I should hang my head in shame but this story is really just too funny not to tell to random strangers and my grandma over Thanksgiving dinner. But I'll tell you first, and you tell me if I should tell the 86 year old lady, ok?

I was at my friend's house for a big party around Columbus Day last year. I'm not sure why were celebrating Columbus Day but I can't think of any other reason why we were having that party because it was most definitely Columbus Day weekend. Ok well, we all know how rediculous I get when I drink beer; I absolutely should never, under NO CONDITION, be given hard alcohol in mass quantities. I really shouldn't be allowed it in shot form either now that I think about it. There should be a sign, "Do not give the Melina Gin, Vodka or Red Bull". Unfortunately at this party, the sign had yet to have been made. And if there had been an explanation as to why, there would be several men who dismantle said sign because they would like to see me unclothed. Oh boy...(deep breath) this one's a doozie.

At the party I ran into a boy I rode the bus with in elementary school. We talked for a while, I kept thinking, "Wow. He's really cute! But he's all of ten pounds." (tall but skinny) I typically dismiss these men (sorry but I'm not a tiny girl. I'm taller and curvier, so I typically like a guy who's bigger). We talked for a while and then I went off to play beer pong, or to eat meatballs, or to play fooseball (which by the by-- I once played strip fooseball and I lost miserably and subsequently I got weird shaped bruises on my butt from those stupid fooseball player's heads! But I digress...) The point is, for hours I played drinking games, ate food and then I ended up at the bonfire.

Up at the bonfire I ran into the boy-from-the-bus (bfb)again. I was without a drink, in fact I was thinking of slowing down because I was dizzy and drunk and it was getting late but does Melina ever turn down a drink offered to her? Uh let me think about that? No. So the boy-from-the-bus is sitting next to me and asked me, "Melina do you need another drink?" I said, "Of course," even though I most certainly did not. When BFB came back he handed me an enormous glass of Red Bull and Vodka. Now I may've been the last person on Earth to try Red Bull but when I'm not drunk I KNOW that I should NOT IMBIBE HARD ALCOHOL. I'm not sure if it is psychosematic or if my body really doesn't metabolize it very quickly but I know that every time I have a lot of Gin or Vodka...my clothes come off in public places and it has always been a source of embarassment for both myself and some of my friends. Some of them grin and just say, "I'm with the topless girl." Those are not the friends that you want around at that point because they don't throw you in a car and rush you home. Those friends let you wander around for a while before they remind you that you left your shirt in the bushes outside (that was a hypothetical example).

Again I end up talking for a while with BFB and he's intriguing, the most charming, handsome man I had spoken with all night--in the fine words of the Barenaked Ladies, "Oh alcohol, I love you so. I looove you more, than I did the week before..." (oh right, I'm supposed to be telling a story...here we go again). As a classy lady I realized that I needed to pee really, really badly. The bonfire was up near the field so I walked up to the rolled hay bales to prop my inebriated form up against. BFB offered to chaperone me and I accepted. (I think he thought I was being coy when I said I had to pee and I wandered over to the hay bale, perhaps because there was working plumbing within 200 yards of the fire...but I enjoy a good nature pee just like all the men do). We start kissing, until I push him and say, "I really need to pee, hold on for a minute." And yes, I pee in front of him...but the worst is yet to come, I peed on my jeans, and not just a little. The most logical idea is to just take my pants off, right? Right that's what I did. I went back to the bonfire with BFB's sweater tied around my waist. Most everyone had gone home or back inside by the time we returned from the kissing session over by the hay bale, but we chose to sit back down and make out in front everyone--me without pants (although I kind of had a makeshift sweater skirt on). This made everyone who did remain out at the fire go inside.

Flash forward to the next morning.

I am on the couch in the garage. I have a pink tanktop on and a blanket. I peek under the blanket-- my entire body is covered in dirt, soot and bruises. I get up, no one else is up yet (whoo! maybe I can get away with this one!) I walk around the house draping the blanket around my nakedness. I go downstairs, I go upstairs. I peek up at the bonfire. I see my shirt that went over the tanktop. I run up there, grab it. It is no longer pink. It has TOUCHES of pink but the majority of it is grey, black and in places--yes, singed. I jog back down to the house, grab my keys (blanket still wrapped around me) and head back to my house before everyone else wakes up. I'm secretly praying that someone else did something rediculous too (other than BFB). No such luck.

My phone rings off the hook all day, "Asking me if I left my pants, underwear and bra behind." I lie and say, "No." My friend calls me on it because my license is hanging out of the jeans. Damn it! Can't I get away with anything? But it wasn't as bad as all that because there weren't any sober witnesses to the events which transpired. The best phone call though that day was BFB. He was hesitant. He appologized for leaving (even earlier than me...apparently at one point he was on the couch with me). He appologized for not finding all my clothes, he too lost a shirt (but he's one of those shirt layerers. And he wanted to hang out again (and I don't just mean horizontally), which was nice because I really wouldn't want to hang out with me after that!
Not that this really counts but I think I've gotten a little classier since last year! That's real maturity on my part (hee hee, sure). Well that, and the fact that I will not drink Red Bull drinks and it appears that it has made all the difference (uh huh, sure). Anyone read that Cosmo article, "Are You Friends With A Trainwreck?" Well now you can say that you are.