August 24th 2012
Story originally written and experienced: April 28th 2011
The Heroic Tale Of Lana Vancouver
Ladies and Gentleman, I present you the literary debut of my best friend “Penny Erikson.” You will understand our friendship completely by the time this story is over. Take it away Penny:
Let’s set the scene.
It was a pleasant Sunday morning in April and I had just woken up, feeling pretty damn good about myself for various reasons.
1. It was before 2pm
2. There was no visible evidence of drunken binge-eating from the night before in the near vicinity
3. On a scale of one -I’M 97% SURE I HEADBUTTED AN ONCOMING TRAIN LAST NIGHT, my hangover seemed to be miraculously minor.
It wasn’t long before Olive kicked >>> open the door to my room and crawled into my bed to recount the previous evening’s shenanigans…our usual weekend routine. Naively relaxed and comfortable, I laughed as I boasted of the drunken follies I’d partaken in after we’d parted ways the previous night simultaneously reaching to pull out my phone for the classic text-message verification.
That, my friends, is precisely when the shit hit the fan.
“…. FUCK. NO. MY PHONE. WHERE IS IT?! NO. DEAR GOD NO.”
These words, undoubtedly rang a thousands of times daily by hungover college students, now struck more fear into my heart than they ever had before, because… what, I ask, could possibly be worse than not being able to locate your beloved mobile device?
Knowing, with 100% certainty, EXACTLY where you left that sonofabitch.
I was looking good, feeling good and sipping (downing) a sub-par cranberry vodka at the local Skipper’s pub when
>>> walked in.
Let’s call him Todd.
I hadn’t seen much of Todd since our fellow high school days. Back in the day, he was a football-jock werking long, sideswept hair (vintage Justin Beiber style) with abs you could chip a tooth on… or so I’d heard. A deadly…deadly….combination.
4 years later, however and I’d successfully transformed into living proof of the magic that a dermatologist, orthodontist, hair stylist, and trainers had worked so hard to create. I was virtually unrecognizable now, and this fact was only exemplified for me when Todd finally spotted me from across>>>>>>> the bar
‘HOLY. SHIT. PENNY? PENNY ERIKSEN? Is that really YOU? Oh my GOD! I mean, FUCK. You got so much HOTTER since high school! WOW!”
I was on nine… It was a classic college fairytale, of epic and long-awaited proportions. I had often dreamed of my one chance with such a man, and judging by the way his hand was rapidly gravitating up my skirt in the middle of the bar,
I could tell he wanted to give me more than that.
Some buttery nipple shots and a few over-played LMFAO songs later, we were stumbling out of the bar and en route >>> to his place. I was not-so-subtly texting my friends the good news.
We made our way inside.
It was pitch black.
He headed to the bathroom as I posed seductively (doubt it) on the couch, (NOTE: conveniently located within ten feet of the front door…remember this) eagerly anticipating what was sure to be my own personal hook-up heaven.
I’d heard he was godlike, and was fully aware that he’d earned his bad reputation for being so unquestionably good. I was giddy, and my stomach was filled with what I…thought…were butterflies.
After a bathroom visit of highly questionable length, Todd finally joined me on the couch, and all my dreams were on the verge of coming true as he leaned in slowly…
He leaned in closer
…c l o s e r….
The leaning stops abruptly.
Why did he stop?! WHY did he stop? WHY WTF WHY DID HE STOP?!
“Is um…something wrong?” I nervously in inquire.
I’m talking to an unconscious man.
He’s gone. Gone I tell you! Gone…
I tried to wake him, but to no avail. My fantasy was absolutely unraveling before my very eyes. NO! Wake up! Quickly, reality sets in.
In a strange place, in the dark, hammered beyond reason and not feeling well.
Not feeling well…
NOT FEELING WELL AT ALL.
It happened before I could stop it.
I was too drunk to make even the feeblest attempts at running to the very bathroom Todd had just emerged from. It was just coming
u there was nothing I could do.
Did I throw up, you ask? Oh no, no…don’t be silly. That would be FAR too ordinary. No, I didn’t just throw up. I PROJECTILE vomited.
On Todd’s couch
On Todd’s carpet
After my show was over, I sat wide-eyed in disbelief at what had just occurred. I was with my longtime high school crush, fully prepared to take my one last, glimmering shot at redemption, my Hail Mary of reputation-savers …and now we were quite literally sitting in a lake of fresh…well…I think you can fill in the blank on this one.Internal instincts kicked in.
Fight vs flight.
I have to get out of here. I HAVE TO GET OUT NOW!
Keep in mind, I am NOT a runner. I’m not built for speed. But good god did I run. I ran like motherfucking Forrest Gump.
I threw>>> op en the door, into my bed, and slipped into sweet, sweet subconsciousness, hoping I would wake up and pretend it was all a dream…
‘WHERE IS MY MOTHERFUCKING PHONE. NO. TELL ME I DIDN’T LEAVE IT THERE. NOO.”
As one can imagine, I was in a bit of a pickle. Up until this point, I had still been holding out hope that Todd had been too blacked out to remember what had happened the night before; a hope that was dashed before my very eyes upon REMEMBERING THAT I HAD LEFT MY PHONE IN HIS VOMIT-FILLED COUCH. I cringed at the thought of him casually scrolling through my incoherent and wildly inappropriate text messages to friends, uncovering my deepest, darkest secrets whilst I drowned in the seas of shame & humiliation.
As a wAvE of panic swept over me, I realized:
This was no one-man job. If I was going to try to face the music, if I was going to pick up the pieces of my shattered pride and accept The Challenge of The Retrieval, I needed help, and I needed it now.
Meet Lana Vancouver.
Arguably my own personal Jesus. To this very day, I cannot cite a more selfless, courageous, or heroic act that has been performed by any human being, anywhere in this world, than what Lana did for me that morning. (Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King, Jr, Aunt Jemima and Ghandi all included.)
Lana was one of my housemates and dearest friends and her response to my unfortunate, yet unsurprising dilemma was as follows:
“I’m going to get it back for you. You’re not going in there…not looking like that…I’ll get it.”
True, I looked like I’d been on the losing end of a drag queen back-alley bitchfight, but even that thought completely left me as her words resonated in my head.
“You’re WHAT??? You’re just going to WALK IN THERE?” I tried desperately to pick my jaw up off the floor and maintain my composure.
“Mmm…Yeah. Ready to go?” She was already pulling on her Birkenstocks, ready to take immediate action. Like the motherfucking boss she was. Obediently, I directed her to Todd’s second-level apartment complex, only to shamefully admit I couldn’t remember which one out of the three, was his.
Only but a minor detail for Lana Vancouver. She told me to wait in the car, as I watched her slowly disappear up the stairs. I nervously fidgeted and braced myself for the inevitable aftermath of humiliation that was sure to come…
Now, I use the word “literally” to describe many things that I say. But in this case, I mean this as seriously as a heart attack:
LITERALLY LESS THAN THIRTY SECONDS went by before, to my absolute astonishment, she hopped back in the car, casually threw my phone on my lap, and put the car in drive.
UMMMMMMM WHAT????? PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT JUST OCCURRED JUST NOW.
I challenge you to find a more superhero-like story than the one that Lana then told me:
She somehow, had magically picked the correct apartment on her first try… based solely on the context clues of the geographic description I had given her…. DIDN’T EVEN FUCKING KNOCK…. And waltzed right in to Todd’s apartment.
NOT EVEN KNOWING FOR SURE THAT IT WAS HIS.
She just moseyed right. on. in. Soberly. At 2pm. Just for me. To save me from complete and total humiliation.
She saw the couch I had described, laying dead ahead.
She heard voices in the kitchen to her >> immediate right, but made the decision to go for it anyways.
She BOLTED to the couch, stuck her hand
the cushions and SOMEHOW FUCKING PULLED OUT MY FUCKING PHONE and then proceeded to
WALK THE FUCK OUT.
ALL IN LESS THAN THIRTY SECONDS.
Could it be?? Had Lana just single-handedly prevented my world from crashing down around me??
And more importantly, if my phone was still stuck in Todd’s couch, that meant…
I opened my phone.
“Hey, what happened last night? Haha”
– Text message from Todd. 12:03pm.
How do I even BEGIN to explain…?? …wait
….wait a minute..
to my advantage?
“I don’t know — we got back to your place and you just started throwing up everywhere, so I decided to leave.”
– Penny, 2:17pm.
Done and done.
Like this story? Cool. Share it with a friend to let them know you appreciate their kickass ways. And if you’ve got a better one? E-mail it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org. I might even post it on this batshit blog.
Lana is just waiting for someone to get on her level.