Getting up at 8:30 to go to my weekend job every Saturday and Sunday has been awful for my social life, and working 7 days a week is grueling, but there are a couple of perks. For one, working in the sun is keeping me tan, which is nice, but my scalp is burning, which is not as good. Another perk is the exercise I get on my bike ride to and from work, which is about a 40 minute ride that I have to make a 30 minute ride, since I’m always running late. How am I going to stay in shape when I no longer have to pedal fast out of necessity? On my ride home I pedal like Jesus (Hey Zeus), see previous post. If I no longer bike to a job, I’ll have to steal stuff and make a get-away on my cheap, Target bike; Anything to get the chains turning. Another added bonus about my ride to work is that being that it’s 9:00 am on Saturdays and Sundays, and it’s right through the Lincoln Park area, we are talking PEAK walk of shame time.
I’m sure you all know what a walk of shame is, but I’ll provide a brief definition for those of you who don’t: A walk home after an unexpected stay at the home of someone of the opposite sex. As I ride past a girl with high heels, f-me-pants, make up smeared, clothes disheveled, and her hair all messed up, I’m thinking to myself, ‘sure, you just woke up after a night of drinking, rolled out of bed in the same clothes, clipped a couple of coupons and now you’re merely headed to the grocery store . . . Either that or you had one too many cosmopolitans, which are like breasts because one’s not enough and three’s too many, went home with a 22-year-old DePaul student with a striped shirt, and now you have to figure out where the hell you are at and if there is a Blue Line train nearby.
As some of you know, I live with four guys. Because of this, sometimes I’ll catch a quality walk of shame before I even leave the apartment. Sometimes I’ll be getting ready to leave for work and see a roomy get not one but TWO cups full of water, at which time I’ll say to him, “Johnny, I didn’t know you were ‘entertaining’ a guest.” One time I was watching TV and one of my roommate’s hook-ups barfed all over the stairs, and then he cleaned it up, which I thought was nice because there’s nothing worse than cleaning up your own vomit in front of a random hook-up’s roommate.
Anyone have any good walk of shame (WOS) stories they would like to share? Barf-on-the-stairs-girl, if you’re out there, I probably already shared your best WOS story, but if you got a better one, we’re all ears.
10 comments:
My whole life is one giant walk of shame. hahahaha!
I'm not telling. *runs away*
No gory details here, but instead I pose a question. Have you seen a WOS by anyone from the male persuasion? Seems as if they would be harder to spot, whereas us ladies have a much easier time transforming into ghouls post coitus, maybe it's the combination of phermones and Revlon.
Steph- A life-long walk of shame? That's really sad. You're the girl I've been searching for!
Jenny- You're avoiding sharing, but I'll entertain your question. Yes I've seen male walks of shame. I've been one. The problem is what I wear on a Saturday night on the town is essentially the same thing I wear on a Sunday afternoon, so I'm VERY hard to spot. Anyone else want to share???
after a long night, i had to walk through a morning meeting at the boys' dorms where most people knew me.
they also knew that i had sex with my best friend's younger (virgin) brother (who came to visit big sis in college) in a guy's bed who was at home for the weekend. well, if they didn't know for sure how our night ended before that ... they knew then.
the guy whose bed we used never quite forgave me. i guess i don't blame him. luckily, my best friend did.
shame in all aspects of the story.
Laura, I commend you for regailing us with that embarrassing tale. Yikes. You deflowered that young man in someone else's dirty, dorm bed. THAT'S what I'm looking for, people. Where'd you come from, Laura?
that particular night, i came from a post-breakup southern comfort bender.
the best part is that i still see him periodically -- like at thanksgiving dinners at his parents' house or at some bar. at one of those occasions, he introduced me to a then-girlfriend and said "laura popped my cherry when we were both wasted out of our minds".
eight more vodka tonics, please!
I meant how did you stumble upon my blog page, not how'd you stumble back to the dorm, but I hope it's the same response ("post-breakup southern comfort bender".)
Laura the Cherry Popper, you, my friend, are a welcomed addition to the nation, and by nation I mean less than a dozen people, of my blog commenters.
thanks for the welcome.
i found the blog through a blog that i found through another blog ... that i found through another blog ... you get the idea.
For most men, the walk home is a Walk of Fame, my friend. We are shameless creatures...
Laura: However you found me, glad you made it.
Sharaty-go-potty: I need me a good walk of fame right about now.
Post a Comment