As I mentioned, Kim and I are swapping blogs for the day!
dun dun dun...
Happy Tuesday, lovely Alissa's faithful readers!
My name is Kim and I am coming to you from The Antisdel Abstract, way far away in the blogosphere. Today is a BlogSwap with your usual host Alissa, and myself. So go check out Alissa's story on my blog, and if you don't mind, stick around and read mine.
Because it will make you laugh. Or cringe,
(Either way we ought to have a good time.)
Today I have decided to share the most awkward/embarrassing story of my life with you. Generally I would reserve this story for Lilu and her TMI Thursdays, but in honor of BlogSwap day, you're going to read it now.
The year is 1996. I am 15 years old.
(Which, if you can remember 15, it's awful. You're braces are on so tight if feels like your teeth are wired shut. You don't have normal sized boobs yet, and your hormones are raging.)
So I'm on vacation with my family. Mom, Dad, Sis and Bro. We are in Wyoming and South Dakota. We've already seen Mount Rusmore and the Corn Palace. (No really, it's a palace made of corn.) We are now ready to see Devil's Tower.
Huh? What? What in the world is Devil's Tower?
If it looks familiar, it's because you've seen it on "Close Encounters of the Third Kind", when Richard Dreyfus makes an edible copy of it in a psychotic dinner escapade with his mashed potatoes. Classic.
My family arrives at Devil's Tower from our camp ground about 18 miles away, on the hottest day of the year. For the record, I am dressed like a hottie boom bottie. You just never know what kinds of boys you might run into at national monuments. I am wearing a hot pink tank top, black Nike high tops... and short-alls.
(You KNOW you had shortalls in 1996. Stop trying to deny it. If you don't know what short alls are, go Google it. They rock.)
The first thing I see as we approach the trail around the base of the monument is a large sign, freshly stuck in the ground at the beginning of the walking path. It reads something like this:
"You are on sacred ground for the natives that live in this area and worship at the monument. Out of respect, please remain on the path that is laid out for you, and do not stray from it. This is sacred ground."
Right. Got it.
The fam and I begin our walk around Devil's Tower. It is breathtaking and beautiful. There are huge, hefty boulders and rocks leading up to the base of the monument, and my Dad and brother decide they want to climb on them. In the guide, it strictly prohibits climbing on rocks, and my Mom tells my Dad so. He ignores her. This is an adventure, after all.
Mom, Sis and I keep walking, albeit slowly, waiting fro Dad and Bro to finish their rock climbing endeavor.
As we continue to walk, I get a funny rumbling in my stomach. Am I hungry? Did I not get enough breakfast?
Then it hits me. This is a different kind of rumbling. This is a "Get To A Bathroom RIGHT NOW" rumbling. The rumbling suddenly turns to cramps, and I look behind me to see if there's a bathroom nearby.
I tell my Mom that I really, really need to get to the bathroom in an ASAP kind of way. She understands, but insists we're at least halfway around the monument by now. It's better to keep going than turn back, and she's sure I can make it.
I begin to speed walk, my sister close behind me. The rumbling subsides for 10 seconds, then comes back, worse than before. I'm running out of time.
I speed my walk up a little more. I hear my Dad, far in the distance, exclaiming, "Where does Kim think she's going?" as my Mom hollers back to him, "She needs to get to the bathroom if you know what I mean!!"
Awesome. Now all the other tourists are filled in.
As another round of cramps begins, I break into a slight jog, but the motion makes my stomach feel worse. My sister is still close behind me, and we both see the sign at the same time:
"1/2 Mile Marker"
WHAT? I've been walking for the last ten minutes, and we're STILL only half way around this damn thing. This. Is. Bad.
I feel my stomach contorting and twisting and I know another round of cramps is coming. I don't have much longer and it's going to be a free for all in the back of my shorts.
I break into a full blown run, Mom screaming behind me, "KIM WAIT!! Honey, it's going to make it worse!!! Wait for me and I'll run with you!" My sister manages to stay pretty close behind me. I'm running as fast as my legs will carry me, past all of the informational signs explaining how important the monument is and where Richard Dreyfus stood for filming of the movie.
And then it's too late.
The cramps are gone because it's coming. And I can't stop it. An d so, I crapped my drawers right then, running on a wooded trail at a national monument.
Ahead I see a small hill that leads down to an area where no one will be able to see me. I exit the trail, with no grace at all and head down the hill as fast as I can. I can already feel what has happened, but there is more on the way.
At the bottom of the hill, I know I'm safe to finish my business and no one can see me. But my damn shortalls are not easy to get off. It's a process to go to the bathroom with shortalls even if you're NOT in a hurry. I am too late. My shortalls are finally off, but all of my shorts are filled. It's quite ironic.
Then, my stomach decides it's still not done. At least this time I can just go on the ground. Like the natives.
I finish delivering my special package on the ground, and hide behind a tree, shortalls around my ankles. My sister reaches me first and I can hear her yelling behind her to people above, "No! Don't come down, she's fine! She just has a stomach ache!"
Behind her is my Mom, who has no idea what to do. She approaches me and starts to apologize for my Dad and brother taking so much time on the rocks. Then, she says exactly what I want to hear:
"Ooooh, Kim and Sis, watch out over here by this bush. It looks like an animal might have had a tummy ache."
I burst into tears.
My sister and Mom don't know what to do but put my shortalls back on me. Yes, that's right. I had to put back on my SOILED shortalls and walk the REST OF THE WAY BACK. No amount of leaves and brush was going to clean them out, I would just have to endure it.
We climbed back up the hill to where a small crowd was gathered, including my Dad and Bro. And we began the walk back to our car. Keep in mind, we still had about 1/4 mile to go. My socks and shoes squeaked with every step. Waves of naseua hit me every time a light breeze blew. Dad tried to walk behind me so people wouldn't see the back of my shorts and legs, but it was impossible not to notice.
A group of teenage boys who I would usually attempt to hit on were directly behind us, and started yelling jokes at me. My Mom turned around and screamed,
"You can all just shut the F*$& up!" It was only the second time in my life I'd heard my mom drop an f-bomb.
A quarter mile later we reached the end of the trail. My eyes were red with tears, my butt was sore, and my humiliation was plentiful. The last thing I saw as we headed to the car was a sign saying:
"Thank you for respecting the sacred ground and remaining on the trail."
Well, I guess if anything, I gave the sacred ground some kick ass fertilizer.
The ride back to our campsite was awful. I had no extra clothes in our van, so I sat in the back seat by myself on some beach towels. My dad drove with the windows open, but it didn't help the smell much. It was like driving home in a port-a-potty.
Afterward, I never told anyone about what had happened. Leave it to shots of vodka at a frat party years later to open me up. I'm pretty sure I told about 19 people that night. And now I've told you. JSo remember if you ever go to Devil's Tower to bring an extra pair of shorts.
Just in case.