Monday, December 13, 2004
great holiday party. oh by the way, I just shit myself.
Growing up, my mom always used an expression that to this day I've never heard anyone else use: "Thought thought he farted, but he shit himself" (meaning a person named Thought believed that he had only passed gas when in reality he soiled himself).
And I even remember the first time I heard her say this. I must have been 5 or 6, and on a winter day I was sitting in my living room, probably watching "Grease", next to a space heater (we were too poor to have heat). I got hot, and instead of turning the heater down or off (which I didn't know how to do), I stuck one of our couch pillows on the heater itself. My mom was in the kitchen at the time, and when she started to smell something burning, she ran into the living room and noticed the pillow starting to smoke. She knocked it out of the way, and when I explained the situation, I said, "But mom, I thought it was ok to put the pillow in front of the heater!", to which she responded, "Yeah, well Thought thought he farted, but he shit himself."
It struck me then as it still does now, not only because it's an interesting take on the value and validity of thought, but also because I've never thought I farted but instead pooped myself. Though on a good day my colon can be described as "spastic", I can honestly say that I've never had the Hershey squirts or sharted. That is, until Saturday night.
On Saturday, I was not feeling good. I went out on Friday, and I was a little hungover. When I got out of bed (at 1pm), I went through my normal hungover morning routine: intense masturbatory session, followed by a bacon, egg and cheese bagel and quart of chocolate milk. After this I usually fall back asleep, but after taking out the bagel and chocolate milk, I also had a Nestle Crunch bar (breakfast of champions). I felt ill immediately, and though I did manage to fall back asleep, my sleep was fitful and short-lived, as I kept having to get up to go to the bathroom.
Around 4pm I showered and decided it was time to start the day. "Start the day" usually ironically coincides with "start drinking", so I poured myself my first drink of the "evening" around 4:30 or so. My roommate Brian joined shortly thereafter, and we began having a good old day.
Eventually, though I still felt kinda crappy, I got hungry (shocking, I know). The night before I had ordered a pizza, which I had eaten half off but then left out on my kitchen counter overnight. Around 6:30, I heated up a couple of slices of the pizza and enjoyed them with a $7 bottle of white wine (Editor's Note: because of NYC's expensiveness, a $7 bottle of wine in NYC is like a $1.50 bottle of wine anywhere else in the world).
This was not a good idea. Eating pizza left out in the open overnight and unrefrigerated got me sick before, but I shrugged this off and had three slices (of pepperoni and sausage). After eating the pizza, I felt terrible. Up to that point I had consumed:
- a bacon, egg and cheese bagel
- a quart of chocolate milk
- a Nestle Crunch bar
- three slices of old pepperoni and sausage pizza
- a glass of red wine
- almost a bottle of white wine
- a Bud Light and two Michelob Ultra's that were stranded in our fridge
- a half of bottle of pepto bismol
Thought I felt sick and kinda had the runs, I kept drinking. I had a bunch of birthday/holiday parties to go to that night, so taking it easy wasn't an option. And really, if you're not feeling it, the best thing to do is drink through it. Keep at the booze, and eventually you'll feel mighty fine.
Moving forward...some friends came over to our place for pre-gaming, and we kept boozing. Sure enough, I started to feel better. We left to head to Gramercy to attend our first party around 11pm, after I had been drinking for over 6 hours.
A small aside: whenever I have to go to a house party and I don't really know the people throwing the party, I get very uncomfortable. This is because I can't trust myself when I'm fucked up, and if I don't know the people throwing the party, I have no clout. I would have no qualms getting fucked up and pissing in the kitchen sink of my friends' places, but a lot of times when in the apartment of people I don't personally know, I retreat into a corner where I set up shop, don't really talk to anyone, and drink my fucking face off. It's really quite a beautiful thing actually.
This was the case with this first party. The guys throwing the party were friends of my roommate's, who I had met only once or twice. By the time we left for this party, I was fucked up. I mean, I was in pretty bad shape for only 11pm. After the pizza, I tapped into the vodka and, well, I don't even need to extrapolate here.
The party was mobbed and hot. I immediately thought that this was a terrible idea, and searched for a corner to hide in. I was pissed off, as my friends and I had been sitting around my apartment boozing up and having a good time, and now I was at this terribly crowded and hot party, where I didn't know anyone and it would take me ages to get a drink.
So I got pissed off. And when I get pissed off, I get uncomfortable. And when I get uncomfortable, nobody wins. I started to feel ill again, sweating like a fucking sweat monster, feeling like I was going to shit myself right in the middle of that fucking party. But I managed to stave it off. I talked to my friends, and we were trying to make the most of it, though by this time I had sweat through the undershirt I was wearing and was worrying if my jeans were wet from the major swamp ass I had.
I went to take a piss. The bathroom was right off the living room, and didn't lock. I was not concerned by this at the time, since I only had to piss. I brought my beer with me into the bathroom, pulled out my sorry excuse for a penis and started to go. In the middle of my piss, I farted. No big deal. But I noticed the warmth of the fart lingered a little longer than usual. I did some recon work and noticed that I only thought I farted, when I actually shit myself.
This was not good. Actually, saying "this was not good" does not do justice to how bad this was. I was at a packed holiday party thrown by people I didn't know, drunk out of my mind, in the bathroom right by the living room that everyone was using, and I had a Hershey squirt in my pants (this is going to be gross, but I didn't shit myself per se, meaning there was not a yule log in my boxers, but rather a small stripe of what looked like chocolate syrup, but definitely not small enough to ignore).
Full panic mode set in. I cleaned myself up and then tried cleaning up my boxers. Though time was of the essence I worked quickly and did a pretty admirable job on them. However, I was worried about the shit smell. I could deal with a little bit o' poo in my pants, but I didn't want everything around me saying, "Man, what stinks like shit?"
So I opened the medicine cabinet of the bathroom, hoping to find some cologne. This was a longshot, because this was a half bathroom, and as I had feared there was no cologne. Fuck.
There was however, some deodorant. Still in full panic mode, I took the deodorant stick and rubbed it on my boxers. Not, mind you, on the poo itself, but around the poo to neutralize the odor. While doing so, someone knocked on the door and almost opened it (like I said, it didn't lock). That person would have gotten quite a surprise to see an overweight, drunk, hairy dude ass-out with his jeans and boxers around his knees applying deodorant to his shit-stained draws. Good lord. I don't use the word "nightmarish" often, but I think it applies here.
I put the lid back on the deodorant, put it back in the medicine cabinet, and rejoined my friends at the party, not mentioning the episode. This happened around midnight; I continued drinking with them until 4am. I got even drunker, and when I came home even fell asleep in my boxers, too drunk to change out of them.
Now hear me: many of you will hear my tale and judge me, but I think I performed excellently under the most adverse conditions possible. Sure, maybe I shouldn't have used some guy's deodorant on my boxers, but what was I to do? I needed something to get rid of the smell, and it was the only thing available. I was surely not going to leave the party, because that's what a quitter and loser would do, and I am neither a quitter nor a loser (well, I'm actually both, but not when I'm drunk).
I probably shouldn't have put the deodorant back in the medicine cabinet for the party host to use the next day and this morning before work, but hey - I didn't rub it in the shit, just around it. So stop being such a pansy already.
And you know what? It turned out to be a good night. After my partial poo, I felt a lot better, and was able to get past it and had a good night with my friends, ending it in typical fashion with some (fresh) pizza and garlic knots. The next day, I wasn't even that hungover. I guess after soiling myself at a crowded party, god gave me a break.
In retrospect, I have no regrets. I was faced with a dilemma, I took action, and resolved it. Winner.
Oh, and by the way, this is the first time that my friends who were out with me that night have heard this story. I actually haven't told anyone this until now. So guys, if I smelled like shit all night, now you know - I had poo and deodorant in my boxers.
Happy Holidays everyone!