So welcome to another chapter about the embarrassing but hopefully hilarious hi-jinks of my life.
Once upon a time (aka last summer) I was visiting my friend Marissa (@tishalulle1) in Portland, Oregon for the weekend. Our Friday was filled with eating delicious Thai food, watching Downton Abbey, making adult milkshakes and snacking on dairy products, which neither of us are actually supposed to have. But goat cheese is amazing. And candy. Nom nom nom.
Well the next morning Marissa threw up.
Which was odd because she really didn't drink enough to cause a hangover or alcohol poisoning or anything really. And I felt fine.
But after that she felt fine and dandy so we continued with our plan to enjoy Portland's Saturday market.
It was a gorgeous day--picturesque, just hot enough that you could walk around in a tank top and not get chilly but not so much that you were sweating while standing in place (my most hated of temperatures).
It was all going well until I started to feel a little nauseated. I started to wonder if it was the heat--my poor little Irish head possibly just couldn't take it and I was suffering from heat exhaustion or something. So I started drinking more water.
Then I began to feel a LOT nauseated. Like, "Dear god, please just let me vomit and get it over with" nauseated. Eating greasy street vendor food probably wasn't helping this... but low blood sugar also makes me pretty dizzy/nauseated so I was trying to cover my bases of what could possibly be going wrong.
We decided I needed to go home and were on our way out when I abruptly bent over a large trashcan and tossed every proverbial (and literal) cookie I had consumed in the last 24 hours). Sitting next to this trashcan was a young teen couple looking suspiciously syrupy sweet and lovey dovey...
So I like to imagine that from their perspective it looked something like this:
Girl: Oh Tommy, I'm so glad you asked me to go steady.
Boy: I can't believe you said yes, Tara, I feel so lucky. You make me so happy.
Girl: You complete me.
Boy: I love you.
Girl: I love you.
If only I'd had the foresight to look them dead in the eye when I rose up and wipes my mouth to say, "Get a room."
But alas, apparently when in the throws of sickness, my comedic punchlines are slow in coming.
We got home and I threw up two more times... because apparently there was something left.
It was food poisoning. Somehow Marissa had escaped the brunt of it, possibly because either A, the bad chicken was mostly on my plate, B, she'd become sick off of a bite she'd eaten off my plate or C, her digestive system is far more badass than mine.
All of these are possible.
However I had to get home that night. I can't remember why at this point but I knew it was imperative I do so.
After spending an hour or two curled up on the couch watching more Downton Abbey (have I mentioned how awesome this show is?), I climbed into my car and started the 3 hour drive to Seattle.
I stopped twice at rest stops to vomit some more.
And yes, I managed to wait until I reached a rest stop.
My magical power is that though I do vomit, I do so politely...
...except of course when interrupting sappy love scenes apparently. Oops.
However, I did make it home in one piece (obviously since I'm here to type the tale) because I'M THE JUGGERNAUT, BITCH!
...And we are never getting Thai food there ever again.