That’s what I call it sometimes: nudie-fruits. I don’t even know where I got that shit, frankly. I am constantly making up nonsense. Anyway, I’m in a totally grouchy, world-hating mood at the moment, but I didn’t want to skip posting until I’m in a better mood because it might last a bit. (May or may not have to do with the words I need to have with my therapist about how this whole “being more social” bullshit is kind of biting my ass right now, and not really encouraging me to, you know, be more social. GRRR.) So, editing pictures later, stories about embarrassing/funny nudity for now.

I played strip poker once, with Greg, Greg’s roommate, my best friend at the time, and another lady. Nothing really funny to it, except that I was totally sober and kind of squeamish about people seeing my body, so I have no idea why I was doing it in the first place. But Greg’s roommate ended up wearing a sock on his johnson, and that was a pretty funny sight, so I’m glad I didn’t miss it.

A couple years later, before Greg and I lived together, I go to a party at his house. For some reason – and I don’t remember whose idea this was, but looking back on it, I feel kind of silly about it, but anyway – for some reason, we had decided to spend the evening pretending we didn’t know each other, and flirting like we’d just met. (I know, I think that falls under the categories of “roleplaying (not in the awesome way)” and “sickeningly cute.”) Anyway, what basically killed it was I went to the bathroom at one point – and one of Greg’s roommates walks in on me, mortifying enough. Then I hear him talking to Greg, and figure surely he would mention to Greg that the bathroom was occupied – and then Greg walked in on me, too! And for some reason, that silly premise made it a bajillion times more embarrassing.

Around that time, we went to the Cat’s Cradle for a show. Greg was playing with one of his bands, and while he was on the stage, I was hanging out with my friend, Autumn, and we were pretty far away from the mosh pit. I was wearing this fuzzy pink leopard-print top thing, it was somewhere between a tube top and a bustier? Anyway, this one douchebag squatter was slam dancing or some shit, and then comes flying past me and Autumn, and yanks my top down, totally on purpose. Autumn threw her drink at him, and I was with it enough to turn away from most of the crowd, but still stunned enough that it took me a while to yank my top back up. And in the meantime, three dudes that had been seated a little behind me and Autumn got a real good look at my boobs. I wanted to drop dead right there. Even better: I STILL see one of those dudes around town on a semi-regular basis. At least once a year. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember me (or if he does, he’s nicely pretending not to), but I still remember him, and every time I run into him, I start turning red and booking for the exit. Good times.

A couple years later, Greg and I are living together in a house on 15-501, that’s kind of out towards Chatham County, and situated a ways off the road. A lot of trees around, it felt pretty secluded and peaceful. We were so far from the road, and from any neighbors, and there were so many trees around, that I didn’t get around to putting up curtains. And the whole time we were there, they were working on 15-501 – I want to say they were widening it? Well, eventually you know they’re going to work on our part of the road, but I didn’t expect to be bothered by it since we were so far from the road, and our driveway was so long and steep. And this house had shitty insulation, and summertime was a real bitch. One morning, before work, I’m up and about, and feeding the cats, which requires me to spend quite a bit of time in the kitchen, particularly at the kitchen sink. I was only wearing underwear, and by that I mean literally just undies, no bra. So I’ve been at the kitchen sink (which had a window right behind it) for about fifteen minutes when I get a funny feeling, and look up towards the road. The entire fucking road crew is gathered at the top of our driveway (oh look, they’re working on our part now), enjoying the view. Oh, how I wanted to die. The worst part? Was that I had to go to work, and so had to get in the goddamn car and ride out past them all after that.

But my favorite “in flagrante delicto” story has got to be one that I heard it while I was a student at NCSSM from a security guard, who shall remain nameless in case he’s still working there. I really wish you could hear it from him, though, because he was a fantastic storyteller, and most of the hilarity was in his telling, which I’ll probably botch. But here goes. So, we had two curfews: one by which we had to be on our halls, and a later one by which we had to be in our rooms. After curfew, the security guards made rounds of the classrooms and grounds, and of course when you’ve got a group of teenagers living together, shit’s going to happen. So it was not infrequent for the security guards to come across kids making out, or trying to making out, or in various stages of getting it on, you know. The kids involved almost always knew when they were busted, and would flee immediately, because getting caught for that shit could get you kicked out (at least in theory). One night, this security guard is making rounds near the English department classrooms, and checks the door to the boiler room. When he opens it, there’s a couple laid out on the floor, and the guy is, as the security guard put it, “getting to laying pipe.” Well, when the security guard opened the door, the door hit one of the girl’s feet, but she couldn’t actually *see* the door because dude was on top of her. And I guess they must have been kissing or she would have said something? But anyway, she knows someone’s just opened the door, and is freaking out and squirming to get away, “but the guy must have thought he’d hit the sweet spot, and kept right on laying pipe!” So the security guard decided to give them a break, shut the door, and continue on his rounds. He wouldn’t have known who the girl was, except she brought him cookies the next day. (He didn’t tell me who it was, natch, although it would have been a couple that were students when I was. Oh well.)


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