When I went to Vegas a few weeks ago there really was only one story that came out of it all that no one can top. It isn’t because I am some crazy party animal that somehow got access to some Hollywood party and mixed and mingled with the elite, that shit doesn’t actually happen, but it truly is because the strangest most fantastically out of the ordinary events seem to only happen to me.
It’s true. Ask anyone. I hear “ONLY Carmen!” at least twice a day. Seriously. I wish I were joking.
So on our first night, the unavoidable happened: I made an ass out of myself. And quite literally actually, now that I’ve mention it so eloquently with “ass”. Ass is quite the perfectly appropriate word.
You see, I am not only an embarrassment-waiting-to-happen on a good day, but I also have an unusually small bladder. And apparently when you are in Vegas walking about 87 miles every day, having a small bladder isn’t very convenient, especially when you are also drinking alcohol. Alcohol = even smaller bladder.
On our way back to our hotel at some disgusting time of the early morning, I quickly realized that I was not going to make it back with a full bladder. It just wasn’t going to happen. And at the particular moment that I realized this, there were absolutely ZERO places for me to go. Weird.
About 10 ft up there was a long line of magazine stands with about a foot of space behind them before a wooden fence blocked off the construction of the hotel behind it. And by magazine stand I mean porn advertisements. With no lights and no people within clear view, I felt this was the perfect place to relieve my bladder.
Guess what? It wasn’t.
Mid stream I was scared PEE-LESS by a man covered in blankets sitting up as I PEED ON HIS FEET.
Yes, this poor homeless man, who in no way was going to be able to do laundry and clean MY PEE off of his blankets and perhaps even his socks (I ran so fast I wasn’t able to assess the damage) was woken up by a drunk idiot peeing on him.
I am ashamed.
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