Colon Blow For a New Low
Sunday, February 2nd, 2003So, you’re sitting there having a nice dinner with your friend, and a large group of ladies sits down at a table next to you. Within 25 seconds, they get up and move. No biggie. Then another large group walks in and sits down in their place. The two of you are looking at each other like “Jackpot! How cool is this?” until they get up and move. A normal guy would be paranoid, but not us…until the third group did the same thing.
That’s when my friend deadpans, “I guess they don’t want to see the gay guys kiss.” Damn him.
…My Pants
The meal was pretty good, although we failed to get one of the pretty waitresses, getting the only waiter in the joint. Everything was moving fine until 10 minutes after the meal. That’s when my stomach started churning and cramps set in. I was sitting there thinking, “Ok. Act cool. Maybe it’s just gas. A few minutes and you’re out of here, and you can lock the windows, pollute the vehicle, and make your friend cry.” That’s what being a guy is like: destroying each others nostrils and laughing.
Then, I started to sweat. I don’t mean worry, I mean sweat: droplets on the forehead, clammy hands, the whole nine yards. My stomach began initiating a gurgling dialogue:
“Stomach to Brain. Stomach to Brain. Come in, Brain. We seem to be in a seated position. Permission to evacuate. Over.”
“Negatory, stomach. Repeat: Negatory. Visual confirmation of porcelain unconfirmed. Begin immediate clenching procedure. Over.”
With me still sweating, and my friend blissfully ignorant of my current digestive situation, we left. My friend is up at 5 every morning, so he goes to bed at around 9 PM. It was 9:15, and he was about ready to be dropped off. Right before I got to his street, another friend called on the cell, and we decided to go pick him up and go out for a bit. I wasn’t sure if it was a great idea, but I figured that this all might go away if given a little time. Two words:
Wishful thinking.
Ever been in that situation where your stomach is so bad that if you even attempt a test fart, there is a great possibility that you might actually shit yourself? This was one of those magical times. I was afraid: very afraid. So, we pulled up to my old apartment to pick up the second friend, who I really haven’t seen in over a month. I walked in, said, “Hey, man. Great to see you. Use your bathroom? Great.” I don’t think I actually waited for a response before bombing down the hall and slamming the door, leaving my two friends standing dumbfounded at the other end of the apartment.
“Visual confirmation, stomach. Visual confirmation. You are clear to engage.”
I have never, without being horribly ill, become dehydrated so fast. And the noise. Jesus. My two friends were laughing like idiots from the other side of the apartment, and trying to engage me in a dialog as to the root cause of my issue. “Well, what did you eat today?” said one.
“Or last night?” said the other.
“What are you two…Jesus…doctors or something? Aw Christ…Chinese food, I think.”
“Chinese food? Two days ago? Well, that’s your problem. He had Chinese, dude. It can’t be the chicken from dinner.”
“Yea, it’s too fast. He should be puking if it was bad chicken tonight.”
“Seriously though, are you ok? Do you need a Midol for your cramps?” [laughter]
“Holy shit. Listen to that.” [laughter]
After a brief recover period of a less than sensible amount of time, we all went out. Now, this is the type of situation that would only happen with men, and only with old friends without completely destroying a relationship. With a date, it would be the absolute first and last (if it’s not, it should be…), but with old friends it becomes one of those, “Remember that time you nearly shit yourself? God that was funny. Oh, you didn’t hear that story? Well, a few weeks ago, me and Jon went to dinner at XO, and…”
I can’t believe that I just told that story. This blog thing is really falling to an all time low.