ACL ended two days ago and I’m still paying for it. Not only financially, but my body is seriously pissed.
I can’t eat anything. My body rejects everything I put into it, even water.
Last night I finally broke down and ordered a pizza because I was too tired do drive anywhere. I ate two pieces and have been running to the bathroom every hour since.
I have an intense pain behind my left eye. I can’t breathe out of my right nostril. Both of my ears feel hollow. I can’t sleep but I’m too tired to stay awake. My left leg is bruised.
Do I regret drinking heavily for 3 straight days and having the most fun a girl can have without cheese? Absolutely not. I loved every minute of it.
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I also realized for the millionth time this year just how lucky I am to have a boyfriend who is crazy enough to go along with my shenanigans. By day three, we had given up on trying to see any of the bands that we really wanted to see. We were tired of trying to find our friends, and of trying to follow any agenda. So instead, we watched whatever show we wandered into, people watched, and made our way across the park to find out who the “special guest” was at the kiddie stage.
Now that I think about it, we didn’t even stick around to find out who the special guest was. We got distracted by a kiddie-turn table booth, but I’m pretty sure it was a guy dressed up in an HEB bag filled with groceries. Regardless, I had a blast.
I hope he did too, and that it is enough to make up for the fact that I have recently started to test the waters at breaking that “grossness barrier.”
And by that, I mean that I’ve started to show some of my true colors. Oh sure, I’m sure he’s known somewhere in the back of his man-brain that I sometimes have to perform un-lady-like acts such as farting and pooping, but we’ve done a pretty swell job of never mentioning them. I even made an effort to run to the store to “pick up breakfast” on the mornings when I woke up and really had to go. Until recently.
At some point in the last few weeks, I must have unconsciously slipped into another level of comfort. I first noticed it a few weeks back when we were having a conversation about our day. Mid-conversation I had to pee, and so I did. It wasn’t until I was mid-tinkle that I realized I was sitting there on the toilet, pants at my ankles, with the door wide open. When I realized what was happening, I jumped up (mid-stream), shut the door and apologized.
Then it happened again. And again. By the third time I didn’t even realize until after the fact that I had unabashedly urinated with the door wide-open.
This weekend, things took another turn for the worse.
Sunday morning I woke up with a horrible tummy ache. I delayed our departure from my house for at least an hour with my frequent trips to the bathroom. When we finally left, I made him stop at the closest 7-11 so that I could pick up some immodium, pepto-bismol, and to drop off some dignity. After one final trip to the bathroom, he must have noticed the severe discomfort on my face and asked me what was wrong.
“I just didn’t remember eating nuts.”
At that, he just shook his head and said “you’re so sexy.”
So that’s where I stand folks. I’m currently waiting for “Dear Carissa” letter. Especially since this conversation just happened on google chat.
…
Related posts:
- TMI Thursday: Email roast style. In which people hump weird shiz.
- The scariest moment of my life (for once not an exaggeration) and why I am the worst person to be around when shiz goes down
- Dreaming of Poo
- TMI Thursday: Thank God for friends, to hell with enemas!
- Live Life like a Cliche (Oozing with cheese)