Chronicles of Rae

Now, I’ve had quite a few ridiculous stories in my 29 years of life, because ya know what? Go big or go home. Plus my motto is “no shame.” As long as you say that, you’re in the clear.

One beautifully cold, frigid day I got coeherced into going on a trip to my most hated state ever. New York City. During Christmas. In order to properly keep my sanity, I had my handy dandy bottle of Moscato poured entirely into a large can of Monster. Yes, you can fit the whole bottle into that bad boy, and it has a cap. Which means you can walk around anywhere you please, happily tipsy as a clam, and nobody will know the wiser. You’re welcome. Anyways, it was towards the end of our shenanigans, and I had to pee for the hundredth time that day due to my bladder morphing into the size of an acorn. I’m on a maze of a subway train, drunk, aimlessly following my less navigationally challenged friends. Straight up dying. I couldn’t wait, time had slowed down to the speed of a tortoise. I decided to risk my actual life. I told one of my friends to hold up his jacket while I snuck in between the carts so I could squat. Side note: I am a seriously excellent squatter, I’ve taken many an outdoors excursion to relieve my bladder, bushes and trees are my intimate bathroom friends. And I won’t lie, I’ve definitely done the other one too cause when you gotta go, you gotta go. Does a bear shit in the woods? Right. I told my buddy to hold up his jacket so I could pee in peace with death staring from below me on the rickety ass moving subway, I needed all my focus for this endeavor. I get in position, and I am straight up filled with fear. It’s loud. Things are moving. It’s like the polar opposite of a relaxing environment. I could no longer pee. My stupid friend didn’t even give me the courtesy of patience because when you’re standing in that kind of uncomfortable environment, you need a couple minutes to zen yourself into pee mode. He keeps pulling the jacket down to see if I’m done, and I’m like bro, how am I supposed to be done in the 10 seconds of allotted time you gave me? Honestly. So now I’m flashing my whole lotus flower to my friends, some of which I literally just met that day. So I turned around to see if that would give me some privacy, and lo and behold, an Asian family is staring at me with a lovely mix of blatant horror and disapproval written all over their faces. A little girl is with them who didn’t even look like she was 7 years old. Wonderful. My pink clam was shown off to my friends, and my cheeks, gifted with all the brilliance of a full moon in a clear, night sky was blasted to an innocent child. There was not a flying chance in hell I was going to pee, so I basically risked my life for nothing. I go back inside my cart, spirit dampened momentarily by my epic fail. I still really had to pee though, so I start doing the yellow rain dance in the cart. Dying. I refused to pee my pants. We finally make it to Grand Central Station. I’m ecstatic. I sprint to the restroom. There is a line of legit 20 women out the door. I almost cried at this point. I just felt like God was not on my side today. I simply do not understand why women take so long to use the damn bathroom, I truly don’t get it. My spirit came back to life, and I look over to the men’s room. No line whatsoever. Now, one of my friends that was with me is a transgender right? So I get to thinking. I convinced myself in rapid sequence that we live in an era of freedom, and if I want to use the men’s bathroom, it’s totally acceptable because everything is acceptable, and I am the definition of free. I am a bird. I will fly unrestrained anywhere the wind blows me, and the wind was blowing me to the men’s bathroom where release and ecstasy awaited. It took roughly 6.9 seconds to gain courage and Hail Mary it in. Now, keep in mind, I look absolutely nothing like a man. Like at all. I suppose I thought my little biscuits might help me because I was most certainly not blessed in the chest area. I run inside and I freeze. Once again, complete fear turns my blood cold. There are a solid 10 men standing inside, a mix of bewilderment and stunned disbelief written on their faces. I did not take into account urinals where guys are like out in the open, flaccid meat in hand, doing the thing I was desperately trying to do myself. I could tell they didn’t have any compassion or empathy for my plight. I got yelled at, and I wish I could tell you that I raised my chin and gave the man the finger. But alas, the coward in me rose her dejected little head, and I ran out. Like a kicked dog, tail between her legs, out I went. I still had to pee, I’m contemplating going down into the depths of subway hell to use a wall and just do the deed. Ah, how the mighty have fallen. But my spirit flared back to life when I caught sight of a restaurant, and off I went again. At this point, I’m sweating. I believe little drops of dehydrated urine had begun to leak out at this point. Not pleasant. Especially cause I was wearing yoga pants. We get to the restaurant and the man, with absolute professionalism, very little compassion to the plight of the girl who is legit bent in half in front of him (asshole), stated that the bathroom may only be used by customers. My friend said she’d buy a drink so I could use the restroom, and my soul, filled with so much drunken gratitude, blasted love at her as I ran. And finally. After going through Dante’s fuckin’ Inferno, I was able to empty my bladder. I peed for what felt like a year.

How I Gained My Spot In Hell

The Toothbrush Incident

My second story is much shorter. It’s also much worse. Honestly, the fact that I’m even willing to admit that I did this should show just how desperate I am to win this. I don’t have the excuse of saying I was drunk. Which is unfortunate because at least when you’re drunk, you get a little leeway for most seemingly inexcusable behavior. I’m going to word this as appropriately as possible. So, first let me just state here that I really am not a huge fan of masturbation. That changed a wee bit over the last year or so now after I was introduced to this monster of a vibrator from Adam and Eve. It’s like a massager thing with 8 functions that all provide a supremely blissful experience that no man could ever compete with. Now keep in mind, I have no problems with men, I’m just simply stating facts here. Now, this little flower power weapon became my best friend for quite a bit of time you know? We had a lot of good times together, it was my most prized possession. Tragic story, I ended up breaking my electronic boy toy unfortunately some time ago. I’m assuming from over use. Truly a shame and I’ve actually considered hosting a funeral, that’s how dear it was to me. I didn’t get around to replacing it, and I was in a bit of a rut with real men at the time. So, it had been a good two months of not having a single rainbow explosion from down under. That’s a long time for me you know? My body was beginning to get all mad at me at this point. Now, I’m in the shower, and I’m just like starting to feel the rev of the ole engine get to purring. I’m looking at the shower head, and my minds like, well this may not have 8 functions like my ex boy toy, but it’s got a few we could play around with here to try and please the old girl. Now, I’m trying all kiiinds of things here to turn my body into a rocket launched into outer space, and nothing is working. It’s like having wine after whiskey going from the 8 hit wonder of the world to a measly shower head. Unfortunately, I got myself worked up enough that I’m dying at this point. I basically blue ballsed myself. It actually hurt, and you know how pain clouds the mind right? Well. My eyes set sight on a toothbrush. An electric toothbrush. That belonged to my father. Obviously, the words “no shame” floated through my head, and that’s all that was needed. I ran out of the shower, grabbed the toothbrush, and in less than 15 seconds, I was presented with a kaleidoscope of the most beautiful colors from a different dimension of pure pleasure. I’m now a soaked rat of a noodle sitting on the bathroom floor in the shower, and the seriousness of what I just did settled in. I was horrified. Immediate regret. I’m like, “Girl. What in the flying fuck is wrong with you?” I began a conversation with myself at this point, the Angel on my shoulder is like, “Woosahhh. It happened in a clean environment. You kept it on the outside. He never has to know. Everything is fine. Nobody died.” Then I got the devil on the other shoulder, and she’s like, “YOOOOO, you done did it this time, bitch! Get ready to take your place in the court of fucking Hades, you just bought yourself a first class ticket to the deep, dark fiery depths of hell. Slutttttttt.” So, yeah, I’m not super proud of that one, but I’m just like desperate times call for desperate measures you know?