If you read Tweaks's blog, you know that she is one of the nastiest writers out there. Like, how many menstruation posts does one blog need? Well, Tweaks, I am about to take your crown and blow your grossiness out of the water.
I was loathe to post this, but my friends (Terri, Toby, and Agatha) seem to think this is the funniest thing ever and have told me to write about this post-haste.
(Let it be noted that there is really no DC hating in this post. So if you're looking for me complain about the Metro or Reed Landry's Neil Diamond habits, please check back later.)
Last Friday night the Missus and I went out to a romantic meal at Chipotle. I got a pork burrito bowl with black beans and loads of hot sauce. No tortilla and no cheese. After all, I'm on a diet. We were getting ready for a night on the keg bus. Yes, it was a friend's birthday and they wanted to combine binge drinking with forward motion. Really a win-win proposition.
So after an epic burrito bowl, my lady (Terri) and I bought some rum and gin for the bus. I had rum duty and Terri had gin duty. My roommate wanted to make Long Island Iced Teas. So we obliged, made about ten liters worth of one of the strongest drinks imaginable, and drove off in our yellow chariot.
I had about six Miller Genuine Drafts. Not my favorite, but drinking Bell's Two Hearted Ale on a tricked out school bus seemed a bit too dainty. I wouldn't touch a Long Island with a ten foot pole. Anything with tequila in it is disqualified from consumption. Terri had no such issue and downed three of them in about an hour.
Not surprisingly, Terri got very, very drunk and we decided to leave the bus when it zipped past her Columbia Heights neighborhood. We got home and I immediately ordered a bacon/pepperoni/sausage pizza from Domino's. How's my diet going? Fuck you. That's how it's going.
The next morning I decided that to make up for the previous day's gluttony, I would walk home. It's about a four or five mile hike through the park. I figured a nice brisk walk would be a great start to the weekend.
I decided to take Park Road instead of Porter. At the time, it was a poor decision. Although Park is a much prettier walk, it's also considerably more dangerous. There are no sidewalks and there are enough blind curves to make any pedestrian fear for their lives. It was a decision I would not regret.
After about a mile, I felt a horrible rumbling in my tummy. Only a few steps later I realized I would have to make a stop at the next Starbucks. (There is no better place for a quick bathroom break than a Starbucks).
I quickly realized that the nearest Starbucks was miles away. And I had to go. Now. Like, oh my God, right now. I had six beers and two pounds of meats, cheeses, hot sauce, and beans in my system. This was going to be epic.
I was so excited to walk past the tennis courts. Tennis courts must have bathrooms! Where else would people pee!
The Rock Creek park tennis courts did not have bathrooms. I guess people just peed in the woods. So, um, my options are limited.
So, scavenger hunt! The first person to find my feces wins a six pack. It's not buried or anything so it shouldn't be too difficult.
Here's a hint:
View Larger Map
I was not joking when I said "TMI." I'll exacerbate it by mentioning that it had rained before and all the leaves I used for my business were really, really wet.
And, God damn it, tennis courts should have at least a Porta-Potty or something.