Rock Bottom cont... Bomb Night

Yeah yeah yeah, I am aware that I am adding this post a lot later than 2 days later.. its more like 3 months. Whatever!

Anywho, Bomb Night was a sacred ritual that happened every few months in my fiancee's apartment. Bomb night was usually a hit for me because it usually consisted of about 30-50 sorority girls, 2 random boyfriends or so plus me and either my roommate, a friend or two, or my fiancee's broski.

Bomb night was always themed. This particular Bomb night which is going down as one of the lowest moments of life was to wear Pink. Like any heterosexual man would, I dug deep into my closet and opted for some Ralph Lauren pink linen pants. Nothing says "this guy likes to party" like a pair of pink linen pants.

I was fortunate to have a buddy come up that evening. For privacy reasons we will call him Tory. Tory came up after I was about 6 beers in, as well as 2 slices of cheese pizza in. The slices of cheese pizza play an important role in this story because if you are dunce do not recall my other 5 posts about shitting and poo, I am lactose intolerant.

Tory and I were hanging out, drinking some Natty Bohs like any other 23 year old should when they are 2 years removed from college. We were simply standing against a wall, watching 4 shorties play each other in beer pong and all of a sudden, I passed gas. It was followed by immediate stench and an awkward moment of eye contact between Tory and me. I apologized immediately and said yikes that smells. He replies " yeah, you smill like shit." That was pretty normal, especially for our relationship. So we thought nothing of it and walked away, leaving the girls with the smelly delight.

Our night carried on, we put down some more bombs, and slowly punched one way tickets to blackout city. The night continued with us going to a few bars, where I did the Bruised Banana usual, which includes grinding on and getting grinded on. We got back home, had some chicken from the random Mexicans who always cooked on their mini grill at 2am in front of finacee's apartment and I called it a night... on the futon.

The next morning I wake up, full clothed and roll over and walk to the bathroom. At this point my buddy who was sleeping on the couch next to me says "dude what the fuck is on your pants?" I replied, "I have no fucking idea, what is it?!" He then starts giggling, then laughing, then convulsing. I freaked out and ran into my fiancee's room and woke her up. "What the fuck is on my pants?!"

Then the words that will haunt me for the rest of my life "YOU SHIT YOUR PANTS OH MY GOD YOU SHIT YOUR PANTS!!!"

At this point my roommate who was sleeping in the other bedroom was awaken up by all the ruckus and comes out and sees that there is literal shit on the back of my pants. No, it was not there because I sat in something. It was there because that smell fart next to the beer pong table during bomb night happened to in fact be a SHART. Yes that happened.

The next hour, literally an hour, was filled with non-stop laughter and for me, laughter included with tears. Tears of embarrassment and well, what the fuck joy, because now I had a story to tell for the rest of my life... if I chose to share.. and well obviously I am choosing to share.

My buddy called his cousin up to come look at my pants. So he showed up. For the next 2 weeks my roommate provided me with random picture messages of my shit stained pants as well as random texts during the day, whether I was at work or in the room with him, with messages such as "hey remember when you shit your pants" or "hey sharter, what's up."

A couple days after, I returned back home and brought the pants with me. I opened the door and yelled, "mom, guess what your very mature son did!?!?! Can you help me get a stain out please??" As instructed, she did. And I was able to wear the same pants to the 1 year anniversary of that pink bomb night. And guess what? I didn't shart this year. Yay!

The following is a picture of the stained britches and under britches. This is your OFFICIAL WARNING. Don't look if you are easily disgusted!


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Rock Bottom

So I won't start this post by making excuses for why I haven't blogged in a long while... truth is, I am lazy as hell.

Going through everyday life can be adventurous for some, boring for most, and totally fucked up for lots of people. Do you ever do something or have something happen to you or force yourself to do something that ends with the thought, "what the fuck did I just do? this is definitely rock bottom." Don't lie to yourself, you have had a few rock bottom moments in your life.

For some people it is basic high school and college moments that stain your memory forever:

• Accidentally drinking someone's dip-spit cup
• Unintentionally fantasizing about a family member or best friend of the same sex
• Making love in your grandparent's car
• Drinking a floater in your apartment .... from the night before
• Sex with a ginger
  
• Cooking the ramen noodles, mixing it with ketchup and adding in cut-up pieces of hot dog and calling it spaghetti n meatballs
  

Those are simple examples that may or may not have happened to people I know, but you get the point. Everyone has moments, no matter how extreme, raunchy, or sexual they may be, that always end in, "what the fuck did I just do? this is definitely rock bottom."

To get some things off of my chest, I will enlighten ya'll on 3 moments of my life that I consider my Rock Bottom moments.

1) The Italian Water Bottle

A few years ago, 2 of my best male friends were dating each other and studying together in Florence, Italy for a semester abroad (how romantic, I know!). For privacy reasons we will call them "Pete" and "Korie." Like any normal friend would do, I took 10 days off of school during the semester and went to go visit them in Italy. Conveniently, I went the 10 days before spring break started at school so when I returned, I returned to spring break. If you are wondering, I went to exactly 3 days of class in the month of March in 2007. And there goes digression #1.

Anyway, Italy was awesome, one of the best trips I will have ever taken in my lifetime. Unfortunately there was a dark moment that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

As I mentioned, my friends were there, dating, and taking classes. One morning they left to go to class and I was left home alone for about 3 hours. I enjoyed the 3 hours to myself. I went through their shit in their closets and desks, tried to read their personal stuff on their computer, ate whatever food was in the pantry, and snooped through their roommates shit. After that, I did what any normal man does within their first hour of being awake- I went to go take a good ole' American dumpski.

Keep in mind, I had been eating some bangin' Italian food, all sorts of meat, gelato and... cheeses. Now if you recall from previous blog posts which probably made you gag, I am lactose intolerant. For those of you who are stupid, I am intolerant of lactose products. Unfortunately, I am also the most hard-headed, ignorant, M-Fer alive so if it's delicious, I will eat it, regardless of the battle I will be fighting in the restroom.

Basically there I was, in my favorite, yet most vulnerable of positions. Leaking out fine Italian mess into their toilet located in the hallway bathroom. It came to the end and I look over to the roll of toilet paper and notice nothing but brown cardboard. I start scrambling from my seated position looking for any extra rolls. Who the fuck doesn't have extra rolls! I was helpless. I had no one in the apartment, no cell phone to call someone, nothing. I then got desperate. I started peeling off the remnants of the last roll and was left with literally a piece the size of my index finger's finger print. It was useless, so I had to get resourceful.

I looked around the bathroom assessing my options. I debated on using one of their roommates wash cloths. Nah, that's fucked up. I debated on using my underwear, but where would I put it afterwords, and I would be wasting underwear. Then in the trashcan I saw it. I saw my savior. It was an empty 1-liter bottle of water. No I didn't rip the label off and use that. I actually leaned over and grabbed it, turned on the sink and filled it up. The next part is what has haunted me since.

For some reason I thought it would be a bright idea to lean over and turn this thing into a homemade bidet (google it if you don't know what I'm talking about you uncultured mess). I literally leaned forward like I was about to do a ski jump, pointed the opening at Mr. Balloon Knot and squeezed the bottle as hard as I could. This process repeated 3 times. Having my whole backside drenched, I sat there completely embarrassed with myself. Drenched, I had to sit there and now drip dry for a solid 15 minutes. Then like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, I slowly put my shorts on and walked out of the bathroom. Even though I was home alone, that my friends was a walk of shame and a Rock Bottom moment of my life.


2) The Turkey Trot

Now for those of you who don't know me, I am fat. I have always been fat. It's a fact. Now I am also really into sports and one of the most competitive people you will ever meet, regardless if it is something athletic that I am inferior in, a statistics test, racing at the urinals, whatever.

Flashback 1999. In middle school before Thanksgiving break, we would do this ridiculously stupid mile run in gym class called the Turkey Trot. It was way too cold out and they would put us in our sweet school-issued sweats (mine were probably an adult XL) and make us run a mile. Usually I am okay with just chilling in the back, possibly just walk the whole damn thing but one year I decided to let my ego take charge.

With everyone lined up and ready to start this stupid ass run, as soon as the whistle blew, I decide to take off in a dead sprint. Sprint? Yeah, I don't know why, it didn't last longer than 11 seconds.

So here I am busting my ass in a sprint, holy shit I'm in front of everyone! Then before I could even turn around and yell suck it to my friends, I was on my face eating sand.

What the fuck happened? 1 second I am sprinting and am in first place and at the blink of an eye I am in the long jump pit chewing on grains of sand. You wanna know what happened? Well, apparently my intimidating jump off the line was a little much for someone to handle. I won't mention names because this person, if not in jail, would probably kill me now. This unnamed person had taken advantage of being directly behind me, by pulling down my pants while I was running. Not only did this person take down my sweat pants, but magically got a good enough grip that he pulled down my gym shorts which were under my pants and my fucking UNDERWEAR!

Now imagine this. A fat, yellowish brown Asian kid running at what he believes is 100mph and seeing him get shanked to his bare essentials. What made it worse was that since I was running, the shank had caused me to fall and roll like I was being tossed out of a moving car. Not only did I roll but I rolled into the long jump pit! Now take your now half-naked fat Asian kid visual and picture him tripping and rolling into a big pit of sand.

The motion of getting up out of the sand of the long jump pit, realizing I am completely naked from the underbelly down to my ankles, and then having to pull my pants back on and run a fucking mile, was the exact definition of ROCK BOTTOM.

3) Bomb Night(s)

Now, not many people were as fortunate as me when it came to post-college social life. A lot of people when they enter the work force are really limited when it comes to their social interactions. It's harder to make new friends when you work with all 40-60 year olds. It's harder when you don't have 5 classes of 100+ people every semester, you get the point. Well lucky for me I was into the young stuff and was dating a girl, who lucky for me is now my fiancee, who still had 2 more years of college left after I graduated. Even better, not only did she go to school close to where I lived, but she was, and still is, in a sorority. Basically what this means is college was extended for me for another 2 years and I get to hang out with hot chicks every weekend.

One would think that a man who has already finished college would have the ability to keep up with a bunch of college kids when it came to boozin, right? Well that's what I thought, but now I know I am wrong.

My fiancee has had 3 parties at her apartment which have been labeled as bomb nights, and all 3 have been exactly that... 2 especially. What separates bomb from a regular party is a number of things: a theme, a corresponding costume, liquor in bomb form, a mind-erasing evening with a morning filled with "what the fucks?"

Unfortunately the first 2 bomb nights have not ended as I desired. Let's start with bomb night #2. Bomb night #2 was going great. My future brother in law was up having a great time, hooking up with a random Indian girl, getting some fo sho. My buddy from home was up to bomb it up, it was awesome. And then the light switch flipped off for my mind. The proverbial "black out" switch turned off or turned on I should say, around 10:30pm. My next memory came at about 8am when I woke up with the angriest girlfriend in the world. Her first response when I woke up was "go in the living room and look what you did." I then saw the aftermath of my bomb night. There was throw up on the futon, the floor of the futon, just the floor. The kitchen trashcan was in the middle of the floor but the throw up was on the trashcan, not in it. The bathroom had throw up everywhere but in the toilet. Everything was a mess. My $85 shirt was used as a saliva rag.

Everything was disgusting. And then it happened. My ole lady gets a text saying, "remember your bf throwing upon Meagan?!" Then I hear from the other room, " YOU THREW UP ON MY FRIEND!!" Right there, I was afraid that was Rock Bottom. Unfortunately the after effects of that night carried on because I was due by 12noon to be at work for a Holiday Party. Not only did I need to be at the Holiday Party, I need to be hosting the party because I am the boss.

So now I am wearing my girl's ugg slippers, shorts and a hoody. I smell like vomit and I can't keep my life together. I make the 1hour drive to work, driving 40mph the ENTIRE way there. I get to the Holiday Party and lucky me, it's a full house with 45+ employees there. I spent the entire party sitting in a chair with sunglasses on. It was like Bad Santa just I didn't talk at all. What made it a Rock Bottom moment was the 4 breaks I took during the Holiday Party to go into a back room and throw up into a trash can.

Unlucky for me it was also my birthday that weekend and someone thought it would be a great moment to get everyone there to sing happy birthday to me. So while I sat in my chair, in my fragile state, I had 45+ of my subordinates staring at their still-drunk, vomit-covered boss in UGG slippers, singing fucking happy birthday. At the end of the song I could not even thank them, I gave 3 slow claps and went back to the backroom to vom again.

Once everyone left, I literally stayed at work for 4 more hours doing nothing but throwing up in a trash can. ROCK BOTTOM.

Now there is a continuation to the BOMB NIGHT part, but it deserves it's own post. If you are lucky and people actually read this post, it may come with a visual. So check back in a day and you will be able to find out what could possibly be worse than wiping my ass with a water bottle, being naked in a long jump put or throwing up on a girl and at your work holiday party.

Check back in a couple days dammit!