TMI Thursday: A Literal ROFL.
Apr 9, 2009 DUH, Out of Wicked's Mouth, Random, TMI Thursday's, Wicked Wisdoms
I should have a weekly blog that tells Military War Stories. Military Monday…. Hmmmm….
While I ponder that possibility, I will honor my commitment to TMI Thursday by posting one of my most favorite stories of all time.
Long ago… Like, 11 years ago… (God I am old) I was a ‘booter’ in the USN. For my very first deployment, we traveled down the coast to San Diego from Bremerton. If any of you are military brats or ex-military yourself… you already know that San Diego also means Tijuana, Mexico. At that time, the rule was that if you were too young to walk into a bar in San Diego, you were too young to go to TJ.
Did the Border Patrol check our ID’s? Uhhh… No. *wink*
So as soon as we heard Liberty Call, we were on the bus to TJ. What the Captain didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Right!?
Little did we young’ns know, it was Ladies Night at all of the bars in TJ. So when us ladies ordered Long Island Iced Teas… they were automatically poured as doubles. I did not know this. I had 8. I remember the number because my partner in crime at the time kept counting out loud whenever I was passed another.
“OMG! Courtni! THAT IS YOUR 8th DRINK! EIGHT!”
“Bitch I know how many motherf*cking drinks I have had. Shit. Are you my momma!? I miss my mom.”
Not only were we involved in the double pounder LIIT’s, we also did the “Tequila-From-The-Bottle-Straight-Down-The-Throat-Limbo” These guys who worked there walked around offering these “straight shots” for $5 all night.
I didn’t participate in ANY of these shots. I promise!!!!! <— lying.
Anyway, there came a point in the night after dancing my cute little 19 year old ass off in a miniskirt where it was melt-down time.
*GASP*
I know, right!?
I am going to break this down exactly the way I remember it going down. Wannahearithearitgoes.
Queue the imagination to me, dialing my MOM from MEXICO at 2AM on a Thursday.
Mom: “Hello?” (groggy as fuck)
Me: “OhmomIloveyousomucchhhhhhh”
Mom: “Courtni!? Are you ok?”
Me: “MommmmIamwastedinMexicoomgIwannacomehomeeeeeeeeee”
Mom: “Are you actually calling me wasted at 3am on a Thursday right now?!”
Me: “Is that not okay?” (All of a sudden I felt and probably sounded sober)
Mom: “Go to bed.”
Me: “Okay.”
Click.
Me: “Damn. That bitch hung up on me. Biiiiitch.”
My ass (literally) sat down on the sidewalk (in downtown TJ… GROSS) and cried. Shut up.
Somehow, my Partner-in-Crime persuaded me into a cab. I don’t remember this conversation, I just remember being in the cab.
Me: “Stop touching me.” (she was rubbing my back)
PIC: “Sorry. I was just trying to make you feel better.”
Me: “It makes me want to puke.”
PIC: “My bad.”
1 minute later
Me: “STOP!”
PIC: “What!? I am not even touching you!”
Me: “Noooooo! Stop the cab! I am gonna …”
I opened the door to the cab, laid my head out the door and puked. The cab never stopped. And, all of the people who I was stationed with were walking back to the border… clowning on my situation. I am pretty sure they got a couple of “fuck you’s” in between pukes… but I don’t know. Mostly there was a shit ton of laughter in my general direction.
Normally, the story would be over here. It is not.
We get to where the ship was docked. Being that I was on a huge Aircraft Carrier, there was this long, steep stairwell from land to the Hangar Deck. The mission was to get my drunk, barely able to stand up ass up the stairs and past the Officer on Duty. All I needed to do was hold my ID and say “Permission to come aboard”
Sounds easy, right?!
Queue your imagination to a person on either side of me, holding me up. Then think about me, ID in hand, practicing “Permission to come aboard” all the way up the stairs.
“Puhmishon tah comaboard. No.”
“Missiontocomeaboardd. No.”
“PERmission to come aboard”
“PerMISSION to come ABOARD.”
“Permission TO come aboard”
So I get up there, stand in front of the Officer on Duty, and hold my ID up like I did every single day. He is looking at me. My friends are subtly trying to remind me why in the fuck I was standing there. Because I straight up forgot.
What did I do? I fell the fuck out. Laughing. Like, literally rolling around on the Hangar Deck laughing my drunk ass off. Do I need to remind you that I was also wearing a mini skirt? I showed my vag to a good percentage of men on this boat. (I haven’t worn panties for years.) I remember for several months after… I would get whispers. And I would think to myself… “Those guys saw my crochandmore!”
I do not remember any of this. It has all been retold to me by who? The Officer of the Day. Turns out, he was my BOSS. Riiiiight. So, when I tried to waltz in to work the next morning, hungover, smelling like a mixture of vomit and a walking Long Island Iced Tea as if nothing ever happened… I had another thing coming.
Boss: “Good Morning Seaman Kenyon. (shutthefuckupialreadyknowseamanisfunny) You have fun on liberty last night?”
Me: “Yes sir, but I think I got food poisoning.”
Boss: “Is that why you have vomit on the side of your face right now?”
(I literally woke up and threw on my uniform. No shower. No nothing.)
Me: “Uhhh….” (F*CK)
Boss: “Go clean yourself up and get to work. You owe me one. Remember that.”
Can I get a “FML”?!?!
Did this spark any TMI stories for you?
How about FML situations?
Happy TMI Thursday!!!
Tags: boss, Bremerton, Deployment, drunk dial, FML, Long Island Iced Tea, Mexico, Military, party, permission to come aboard, San Diego, Taxi, Tequila, Tijuana, TMI Thursday, USN
