Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to end up being That Relative at holidays who always tells That One Story. You know that story, about the time they and that other person did that really awesome stuff and things happened and it was so funny or crazy or neat, except you’ve heard it so often that it’s not anymore.
This got me thinking, what stories am I going to tell when I’m the cranky old cat lady with the flame-painted-walker? So, I submit to you my top five runners for, That One Story…
1. This one time, when I was living in Thailand, I didn’t think it was a good idea to warn the other Americans about the toilets. You see, in Thailand they use what’s called a squatty potty. Think of a porcelain toilet bowl set into the ground with rubber grips on the side, if it’s a fancy one. So it’s time to stop at a road side outhouse and the guide that’s driving us to the city we’ll be living in looks at me and says very seriously, “They need to use the bathroom.” I had to remember that I was an old hand to squatty potties, having been introduced to them in Russia. I had to take about eight very girly Americans into a cinderblock and plywood structure and demonstrate to them how to use a squatty potty. There are pictures, and here is proof. During this time, I also learned how to wash, clean and fry up crickets. They are a common snack food and taste like a cross between popcorn and fried green beans. It’s not the taste that gets you, it’s the legs stuck between your teeth.
2. When I was twenty, I got the opportunity to be a roadie for two of my favorite bands for a week. During those seven days, I broke my arm, refused to go to a hospital, had an earring mostly torn out of my ear, slept in my car, drank nothing but Rockstar and passed out in my best friend’s ultimate band guy crush’s arms. I had no clue who he was. I have nerve damage from not getting my arm looked at. But it was worth it.
3. This one time when I was on a ski trip, a really hot snowboarder and I took the pony tow up to the top of the mountain where the double black diamond runs were. At the time I was on snowblades, which are mini skis, think the roller blades of the snow sports world. A double black diamond ski run is incredibly hard, usually very steep and treacherous. But I was going to do it because there was the Hot Snowboarder. We select the run from the map we want to do, and head in that direction. The snow was beautiful, pristine, perfectly fresh. No one had skied on it that day. With a “Yahoooo!” we took off down this run. I took it at an almost straight shot down because I was trying to impress Snowboarder. At one point I even did a somersault, rolled to my feet and kept going. I was feeling pretty bad ass. We got to the bottom of that run where it joined kind of an easy trail that would allow us to return to the lift, and suddenly a swarm of ski patrol is all over us. Apparently the run had been marked off because they were setting off avalanche bombs to knock snow off the ridge. It took some serious groveling to keep our lift tickets.
4. I grew up doing rodeo, primarily trick riding, but I also got to do a few stints as a rodeo clown. This one time I’m out in the arena in full rodeo clown get up, and I can’t get back to the barrel fast enough before a steer that had just been bucked charged me. I wound up being shoved against the fence and tossed around like a rag doll by this eight hundred pound steer. I escaped mostly unharmed, save some interesting bruises. I finished the performance and my mother never let me be a rodeo clown again.
5. This story has a lot in common with #2 up there. For about two years I played and was part of the local roller derby league. I worked my butt off to get on a team, and put in a lot of time skating outside of practices. A speed skater friend of mine and I went to a public skate and thanks to a tweenager skating the wrong direction, I had to make the choice to either hit the kid going really fast and hurt her badly, or go face first into the wall. I went into the wall and fractured my knuckles. The doctors didn’t want to cast it and wanted me to not practice. I’d worked too long to not play, so I duct taped my hand to a piece of plastic under my wrist guards and went to practices anyways. That’s dedication. It was also a really stupid choice.
I’m going to give away a copy of my book, Personal Adventures, and a $5 gift card to the winner’s choice of either Barnes & Noble or Amazon. To enter, answer the following question AND leave a way to contact you, either email or twitter handle. The contest will end in 48 hours, and the winner will be chosen at random.
Do you have a relative that tells a story so many times you can recite it? Want to give us your rendition?
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It can never be said that Sidney Bristol has had a ‘normal’ life. She is a recovering roller derby queen, former missionary, and tattoo addict. She grew up in a motor-home on the US highways (with an occasional jaunt into Canada and Mexico), traveling the rodeo circuit with her parents. Sidney has lived abroad in both Russia and Thailand, working with children and teenagers. She now lives in Texas where she splits her time between a job she loves, writing, reading and belly dancing.
You can keep up with her by checking out her Website, where you can see her latest releases, blog and sign up for the newsletter. She’s active on both Twitter and Facebook.
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Personal Adventures
Carey's had the hots for his best friend and outdoor adventures coworker Elise for two years, but the timing has never been right. Now they’re both single and Carey wants to entice her into an adventure that’s about just the two of them. In the bedroom, in the hot tub, under the beautiful Colorado sky…
Elise doesn’t buy into the idea of love, but lust she understands. Carey’s friendship is important, but a relationship doesn’t fit into Elise’s five-year plan. She isn’t looking to repeat her parents’ mistakes.
With secrets coming out from under every rock and desire unchecked, this adventure might make more than the water on their rafting trips rush.
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Excerpt
Elise gulped down a deep breath to steady her nerves and pushed away from the shed. Her stomach fluttered and her palms were moist. The cool evening air caressed her legs and whispered up her skirt, kissing bare flesh. Her nipples were tight, hard peaks. She had tried to find her one real bra with actual lace, but it had been a lost cause. If it wasn’t for her lack of breasts she could have borrowed one of her roommates’ bras like she’d “borrowed” the dress she wore. Her breasts weren’t much more than walnuts, but it was the idea of getting ready that had mattered at the time. She didn’t typically need to wear a bra and she never wore a dress, but she’d do both for Carey.
Ahead, light spilled from every window in the cabin. The tall pines stood sentinel around it. It was a beautiful home he’d had built not long after taking the job at Adventures. She’d been jealous of it in the beginning, but she spent a lot of time there, so she got to enjoy it almost as much as he did.
The house was a variation of the single-room cabins settlers used to build, very no-nonsense. A dividing wall separated his bedroom from the rest of the house, and the bathroom had an entrance into both spaces. The front and back porches made up three fourths of the square footage of the actual house, and more often than not was where they hung out. Again, he’d used local people to build it. In true bachelor style, it was furnished with comfort in mind, but that was how she liked things as well, so she had no complaint about the cabin or Carey. Except that she wanted what he had.
As she stepped around the truck, her stomach threatened to mutiny. Who was she kidding? She didn’t have any business being here.
Movement in the far right window rooted her to the spot. Had he seen her? If he hadn’t, maybe she could back out of the drive and leave. Peering at the window, she waited for any sign that she might have been seen.
Carey stepped into view, perfectly framed by the window, buck-ass naked. And what a nice ass it was. The round globes were as tan as his chest. Elise imagined him sunbathing naked on the rocks behind his house. Her mouth dried. Wide shoulders tapered to a stomach she knew was firm and flat. He was muscular from hours of hard work, not hanging out at a gym. The tattoo circling his right arm stood out as the only bit of color. She’d gone with him to get the tattoo and let him squeeze her hand. It was a simple black silhouette of the mountains, but it symbolized his love for the great outdoors.
He turned, giving her a profile shot. His head tipped forward and his hand grasped his cock. He didn’t jerk himself hard, but it was a strong touch, sliding up his stiff flesh.
Oh god. Elise’s heart knocked against her chest and her breath hitched. She wanted to do that. She wanted to feel his skin against her palm, caress him in a way that would make him groan.
Her knees wavered at the hedonistic thoughts. Swaying, she caught herself with a hand against the hood of his truck.
The headlights flashed and the horn began honking. Elise yelped and jumped back, her heart racing as the continuous sounds of the alarm echoed through the night. She looked from the truck to the window—
Carey was gone.
“Shit!”
