What NOT to talk about on a first date

I have this friend... and this friend may/may-not-be the friend that was peripherally involved in a potential party-pooping. Maybe.

Anyway, this friend has an unfortunate habit of bringing up abortion every time she macks on a dude.. which is, in itself, hysterical. I mean truly - what else do women who work for reproductive rights organizations talk about? The weather? I think not. Once we cover the recent Lindsay Lohan/Britney Spears/Paris Hilton news, it's all abortion - all the time.

The commentary below is from a party earlier this year, and covers which obstacles, exactly, said friend would have had to go through if she needed an abortion and still lived in Louisiana... you know, some light conversation to really get to know someone:

If I had an abortion when I was 14, I would have had to get a judicial bypass. Then my boyfriend, grandmother, and priest all would have been arrested for crossing state lines to take me to a clinic. Or, we could have driven five hours to Shreveport for the nearest abortion clinic. When I got there, I would accidentally have visited a crisis pregnancy center and met a man named Andy. At the abortion clinic, they sould have given me an ultrasound and then would have made me drive home five hours to think for 24-hours. Also, my boyfriend would be arrested for statutory rape. Then I would go back to the clinic and give the fetus fetal anesthesia. Then I would leave and walk through many protesters who were not obeying FACE laws and were threatening me.

Classic.

it was a total shitstorm

(Illustration by Kyle T. Webster)

Now, I know this may upset some of those (ok, one of those) involved - it's still a touchy subject - but it's too funny to let go without a bit o' blogging... and so, I give you, "Party Pooper," as told by The Washington City Paper:

On March 24, a group of women organized a birthday party at the Dupont Circle bar. Mark Karns, a 28-year-old from Chicago, and his friends surveyed the scene nearby.

Then, all of a sudden, two “big guys” barreled toward the girls, screaming. One of them wore a green blazer, Karns remembers. And on his shoulder appeared to be a big pile of shit.

The shit, it seems, came from a container of Insta-Poop, a can of fake feces that, according to Karns, looked and smelled remarkably real. Best as Karns could make out, someone at the bar—maybe one of the birthday girls or maybe some other “diabolical mischievous person”—had stooped over the railing of the Big Hunt’s second floor and sprayed the patrons below. Whoever the culprit, the Insta-Poop attack created quite a stink.

Read more here.

Now, I won't go into the many details that the writer and eye (shoulder?)-witnesses got wrong (I was there, so I would know!), but I will say this: It was, truly, the night "Patrons [got] shitfaced at the Big Hunt." Who knew that a pre-birthday can of Insta-Poop would be such a hit? Or that it would keep a certain group of ladies from ever showing their faces in The Big Hunt ever again? For real - we had nothing to do with this... we were simply witness to the onslaught. Sure, we brought the poop, but we never intended to use it on someone. But it's a lovely place and you should absolutely patronize their watering hole.

Good times.