That’s a little quote from a Screeching Weasel song. It’s a nice beginning to this tale I’m about to tell.
This morning was certainly an interesting one. Last night, while watching 2 Fast 2 Furious with some friends, we devised a little drinking game. Take a shot or a chug every time a character says “bro.” Anyone who has seen this, or any other Paul Walker masterpiece, knows that word is thrown out more than any other. So I drank. A lot.
And what did I learn from all of this? Rum and beer don’t mix exceptionally well. Two of my friends had to drive me home last night. When I woke up this morning, to get ready for work, I threw up. Which is cool; whatever playa.
What’s not cool? At about 8:45am, on my way to work, I am cruising on University Blvd. My stomach started to move around in ways I can’t describe. My mouth started salivating – I knew what was about to happen. But I was driving – I can’t do this now, can I?
Oh and I did. I was going about 45 mph or so when it happened. I couldn’t puke out the window because I had to see the road. So I leaned over, with my eyes on the road still, and puked on the passenger side floor. Luckily for me, it was mostly liquid.
I arrived at work about 2 minutes later, still in shock, with my eyes still watery. I walk in and notice a whole bunch of people standing around – this was the day of a big meeting I was to be apart of and it was to start in 3 minutes. What a glorious start to a glorious day.
My Poor Little Stomach (10/2007)