Gawd. I've had food poisoning. How'da hell that happen? Let's see, we'll stoke the boiler and climb aboard my handy-dandy Wayback Machine and see, shall we?
This last weekend was RavenCon, a little nerd shindig that involved my brother coming up to stay for a couple days to bitch and moan about everything and to annoy my cat, and getting to hang around with Sherri & Jay. I apparently bought two books I kinda really didn't want (two books for the price of two!) and groped not a single geek-boy. My brother and I also thought RavenCon was next weekend so I had no embarassing getup to wander around in. It really didn't matter since this year was Pirate Year and I'm dreadfully bored by the whole pirate thing. Or at least pudgy guys dressed like pirates with Keith Richards eyeliner who are pointedly not Johnny Depp. That's just freakin' wrong and sooo last Halloween. At least none of them had fake parrots.
When the show was done we all piled up in a van and went to a normally very nice (and nameless) ethnic resturaunt near the airport. Said nice ethnic resturaunt had a fighter jet painted on the ceiling, inexplicably firing rockets at Popocatepetl. It made no real sense because the airport isn't military. Anyhow, the food was great, as it usually is at this place, or at least at the other two locations I'd eaten at. I now refuse to vouch for this one.
But great food going down ain't no guarantee it's gonna be any good coming back up, especially after it's been fermenting away down there for about 12 hours. Tasty.
I spent the entire night willing myself to not barf. I'd doze, wake up with what felt like a kick in the diaphragm, say some kinda "don't puke" mantra, then go back to sleep for a bit. I eventually lost the battle about 7:50am Sunday morning after the cat had stomped across my stomach for the nth time, and forcibly expelled everything I had eaten for at least the past three days. I think my insides are permanently turned inside-out and I wasn't exactly pleased with having to kneel in the cat litter strewn around the toilet.
I ate nothing all day Sunday, mostly because of the meat grinder in my gut, well nothing except for an entire large-sized container of Tums EX. I pretty much spent the whole day curled in a fetal position waiting for death but the sonofabitch didn't show.
My brother? I heard the bastard merrily chomping Pringles before I staggered off to jam my head down the toilet. I also had the joy of watching him snarf down some smelly frozen pasta dish while my innards griped and swirled.
Monday, I've sort of spent stretched out on the sofa hoping the cat will stay the hell off me. I finally ate a slice of toast a couple hours ago but it tasted like ass. Truly, this has got to be what ass tastes like. If somebody does some research and tells me that no, this isn't what ass tastes like I will hit them really really hard.
Of course my freezer is filled with all manner of raw chicken parts and the cabinets are crammed with Indian sauces and such, none of which sound even remotely appetizing right at the moment.
I truly think I shall never eat anything ever again.