Not all butt rashes are obtained through sexual contact
So I've had a rash on my butt. Don't jump to conclusions and assume that I blacked out at a frat party and woke up wearing only one sock and someone else's puke. Likewise, don't assume that I like to hang out on the docks, looking for sailors ready for a party. (I mean, I do like doing that, but still, don't assume.) There's a perfectly innocent explanation.
My friend Mick and I graduated from college together. As a little graduation gift to himself, he decided to take 2 weeks and drive to California to visit his dad. He'd be driving his motorcycle, and wanted some company, so he asked me to go.
If you've ever lived in Missouri, you know this is a very silly question. The answer to "Do you want to leave the state," no matter where to, or for how long, or by what means, is always yes. If you were due to start your new job tomorrow, or get married this evening, and someone asked you, "Do you want to take a road trip to Illinois with me right now to transport some used kitty litter to my ex-convict cousin Switchblade to use to bury a corpse with?" the answer would be yes. When you live in Missouri, you occupy a large portion of your time dreaming up scenarios which might take you out of the state, for any reason at all. I had ridden a motorcycle only once before, and it was a big comfy Honda Gold Wing driven very slowly by a responsible retired man of 56 around the block in my small hometown. The trip probably took 4 minutes. Mick's bike was a very small Honda something-or-other, no luxury bike, and Mick was no retiree; he was 22. But I didn't even blink before shouting, "Yes, I'll go!" It's just lucky for me he had asked me to go someplace interesting and beachy like California, because I'd have said yes to a trip to Kansas.
The trip took us 3 days to get there and 4 days to get back, with a week spent in California. The trip highlights:
--It rained on us as we drove through the mountains in Colorado, and we stopped at a laundromat in Salida to dry our clothes. While waiting for them to dry, I walked across the street to a Wal-Mart, the only business in sight. Somehow, because God is a jokester, I ran into my ex-boyfriend--who I had recently broken up with and now loathed--and who, of course, like me, lived in Missouri. How we happened to meet up in Colorado at that moment, when neither of us had any idea the other would be in Colorado, is beyond me. Small, cruel world.
--While on the road, we slept wherever we happened to be. We had sleeping bags, and would sleep wherever we found a spot most of the time. Outside Vegas, in fact, we just slept not too far off the side of the road. If you knew what a prissy little princess I am, this would impress you, but actually, I didn't even mind it; it was an adventure, and as I said, I was out of Missouri. And then sometimes, for a break from roughing it, we'd get a hotel room. (Nothing funny happened, I can assure you. Not only did I have a new guy I was seeing back home--who was none-too-pleased about this trip, by the way--but Mick had recently gifted a friend of mine with chlamydia--after I set the two of them up. She thought he was very cute and very smart and very witty til the communicable disease portion of the relationship. That can be a real downer in a budding love story, apparently. I suppose that could be my Lessons I've Learned Part 5: Don't play cupid to people who may have STDs. And yes, I've changed his name for this story, just in case he ever finds my blog and decides to hunt me down and kill me for revealing his seedy sexual history.)
--We planned the Mojave desert portion of the trip so that we'd be going through in the middle of the night, and hopefully therefore not scald our skin right off our bodies. A wise move, but you'd be surprised--driving through, it still felt like we were driving around in a very big oven. And it's not hard imagining why there are emergency telephones all along the highway at regular intervals, because if your car happened to crap out on you in the middle of the day, it would take about 14 seconds for you to die of exposure. So yes, for the curious among you, the desert is indeed one hot mother.
--A creepy moment occurred in Vegas, moments after Mick and I had been talking about The Doors. He was saying he loved them, I was saying I hated them. Then we stopped at a gas station, where we found an abandoned Doors CD sitting on our gas pump. Creepy.
--When we arrived in California, I learned we'd be staying on his dad's houseboat. That was actually kind of cool--we had the place to ourselves, and it was small but had separate sleeping quarters. It was neat to stay on a boat for a week...except for the fact that I discovered on that trip that I get sick on boats. When we were docked it was okay, but when we went out into the open water, I got green. Nice. Still, I got to do a lot of sunbathing, and really, we didn't spend much time on the boat anyway, but instead visited various beaches and touristy spots while we were in town.
--Oh yeah, the rash part. So it turns out that a tender, delicate booty like my own doesn't necessarily take easily to sitting on a bike for days on end. I had acquired a minor rash by the time we arrived in California. Then I sunbathed almost every day, because, well, I'm an idiot. I'm also a very white, very pale idiot, so I burned. Then after a week of cooking my rashy behind in the sun, I hopped back on the bike for the return trip home. Rash stacked on top of burn stacked on top of rash. Ow. Not a very Jack Kerouac scene.
--And for the final trip highlight: The wasp in Mick's pants. We were almost home, maybe an hour away, and I was sitting there admiring the passing scenery, my legs continuing to get pelted with insects and debris, as happens on a bike. I was sitting behind Mick, naturally, but there was no need to hold on to his waist or anything; it was a small bike, but I had a little back rest and I could lean back on that, leaving maybe six inches of space between his body and mine. For no reason I could imagine, he began sort of hopping left to right in his seat while driving, kind of doing a crazy shimmy. I thought he had lost his mind. He then pulled over, leapt off the bike and raced for the ditch, where he was able to quickly drop his shorts out of the sight of passing cars (and me), shrieking the entire time. Turns out a wasp had beaten incredible odds by managing to get between Mick and me at 70 MPH and insert himself into the tiny gap at the top of his shorts, and was apparently then disappointed to find that frolicking in the crack of Mick's butt was not all he had hoped it would be. But the wasp was soon freed, and we were back on our way home.
The lesson: When embarking on a motorcycle trip cross-country, take into consideration the general well-being of your butt. I'm no biker chick, so I still don't know how to properly advise you in avoiding bike-induced butt rashes, but there's got to be a way. Bring along a pillow, maybe--liberally slather your posterior with lotion, perhaps--or at the very least, understand the wisdom of letting irritated skin heal before cooking it in the sun for several days.
That sounds painful!!
But it sounds like you had a fun adventure--so maybe butt rashes=good times.
Ouchie! Sweaty bum rash sounds awful!
But what a trip of weird things and coincidences!
So, I want to see more baby pictures too, not that I don't really enjoy your butt... hey, have a picture of that too.
I'm loving your stories.
i really love this story! well told and funny as hell
Are you sure it was a rash and not more chiggers?!
I'm still reeling over running into your ex-boy toy in WalMart in Colorado.
...and the Doors CD!
Are you SURE that you don't have your own personal ghost following you around?
The Doors rocks.
"Five to One" -- a pretty damn good song by them.
I was okay about not laughing out loud until I got to the part about the wasp in Mick's butt crack.
If I get fired from this week's temp gig, I'll know whose blog to blame!
I feel your pain about Missouri, since I have been there a zillion times (my mom is from there, grandma still lives there). My sister and I used to call it Misery, which I'm sure is totally original.
Anyway, the part about the wasp thinking that Mick's butt crack wasn't all he hoped made me almost spit out my diet coke. Thanks a lot!
Bugs in the buttcrack are the worst ever. At Girl Scout Camp, we were having a candlelight ceremony by this mosquito-infested lake one night, and I got the most god-awful itch in my crack as I held my candle. I told my best friend to "cover me" as I reached down there and found an ANT. How did he get in there, and what did he do while he was there? (This is assuming it was a "he"-- lesbian ants in my ass are a whole other story)
Anyway, I love your blog and I am gonna link you up. Hope that's OK by you! :)
ouch. i took several trips to california from missouri, but none ever involved a motorcycle seat. you have my newfound respect.
"show me (the way out of this) state"
actually, i'm kind of fond of missouri, but i didn't live there as long as you...
Yeah, I used to call it "Show me another state." Or "the armpit of the earth," depending on my mood.
We could have always went to Kansas...LOL. I have known you for the better part of my life and you still suprise me Mon.
Well Miss Karla, it's been a challenge thinking of questions that will provide a post on par with your others... but here we go.
Question 1: What is your favorite guilty pleasure?
Question 2: What bad habit do you wish you could break? (but really have no intention of breaking)
Question 3: What’s the best pick-up line you’ve ever heard?
Question 4: And, common, I have to ask: What was your most creative Missourian pastime?
Question 5: And, for the grand finale… Another rousing game of shag, marry, push off a cliff. Please put each of the following men into the aforementioned categories: Colin Farrell, Vince Vaughn, and Jude Law. (theme? Hollywood Men you Love to Hate)
Best of luck to you.
Want to play?
The Official Interview Game Rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying “interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person’s will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Well, I think the best way to avoid future bum rashes from excessive motorbike riding, would be to avoid doing long road trips on a bike!
Very entertaining story :)
I actually think your friend might have had it worse ... a wasp in your behind ... uhghgh. Funnily enough, I had a dream about that very thing the other night!
I think the wasp in the pants may have been karmic retribution for passing on the chlamydia.
If everybody I visit wrote nice long, pithy, funny pieces like this I would be here all day and get rash on my butt. Fortunately not everybody is posting today.
that was brilliantly funny, i can't imagine all the bugs...ick, sounds like a great time though...
Ahhh, Chlamydia... Brings a tear to my eye.
Guessing she didn't "calp" for that.... oh god that was jsut about the wirst joke ever...
Anyway, did you have to like sit on a donut and stuff after? ;O)
I will definitely keep that in mind. We are planning to drive to Florida via bike in Oct., so I will definitely protect my butt!
This is THE best butt rash story I've read all week!!! Thanks!!!
(PS--I'm still pondering what, exactly, the wasp thought Mick's butt crack had to offer in the first place. Poor wasp.)
Jim Morrison lives....
Okay, this seals the deal my friend. I will be your publicist, and you are going to write a book. We will be rich, and I can move back home.
Side note...doesn't Ben look like someone we know?
I figured it out. He looks like the oldest brother on Malcom in the Middle (not that I admit to ever watching this program, mind you.)
Masked Mom: How many butt crack stories have you read this week? I must know.
This is HILARIOUS! You're awesome! I was literally laughing my ass of at this whole story at work! Oh the lives some people lead... It sounds like there's no shortage in excitement -- in Missouri even.
Wonderful hilarious post! I've had a wasp make it into my shirt while i was riding, so I can identify.
BTW, I feel exactly the same way about Kentucky that you do about Missouri.
My life is just one butt-rash story after another, can't you tell?
(Seriously, we WERE laughing at work about an ad for Zim's Crack Creme. We were very disappointed to find out it was for dry skin everywhere and not butt-specific.)
(And hey, don't you love a butt rash story that starts out "seriously"?)
(Also, I so can not wait to see who turns up here next week after searching for "butt rash")
(And yes, I am the queen of parenthetical information--it's a tough job but someone's gotta do it.)
Oh, that's funny. I feel sorry for Mick and all, but the wasp in his pants? HEEE. That's what he gets for giving your friends ewwie diseases.
I just discovered your site today, and I'm glad I did. This story slayed me! I'm squirming just thinking of the rash on top of the burn on top of the rash. Aiiiieee!
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