So, last night I went to Subway, because I was too lazy to cook and I had two filled out Subway cards which meant I'd eat basically for free. I ordered a turkey footlong on parmesan/oregano bread, with lettuce, tomatoes, onions and green peppers. Just call me Jared, except I've never been overweight, and I'm not a dork (well, at least I don't think so).
I brought the sandwich home to ingest, and upon unwrapping the sub, I decided it needed some spicing up. So, I grabbed the hot sauce, consisting of basically pure pepper extract, that I bought in Indianapolis in the spring. This stuff is pretty much liquid flame. Use sparingly. I used it sparingly, but it still almost welded my teeth together. I love hot food.
It never occurred to me, even after seeing the hot sauce drip down my fingers, to vigorously wash my hands afterward.
So, I went to put my contacts in this morning. . .
The resulting pain was exquisite. It took me about three seconds to fully absorb the sizzling sensation overtaking my right optical orb. If I could have raked my eye from my head and placed it on the counter to cool off, I would have. Thankfully, I only polluted my right eye. My left eye escaped the trauma thanks to a hand washing that most ER doctors would consider overkill.
I yowled, and I howled, and I cussed, and I sweared. And then my nose started running uncontrollably (we're talking gobs upon gobs of nasal discharge). Then my eye started to swell and redden, and then I couldn't see due to a fountain of tears. I was honestly considering calling in sick, because there was no way I could drive with my compromised vision.
I sat on my bed for 10 minutes, waiting for the pain and suffering to subside. Finally, I was able to slink my way to the shower and eventually the eye watering subsided and I regained my vision, well, mostly.
I'm now sitting at work, with a slightly swollen, red eye. This shit is supposed to happen on Mondays, not Tuesdays.
Layne, over at Plain Layne (you know where the hell she is, and I can't hot link while blogging at work any more, so figure it out), related a tale of getting busted by her girlfriend while surfing for porn. It made me think back to. . .
First off, I should say that, for guys, surfing for porn is no big deal. In fact, it's largely believed by most men that the Internet was created for the sole purpose of looking at naked people and downloading clips of couples in full fornicating action. However, there's a big difference between looking at digital nudity and, um, taking matters into your own hands.
About four years ago, while living with my longtime roomie, Gozz, I was doing my duty as a good male Web surfer, toggling between news reports and nudity, when I felt a twitching down below.
With my door firmly closed, and Gozz watching a movie in his room, I thought it was safe for me to proceed with a personal coronation ceremony and "crown the king," so to speak.
Midway through the coronation, however, the phone rang. Gozz answered, and I listened intently, like a mouse aware of the presence of an owl nearby. He seemed to be talking to someone he knew, so I relaxed my vigilance and went back to crowning the king.
Suddenly, BAM! My door flew open.
"Dude, it's for you," growled Gozz into my darkened chamber, and it should have been painfully obvious, with me silhouetted in front of my flickering monitor, just exactly what it was I was doing.
In a sudden state of panic and desperation, I did what any tagged masturbator would probably do: I dove for my closet. Actually, it was more of a pathetic stutter-step, with my pants around my ankles, followed by a headlong trip into my closet, bringing roughly two-thirds of my clothes down on top of me.
Even after Gozz retreated back to his room and closed my door, sinking me back into darkness in my mountain of clothes, I stayed motionless for about five minutes, debating what to do next. My gut instinct was to find a new apartment but, upon reflection, I decided to pretend nothing happened and go from there.
Gozz never said a word. Now that's an awesome roommate.
UPDATE: I just spoke with Gozz via MSN. Here's what we had to say:
Mark G. says: I just read your blog
Mark G. says: I have tears in my eyes
Ryan says: Oh, crap. I was wondering if you would read it.
Mark G. says: Funny thing is... I dont remember that
Ryan says: You don't?!
Mark G. says: no
Mark G. says: not at all
Ryan says: I mean, that's awesome, but amazing.
Ryan says: My tax-lady was the caller.
Mark G. says: I dont remember
Ryan says: So, I probably shouldn't have blogged about to bring the information back to you.
Mark G. says: I never took the time to see what you were doing when I did shit like that
Ryan says: Soooo, just ignore the post. It never happened. You didn't see nuthin.'
Mark G. says: I would open the door, say what I had to say and go
Mark G. says: the door opening was to make my voice clear
Mark G. says: GOD that was funny!!!!
Mark G. says: I was laughing so hard I had to stop reading
Ryan says: Glad I could entertain you.
So, the moral of the story, children, is never assume that you were caught masturbating. And definitely don't blog about it unless you're absolutely certain!
Posted by Ryan at September 22, 2003 02:38 PM
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