I'm trying something new here today. Since I tend to post all my TMI stuff all willy-nilly (heh heh, I said "willy!"), I've decided to try to streamline it a bit and follow the lead of the Indefatigable Mjenks in participating in Lilu's TMI Thursdays.
Not long ago I posted about a trip to the liquor store and all the fun we had finding inappropriate sexual innuendos in the bottle sizes and shapes. I left out one bottle, deciding to save that story for a rainy day. Well folks, it ain't raining but today is that day nevertheless.
May I introduce you to an estranged friend of mine? This is Carlos. Carlos is cheap and easy, two things I've never been despite what you may think. Yes, I know I'm a bawdy gal and I like to talk about all things dirty (with the exception of poop), but just because I'm a perv doesn't mean I'm a bimbo. On occasion, I can even pass for classy.
This story is NOT about any of those occasions.
One spring break when I was about 20 my sister and I decided to take a trip to the Bahamas, just the two of us. We went to an all-inclusive resort that turned out to be kind of lame as far as night life went, but we enjoyed the beach and the sight-seeing. We swam with dolphins, tried parasailing, drank rum, and watched Asian tourists sing karaoke.
The Rong and Winding Load has never been so poignant.
On our last night we decided to take a sunset booze cruise, and I got so drunk that it's all kind of a blur.
This isn't us, but it's a reasonable facsimile:
I do remember at one point talking to a lovely southern lady and for some reason I started to imitate her accent as we talked. Before long I was in full-on Scarlett and Rhett mode and no one could convince me that I wasn't a sassy southern belle with an attitude. To this day, I still blush when I even think about it, so of course I'm sharing it here with anyone who cares to read it.
Why? Why the hell not, that's why.
As if that wasn't embarrassing enough, as we disembarked from the boat I spotted a big jug of Carlos Rossi and decided to liberate it so we could have a delightful plastic cup of Chablis back in our room. Like I needed it. I slipped the huge jug under my shirt and whistled innocently as I strolled past the bemused boat staff, then I cackled about how clever I was to everyone in the shuttle during the ride back to the resort. The nice lady with the accent was also riding in the shuttle, of course, because I always have good luck like that.
I passed out as soon as we got to the room (a photo exists, but no, I'll never share it) and when I woke up the next morning with one of the worst hangovers I've ever had in my entire life, my sister had placed that big ol' jug of wine right next to my bed so I'd see it as soon as my bleary eyes creaked open. When I went to the bathroom to yack, I found that she had also gotten bored and had drawn all over me with a Sharpie.
When you pass out before 8 PM, anything goes. I know this.
On the way to the airport that morning I did something so vile that it goes down in bevstory as one of my top 5 worst moments as a human being, ever. Worse than my experience with Alli (don't ask). Worse than that night in college when I lost my undies.
In a shuttle bus full of people en route to the airport, I actually turned green and barfed into my own purse. Quietly, yes. Discretely, even; no one even noticed, or if they did they were polite enough not to say anything. But still. Not classy. And yes, the southern lady was also on the shuttle to the airport that day.
I blame Carlos Rossi. He must be related to Jose Cuervo -- cousins or something.
So there it is. I don't know if I'll be participating in the TMI fun every Thursday because of my fear of committment and all, but I'll do my level best!