Tuesday, December 28, 2010

The Story of the Girl Who Held Her Piss Way Too Long

Let's run through this quickly and get to the point of matter. Today Matt and I went to the West Side Market, got greasy pepperoni rolls and ginger lemonade, hung out in the Observatory looking for people we knew. In Ohio City, there is always somebody in the background, watching you, recognizing you. Today it was me.

We hit Unique Thrift and I got three pairs of shoes I can't wear until Spring, fuchsia and red and a belt for my sister because that's what I do at the thrift store I find awesome things I can't wear and I buy them for other people. He got a shit ton of stuffed animals for his dogs to chew on, because that's what he does. We shook all the animals, to find the ones without beads in them, and mostly they were dogs, which I find cannibalistic, to let your doggies chew on other doggies.

Then we went to Sweet Lorain (not Suite anymore, I'm not misspelling it) and I almost bought this:

That is a clutch made with an alligator. The alligator is smiling. It was only 15 dollars. I wanted it and didn't want it at the same time. There's a guy around here at the bars who has a bobcat head beer holder, and sure, it's a conversation starter, but how inconsiderate do I want to look? I mean, am I ready to take that next step into "fuck it, I don't give a shit"? I'm already towing the line with my penchant for vintage fur, which already makes me feel dirty a little, a little tinge of shame, but that's a sexy shame. I don't know if I can turn a whole animal/purse into sexy. I'd have to name it, and that's not sexy. That's only sexy to a select segment of the population, and I don't need an alligator to get those guys.

I walked around with it for a long time though, I was undecided. In the end, I tested to see if the zipper worked, and it didn't, so instead I bought a cape. It's an awesome cape. Very American Girl Dollish. I probably made the right choice. But I look at this picture, and I still feel bad for not adopting the poor little thing. Which is why I will always struggle against stray cats. Someone else needs to go adopt that poor thing. I've got enough dead animals around me.

Then I bought a cell phone online, which means someday soon I will be tweeting way too much. As if I don't already. Those of you familiar with my cell phone dilemma understand it took me a while to get this point, and frankly I don't feel at that point really, but NYE travel plans have forced the action, and that's part of recovery right? Being forced to take action when you don't want to? Like cleaning my bathroom for three hours yesterday? I took everything down off the walls, and made it look like nobody lives there. I think I might do that to my whole place. Erase the whole past two years.

Later, tango with Collie and Jere. After Jere and I went to Velvet Tango Room to spend way too much on drinks and not tip enough because of it, the surprise size of a bill that's what happens when I just want to keep talking to you, but it's what I wanted, some quality conversational time with him. He thinks my Guy is the hapless guy, that I'm the Green Lantern and my guy is the ring that's only activated by my force of will. And he's Superman, having to pretend he's human to be in a relationship. I wanted to know, since he watched the tango lesson, if I looked ridiculous. And he said no, but then also said the guys I was dancing with didn't know what they were doing, which is the best part, because I don't know what I was doing either, but it's good to know I come off looking better, that's the girl's job anyway. I like to do the girl's job well. And I don't care what he said, or how right he may be about anything else (note, he is generally right about these things, I refute my destiny at his hands), I refuse to make the first move in any situation. I'm tired of people calling me brave or strong or whatever the fuck. I vow to never make the first move again. You want me? Then you do it. I would rather be single forever than to go out with someone I had to ask out.

I drove him back to Euclid, which listen, is like 35 minutes from home? I should have pissed at his house, but I was stupid, I thought naw I'll make it home. Stupid girl. I felt the pressure in my hips like before I even hit the highway. I made it as far as the MLK exit before I started thinking about any guys within five minutes that I had slept with whose house I might be able to stop at. This is why having a phone will get me in trouble, because this is how I think. I have to piss, who can I go make out with? I tried to roll down the window and play the music really loud, hoping to distract my muscles. But oh stupid me, I put on that REO Speedwagon, I can't fight this feeling? Worse not pissing song ever. There's no feeling like driving back on empty dark highways, knowing you have fifteen minutes to wait, pressing your free foot against the floorboard as hard as you can, just to have another feeling besides the tingly squeeze of your bladder, and its almost sort of like sex, but in a horrible way. There is a sense of victory though, of willing yourself through this. The thought did pass through my head though, after rejecting all available 24 hour fast food joints as viable options, that if I did piss myself in my own car? It wouldn't really be a punishable offense, other than having to clean my car.

I did make it home though. Got the car parked and everything. Grabbed my tango shoes, slammed the door closed, had the keys, and...fell on the ice. Hard. Slow and hard.

I know as I get older, experiences like this will no longer be possible. So better record it now, as a dying vestige of my youth? Or just because I am fucking proud of not stopping, of continuing to drive no matter what.

Over the holidays, my father and I had a conversation about Facebook, and about how when the new regime starts rounding people up from Facebook information collected, the deviants and troublemakers, I'm going to be one of them. I'm clean! I protested, what do I do? I'm normal! Promiscuity he said. You're going to go down for talking about promiscuity. But that's all past stuff! Doesn't matter apparently, I'm a deviant. And I'm thinking it will probably be posts like this that get me trouble. Hey, let me tell you about the time I went drinking, and then had to piss really hard in the car and didn't!


  1. i heard Sarah McLaughlin and her animal cruelity commercial while reading this.

  2. But it's been dead longer than I've been alive!
    I mean, it's cruel not to give it a home right? To make it's whole death meaningless?

  3. that's how I feel about my deer heads and my alligator purses.... they have been dead for 30 to 50 years- are they better with me or in a dump somewhere?

    I say me. I buy them so they won't feel alone anymore.....

  4. I'm overdue for a trip to WSM again, and I didn't even know there was an observation deck.

    I fought the cell phone for years, and I'm still a rebel in my own way...my phone doesn't have a camera, and it's set to 'ignore' for the rare text messages people send me.

    Glad to hear you didn't soil your car. That smell never comes out completely, I don't care what the infomercials tell you.

  5. I think I know of that bobcat guy. Also you managed a picture of the gator purse but not of the shrugs? ;)

  6. You're right. I'm a terrible shrug tracker.
    Maybe if it had still had a head?

  7. Ok cue the purse nightmares. Also, you are so right about REO. Also can I start counting the seconds yet? Also pack boots. Also? *sigh*

  8. I will only wear boots. I will not even bother trying to pretend heels exist.

  9. You remind me of all the best things that I like about the best people in my life.

    Oddly, you make me feel good about myself. Haven't quite got a hold on why that is, but I will.

  10. Wait...only boots? It might be cold, but I'm okay with that if you are...

  11. I'm pretty sure this little story makes everyone feel good about themselves not being me.

  12. Great, now I want to go thrifting. That alligator thing could definitely make it into my amusing thrift store finds posts.

    I'm not a fan of fur at all, but I give vintage fur a pass. You're not creating demand for fur with vintage fur. You're recycling at that point. And I can't tell you how many kittens I've rescued and nursed to health with a vintage mink stole acting as a surrogate mother.

  13. It's comments like that which make me think you don't really exist, you're just a computer construct designed to mimic the nicest most perfect girl/mom ever.

  14. So, wait a second -- point of clarification, here...did you end up, then, pissing all over yourself once you had fallen? I mean, was the shock and impact of the fall that last straw? Or did you successfully make it inside and to an actual bathroom? Because the take-away of this story sort of hinges on that vital point. (Perhaps the answer to this was solidly implied, but I am just too dim to quite catch it.)

  15. No, the point of this story hinges on you guys not knowing.


Who wants to fuck the Editors?