Hey kids. So I usually don’t participate in TMI Thursdays, only because I estrange people with little to no effort as it is. Why make them more uncomfortable? But I figured hey, I’ll go crazy! In celebration of my three-day weekend.
I went to visit New York last month and spent one whirlwind night with my close friend Brooke. We met up at Arlo & Esme on 1st, between 1st and 2nd. While waiting a friggin month for everyone to show up, I entertained myself by fraternizing with several drug dealers (not a joke) and when they left, just for kicks I tried the NYPD Crimestopper hotline. Nobody answered. Shocker.
So I’m standing there for probably only 15 minutes but I had come from Crocodile Lounge, where I pounded two beers and ate my free pizza. I have to potty. Like…bad. Brooke and co. arrive, we head in (super crowded) and I desperately search for a bathroom. Of course there’s a line of approximately 10 girls – and only 2 stalls in the tiny bathroom. I’m shaking, my eyes start tearing up. Ordinarily I’d beg my way to the front, but I’m just a lil ol’ Texan in the big city (right). I musta still been shaken up from being offered tabs of X and an eight-ball.
Brooke tells her man to go check out the little boys’ room and see if it’s kosher to go in there. But then finally, finally it’s almost our turn! The chick in front of me just got her stall and we’re waiting on the other one. And waiting. And waiting. I turn to Brooke.
Me: What the hell is she doing in there? Pooping?!
B: Haha, we should go up to the door and stage-whisper, “we know what you’re dooooing in there!”
Me: Hahahha. Oh shit, don’t make me laugh.
B: Or just slip a note under the door that says Poopers with an X over it. No pooping allowed!
And that’s how I peed my pants. Just kidding. But it WAS awesome. I have to say, is there anything better than peeing when you really really hafta? Sheesh.
And this is what happens. This is actually the last time I was in NY and we hung out – since it takes her a decade to post new pics, this one’s going up. I THINK we were pretending to drive a pedi-cab. Or as I like to call them, petty cabs. Could be we were just dancing.
