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Dec. 12th, 2002
Fac me cocleario vomere!
Dec. 12th, 2002 10:30 pmSo basically, I've been sick for about five weeks. The first four were miserable, with a rasping hacking cough that would have put any old seal at Sea World to shame.
This week, things went from bad to worse as I picked up a new twist from my Tiger. It started on Tuesday at about noon, as I started to feel really queasy. I mentioned this to my friend David as we went to lunch, and ate very light. By three, I couldn't hold it in any longer and ran to the bathroom to heave. Stupidly, however, I stayed at work, trying to stay on deadline for the magazine. One hour later, I was running back to the bathroom, with not much left in me.
As I was leaving at five, I felt so weak that I actually had to lay down for five minutes in the conference room. David let me use the Snoopy costume for a pillow and Anne fed me Pepto Bismol.
Didn't help much. I have a forty minute highway drive. Halfway through it, I had to pull over on the side to dry heave. Fifteen minutes after that, at a rest stop, I was hurling violently, my hands grasping clumps of snow as my body spasmodically arched forward, then relaxed, then arched forward again.
Finally made it home and collapsed in bed. Did go to work the next day, but felt like a zombie. Went home and lasted until nine that night, then fell into a huge, deep sleep. By that point, my lady Josie had the same thing, as well.
Of course, when you get like this, all the really awful vomit stories that you've lived through come racing back to you. Such as one time that I went to Medieval Manor in Boston and got stinking drunk. Medieval Manor gives you as a takeaway lovely glass cups with their name engraved in them. One of the girls in the car on the ride home started to get sick and as we pulled over, I hopped out of the car and challenged her to aim for the cup as I held it in my hands. She succeeded.
But my absolute worst story occurred when I was 21, after a play performance. I went out that night with my friend, Debbie, who was going through an anorexic phase, except for when it came to drinking. She weighed all of about 110, maybe. We were with our friend Mark, who was screamingly gay. Mark was always so funny. He had a big afro and thick glasses. And our other friend Mark 2 (or should I say, Mach 2?), who was also gay, and I had a minor crush on. I would have loved to have been with him.
Anyway, Debbie was nursing a huge mudslide, her second that night. And she hadn't eaten anything else all day long.
I spied a nice gold watch on Mark's wrist, and commented on it.
"Oh, do you like it?" he asked, laying it flat on the table for everyone to admire. "It was a gift of mine from--"
None of us had noticed that Debbie had been progressively turning green during the last five minutes. Suddenly, and without much warning, the floodgates released, and she spewed all over Mark's nice new watch, all over his shirt, all over the table.
All the heads in the restaurant turned. A waitress came running to our side, a little devastated by the tip we had left. Mark turned white as a ghost and flew into the bathroom. Quite honestly, now that I think about it, it was the last time I ever saw him.
Mark 2 and I escorted Deb into the bathroom, paid for the bill, and then set about to the task of dealing with Deb.
"She's not in any shape to drive home," he said.
"No," I agreed.
"Why don't we all go back to my house," he suggested.
This was interesting to me. "Okay," I said. "Sure."
We started off in Mark's car. About five minutes in the car, Debbie suddenly started to heave again. We pulled over to let her do her thing.
We repeated this another five minutes later.
Finally we got to his house. Debbie was passed out cold by this point. I still recall as we dragged her into his house that she was wearing a white turtleneck, and it had telltale brown stains from the Mudslide vomit all over it. We dumped her into a chair and he asked me, "You ever watch snuff films?"
"No," I said, hoping he'd show me one.
Well, we didn't, although that was my first time watching Blue Velvet, which was cool. I think we went to bed around three. He escorted me into the guest room, and then went into his bedroom, where his boyfriend was asleep.
About an hour later, I heard the scurrying of feet coming up the stairs. For some reason, I kind of had a feeling about what was about to happen. "Debbie," I thought. And all I could think of was the vomit-stained turtleneck. "Oh, please God, no. Please don't have her try to..."
I heard the creak of springs as someone crawled into bed next to me. "Oh please God," I thought, "Please let this be Mark, his boyfriend, anyone but--"
"Ted?" a soft feminine voice called out next to me and then reached a hand over to grab my crotch.
I think it was the only time I could not perform. But alas, we did not make glorious love as the sun rose, I can assure you of that. I think I said something about having my period...
This week, things went from bad to worse as I picked up a new twist from my Tiger. It started on Tuesday at about noon, as I started to feel really queasy. I mentioned this to my friend David as we went to lunch, and ate very light. By three, I couldn't hold it in any longer and ran to the bathroom to heave. Stupidly, however, I stayed at work, trying to stay on deadline for the magazine. One hour later, I was running back to the bathroom, with not much left in me.
As I was leaving at five, I felt so weak that I actually had to lay down for five minutes in the conference room. David let me use the Snoopy costume for a pillow and Anne fed me Pepto Bismol.
Didn't help much. I have a forty minute highway drive. Halfway through it, I had to pull over on the side to dry heave. Fifteen minutes after that, at a rest stop, I was hurling violently, my hands grasping clumps of snow as my body spasmodically arched forward, then relaxed, then arched forward again.
Finally made it home and collapsed in bed. Did go to work the next day, but felt like a zombie. Went home and lasted until nine that night, then fell into a huge, deep sleep. By that point, my lady Josie had the same thing, as well.
Of course, when you get like this, all the really awful vomit stories that you've lived through come racing back to you. Such as one time that I went to Medieval Manor in Boston and got stinking drunk. Medieval Manor gives you as a takeaway lovely glass cups with their name engraved in them. One of the girls in the car on the ride home started to get sick and as we pulled over, I hopped out of the car and challenged her to aim for the cup as I held it in my hands. She succeeded.
But my absolute worst story occurred when I was 21, after a play performance. I went out that night with my friend, Debbie, who was going through an anorexic phase, except for when it came to drinking. She weighed all of about 110, maybe. We were with our friend Mark, who was screamingly gay. Mark was always so funny. He had a big afro and thick glasses. And our other friend Mark 2 (or should I say, Mach 2?), who was also gay, and I had a minor crush on. I would have loved to have been with him.
Anyway, Debbie was nursing a huge mudslide, her second that night. And she hadn't eaten anything else all day long.
I spied a nice gold watch on Mark's wrist, and commented on it.
"Oh, do you like it?" he asked, laying it flat on the table for everyone to admire. "It was a gift of mine from--"
None of us had noticed that Debbie had been progressively turning green during the last five minutes. Suddenly, and without much warning, the floodgates released, and she spewed all over Mark's nice new watch, all over his shirt, all over the table.
All the heads in the restaurant turned. A waitress came running to our side, a little devastated by the tip we had left. Mark turned white as a ghost and flew into the bathroom. Quite honestly, now that I think about it, it was the last time I ever saw him.
Mark 2 and I escorted Deb into the bathroom, paid for the bill, and then set about to the task of dealing with Deb.
"She's not in any shape to drive home," he said.
"No," I agreed.
"Why don't we all go back to my house," he suggested.
This was interesting to me. "Okay," I said. "Sure."
We started off in Mark's car. About five minutes in the car, Debbie suddenly started to heave again. We pulled over to let her do her thing.
We repeated this another five minutes later.
Finally we got to his house. Debbie was passed out cold by this point. I still recall as we dragged her into his house that she was wearing a white turtleneck, and it had telltale brown stains from the Mudslide vomit all over it. We dumped her into a chair and he asked me, "You ever watch snuff films?"
"No," I said, hoping he'd show me one.
Well, we didn't, although that was my first time watching Blue Velvet, which was cool. I think we went to bed around three. He escorted me into the guest room, and then went into his bedroom, where his boyfriend was asleep.
About an hour later, I heard the scurrying of feet coming up the stairs. For some reason, I kind of had a feeling about what was about to happen. "Debbie," I thought. And all I could think of was the vomit-stained turtleneck. "Oh, please God, no. Please don't have her try to..."
I heard the creak of springs as someone crawled into bed next to me. "Oh please God," I thought, "Please let this be Mark, his boyfriend, anyone but--"
"Ted?" a soft feminine voice called out next to me and then reached a hand over to grab my crotch.
I think it was the only time I could not perform. But alas, we did not make glorious love as the sun rose, I can assure you of that. I think I said something about having my period...