 Rum Cake Revolt |
|
Clearly, the best way to treat an ailing digestive system is to fill it up with giant slices of rum cake and lemon pie. I hadn't thrown up in one year. The last time was when I barfed in my lilies with a projectile force instigated by too many crawfish, screwdrivers, and public makeout sessions with my friend J. Last night, I went out for Mexican food with Reid and his friend Mike. I had two raspberry margaritas and we toasted to having been at camp together ten years ago this summer. They waxed poetic for a while about how summers like that only come once in a lifetime and I wished aloud that my little brother would just go work there already. Reid came over after and we sat out on my back patio and each had one beer while he played the guitar very well and I played my one or two songs like ass. He endured slobbers from all four pets and then I drove him home and played eastmountainsouth for him. Then I crawled into bed about midnight and passed out. I then woke up from a dead sleep at 2:00 precisely and ran to the bathroom and puked out my everliving guts. I don't even think it was a drunk puke, because two margaritas and a beer many hours before do not a drunk puke make, and plus, it wasn't that drunk puke of just liquid and foam and smelly alcoholly hurliness -- it was straight up food. I was like, hellooooo, chicken soft taco, cheese enchilada, chips, salsa, and yellow rice! It was like it had never even seen my stomach acid. It was horrifying. It was the most spectacular chunk-blowing of my lifetime. I guess maybe my guitar playing actually made me sick. Needless to say, I came to work feeling not so very perky and was immediately inundated with calls about things that are of course needed right away and of course were not requested until the last possible second from not one, not two, but three women from the same department who kept calling me to make me repeat what I had told the last one. Histrionics really irritate me when I am trying to work. We had the rum cake and lemon pie for a secretary's birthday, and we all took a hearty piece of each. I now feel like my stomach is hating me with approximately the same degree of vehemence as my sister did after she read yesterday's entry. Looking back, I can see how it would totally seem like the "you" in the entry might have seemed like "you, my sister," but honest to God, it wasn't. I don't think my sister is in any way the devil. I was ranting and blowing off steam and shame on me for even allowing the possibility of it seeming like some kind of a personal attack. I am the devil. I am the devil. (Said like, "I am the dog. I AM THE DOG!" when Sally throws the chicken wing and slams through the swinging door.) I haven't watched my tape of A Wrinkle in Time yet, but I got an email from Lisa who sounded like she might have been hyperventilating while watching it, and not in a good way. I decided I'd rather watch Gregory Smith as Ephram than as Calvin, and the finale of Everwood was excellent save for the imbecilic pregnancy storyline for which I could just kill Berlanti. Does he not realize the loathing that America has for Madison and how the thought of anything having anything to do with her, much less the idea of her toting around the spawn of Ephram, is repugnant to his core viewers? I am choosing to believe that the entire subplot was a nightmare and instead focus on the Ephram / Amy and Bright / Delia and Harold / Andy goodness. Shelley arrives tomorrow for the weekend, and it should be fun. Tomorrow night we have a date with Boston Rob and some takeout (I voted for him, won't you?) and Saturday there's a pool party and Sunday there's a crawfish boil and it will probably be raining the entire time, but we'll just happily slosh through it all. We hope to replicate the green apple and brie sandwich, our favorite from the Grey Dog, but we'll have to find some challah bread and some raspberry mustard. We're also making rolo brownines and drinking daiquiries. Lots of daiquiries. And now, some random pictures.
About this time in ...
© Copyright 2004 elb |
|
