Stop it, you're making me blush!

Over at Shamelessly Sassy, she's holding a contest to hear embarrassing stories, rewarding the winner with 100 bucks.

So, I've been pondering this for a few days and have decided to tell you two stories. I can't decide which is more embarrassing because they are two totally different types of embarrassment. (And no, I'm not gonna talk about all the times my dad used to publicly announce if any of us had to "tillywinkle" on vacations.)

Coincidentally, both stories occurred at the age of 19.

This first story is a little more "wow, that really sucks" then funny, but extremely embarrassing.

Story 1:

The summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college, a friend and I decided to take a first time trip to Europe. We had a lovely 3 week stay and enjoyed it thoroughly. Now, I have always had terrible, terrible, shitty birthdays and so I had decided that if I planned the trip to end on my 19th birthday and spend it on a transatlantic flight, then I wouldn't have to acknowledge it, or answer phone calls, and it could just pass on through. It was the perfect plan because if I didn't have a birthday, then nothing could happen to make it a bad one.

Or so I thought.

When you're traveling through Europe you don't spend much time checking e-mails and voice mails. So when your flight gets combined with another flight and is thus pushed two hours earlier, you aren't as likely to know. (Although, I'm not sure I would've checked to see if my flight was early even if I were at home anxiously waiting to leave)

Of course we get there several hours early anyways because we're flying international in a very recent post-9/11 world, but not as early as we need to be. There are TONS of people at the airport trying to get through security. They're screaming for anyone who is flying to JFK to come to the front of the line immediately...and seeing how half of the passengers on board are late, that's several hundred people. So I wait in line getting very, very nervous. The air port attendants keep assuring us that the plane will not wait for us, and to make sure we have our ID's and tickets ready. We got our tickets to come home 3 weeks earlier when we had left the U.S. and, oh my god, I don't have my ticket. It's not in my bag, holy crap, holy crap, holy crap.

I have to get out of line, and purchase another ticket. Not to pay for another seat, just 45 pounds(!!!) to have them re-print my ticket. And they gave me serious crap for that. Ok, so now we're for sure going to miss our plane and I really really just want to go home. We finally did make it through security and have to run to our terminal which is 30 minutes away. No exaggeration. (Heathrow = worst air port of all time, second place goes to Phoenix, AZ) There are herds of us trying not to miss our plane. We finally get there and, yeah, its not there. It hasn't landed yet.

At heathrow, instead of pulling people randomly out of the security line to shake down, they pull people randomly as they are boarding their flights. I'm steps away from walking on the plane and I get called over to a table.

"I need to see your passport and ticket, and then unzip your back pack and dump the contents onto the table."

Guess what falls out of the very bottom of my back pack? You guessed it, kids. My original ticket.

Before I even know what hits me I'm being whisked away and interrogated for having two identical tickets. What kind of game am I trying to pull? Do I think this is funny? How did I end up with two identical tickets? Was I trying to sneak someone else on?

No game. No, this is the least funny thing I've ever experienced in my life. How many times do I have to tell you that I thought I lost it? How would I sneak someone into the same seat? DO YOU THINK I'M A TERRORIST? OH MY GOD ARE YOU GOING TO ARREST ME AND SEND ME TO GUANTANAMO BAY??

They let me go after what seemed like an hour but was only about 5 minutes. The man at the loading dock is holding the door for me but asking me to hurry up. He was being very polite and was the only friendly person I had come across all day. He takes my passport and my ticket, looks at my passport for a second and then says, "Happy Birthday."

I burst into tears.

That's right. I was the absolute last person to get on the very full, international flight from London to New York and walked down the isle sobbing, for everyone to see.

I pop a xanax and sleep for 7 1/2 hours.

I wake up as we're descending and it takes me about 2 seconds to realize that I'm going to puke on the plane, which I've never done before in my life. There is no barf bag, so I stand up to run to the bathroom. The flight attendant yells at me to sit down and I motion to her that I'm going to barf. She tells me to stay where I am and she'll get me something. I was sitting in the window seat and the woman sitting in the isle said we should switch seats so I would be closer to the flight attendant when she brings me something to throw up in. So we switch, and I sit there and will myself with all of my might to not loose it all over the cabin.

The flight attendant quickly runs and leans over me to brings a plastic bag to the woman sitting in the window seat because, well, you know, that's where I was sitting. I couldn't handle it any longer and threw up alllllllll over her as she leaned over me.

Happy Birthday to me!!


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Ok, this one is a little more light hearted

Story 2:

The following school year, I lived in my sorority house. As sophomores, we were the youngest ones aloud to live in the house, thus having last pick and getting the smallest rooms. Shoe box sized rooms. My dorm room was almost three times the size. So obviously, we had bunk beds because there was just no other way around it. My roommate and I had a deal, she got bottom bunk first semester, and I got it second semester. But here's the thing, my roommate was notorious for getting completely wasted and peeing her bed. It didn't make the idea of sleeping below her very appealing. But second semester rolled around and I tempted it, anyways.

Mean while, I was, for lack of a better word, dating this guy. Our relationship involved getting very drunk, going back to his house, having sex and passing out. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Seriously, I didn't know any two people who drank more than my room mate and this guy. Obviously I found something very appealing about this kind of person when I was 19, but I couldn't really tell you what it was.

So obviously there were times when the roommate would pee her bed (although it never dripped down on me, thank god). But also, this guy would pee his bed WHILE I SLEPT IN IT. And not just once, several times. Oh, and then there was the time that I woke up to see him peeing in his closet because he thought it was the bathroom.

Anyways.

It's St. Patricks day and I've got one class that ends at 11:30, so by 11:45 I'm at the Irish Pub on the strip. Of course room mate and guy have been there since the bar opened at 9am and I can safely assume that they are shit faced. There aren't that many people when I get there but I notice that there is a small congregation on one side of the bar, and I know a lot of the people standing around. I walk towards them and break into the circle only to find room mate and the guy, who are by no means friends, arguing over pees their bed more often.

Not accusing the other person of doing it more often, but trying to claim it as a title or something.

And seriously, people were watching this, finding it absolutely hilarious.

And then the two of them see me.

"SARAH!!! YOU KNOW!!! YOU EITHER SLEEP WITH HIM OR WITH ME!! WHO PEES IN THE BED MORE OFTEN??!!??!!"

"YEAH SARAH!! REMEMBER THAT TIME THAT I TOOK A PISS, WOKE UP, WENT DOWNSTAIRS TO SLEEP ON THE COUCH AND LEFT YOU IN THE BED? SHE'S NEVER DONE THAT TO YOU!!" (yeah, he was a winner)

The link was instantly made with everyone in the bar. No matter what I did, no matter where I decided to rest my head, I had before, and would again get peed on.


The End.