(Note: This post has no pictures because Facebook didn't exist when I was in college (yes, I'm that old), and the pictures would be too incriminating anyway.)
Diclaimer/Warning/"Listen up, this will only take a second:" This story is kind of gross (um, hello? I wrote it.), gives way too much information, and takes place in my
So one night whilst I was in college living it up, my friend Michelle asked me to come to her apartment and hang out. (Names have been changed because I recently found out that apparently people don't like you broadcasting their sh*t all over the internet. Whatev. I'll call you Michelle, or Sarah, or MaryLouBolognacorn. It's MY blog.) Now, when this friend asked me to come hang out at her apartment, I pretty much knew immediately what that meant. That we'd be drinking heavily. But I was game.
I walked over to Michelle's apartment--because even though my college was straight in the ghetto and it was winter and freezing and I was wearing a see-through sleeveless tank top and black dress pants (why do I remember that??), I still walked my ass everywhere like I owned the town--around 8pm and had my party pants on. Much of the next few hours at Michelle's is a blur. I remember being shown around her apartment, laughing, giggling, being silly girls, maybe trying on cute clothes, hell I don't know. I know one thing's for sure. We. Were. Drinking. Lots. I do know that, before we left her place, we noted that we had consumed a 12 pack of Miller Lite (I didn't even drink beer back then), a pint of Jack Daniel's (I did drink whisky, I no longer do), and most of a two gallon jug of wine. Keep in mind that I was the very young age of
Most colleges have fraternity houses, but because we were a small school, we had fraternity hallways. Each fraternity lived in one designated hallway and threw huge parties in that hallway every weekend. Michelle and I were both big fans of hanging out with the Pikes, so we went on up to the Pike hall. I remember getting up there and thinking that maybe I was a little too drunky and should take a seat...right next to the hooch cooler. About that time, I realized I hadn't eaten in a while, but luckily there was some delicious-looking fruit floating in that cooler, so I ate every last bit of it. At least I was being healthy, right? I also distinctly remember a guy friend of mine coming into the room where I had set up camp and warning me against eating any more of that fruit. He was being super stingy with his fruit, I thought, and just for that, I'll eat it alllllll!
About twenty minutes later, I discovered that I was much too drunky to be anywhere but home in my own bed. (Call me what you will, at least I know when it's time to call it a night.) So I made my solo venture back across campus to my very own dorm room. Upon entering my dorm room, I realized that lo and behold, I was gonna spew. So I promptly headed to the bathroom down the hall. Now, let me tell you a little known (wait, a lot of people know this about me) fact about Casi. Every single time I throw up--sick, drunk, crying, it doesn't matter--I pee my pants. Every time. So, naturally, as I stood in the bathroom puking my brains (and coincidentally a hell of a lot of fruit) up, I was simultaneously peeing my pants.
So, I finish up and head back to my dorm room. I get in there and peel off my pee-pee pants only to realize, holy moly, I'm gonna ralph again. I scan the room for anything that I can puke into. My trashcan is full to the brim (of trash, not puke), my roommate's trash can doesn't have a bag in it (I have standards, people), and there was little else that offered itself up as a puke receptacle. EXCEPT--a huge 32 ounce cup sitting on my roommate's desk. Quickly, I grab the cup and get down to business.
At that very moment, the girl from next door (a goodie-goodie from Michigan who--when asked--would show you where she was from on her hand, ugh), opened my dorm room door to "see if you are okay." There I stood, in a tank top, inappropriately skimpy undies (c'mon, it was 2003, judgy wudgy), puking into a 32 ounce paper cup and pissing all down my legs. Mid-vomit, I turned and mustered, "GET OUT," and went right back to my puking.
When I finally felt better, I cleaned myself up, got rid of my mess, put on my pj's, and settled into bed. As my good sense started to come back to me, I began to tell myself that no one should ever know about what just happened and that I would not--under any circumstances--tell my friends what I'd done. Right at that moment, into my dorm room bursts my roommate and two friends, Julie, Mary Jo, and EWells (this isn't incriminating, so those are absolutely their real names). Because it was winter and she wasn't an idiot, Julie had a long scarf wrapped around her and was covering everything but her eyes with the end of it making her look very, very much...like a ninja. And the minute they walked in, with everything I had, I screamed, "GUYS! I PEED MY PANTS. TWO TIMES, NINJA!!!!"
It was one of the most monumentally hilarious moments of my life.
From then on, I was referred to by my friends as Two Times Ninja and later on as TTN. My senior year of college, I was not affiliated with my sorority, because I was Panhellenic Recruitment Chair (for those of you who have no idea what that means, it basically means that for the first several months of school, I couldn't talk to my friends. And all the new girls in the sorority had no idea who I was). So, one night, after I affiliated again, I was up on the Pike Hall