Heidi and I always joke that we should both call in sick on the same day so we can sit around in our pajamas and do nothing but watch TiVo and movies all day long. I mean, sure, we could do that on the weekend but that's not as much fun as on a normal weekday when we're supposed to be at SCHOOL. I mean work. Anyway, there's always all this other stuff to do on the weekend, like go see friends or go to the store or drink. Priorities, people. Well, Heidi and I both ended up home from work yesterday but it wasn't quite what we'd hoped and dreamed it would be.
So, Thursday night, I started to feel sick during The Office. Which is not my normal reaction, I promise. Ask Heidi. All through the show I tried to deny it and even when I said, "I think I am going to vomit," during the beginning of 30 Rock I was mostly kidding. Only it turned out the joke was on me. I WASN'T KIDDING because then I vomited everywhere. Not really everywhere, though. Just in the toilet. And in my trashcan. And maybe a little in my hair.
I spent the rest of the night either spooning the toilet or curled up in bed doing Lamaze breathing to relieve the pain THE PAIN THE HORRIBLE PAIN in my belly. I'm not sure I was doing it right because everything I learned about Lamaze I learned from that episode of Saved By the Bell where there's an earthquake and Mr. Belding's wife gives birth in the elevator? You know the one I mean? I understand if you don't, cause it was one of those ones with Tori? The girl who wore the leather jacket and rode a motorcycle? Those episode were lame. LAME! WTF? Like, they all graduated and then all the sudden they come back and Kelly Kapowski and Jessie Spano are just gone? And some girl with weird, curly hair takes their place? Again, LAME. ANYWAY. I couldn't sleep, so instead I watched a lot of TV. Puking, Futurama, Futurama, Family Guy, more puking, Scrubs, Legally Blond, and then I forget cause I was throwing up some more, and then did you know The X-Files is on like 74 times really early in the morning? Well, it is. I thought about going to the store to get some medicine, but I was afraid I'd throw up in my car and do you know who'd have to clean that up? I would! And if there's one thing I hate almost as much as puking, it is cleaning up puke. I don't care if it's my own or not. I mean, I tried really hard before I threw up to talk myself out of it. "Don't throw up, belly, it's just not fun. The mouth and esophagus asked me to talk to you. They don't like it. It tastes gross and to be honest, it kind of hurts the neck, too. I promise to be better to you if you'll just stop. No more spicy food. No more mixing beer and liquor." But, alas, the belly cannot be reasoned with. Stupid belly. But at least I don't have to give up spicy food. I tried denial, too. "Nope, not gonna throw up. My stomach feels fine. My mouth is not filling with saliva and I most certainly am not having hot flashes and oh god oh god I'm gonna throw up where's the trashcan." Yeah, it didn't turn out so well. I made myself wait until 6 AM and then I did what any self-respecting adult would do. I called my mommy and daddy and asked them to bring me some medicine because MY TUMMY HURT.
So, yes, not my proudest moment. But whatever. Heidi and I both slept through most of yesterday. I ate some toast and about four bites of chicken noodle soup before I gave up and just drank the broth, which is what I really wanted anyway. Mmm, chicken broth. And I don't know how, but I also slept about 14 hours last night. And then? When I finally worked up the strength to walk all dizzied out into the kitchen to get some water, I noticed that Phoebe had puked on the floor in like three different places. I mean, it was really nice of her to test my gag reflex like that, because how else would I have known that I was ready to put something on my toast besides just butter? And peanut butter toast is my favorite.
Wow, I just talked a lot about vomit. I'm really sorry. At least I'm not being all Debbie Downer anymore, though, right?