The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

The Daily Campus

The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

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Take a stand for life’s lessons

 Take a stand for lifes lessons
Take a stand for life’s lessons

Take a stand for life’s lessons

There are two skills (learned in the United States) I am most grateful for while living over here, and my mother will be pleased to know both nuggets of wisdom were initially hers to impart.

Girls, if you do not know by now, you must learn to pee standing up.

Yes, it sounds a bit odd, something usually associated with the occasional (really) bad porn, but I have never been more pleased with myself than I was Friday night when I managed, somehow by the grace of God, to urinate standing up without getting a drop on my pants.

Of course, you are all wondering why I was forced to pee in such an unnatural manner, and trust me, there is nothing more unnatural than a girl relieving herself with knees locked.

There are these beautiful little parties in London that travel around occupying various warehouses every weekend, and I happened to be privy to this past Friday night’s happenings. Dolled up in cargo pants, a tight top and outrageous makeup, I made my way to the party, oblivious to the severe lack of toilet facilities that awaited me. Had I known, I would have taken Amy seriously when she suggested we stuff our bras – the tissues would have come in handy.

We hit the dance floor, instantly grooving to the hard house and drum n’ bass, psyching our bodies up for the six hours of dancing that loomed ahead.

Now, I have always been a pretty heavy sweater (ask my mom), so I go through fluids like a fat girl goes through cheesecake.

Basically two-fisting the water bottles for the first two hours, I suddenly realized around 3 a.m. that my bladder and kidneys had never hated me more. I grabbed Amy’s hand and headed off in search of a toilet.

Forty-five minutes later, I was on the verge of tears as the doorman informed us that no toilet facilities were available. Now, in the United States, that would be illegal, or at least constitute some major lawsuit action. Not so in London.

So I turned to Amy and bravely said those words no girl likes to say: “Cover me, I am going in the corner/alley/under a bridge.”

Needless to say, my venture to the dark side was a success. Call me Princess Pee.

As for the second skill my mother so dearly imparted to her only child, it would be this: learn to burp and fart without making a sound.

I wish I had a funny story to tell for this one, but I don’t. It makes for a great party trick.

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