**Editors' Note: This anonymous guest post is actually a response to last week's Inadvertent Golden Shower. Ahh good times...**
As someone who drunkenly pissed on a cute guy a few months ago, I'm uniquely qualified to answer the question "Pissed On But Not Pissed Off" posed in Inadvertent Golden Shower. Before I do, here's what happened:
I was visiting an old friend from childhood whom I'd always found both attractive and fun to hang out with. We had hooked up once long ago and while that is a doozey of a story, it's not for this post. Only reason it's worth noting is that on this particular visit there was an undercurrent of hookup potential, albeit a small current.
I arrive shortly before noon and am promptly offered a drink. This is vacation after all so drinking before noon? Yes please.
This continues all day from my various perches on his roof watching the San Francisco bay to the bar where my sister and I shot pool during lunch back to his house for dinner and beers back to another bar to meet my sister and family friends for more drinks (including some now legal, French absinthe) back to his neighborhood to close down the local watering hole.
I was flexing my drinking prowess for sure, all in the hopes of impressing said old friend. How many drinks did I have you wonder? By my estimates about 14 or 15 over a 14 hour period. It wasn't technically binge drinking, which is defined as more than one drink per hour for more than 5 hours (or something lame), but I might agree that I'd had had enough at around 6 pm. It was the cigarette that put me over the edge. I don't remember anything after sitting on his front porch smoking except that the world was unpleasantly spinning and I needed to crash.
Next thing I remember is waking up soaking wet. In his bed. Next to him.
Mortifying does not begin to describe that feeling.
He handled it well. Made many, many thinly veiled jokes about it all the next morning. When I asked how to get back to the apartment where I was staying, his response: "Well, first you start by walking down the hall and passing the bathroom on your left. Note that it works and feel free to use it."
I appreciated his farewell the most: "Stay gangster" he yelled as I biked away into the SF traffic.
Stay gangster indeed.
So POBNPO the best way you can handle her is to make a few, well-placed jokes that only you two will understand and then NEVER TALK ABOUT IT AGAIN.
Trust me. I know.
As someone who drunkenly pissed on a cute guy a few months ago, I'm uniquely qualified to answer the question "Pissed On But Not Pissed Off" posed in Inadvertent Golden Shower. Before I do, here's what happened:
I was visiting an old friend from childhood whom I'd always found both attractive and fun to hang out with. We had hooked up once long ago and while that is a doozey of a story, it's not for this post. Only reason it's worth noting is that on this particular visit there was an undercurrent of hookup potential, albeit a small current.
I arrive shortly before noon and am promptly offered a drink. This is vacation after all so drinking before noon? Yes please.
This continues all day from my various perches on his roof watching the San Francisco bay to the bar where my sister and I shot pool during lunch back to his house for dinner and beers back to another bar to meet my sister and family friends for more drinks (including some now legal, French absinthe) back to his neighborhood to close down the local watering hole.
I was flexing my drinking prowess for sure, all in the hopes of impressing said old friend. How many drinks did I have you wonder? By my estimates about 14 or 15 over a 14 hour period. It wasn't technically binge drinking, which is defined as more than one drink per hour for more than 5 hours (or something lame), but I might agree that I'd had had enough at around 6 pm. It was the cigarette that put me over the edge. I don't remember anything after sitting on his front porch smoking except that the world was unpleasantly spinning and I needed to crash.
Next thing I remember is waking up soaking wet. In his bed. Next to him.
Mortifying does not begin to describe that feeling.
He handled it well. Made many, many thinly veiled jokes about it all the next morning. When I asked how to get back to the apartment where I was staying, his response: "Well, first you start by walking down the hall and passing the bathroom on your left. Note that it works and feel free to use it."
I appreciated his farewell the most: "Stay gangster" he yelled as I biked away into the SF traffic.
Stay gangster indeed.
So POBNPO the best way you can handle her is to make a few, well-placed jokes that only you two will understand and then NEVER TALK ABOUT IT AGAIN.
Trust me. I know.
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