Um, no…no, that's not urine. I swear.

Disclaimer:  This entry contains mature (translated: slutty) subject matter.  Mom(s) and Mocha should consider not reading.

I've had many rough Sundays over the years.  You know the kind I'm talking about; we've all had them.  One minute it's a slow Saturday night, you're going out to grab "a" drink with friends, the next it's Sunday afternoon and you're taking a two mile walk of shame home in a dress that's been dampened by someone else's urine.  

College friends take pause* - SOMEONE ELSE'S URINE.  That's right.  

We couldn't decide whether or not to go out, so we began that obnoxious girl "to go out or not" debate.

JBird: So what are you thinking, should we go out?

Friend: I dunno I mean I guess I could…do you wanna go out?

JBird: I dunno I mean I guess…I'm sort of indifferent…where would you want to go?

Friend: I dunno, I could go either way.  I don't know where I feel like going…

JBird: Me either…

Friend: I dunno, I could go either way.  I don't know where I feel like going…

JBird: Me either…

Random boy in room: Please stop.  Let's just go out for a drink or two.  No big deal.

(JBird and Friend and random boy leave to go out for "a drink or two")

No big deal.  Just a drink.  Last time I said that was senior year of college and I ended up waking up in an EconoLodge in Greenville, SC with one shoe on, the other having apparently been lost at Platinum Plus (just google it).  Maybe I'll tell that story another time.  Anyways, the events that occurred between this decision and 5AM are a bit fuzzy to me.  I know they involved the VIP section at the Hotel Sax bar, Snoop Dog, a basement piano bar, a loaner tweed jacket, and somewhere between 3 and 27 bourbon and diets.  At some point I was introduced to Peeter.  The combination of my sassy attitude, southern roots and slightly pretentious remarks made me the holy grail of women to young Peeter.  He was enamored; at least that's how I remember it.  "I've been searching this city for years for a girl like you, and here you are", he continued, "I'm done".  At the time it didn't occur to me but in hindsight, Peeter was fucked up.  Drunk as a skunk on Christmas.  Schmammered. Sweet sassy mollassy drunk.  And so was I.

I have a great relationship with my dad, but I'm still a sucker for a guy who pays me a lot of attention and tells me how pretty I am.  I remember noticing our friends had left us at the bar and then I remember looking up from an intense make out session as we were being encouraged to leave the bar.  We then wandered the streets looking for an open bar at 4:30 AM and after failing in this mission decided to make out behind a hotel laundry service container being loaded by Mexican workers.  I then pretended to look around for a cab to take me home.  He then tried to talk me out of going home.  I pretended to resist the idea of going home with him.  Then finally agreed, sealed the deal by saying, "okay, but just know that we are not hooking up.  I'm not that kind of girl".  Clearly the girl who has her legs wrapped around a guy she's known for 5 hours, making out on a street corner at 4:30 AM is not that kind of girl.  Okay.  Keep telling yourself that, drunk sluttly version of JBird.  He assures me that he just wants to "talk" and "watch the sun come up together".  Awww, gayest words I've ever heard. Cab.

We get back to his place.  He pours himself a glass of red and, based on my having a vagina, pours me a glass of white.  On our way out to the balcony I become distracted by the lovely view of Lake Michigan and stumble over something on the floor.  I look down and notice I have tripped on a human body.  "That's my roommate, Bob" Peeter explains.  Bob is fully clothed, and shoed, dead to the world.  To be sure he's not actually dead, I start poking him with a golf club.  He was a live.  Good.  We watch the sun come up.  Trying to be sexy and sit on his lap, I knock over both wine glasses and maybe hit him in the face.  We then take out traveling make out session to the bedroom.  This is where things got interesting.  

Laying on the bed, me on bottom, good ole fashioned, fully clothed, dry humping (since I'm a classy lady and all).  And then I feel it.  No, not that.  It was a a moist sensation, almost like my back was sweating but it wasn't.  Because of past experience, I immediately know.  The damp feeling is mattress urine.  Someone wet the bed the night prior, didn't air out the mattress sufficiently, and recovered it, thinking the problem was gone.  Amateur.  I jump from the bed and calmly ask the gentleman why he has allowed me to lay on a urine soaked mattress.  He fakes a confused look and rambles on about maybe leaving a wet towel on the bed.  Really?  Yea that could be true.  Perhaps he peed all over a towel then placed it under the top sheet before going out that night.  Great.  He then sits down and explains that a friend stayed over the night before and she was very drunk and pissed the bed.  He is so disgusted and sorry.  He thought it was dry.  Well, apparently Sweedish sleep systems need more than 24 hours to dry doucheface.  Glad you spent 3 grand on a mattress now, aren't you.

Let's take a minute and think about this situation.  Girl just laid in pee bed - how can you explain?

1. "I pissed the bed last night, thought it was dry, sorry"  Gross, sick, nasty but okay fucktard (sweatertard).
2. "A chick pissed my bed last night.  She's just a friend"  Sick, gross, and maybe you're a man whore.  But do I care?  Am I jealous about piss bed having taken home another girl before he knew me.  I'm a crazy person, so yea, kind of.
3. "I was taking care of my friends dog and he peed my bed."  I tried that line in high school when I had a party and my boyfriend pissed my parent's bed.  Only it was our cat and the lie worked.  Bye bye Buddy the cat.
4. "I spilled a glass of water"  Classic.  Any dude who wets the bed and convinces a girl of this should marry her immediately.  

Moving on to the scariest part of this story, after laying in the pee bed I still ended up staying over.  I slept there (not in pee bed) until waking up at 2:00 PM Sunday afternoon.  I put my damp pee dress back on, said a quick goodbye, and walked out.  I live about 2 miles from this guy but wasn't about to walk.  I look in my purse before getting a cab to make sure I have money and find none.  I also find no credit cards.  A purse full of bar receipts, a drivers license, gum, lip gloss, and a dead cell phone.  Saddest thing ever.  So I walk.  Two miles.  Curled hair the night before, next day, pee bed head and all.  Nick Nolte mug shot looked like a model compared to me.  Homeless beggars turned away from me in horror as I passed on the street.  Church goers silently judged.  Made me feel young again.  After getting back into my apartment and showering the sins of off my body I searched my purse again.  Sometimes when I'm drunk I hide my credit cards from the drunk slutty version of me.  On this particular night I shoved them into a pack of Orbit gum.  Nice.

All in all, I can forgive the pee, but I'm not sure I can accept that he owns two books authored by Ann Coulter and Gucci sunglasses.  That's what really sticks out in my mind. We shall see.  He might be my soul mate…

*A college tendency to binge drink led to what could be considered a moderate bladder control problem, so an encounter that ends in me being soaked in someone else's pee is new.