The Honeymoon

This is the story to end all stories. This one is so bad, I almost want to spare the public from my own humiliation. But at the same time, it’s such a weird story I somehow end up telling to pretty much everyone I know. What is wrong with me?

Ok. Here it goes.

My husband and I went for a Baja Mexico cruise for our honeymoon and left the day after the wedding. We were both 18 and more than excited (obviously) for our romantic getaway. But God, being the ultimate unrelenting practical joker, had other, more hilarious plans. The makeup I had worn for my wedding made my eyelids swell up and itch and water. I went from blushing bride to bug-eyed monster overnight. By the second day I could only open one eye.

Since it was a cruise, and I didn’t really expect this situation to arise, I didn’t have any treatment for my swollen eyelids. So I went to the gift store and bought some Benadryl to fight the swelling. I took 2, hoping that would be enough to at least stop the itching, but it didn’t help. 2 hours later I took 2 more. And then 2 hours later I took 2 more. Again. I took 6 Benadryls. As most would have guessed, 6 was too much and I insisted on not sleeping off the drowsiness that comes with Benadryl. I kept walking around the cruise ship thinking I could feel it rocking when it was actually all the drugs inside me trying to put me on the floor.

After taking 6 pills and insisting on staying active, it was dinner time. At the table I couldn’t fight the drowsiness any longer and passed out on the floor. A doctor at a nearby table helped me up and asked me what happened. When I told him I took 6 Benadryl he said, “6?! I only take half of one to knock me out at night and I’m twice your size!”

Suddenly coming to the realization that I am the dumbest person in the Pacific, I let the ship crew wheel me down to the on-board hospital.

I don’t know if it was my appearance, my stupidity, or my hazy drunken perception of everyone else, but the doctor and nurse both had a giggle-fest at my expense. I explained about the Benadryl and my eyes that now resembled a squeezed frog’s and cried. I was so embarrassed.

“Has this happened to your eyes before?”


This had happened to me before. In my senior year of high school I had a similar experience during a week-long fine arts convention–minus the drugs. The doctor for this occurrence was stumped, but prescribed a steroid cream to reduce the allergic reaction. You know what the most common steroid cream is? Hemorrhoid cream. I put Hemorrhoid cream on my eyes. 

The ship nurse almost wet himself laughing. But he didn’t wet himself.

I did.

They were giving me steroids to fight the swelling and fluids to flush the drugs from my system–meaning I had to pee them out. I was a little too wobbly to get to the toilet so they gave me a bed pan to go in. I missed and peed all over the red dress I wore to dinner. Somehow even more humiliated than before, I insisted on walking to the bathroom for my next attempts at…flushing my system.

So with the help of my new husband, I sat on the toilet and peed and had diarrhea and peed some more while he held my hand.

After the flush the crew wheeled me back to my cabin to sleep off the rest.

The next day I went back to the ship hospital for quick look-over and besides a high heart rate and dilated pupils, I was fine.

Thank goodness! That day was the zip line excursion and I wasn’t about to miss it. I was able to do all but the last line before going back to rest. I went to the bathroom about 3 times within the 30 min it took my husband to get back from the last line because my body was still getting rid of some of the fluids. When the last call to board the van back to the ship was made, I peed one more time to make sure I could make it the whole trip.

I didn’t.

We were in the middle of a cactus field when I couldn’t hold it anymore. After begging the driver to pull over he gave me a few choice words in Spanish and finally let me jump off to pee in the desert.

I bolted out the door to try to find a spot away from the van and the onlookers it was transporting. I paused at what I thought was a good spot until I heard a resounding “NO!” come from the van. Apparently everyone could still see me and really didn’t want to.

Nobody looked me in the eye when I re-boarded.

The last few days of the cruise were less eventful. We played mini golf, did some rock climbing, watched some awesome performances, and haggled with Mexican vendors for fake Rolex watches. By the last day my eyes were finally a normal size so we decided to take the camera up to the top deck and take some pictures. We hadn’t really taken any because up until the last day I looked like Sloth from The Goonies.

We left the camera on the deck and it never made it home.

And the icing on the cake?

Swine flu.


Married? You should leave him. You have a dog? Put him to sleep.

Working at the front desk of a real estate office, I get a lot of sales people coming in to pitch to me. This guy was a thick-neck personal trainer from a new gym that was about to open up. He wanted to leave some flyers for the agents, but insisted on writing his name on each flyer before giving them to me. Here’s the exchange we had while he sat and wrote his name 30 times:

Guy:”Real estate offices always hire supermodels. Do you work out?”
Me: “No.”

(he brought a dog with him)

Me: “Can I pet your dog?”
Guy:”You can pet me if you’re not married.”
Me: I am.
Guy: Happy?
Me: Yes.
(I should have asked him to leave at this point.)
(He asks me about my dog and it comes up that Toofer has Addisons)
Guy: “I would put my dog down if there was anything wrong with him.”
Me: “He takes one pill a day and he’s totally normal.”
Guy: “Yeah but still. Where did you get him?”
Me: “The pound. We thought he was a border collie, but he surprised us.”
Guy: “Should have bought a purebred.”

I threw all the flyers in the trash.

You clearly don’t know who you’re talking to.


The Time I Pooped On My Husband’s Wallet

One night my husband had a few friends over for a D&D game night (someone else needs to be embarrassed besides me in some of these stories). Feeding 5 or 6 men in their 20’s is no easy task, so I decided to go grab some pizzas from the nearby parlor. I took my husband’s wallet with me instead of my purse so I could carry all the pizzas by myself. After getting the pizzas and coming home, I needed to poop (no way!). I had the wallet in my back pocket when I went into the bathroom, but I didn’t when I was done. When I dropped my pants to sit down, the wallet came out of my back pocket and fell into the toilet! I didn’t even realize what had happened until I turned around to flush and thought I had just pooped a square.

I had to fish the wallet out from under my waste and toss it into the bathtub so I could wash it off with the handheld shower head.

Seeing the humor in what had just happened, I called my husband over to have a laugh and asked him to not tell his friends. He got a look on his face I hope I never see again, and ran down the hallway screaming, “Anna just pooped on my wallet!”

Next time I won’t even tell him.

Not that I’m guaranteeing that there will be a next time…

The Year I Ruined Christmas

A few years ago I ruined Christmas.

No big deal.

My grandmother-in-law has a birthday very near Christmas and my parents-in-law decided to do a combo gift for her and get her a giant television. She constantly complained about her old tv so it was the perfect gift. We were all gathered around the fireplace on Christmas exchanging gifts, and an aunt asked Grandma, “What did you get this year?” She huffed and replied, “Oh, nothing…” I, thinking that her birthday had passed and she had already received her birthday/Christmas mega-gift and that she was forgetting that it was a combo, responded with, “What are you talking about? They got you a big honkin’ TV!” I was met a surprised look and a “Huh?” just as my father-in-law rushed into the room with the box and a “surprise!” He heard me spill the beans just as he was grabbing the gift and rushed in to save the surprise.

Now it’s an annual story that my husband thinks gets funnier every time he tells it.

Also I said “honkin’.” That’s embarrassment enough.

The Time I Pooped On My Fiance’s Car

Kind of. It was a little over a week before our wedding and my fiance decided we needed a serious break from wedding planning so we took a picnic trip to the beach. It was a beautiful day of relaxing in the sun with our cell phones off and our feet in the sand.

It takes about 2 hours to get home from the beach, so we left mid-afternoon to be back by dinner. Now, I don’t know what I ate, and I didn’t want to blame my then-fiance for food poisoning, but about half way home I got the serious bubble guts.

Like major, I-can’t-risk-a-fart belly bubbles.

Well between the beach and home there are only vineyards, orchards, and empty dirt fields. No rest stops. I held it until I couldn’t anymore and absolutely had to stop. I couldn’t even run away from the car before dropping my pants and even if I did, there was nowhere to go! We had stopped in the middle of endless rolling hills with only foxtail stubs to hide behind.

So I squatted as close to the car as possible as the poison forced its way out of me and my fiance shoved paper towels out the window for me to clean up with. Only one other car seemed to be on the road that day (thank goodness) and I hope they found my situation more humorous than appalling.

Finally empty of whatever would have undoubtedly killed me, I got back into the car to regain my composure. It was hard not to laugh at the situation, especially when the wind picked up and blew the used paper towels down the deserted road like contaminated tumbleweeds.

There’s no escaping the indignity.

Then the low fuel light turned on.

I swear we drove 100 miles before we saw any building at all let a lone a gas station. But we made it, and my gut made it.

And we still got married.

Just imagine it: poopie paper towel tumbleweeds dance serenely down the barren highway.
Just imagine it: poopie paper towel tumbleweeds dance serenely down the barren highway.