Can We Share a Port-o-Potty?


I’ve been known to ruin New Years Eve for my best friend.  Two years in a row I completely trainwrecked his night as a matter of fact.  One year I was so drunk he had to drag me from the party and through the streets of Philadelphia to our hotel room.  As people passed us on the streets I wished herpes on them as I mumbled other derogatory phrases.

He carried me to our hotel room, put me in bed and went back to the party.  When the rest of my friends returned to the hotel later that night the stench emanating from the room hit them like a truck.  I had thrown up all over the ground and inside of one of my friends brand new pair of shoes.  The picture he posted of his shoes on Myspace became something of legend among my friends.  I wish I still had it.

The room was ruined.  No one could bear the stench.  Except for the guy who’s shoes I threw up in, he braved the night in the disgusting room.  Luckily for the rest of us, one of my friends was sober and drove us home.

The next morning I woke up on my friend’s floor.  I was miserably hung over and smelled terrible.  I wasn’t sure what the smell was until I went to the bathroom.  I had shit myself.  Not a lot, but more than a shart.

But that’s not the night I want to discuss.  That was a drop in the bucket compared to the previous year.  This also took place in Philadelphia.  A group of us went to a to bar with an all-you-can-drink special.  Needless to say I got horrendously drunk and made poor choices.

The bar had port-o-potty’s set up outside for men.  All of the bathrooms inside were only available for women that night.  The overflow of women waiting for a bathroom spilled outside to the port-o-potty’s.

Towards the end of the night I was in line waiting to take a piss.  A rather plump girl was ahead of me.  We made small talk for a couple of minutes.  When it was her turn to enter the port-o-potty she turned and kissed me.  We stepped into the port-o-potty, I bent her over, pulled up her dress and took her from behind.   she placed her hands on the dirty toilet seat to brace herself.  I quickly felt remorse for what I was doing, so I pulled out and walked away.  She never said a word to me about leaving, at least that I remember.

My best friend happened to be in Philly that night with his stripper fiance (She was possibly the worst human being I have ever met).  I talked him into picking me up from the bar I was at and taking me to an after hours spot.  I don’t remember what I am about to tell you.  It’s based solely off of the account of what my best friend, who was sober at the time, told me.

Apparently I called him 10 times over a 20 minute span.  Each time I called my actions were progressively worse.  I called to tell him I was arguing with someone.  Two minutes later I told him I punched the guy I was arguing with and he really needed to hurry up.  He was losing his mind stuck in traffic trying to reach me before I got myself in trouble.

When he arrived I jumped in his SUV and we headed to the next bar.  His fiance fed me shots.  He warned her not to encourage me, but she thought it was amusing.  I continued on my path of drunken destruction, headbutting a guy at the bar for no apparent reason and offended several people.

I told his fiance where I was staying when we first got to the bar.  By the time we left she forgot the address and I could no longer speak.  My best friend had no choice but to take me back to his fiance’s condo in Jersey.

Crossing the bridge into Jersey I was drooling all over the front seat of his SUV.  I waved my hand in a circle, which I felt was the international sign for “I’m going to throw up.”  As he let me out on the side of the road to throw up, I stumbled and fell into the middle Route 42 (Which is a major highway in Jersey).  He picked me up off the road and carried me back into his SUV.

The next morning I woke up to him vacuuming around me.  He looked very upset.  He had set a trash can next to me in case I needed to throw up.  Instead I threw up everywhere but the trash can.  He was vacuuming my puke off of the floor, the couch and two pillows.  He didn’t get laid that night and his fiance wouldn’t speak to him.

He and I didn’t spend a whole lot of time together over the next two years while he was still with his fiance.  She hated me and started to poison our relationship.  My actions could have had something to do with poisoning our friendship as well.  He was always with her, which meant I wasn’t welcome.  I can’t say I blame him. I was out of hand and a happy wife equals a happy life.

He’s still my best friend to this day.  I haven’t created a disaster for him on New Years since those two occasions.  Other occasions, yes, but not on New Years Eve.

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