Monday, July 21, 2008
Setting evolution back
What's up with states?
There's no rhyme or reason when it comes to the drawing of state lines. For example, you cannot escape the state of West Virginia. It's impossible. It never ends. All the maps are fucking wrong. Let's say you're driving down to Fredericksburg (not of Hollywood), Virginia on some mysterious back country roads that Garmin tells you to follow. Every 19 seconds you're going to be heading back into West Virginia. Now, that's not as often as mistertrendy needs to stop to take a piss (seven stops in a 15-hour roundtrip), but it's quite often.
But no one wants to hear about geography or mistertrendy's bladder the size of a penny. Fact is, I don't know how big a bladder even is. Whatever. I didn't major in math. It actually could be the size of the penny. Or smaller. Like a dime.
Speaking of dimes and bladders, let's get to the real issue at hand. Or in my hands, in this case.
"The Great Roommate Urination of '08"
By ART MCGREGOR
Blog on the Run editor
Nothing will top this moment. We could win the lottery or stop a four-gun stick-up when we go see "The Dark Knight" later this evening. Whenever Miss July's friends or pals (whoever they may be) ask her about her summer, she always will reply:
"Well, my roommate peed on me."
I remember taking the piss. I remember her waking up. I remember that's about it. At about 4:30 a.m. on Friday morning, I walked into Miss July's room, lifted up her blanket and began to pee on her feet.
"At least it's sterile and not vomit or shit, right? I don't think many people can say they've been pissed on by their roommate ... literally." - text from Miss July, 7-18-08
Who does that? I've had thousands of boozing nights and only about four times have I let go with a random piss in a closet, on a computer, in a dresser or on a roommate. That's about the same odds as my buddy The 1 following up on a "I'll text you later and meet up with you." Geesh. With how often I see that guy, you'd think I pissed on him.
I woke up Friday afternoon and laughed about the incident with The Sports Writer and his buddy. Speaking of. You know how when a friend visits you and brings someone else, they're usually very lame? Not this guy. Super nice guy, funny, knew about sports, was into being stupid. +1 for that guy. Now while I laughed about it with my friends from out of town, I didn't laugh about it with Miss July. I was fully expecting retribution of some sort when she got home from work. With all the midwest flooding, we really didn't need any more golden showering. Sunny skies are OK with me.
Isn't that always the case? I took the day off and the person pissed on still had to go to work.
She came home and we laughed about it and that made her the greatest sport of all-time. I also think the present The Sports Writer left for her helped with the laughter ... and then some more laughter.
I cleaned up, did some serious laundering, got her a bottle of wine from the place on South Third Street (I kept the Swedish Fish to myself) and hoped she wouldn't rip my head off.
Not that I'd need it the next time I decided to piss on a roommate.