urine trouble

Urine.

It happens.

Sometimes, on your bedroom floor. Sometimes, in the bed. Sometimes, on a car. Sometimes, on someone else's stomach. Whenever urine happens outside of the toilet, well, urine trouble.

• I watched my little brother speed down a very steep driveway in his peddle-go-cart. As the peddles spun out of control and he lifted his feet to avoid being entangled in the spinning mess, I decided it would be funny to yell "CAR!" just as he approached the road. Once I yelled it, I saw him panic, jerking the go cart left to right trying to avoid the non-existent car. Of course, the go-cart couldn't handle the jerkin' and the full speed, so it flipped out, sending him into a ditch. Now, here's where you'd think I'd say "and he pissed his pants, he was so scared." No, no. I was the one pissing my pants in some stranger's steep-ass driveway. Laughing...so hard at the panic I had induced on the poor kid.
• The time when I thought in order to achieve/maintain popularity in high school. I volunteered to throw a birthday party for one of my friends and 20 of the most obnoxious girls in our school. After the girls, who were obviously new to inebriation, chanted anti-Jesus, anti-freshman girl, anti-whatever slurs on top of my father's car in the garage (no joke), 2 of them pissed the bed in my house, which I so kindly provided for them. Not just one bed, but two. Two girls. Pissed two beds. And one girl threw up on an ottoman.
  
• Then, there was the time that my good friend, in confidence (oops), told me about the time that she peed on her girlfriend's stomach. Listen, I have nothing against golden showers. I would never take one, or give one, but I would never want someone judging my sexual preferences. But these girls literally thought it was hot to piss on each other. Soon, I found out that it is apparently somewhat sexually pleasing for a girl to hold her pee through a series of informal interviews (see also: me asking random girls if it feels good sexually to hold their pee). It made more sense. Not enough sense to understand why peeing on someone else's stomach increases that pleasure.
• Oh, yeah, that time when I was in high school on spring break with some friends in Myrtle Beach, the armpit of...well, everything. I decided that pissing on a car 10 feet from my hotel room (which held a functioning bathroom) was a good idea. I was also intoxicated, so anything was a good idea. Until a cop on a bike rode up in front of me to ask "what the hell are you doing?" You know, I make it a point not to answer rhetorical questions, since...obviously, I'm not supposed to. So I just stared at him and handed him my identification. Unfortunately, my identification was not the identification I had intended. No, no, rather, it was the Buffy the Vampire Slayer License to Slay identification that my friend had so graciously stolen for me earlier that day. "What the hell is this?" the bike cop asked, before I realized that it was my Slayer license. I gave him my real license, received a $182 ticket (FOR PEEING!?!??!!) and left South Carolina. I never paid the fee, and lived life in fear that I was a fugitive in South Carolina for pissing on a car one time. Later, when I applied for my passport, I realized they must have forgotten about me, because fugitives can't receive passports.
• Or, like the time when one of my beautiful friends was so fucked up on alcohol and Xanax on New Year's Eve that she peed on my couch. And then, the next morning, wrote "sorry I went potty on your couch" on our dry-erase board. Needless to say, we left that message on the board for months. The urine on the couch, on the other hand, was removed immediately.
• OR! That time when I did the exact same thing, without realizing it. The only time I pissed the bed (while drunk and over the age of 10) was in Boone, visiting my friend Ashley. Apparently, months after I had visited, they were cleaning and discovered a urine stain on their couch. I woke up the morning of the alleged couch-pissing dry as the desert, maybe a little sweaty, but dry. As any rational human being would, I assumed I had not pissed the bed and left in good conscience until two months later when Ashley called to inform me that I had, in fact, pissed the bed. Er, couch.
• Or that time in the movie theater. Yeah. The movie theater. After drinking substantial amounts of cheap wine before and during the movie...my lovely and classy roommate decided that, rather than going to the actual toilet, she would create her own toilet in front of the screen. During Revolutionary Road. So, (spoiler alert) while Kate Winslet is pissing out an aborted fetus, my drunk roommate is pissing out urine. "I didn't want to miss anythin," she just said, as I read her my draft. "And...it was way before that part of the movie."
• And then, of course, the most recent urine encounter and the reason for this blog entry. I decided it was time for me to get laid, so I went out on a mission to get laid. Cut to the chase: I didn't get laid. I've been without a boyfriend for a while, so I wanted to hook up. I learned very quickly that searching for hook ups in a bar full of drunk ass motherfuckers is not the best way of going about it. Because, hypothetically, one of those drunk ass motherfuckers might come to your house, teasingly make out with you before standing up, walking to the corner of your room, and begin pissing. On. Your. Fucking. Floor. He seriously peed on my floor. Not even 3 feet away from the bathroom (which is attached to my bedroom). So, as he begins pissing, I begin to realize what the hell he's doing and rush to stop him, but it's too late. Piss is already on the floor, in addition to my Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 6 DVD and my favorite pair of H&M jeans. Beyond the feelings of shock, betrayal, and utter disgust - how the fuck could you piss on Buffy?! Or H&M, for that matter?! Apparently you have to be "really drunk." I've been "really drunk" before and never pissed on someone's floor. Myself? Well, that's a different story. But never on someone else's floor. I didn't get laid that night. And I'm not sure if I ever want to get laid again, if that's what I'm going to have to deal with.

So, there you have it. Those are my experiences with urine. I hope my stories didn't piss you off, and I hope you learned from them. There is a time and place for pissing. My bedroom floor is not one of them. A neighbor's steep driveway at the expense of your brother, well - that's up for debate.