a bat out of hell. Only fell asleep twice.
That’s rallying.
You stayed up til 4 the night BEFORE you got to Vegas?
Does. Not. Compute.
I’m totally qualified for this contest. I WANT IT.
You’re in, baby.
Ok. So.
I went to Havana, Cuba for four months when I was 21 as part of a semester abroad program at Dal. It was available to students studying Spanish, International Development Studies and I-wanna-make-out-with-hot-Cuban-dudes. Me and one of my best pals, Lindsay (true story – my two BFFs from university are also Lindsay) moved into a house with a lovely woman and her very conveniently hot son. Who I started dating (i.e. making out with) within a few weeks. We started spending all my free time together and we fell in love. And by in love, I mean in lust. His name was Manolo. And that’s how I learnt Spanish. Because when you have to argue and cry and utter profanities in Spanish, you learn it pretty quickly.
The other Lindsay’s boyfriend came to visit from Halifax and they stayed together in the house next door during the week he was in town. Manolo’s cousin’s house. And the windows on the houses in Cuba aren’t really windows. They’re like holes in the wall with bars on them. So there’s not really any privacy. You always know who’s doing what in the neighbouhood because the houses are so close together.
Are you still with me? Ok. There’s a pay-off. I swear.
One afternoon, a bunch of peeps went out to Chinatown in Havana. And we ate. And then we ate some more. And then we ate some more. Every time I put another greasy and unidentified-animal piece of food into my mouthhole I thought “this is NOT going to agree with my intestinal units” but I ate it anyway.
Usually, Lindsay and I shared a bedroom at Manolo’s house. But, because her boyfriend was visiting and they were having couple-time at his cousin’s place next door, Manolo got to share the bedroom with me. The bathroom in this bedroom was more like a closet. Like, with actual closet doors. With holes in them.
The morning I woke up after the Chinatown feast, with my delicious Cuban boyfriend in the bed next to me, my stomach made the tell tale gurgle of PLEASE EVERYTHING THAT’S IN HERE GET IT OUT NOW PLEASE. But no effing way was I going to go to the bathroom behind the closet door where the hotness that was Manolo would have HEARD EVERYTHING. So, at whatever time it was in the morning, I suddenly made up an excuse why I had to IMMEDIATELY go see what Lindsay and her boyfriend were up to. I ran out the door, down the little alleyway between the houses, and banged on Lindsay’s door, totally interrupting their cozy time. I barged in and had bad bum all up in their bathroom.
I went back to my room and got back into bed with Manolo. But only minutes later the gurgle started again. So I made up another excuse, and off I went back to Lindsay’s room. I must’ve made this same trip 6 or 7 times because I had bad bum all morning. I’m sure Manolo knew what was up but he was polite enough (i.e. in love with me enough) that he never said anything.
Fewf.
Oh my. That’s like a Ryan Reynolds movie circa 2003!
CONTEST HAS BEEN CLOSED.
WINNER ANNOUNCED:
http://www.noordinaryrollercoaster.com/flip-minohd-the-pukey-winner/
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