First Date: The Big Lie

At some point during our 5.5 hour first date, “Jimmy Jailbait” and I had come up with nicknames for each other. He’s 8 years younger than me, so his was easy. Mine was Trollopy Madonna Cougar Skank ‘Ho. I obviously have a sense of humor. The revealing chatter was quite a hoot. But not nearly as much fun as the part where I peed myself.

We met on Match.com. Mr. Jailbait “winked” at me. I never responded to winks. If a man was truly interested, he’d write a message, right?

What I failed to mention was that I was desperate. My online dating life was in the toilet. My inbox was full of messages from 26-year olds who wanted to hook-up with a “magical” MILF or men who had profile pics with selfies featuring actual toilets.

Jailbait’s profile was great. Or maybe good enough. Remember, I was desperate.

Our first date was at a restaurant I’ve been to many times. After ten years of dating, relationships, and a debacle of a second marriage, I’d learned to keep expectations low.

When I first saw Jailbait I said something stupid like “You look just like your picture.” Now he knows this is a lie as he is cute and adorable and his profile pics kinda sucked. I guess dumb things fly out of my mouth on occasion. Only many hours later would things fly out of my bladder.

Anyway we ate dinner and I had one beer and a soda. He drank lemonade and water. A few hours into the date I had to pee. And I ignored it. I have a bladder the size of a whale. I’m not one of those pansies who has to pee every five damn minutes.

The conversation was rolling. We were laughing. We were chit chatting about all kinds of crap; divorce, kids, work, politics. And I remember feeling stupid about getting up to pee. Like I’m telling my silly story about the time I did some stupid thing – and now it’s Jailbait’s turn to tell me a story – and I have to stop him to say “oh sorry, hold that thought, I have to pee.” No. Sorry. First date. I don’t pee. I’m much too demure to contain actual urine.

I guess demure would not be the correct term.  He now says one thing that endeared me to him was that I used the term “pussy” to describe someone. What endeared him to me is that he made the international hand symbol for jerking off to describe a thought. Obviously we’re a match made in heaven.

Besides the fact that I was too weird to say “Hold that thought, I have to use the ladies room,” I was also aware of the fact that he was sitting with his back to the wall – and if I got up to walk to the bathroom he’d be checking out my ass. This also made me uncomfortable. Ew. Men are dogs. Checking out my ass. Ew. I’m not one of those women who does some sexy sashay as she leaves the table. I’m more likely to slip on a stray olive.

Five-and-a-half hours later the check had been paid and we were still there blabbing. Ok, I was doing most of the blabbing and he was obviously falling in love with me as I spoke. I guess he had to pee too cause he got up and headed toward the men’s room. I was left behind thinking “Shit! Now what? I can’t leave to go pee cause if he comes back to an empty table he might think I’ve ditched him.”  So I waited until he got back. We chatted for a minute and then I muttered something about heading to the bathroom.  And then it happened.

I stood up. The simple force of standing was enough to unhinge the poor sphincter muscle that had been doing such a bang-up job all evening. As I got to the full standing position I felt the warm rush of fresh pee-pee coming out of my pee-pee hole.

So rather than worrying about what he thought of my pancake ass as I sashayed to the bathroom, I walked like a crazed, 52-year-old, post-menopausal idiot who was trying not to pee herself.

I got to the bathroom and had to simultaneously hold in 85 gallons of wee whilst fumbling with a button and a zipper with a toilet in plain sight. As I frantically sat on the seat to release a torrent of tinkle, I assessed the damage to the crotch area of my pants. There it was: A circle of moistness the size of a salad plate. Trying to dab up the damage was futile. I was laughing, gasping, and thinking at the same time. Hey everyone on Match.com, try this on your first date; pee yourself and then try to think of a way out of the big pee mark on your britches. Go!

I got to the sink to assess the damage from the public perspective. From the backside I was fine. JJ could check out my ass all he wanted. No visible pee. But right there on the front; pee. So now what? No, the dryer was not an option. I’m tall but my crotch does not reach the dryer. Take off my pants to dry the crotch? Oh, yeah, great. Just what ladies want to see when they walk into the bathroom: Some tall chick in her pee-pee thong with the crotch of her pants under the dryer. Plus, JJ would have wondered what the hell I was doing in the bathroom for 10 minutes. IBS? Explosive diarrhea?

I washed my hands. I shook the water from my wet hands onto the front of my pants. Perfect.  I was in and out of the bathroom in the same amount of time that a normal non-peeing-herself-person would have been.

I walked out to Jailbait and he stood up so we could head out to our cars. He, of course, didn’t even notice my damn pants. But, just in case, I motioned to my wet pants and said “Look who just got into a fight with the sink?” He took a quick look and said “Ha! If that would happen to a man somebody would accuse us of peeing ourselves.”

I just laughed. I mean, how ridiculous.

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Jimmy Jailbait and I; 9 months after the first date. I am pee-pee free at the Happy Valley Jam concert.. 🙂

Hands Up!

Yesterday morning I woke up to a text from a girlfriend with a selfie that said “This is why it’s important my man be taller than I am.” It was a cute pic of her making a smoochy face, but I wondered why she’d sent it.

Then I saw it. The pic she took first. The view from down under. The picture she wouldn’t let me post here. I don’t know if I can express to you how much joy the laughter brought. Kinda the way you laugh at somebody who just fell up some steps. Every female friend on the thread woke up to the best laugh of the day. So, like good friends, we joined in by adding similar selfies to the thread. None of them flattering. Blackmail worthy in fact. I have been forbidden from sharing most of them, in fact.

The selfies brought to mind lots of thoughts.  First – my kids taunting me about my lack of selfie-skill. I always took them from down under. And the results were always disastrous. How was I to know you don’t want to see into my sinuses, the chicken skin on my neck, the gobbler on my chin, or my jowls in general?  My kids taught me that I must, under all circumstances, raise my hand above my head when selfie-ing. That’s a lot to remember.

Here’s another thought: My sweetie is a nerd, so he sent me a journal article about how men and women use pics in different ways. We ladies put ourselves in a lower position in the pic to look young and dewey. Dudes post pics where they are in a higher position so they look like the big banana. To sum it up, ladies take pics from overhead to look like hotties and men take pics from down under to show they are the powerful commander of their nose hair. Got it.

Final thought: I work as an on-air personality and just reported that for online dating profiles, selfies pale in comparison to candids. In pictures, women should look off-camera and smile. Men should look into the camera but shouldn’t show any teeth. Sporty pics; good. Posing in sunglasses; bad. Going potty in private; good. Bathroom selfie; bad. That’s a lot to remember.

Enjoy these pics. They are me, my friend Sarah, and my daughter Glynn. This story is dedicated to Katherine….the one who texted that pic yesterday.

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Things I Don’t See At Home: Dumbest Question I Ever Asked

One could say I’ve asked many dumb questions in my life. Former professors could attest to this. One of my famous (but serious) questions occurred in biology class during community college. I asked, “How do birds drink?” I remember beaks, puddles, and tilting of the head.  Well, at least now I know what they’re really doing in those birdbaths; drinking bathwater.

I digress.coffee and water

One day at dinner in Munich, I saw this: a small metal tray with a cup of what looked to be coffee and a very small glass of clear liquid.   I didn’t know if it was coffee with a shot of booze to be added at your own taste – coffee with a chaser – or hot chocolate with some sort of liqeuor. Or what. It just seemed odd.

A few days later, Pat and I went to a café after dinner in Salzburg. He ordered beer and I ordered a camomile tea. And it happened; I got the little metal tray with hot tea and the little glass of clear liquid. I was baffled. “What is this mysterious liquid?” I thought to myself. “How fascinating!”   I looked at Pat and said “Oh wow. This is what I saw the other day. I wonder what it is?” So I felt the outside of the glass. Cold-ish. I smelled it. Nothing. So I took a big leap and dipped my tongue into the glass. Water. Tap water. Huh? What am I supposed to do with this glass of water? Is the tea too hot to drink? Am I supposed to drink the tea, then get all refreshed by drinking the tap water as a chaser?

SO – here comes a waitress to see if things are okay. And, this is when I ask the big question. Waitress: “Is everything going fine?” (or some other sweet version of “Is everything okay?”) Me: (indicating my mini-water) “What’s this for?” Waitress: (looking at me with confused eyes) “It’s water.” Me: “Yes, I know. What should I do with it?” Waitress: (looking at me as if I’ve lost my marbles) “You drink it.” Me: “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

This poor waitress probably found her fellow servers and told them about the idiot American woman who just asked what she was supposed to do with a glass of water. Then she probably went into the bathroom and banged her head against the wall. As for me, I sat dumbfounded. This, after I was done laughing at myself. And feeling sorry for the waitress. This dumbfoundedness turned into outrage. I thought “Seriously? Are these Austrians mad? They wasted a tray to bring out this pansy-ass glass of water? Why not bring complimentary toothpaste and a toothbrush to go with it? That would be the perfect after dinner spritz-up and spit it out in the bushes type deal.

afro coffee closeThe next morning we went to a restaurant for breakfast – and it happened again. This time it was my coffee that came with a glass of water. But alas, this glass of water was a bit bigger. And ha ha – this time I knew what to do with said water. And – this coffee mug was SO cool. I looked around and noticed four different patterns. It was called Afro coffee. afro coffeeMy mug said “You call it coffee, I call it a lifestyle.” I thought, “Wow, my girls would really like these. When the waiter comes by I will ask him how much they cost.” I thought that was better than “Wow, these are really cool…. Will they fit in my purse?”

So, the idiot that I am (apparently when it comes to items involving drinking liquids) asked said waiter the obvious question: “How much would it cost to buy the coffee mugs?” Long story short: it would take an act of God to acquire these mugs as the maker of the coffee supplies them and it would probably cause the restaurant to shut down if they sold me two of them and then all tourism in Salzburg would come to an end and then the world would stop spinning.

No cool coffee mugs for Dawn. Idiot.

Last night we ended up at the “dumb question” cafe. Pat had more beers and I had more tea. Again came the tray. Again came my Dixie-cup of water. This time I told the waiter about my waitress faux pas from the previous night. He explained that if I wanted a bigger cup of tap water, they’d charge money for it. Baffling. It’s cheaper to buy beer.

coffee pic

Megabus Mayhem by Ross C.

Wal-Mart parking lot

            Don’t get off the bus in New York, I remembered my dad telling me as I sat next to my best friend Luke as the Megabus sped away from the Walmart bus stop in State College, PA. I had no idea what I was going to do. Should I go up to the bus driver? Maybe I should just go back to sleep and then I’ll just deal with the situation when I wake up. I had some money, but I was not sure if it would be enough to get through a night in the Big Apple. As I was having my mini panic attack inside, Luke was panicking too and yelled, “Just freaking do something!” as he pushed me out into the bus aisle. Immediately I got up and started to make my way toward the front of the bus.

It was a few days before Halloween Weekend 2012 and I was going to visit my brother at Penn State for the first time to see the Penn State-Ohio State football game as well as enjoy all that PSU had to offer. I asked my brother if I could bring a friend; more specifically, Luke because he was my best friend and we were both considering Penn State as a future school for next year. My brother said sure and Luke and I decided we were going to go up Saturday morning and come home Sunday afternoon. We got our Megabus tickets on Thursday for 8:00 am Saturday, and my mom was going to drive both of us to the Megabus stop in the morning. The bus goes from Pittsburgh to New York and passes through the Penn State area, then loops around and passes back through Sunday afternoon.

It was Friday night and I was packing at home when both of my parents gave me the “Be Careful” talk. My mom starts off the conversation by saying, “Now Ross, we know you don’t want to hear this, but just be careful when you are up there. Your brother can be a real idiot and I would not put it past him if he just left you and Luke to fend for yourselves in State College because he couldn’t remember what stop to pick you guys up from, or what time to get up and get you guys”. I replied, “Okay mom, I’ll be careful,” when really I thought, Seriously?! I’m almost eighteen I would think I could handle myself by this point. My dad then chimes in: “Now I know you don’t have hardly any common sense and when you and Luke are together I try not to even think about what you fools are doing, but can you please promise me that whatever you do, do not end up in New York”. This time I actually said, “C’mon dad, you are talking to a kid who has like a 3.8 GPA, I think I can accomplish the task of getting off at the right bus stop”. “I’m just telling you” he responded. I was actually stunned that my parents thought that I was incapable of completing daily tasks. It turns out that they would be right about what they thought, but that’s beside the point. I finished packing and I went to bed eager to get up in the morning and head to Penn State.

At about 7:30 am, my mom and I picked up Luke and we were then dropped off at the bus stop about ten minutes before the bus arrived. I had with me my backpack which had a couple school books in it for the illusion to my mother that I was going to do homework, my phone charger, a change of clothes, and a shave kit. Luke had his backpack with similar items in it, and he also brought a sleeping bag because he did not know where he would be sleeping at my brother’s apartment. He had to put that in the cargo hold of the bus before we got on because it was too big to bring with him to his seat. My mom waved goodbye to both of us and yelled before we got on the bus, “Have fun! But be Safe!” We both laughed and yelled back, “Okay!” and we were on our way to The Pennsylvania State University all on our own. As soon as the bus ride got underway, we did what any sensible teenager would do that early in the morning: we slept. We basically slept the whole way until we arrived at the Walmart that is in State College. We got off and Pete, our African-American bus driver who I could tell was not particularly happy with his life choices that led him to be a Megabus driver, told us we were going to take a fifteen minute break, but he did not specifically say that this was the stop for Penn State. We left our stuff on the bus, got off, and stood around until Pete was ready for everyone to get back on. We got back on the bus and sat down. Now we knew we were close to where we had to be because it was 11:00 am and we knew it took about three hours one-way, but we did not think that a Walmart was the bus stop for State College. We thought we would be dropped off right in the middle of campus. The bus started up again and off we went again. About ten or fifteen minutes later, Pete gets on the loudspeaker. He says, “Alright everyone, next stop New York!” At that same moment, Luke and I look at each other and have the same expression: “Oh Shit”. I could not help but think about what my dad said the night before, “Do not get off the bus in New York”.

When Luke pushed me into the aisle, I had to make my way down from the upper portion of the bus to the lower front of the bus where Pete was. I think that he was a little bit surprised that someone had gone up to the front to say something to him because that was obviously not the norm. Stumbling over my words I managed to say, “Uh yeah, we need to get off the bus”.  He just looked at me and said, “Well if you have anything in the cargo hold, I can’t get it for you”. Without even thinking I shouted, “Okay that’s fine!” I motioned for Luke to come up to the front of the bus and Pete let us off about a mile and a half away from the Walmart stop. When Pete let us off, everyone on the bus was just laughing hysterically at our expense so that was nice. I called my brother to tell him what happened and of course, I woke him up so he could not have even picked us up because he was not even there. He laughed about the situation, and told me he would be there in a few minutes. While Luke and I were walking back to the Walmart, Luke said, “Hey wait, I forgot my sleeping bag!” I answered, “Yeah, um the bus driver said that he could not get anything from the cargo hold so it’s basically gone”. “That was my favorite sleeping bag, dude,” he said. I said that I would buy him another if he cared so much for it, which I could not believe. We made it back to the bus stop, where my brother greeted us with laughter, but we made it to State College. I really wished I had known that the bus stop was actually at a Walmart rather than right in front of Old Main like I had imagined.

We chilled at my brother’s apartment for a short time after which we went to the football game. It was my first Penn State football game, and it was awesome. PSU ended up losing, but it was still sweet. Then we chilled at the apartment and got the “real” tour of Penn State from my brother and his roommate. My brother also had his buddies from high school up for the weekend, so it was an all-star lineup of about eight people in a 350 square foot apartment. To sum up the Saturday after the bus ride, I couldn’t really say because I do not remember much past 8:00 pm.

Then came Sunday morning. I somehow managed to get up at 10:00 am because the bus was scheduled to arrive to pick us up at 11:15 am. We had to get on a bus in State College that would take us over to the Walmart where the Megabus was. Even with the grogginess, we were actually good on time on getting to the bus stop, but naturally, the bus did not show up until 11. I’m thinking to myself on the bus ride over to Walmart, It would only make this trip perfect if we had to sprint to the stop just to get on the bus. And my second thought was, “Please do not let it be Pete driving”. Well, we got off the stop and across the parking lot sits the bus with Pete just closing the doors getting ready to go. Luke and I leapt off the first bus into an all-out sprint to catch Pete and the Megabus. I heard over my shoulder from my brother, “See ya!” but we kept running. We flagged down the bus and got on with Pete chuckling a little to himself. Yeah, it’s real freakin’ funny buddy, I thought as we climbed onto the bus. Again, Luke and I both slept the whole way on the bus ride back to Pittsburgh. This time though, we actually recognized the bus stop in Pittsburgh and we able to get off at the appropriate time. My mom picked us back up and she asked how the weekend was and I just said to wait until I get at least three more hours of sleep. Later, I told her and my dad the whole debacle, and of course they laughed and gloated about how they were right. I could not say anything because they were right; I am not as smart as I thought I was. Luke and I almost managed to go to New York City. Unreal. I do not have the slightest idea about what we would have done if we ended up in New York. I wish I had actually listened to my parents about how to be careful and conscientious of my surroundings rather than waiting until the bus is already moving to New York before I ask to get off.

 

Wilkommen in Deutschland by Brian B.

UnknownThe medics were speaking to me in German, a language completely foreign to me. I just stared at them with my mouth open practically drooling with confusion. I had no idea what was being said. Everything sounded Chinese to me so I just nodded in agreement.

Junior year became one of the most exciting school years of my life. Each summer, the history department at my high school hosted a trip to European countries so students could experience the history they had learned about all year. The trip my junior year was ran by EF Tours and was scheduled to visit Germany, the Czech Republic, Austria, Switzerland, and France, the place I wanted to go to more than ever.

My parents knew that it was always my dream to travel to Europe since I was in eighth grade. I begged every year. I offered to go on my own. I looked up the price of flights and hotels on a daily basis. My number one on my Christmas list to “Santa” was always “A trip to Europe.” But, every Christmas I woke up to no surprise trip. However, things changed this Christmas.  Christmas day I woke up at 7am because I still get as excited as a four year old on Christmas morning, even if I am just going to open boxes upon boxes of new clothing. As I finished opening my final “gift,” a new pair of American Eagle boxers to be exact, all I could think was Woo…boxers. But suddenly, my mom said “We have one more surprise for Brian.” I became so anxious that my four-year-old instincts kicked in. My dad then brought out a giant wrapped box with a huge red bow on top of it. I ripped that gift apart so fast you would not have even believed it was wrapped in the first place. I threw the shiny wrapping paper covered in snowflakes and the big red bow to find a silver suitcase. “A suitcase,” I said in a disappointed tone. “Why don’t you look inside of it,” my mom said. I opened it up to find a smaller suitcase that contained an even smaller bag. Inside that small bag was the best news of my life. I opened the bag to find a note inside. I slowly opened the note crease-by-crease getting more excited than ever. I flipped open the last fold and read in capital letters, “I HOPE THIS COMES IN HANDY IN EUROPE!” I went berserk. I screamed. I ran around like a dog chasing its tail. I hugged my parents. I hugged my sisters, which never happens. I hugged my new luggage. I felt on top of the world.

My parents explained that I was able to go under one condition: I had to come up with half of the money for the trip, which was roughly one thousand five hundred dollars. Luckily I have been saving money for this trip since my freshman year. I dumped my entire bank account out of my Penn State piggy bank: a mix of coins and checks saved up from working at Panera Bread. I then lived the typical high school student life for the rest of the school year, bankrupt.

Each week my teacher, Mr. Smith, had weekly meetings to prepare us for our trip.  Luckily, my four best friends, RJ, Chris, Nick, and Chris were going on this trip with me along with three sophomores, Frankie, Mike, and Rob and two seniors, Shane and Tom. My teacherinformed us that we were paired with three other American groups for our trip: a girls group from Florida, another high school from Colorado, and a family from Minnesota. We were most intrigued by the Florida group. At these meetings, we would talk about our agenda and the various cities we would visit like Berlin, Prague, Lucerne, and most importantly Paris. Every time someone even mentioned the word France I smiled. I was so obsessed with a place I had never even been to before. It was only a few months away until I would see the Eiffel Tower, until the bad news came.

Flash forward to our last meeting before the trip. I was sitting there talking to my friends like usual until my teacher walked into the classroom. “So everyone has their passport correct,” Mr. Smith said in his sarcastic but stern voice. “We leave in less than twenty days.”  “Umm…maybe not all of us,” Nick says. No surprise there. Mr. Fisher screamed, “Are you serious? You had all year to prepare for this! I reminded you every single week to get your passport, and yet you fail to do this one simple task.” “Uhh…yeah,” Nick answers. He could barely get out words. “Just yeah? That’s all you have to say,” Mr. Smith says glaring at him. Nick went silent. “For everyone who will be ‘definitely’ going on the trip I have some news for you,” while still staring directly at Nick. “Unfortunately, due to other planned family vacations for the summer, we will not be going to Paris.” My heart sunk. I was pissed. The one place I always wanted to see was ripped away from me. How could I go on this trip knowing I will never step foot in France when I know I am so close to it? I tried to stay positive.

The day was finally here. I was going to Europe for the first time ever. My parents drove me to the Philadelphia National Airport early that morning. I was probably the only person who was excited to be dropped of at British Airways rather than the common Southwest Airlines. I was not even there for five minutes before I was reminded that I never converted my American currency to euros. Great. Problem number one. I will just worry about it later. I said my “See you later” to my parents because according to my mom, “Goodbye is forever.” I checked in my bags, and made my way to the plane with the group.

The plane ride to London was the longest drag of my entire life. I was never so bored, and the worst part was that I could not sleep at all. Eight long hours of fun awaited me. I tried entertaining myself watching a horror movie. Why a horror movie I do not know. Bad choice. Nothing is worse than waking up the strangers next to you every few minutes from jumping in fight. I tried to sleep. It did not work again. I tried to force myself to eat the disgusting chicken curry British Airways offered us. Nothing could entertain me. I felt trapped in my two-foot wide seat with these two strangers on both sides of me. I finally found something to entertain me. By the time that happened, morning came, and we were only twenty minutes away from London. I could barely contain my excitement.

We landed safely in London, but then realized we only had twenty-five minutes until our connecting flight left for Berlin, Germany. A man in a neon-orange vest met us as we got off of our plane. We went into a sketchy, underground tunnel like we were celebrities hiding from the paparazzi at the London Heathrow Airport. Our next flight was on the complete opposite side of the airport so we sprinted the entire time. Here comes problem number two. We arrive at security breathing heavily. I pour my bag into a bin, send it through the conveyor belt, and get through security successfully. My teacher is screaming, “HURRY UP,” at me. I dump the bin filled with my charger, EOS Chap Stick, wallet, camera, and schoolbag onto the ground and scramble to pick everything up without putting it in my bag. I tried to wait for RJ but he screamed, “Go without me!” like we were in some drama film. I looked like Kevin McAllister from Home Alone sprinting alone through this foreign airport bound to get lost. I somehow made it to my flight with two and a half minutes to spare with the other chaperone, Mr. Smith’s brother, Chris, behind me. I took a seat on the plane sweating profusely, tried to stop panting for air, and then we began to pull away from the terminal. Problem three: we are missing half of the students and Mr. Smith. Only Tom, Shane, Frankie, Mike, Mr. Smith’s brother and I made it onto the plane. Nick and Chris were stopped by security and received “the pat down.” RJ missed the plane by a minute, and Mr. Smith was just left behind. Just when we thought nothing else could go wrong the unthinkable happened. Ten minutes in I was sitting there happily drinking my orange juice when I suddenly noticed a scent I smelled before. I knew exactly what was coming next.

Forty thousand feet in the air my nose instantly started gushing blood. Are you kidding me right now? I tried stopping it with my hand, but that only made it worse. I got up and ran to the bathroom at the back of the plane. I was in there for at least half an hour when a flight attendant finally knocked and asked if I was ok. Do I look ok? I have blood all over my shoes and shirt, and mynose has been bleeding for forty minutes now. I hope that answers your question. “Yes, it’s just a nose bleed,” I said in a sweet voice. The two women tried to explain a technique that would stop the bleeding, but it made no sense to me. I was more fixated on their British accents than the blood gushing from my nose. A British man took my information like I was checking into a hospital, but he could not understand my American accent. I would say “1-0-8-1-8,” and he would interpret it as “1-0-A-1-A.” We went through the numbered address at least ten times before we made any progress. Our plane finally landed, and my nose was finally beginning to stop.

I was getting up from my seat when an announcement was made in three languages that no one could leave the plane. All of a sudden I heard sirens followed by an ambulance and fire truck arriving at the plane. No way. This cannot be for me. In the next minute two German medics entered the plane and rushed to my safety. All heads whipped around and gave me their direct attention. I kept saying, “It’s just a nose bleed! It’s just a nose bleed!” but no one cared what I had to say. The medics were speaking to me in German, a language completely foreign to me. I just stared at them with my mouth open practically drooling out of confusion. I had no ideawhat was being said. Everything sounded Chinese to me so I just nodded in agreement. After digging through their kit, the medic pulled out an ice pack, and he put it on my neck. An ice pack…we stopped the entire plane and called an ambulance for an ice pack! My face turned beat red out of embarrassment as the entire plane still stared directly at me. I wish I never got on this plane. I was never so embarrassed in my entire life. Because of this, Shane and Tom officially crowned me with the nickname “Gush” for the rest of the trip.

I was finally allowed to leave the plane and go through customs, which was entertaining itself. It was my turn to up to go through check in. I hand my passport to the customs worker, he looks at my photo, and then looks up at me. He entire facial expression changed. There is blood all over me, and I look like I just caused blood shed on the plane. I gave an awkward smile because I did not know what else to do. He stamped my passport and said “Willkommen in Deutschland.”