“Pisspot” and the adventure without a night light

After a lot of deliberation in the last post- I decided that I should post this story after all. It’s not too terrible and if my roommate doesn’t post it, oh well. At least it’s not anything REALLY embarrassing, like thinking you peed yourself during an intimate moment….

So therefore this may be the second best headfake ever, or maybe just a good anecdote for y’all. Either way, here it is.

***

CD (the other roommate) was out of town over the weekend. He came back but the airline lost his bag on Sunday. So last night it arrived at our door delivered by the airline. The Ex answers the door and signs for the bag. With some consideration he decides to take it upstairs and set it by CD’s door so that he will know his bag finally arrived.

It’s an old house and while there are keys to get into the house, none of the doors really lock except for the bathroom and the basement. In other words, the rooms don’t have personal locks, which is fine in our house since we stay out of each other’s stuff (as far as I know…) and mind our own business. The bathroom is at the top of the stairs and is furthest from my room. On one side of the hall a dog gate and a vacuum usually sit so I head to the right side when walking to my room. Last night (late night due to finals studying) I took a shower.

Afterwards I wrapped myself in a towel and thought nothing of going to my room in a towel only since it only takes about six steps to get there. Usually I leave my bedroom door open, but for some reason had pulled it closed on my way to the bathroom last night. I filled a huge cup with water and began heading to bed. I walked along the right side of the hallway with some haste since I knew the path and thought nothing of it. So what if I can’t see? Right then- BAM!!!!

My right hit foot CD’s bag sitting in the hall and I reached up for the wall to get back my balance and unfortunately met CD’s door which swung open easily without a lock. CD grunted and moved from some dark realm of the room. More concerned with the possibility of throwing water all over the now quickly awaking roommate I darted back into the dark hallway, pausing there to realize that my towel was now at waist level. My breasts had been completely exposed in his room.

Not knowing what to do I stood there, unmoving, holding my breath. Do I apologize and try and to explain? Do I wait till morning? Did he see my boobs? OMG, does he think I was trying to break into his room? What if he’s mad? And as my mind raced I heard nothing from his room. I assumed he was asleep. Because of this I was unsure if I should venture back into his room and try and close his door and hope it doesn’t make noise. Leaving the door open, I slipped into my room feeling like a total idiot. But when CD got up only moments later to close his door again, I realized he hadn’t been asleep. I still haven’t talked to CD about it.

A little while later I went down to grab a textbook from the living room and ran into my Ex who asked me what happened. Uggh… apparently I made more noise than I thought when I busted through the door. Embarrassed I hat to sneak past CD’s room once again into my own. I think from now on I’ll get dressed in the bathroom and check for possible obstacles prior to walking down it.

Cognitive Dissonance- a very apt name.

So here’s some background, I live one of my best friends who is also an ex-boyfriend, but (more importantly) he’s an avid Blogger. Now, I’m all for people who Blog. In fact, I just spent the last 20 minutes enjoying his most recent entries. Additionally, I recommend his Blog to you all because while I frequently post about random things, He, meanwhile, posts about random AND socially relevant things. It is a VERY insightful Blog- check it out here.

So this can’t seem bad right? Well let me explain my concern. If you’ve read my Blog you’re probably one of the people who has read “Pisspot- the Story of How I Peed Myself” which, embarrassingly, sits at my highest viewed post ever. In it I recount the story of thinking I had… well, just read the post. Needless to say, this same roommate is the man of the story. Of course, since he lives with me, is a friend and a roommate, he has posted about me. Several times in fact. One of which was about “Pisspot” because I thought he was going to publish a story about it, only to find out later (in an effort to save some dignity and post the story before him) that he had never intended to put it on his Blog. Even by his standards it ranks as ‘The Best Head Fake Ever.’

Now, I’m for freedom of speech and Blogging what you feel like. But I’m also for getting my story out before his version comes out. This puts me in quite a position because there are LOTS of funny stories about me. Many which shame me beyond belief. Luckily he is a very kind man and chooses the least harmful stories, which are still bad. (Here’s an example) However, when one of those stories comes up, through accident or intention, that is simply too good not to share, how can I blame him for sharing the anecdote? If it’s a funny story, even I can understand sharing it, even if I wish it wasn’t about me.

Well, one of those stories occurred last night. So, I have three situations that may occur at this point:
A. He will not write about it in his Blog because it will be funnier to him for me to worry constantly that he might post it in his Blog. This would almost be the worst situation because, like the story of “Pisspot,” I could worry about it for months.
B. He’ll post the story and beat me to the punch.
C. He’ll tell me he’s going to post it, so I’ll try and post it first, then he’ll say “I was just kidding!” after I put it out there on the internet, and he’ll laugh. And to be honest, I’ll laugh too, because it is funny/sucky when you think someone is going to embarrass you, so you do it yourself…. it’s also kind of sad.

Don’t get me wrong; none of these situations are terrible. Believe me, this man has enough dirt on me to bury a nation, but he’s a good guy… for the most part. So he wouldn’t ruin me. Or if he was going to, I’ll give him more credit than trying to destroy me through the Internet, let alone Blog entries. It’s too low and far too easy, and he’s far to clever for that simple of a plan. He is a genius at sadistic schemes, (one of my favorite things about him in fact). Best described- he just likes to give people a hard time, and it’s oh so easy with stories involving me.

So, in conclusion he might post this, he might not.  Meanwhile I am left to decide- do I post, or wait and hope he doesn’t post at all?  Such unappealing options, wait and do nothing, or do something and wait…. of course this inner tension would come from a Blog called ‘Cognitive Dissonance.’  It’s only fitting.

Poker- Poke her

Saw #3 last night and it was awkward.  I wanted to leave as soon as I walked in the door.  Never mind the fact that Vasa wanted to trade seats to get me closer to him.  AWKSIES.  

I also found out that FWD put me in his blog AGAIN.  He actually preemptively warned me that it would be coming but I had no idea it was this.  My favorite aspect of it has to be where he tagged it w/ L33t, despite the fact that it has nothing to do w/ me.  I wanted to get upset but apparently one of our mutual friends said- “She can’t get upset w/ you, your fans demand it.”  Apparently my pride = at the mercy of blog fanatics.  :sigh:  What has this world come to?

 ******

#3 (irony!)

Sometimes when no one is around I have whole conversations aloud.  I use voices to depict my different perspectives or ideas.  I like to use evil villian voices to represent my bad choices or sadistic ideas.

(I can’t believe I’m actually going to post that one….) 

A few reflections, on a bus back from Norfolk (Finally posted today, written 11/10/2007)

First, it is always good to be 100 dollars richer than you were at 4 am.  Now that I am back on the bus and riding home after five rounds of Varsity and Novice LD, I am looking forward to petting my dog and the potential of brushing my teeth.  Through the dark we ride, I’m not sure how I got there, or how we are getting home, something that could categorize how I feel about my life right now, but I know I’ll get there.  Interesting that we are sliding past West Point for the second time, dim lights pointing it out from the darkness, but helping me see that I would not want to stop there tonight, or tomorrow, or anytime in the foreseeable future. 

 

West Point, I hadn’t thought about him in a while, then three days ago I wondered if I was getting sentimental feelings for a relationship that exists better in memory than it ever did in life.  You see, I immortalized him and his actions in my mind, made him a Hercules then, and still had in some regards now.  Even if we both completely changed- could it work?  Idle thoughts as I drive past the coffee shop I meant to stop at.

 

I hear a lot about team history and what comprised it before I joined it.  Veterans encourage new individuals to be like the team was several years ago, but the leaders are graduated and the ones that remember do not teach.  Despite this pressure to belong to the team I never knew, and despite my willingness to align myself with beliefs I never even knew, I fear I will never truly understand.  Additionally, and by saying this I may as well hang a sign around my neck that reads, “yes, I am a tool!” but I cannot be part of that team.  I am part of the new team, for better or worse, that urbandictionary.com’s it at Longview in between rounds of changing someone’s Facebook profile.

 

On this bus-ride I should be thinking about someone or something, a pilgrimage in which I have learned it all, and learned it all too late.  It is the recipe to an incredible soup that I lost moments after garnered.

 ”Just Some Emotional Things”

:sigh:

Deep inhale and exhale,

call your father on the phone. 

Tell him your problems cry out your soul, he’ll help you realize, you’re not yet too old.

Breath in deep those salty tear filled sobs

Drink in your sadness

Get your thirst filled by a homemade red sea

Look to your friends and realize sometimes you have to say it all

Before you can say nothing

Dream of me while you sleep

Pray I’ll be there still

Check my empty room

Run to the street

Wonder if I’ll come home

If that’ll be the promise I keep

For just like that whily old Nanny McPhee

For as long as you need me, there I’ll be

But as soon as you want me, I must leave.

 

 

Manic Episodes Leave Me Tired

“In four hours you’re going to feel like an ass.”

Last night I got into a fight w/ FWD over that pizza place I mentioned in the other entry.  I don’t have some sort of introspective solution, I don’t have the answer to my problem, I don’t even have the beginning of a journey.  I just have the realization that manic episodes come on quicker than I thought and often w/ more force than I can handle.

I don’t really want to reflect on this too much or I’ll end up just using it as an excuse or as a crutch, but I really don’t like being manic after the fact.  During it, I actually get sort of an endorphin induced high and it’s pretty damn enjoyable, which makes it even more dangerous.  Why fix something you enjoy?

It’s sort of like sleeping with someone you know you shouldn’t.  Why stop fucking yourself over when it feels so good?

Rereading this I realize- what a waste of an entry. 

Car Wreck, Pibb Zero, and a homeless man

So FWD and I traveled to several stores (four together, and I went to Walmart w/out him) tonight in order to try and track down Pibb Zero to bring home to my Dad.  Dad loves the soda and they don’t sell it in New Mexico, go figure.  While out, FWD and I were talking about life and about dating previously he mentioned a pizza place that him and I went to.I don’t remember eating at this place.  He does.  I feel that he ate there w/ someone else and is super-imposing that memory onto me.  He disagrees.  However, there were also allusions in the conversation to my bad memory and my craziness so I am in a situation of either 1. He is absolutely correct and I can’t trust my own memory or 2. I am correct and the situation doesn’t really matter at all.

Anyway, we got into a fight about it, but since it doesn’t really affect him that much, he doesn’t really care that much, which is fair.  I mean, if it wasn’t a big deal to me, I probably would be less inclined to talk about a meal I thought I had with someone as well.  I, however, got so stressed about it that I had to drop him off and continue on.  I drove to Walmart only to find they didn’t have Pibb Zero either.  

So pulling out of the parking lot after buying some s’more materials (FWD and I had talked about them), I hit another car who is pulling in.  This wreck = my fault.  However, they talk in hurried Spanish to me.  I understand it or most of it and especially the part where they call me a stupid bitch.  I let the words float around me, offering to trade information and do whatever I can.  I realize I am at fault, but for some reason they just want to get out of the situation as fast as possible.  I ask “you sure?” and they said “Yeah,” and walked away into the Walmart.  It is possible that they didn’t have insurance or were illegal in some other regard.

Climbing into my car I thought- I need a drink.

I head to Talli’s and pick up the debate-partner on the way.  Debate-partner and I have a couple of beers during poker and then drive home.  We see a homeless man on the side of the road and I want to help him out, but debate-partner doesn’t.  That’s fine since homeless guy is on my side of the car but the light turns green.  So then I circle the block and drive back, but now (due to crazy Omaha streets) homeless guy is on the passenger side of the car.  I want debate-partner to hand the guy some cash (my cash not his), but DP refuses saying something about “catching a communicable disease.”

What a fucking night.  I could go for another fucking drink. 

PS- Third roommate, (RYNO), hasn’t been home in sometime.  I wonder what he’s up to. 

If you were looking for a way to ruin me…

Let me start this entry by saying- this is a super embarrassing story for me that I felt I needed to share in order to 

A. help any female who may find herself in a similarly embarrassing situation

B. get this off my chest so that I may move on with my life after several months and

C. provide some amusement/shock for my readers.

However, with a blush and a sigh, I must begin.

One night in Omaha, Nebraska my significant other and I were getting hot and heavy.  It was really fantastic, I mean GREAT.  Anyway, I was really into it and he was… to be blunt, fingering me like there was no tomorrow.

So sooner rather than later I came, hard.   And as my body writhed in ecstasy I felt the release from below of a short burst of liquid that ran down my inner thigh and pooled on the bed. 

I had orgasmed so hard I peed myself. 

Or so I thought.

So here I am, after having a great orgasm, and he’s looking at me to continue the action.  Of course, I am trying to be smooth and my mind is racing with options.

1. Try and turn him off and ruin the night as quickly as possible.

2. Tell him the truth and never speak to him again, spending the night sleeping in my car.

3. Somehow continue the action but keep him from doing anything further to me.

If you know me in real life then you know I have absolutely no poker face. I show exactly what I am feeling.  Due to this I have to wonder what my face looked like as I tried to fake smooth confidence and sexy while also emoting fear, insecurity, and a complete desire to run out of the room crying.  To my dismay, he noticed my sudden change of pace and emotional stability but (worse!) rolled over… his hand touching the moist spot on the bed.  He looked up with recognition.

Luckily, the guy I was dating has some sort of human side to him and handled the situation carefully, asking me what was wrong.  Now I was stuck.  Option 3 was now out the window as well as Option 1 since he had already poised the question. I sought for a lie inside of my head while I muttered “I came really hard and…well…uh…. you see…. um….” but there wasn’t a lie to be had.

 ”I, um… I came and I PEED MYSELF,” I blurted, quickly closing my eyes and hoping that God had enough pity to remove me from existence.   

”Well,” he said with a laugh, “you didn’t have to say it so the roommate could hear you.” 

“Yes… Um…. I’m going to go take a shower,” I stumbled through my words quickly removing myself from the situation altogether.

He was embarrassed.  I was embarrassed.  I’m pretty sure the Tarantula I kept in my room at the time was embarrassed.  

”Wait- are you sure it was piss? Are you sure it wasn’t a female ejaculation?”

I paused.  I wasn’t.

As it turns out, no, I didn’t piss myself during sex.  After some investigative work, like noting that the substance wasn’t piss after all, I can safely draw only one conclusion; I experienced my first ever female ejaculation.  I will admit that prior to that experience I did not even believe they really existed and my experience with it as a topic of conversation amounted to no more than the lesbian episode of Sex and the City.  

My ex would later point out-  ”What would you have done if I hadn’t suggested that’s what it was?  You would have kept believing you pissed yourself!” 

Anyway, the crowning moment of my female sexuality came… and I thought it was the worst moment of my life.

Girls, if you ever think you might have ejaculated instead of pissing yourself, believe it, but I would still check to make sure.  Also- don’t pee yourself during sex, that would be icky.

I will admit that I have no reason to put this in a blog entry except that- I had to tell someone.  (I also need some people to tell my ex that calling me “pisspot” is not kosher, but that is a minor aspect to this whole story.)