Searching for Mr. Goodflu
A lot of people in my office were sick with a stomach flu last week. My boss, my boss' boss, her boss and so on and so on, right up the corporate ladder. Oddly, I did not pick up the bug but I figured for the sake of my career, I better start cracking on getting infected with this monster. The small talk value alone would last me through 2007 at least.
Despite my attempts to weaken my immune system to the point of non-existence, Friday rolled around and I was as healthy as a horse. I wasn't too tearful, it was a long weekend and I had a lot to do that required time spent outside of the confines of my bathroom.
Sunday night I broke open a bottle of champagne to celebrate the fact that I had a bottle of champagne in my fridge. My friend D was coming over after the Pat's game so I busied myself with putting together what I hope is the very last piece of furniture for my dining room. Jerry, my elusive and fearful, yet curious, shelter cat watched me from the top of the stairs, eyes bugging out of his head. With an allen wrench in one hand and a champagne flute in the other, I imagine he thought I constructing something to cause him sudden and certain death. How pleasantly surprised he was when an accent chair, just low enough for him to hide undetected (or so he thinks) emerged from the stray parts! Now he can conduct his staring bonanzas at a closer range!
So the Pat's won and my friend came over. I offered him food before embarrassingly realizing I only have triscuts, sherbet, and an impressive variety of dips in stock (no idea why I've started to stock pile dips).
It was the time call upon an owed favor. 30 minutes later Papa John arrived at the door.
After hanging out for a bit and a healthy dose of Celebreality on VH1, I dozed off.
About 3AM I woke up in severe pain -
Here it is!! The stomach bug I've been waiting for!!
In all honesty, I wasn't so thrilled considering the fact I felt as though I was being stabbed in the stomach. I curled into fetal position and waited for it to worsen. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Jerry, right in the middle of the floor, staring at me harder than ever, realizing I was in pain and in no condition to attempt to murder and/or pet him.
A staring contest ensued and before I knew it, the pain was gone.
I am not a doctor (although the 90's were kind of a blur so it's a possibility) but I have come up with this medical conclusion that I will share with you - eating four slices of pizza and drinking a bottle of champagne may induce symptoms of a severe illness. So next time you wake up with bruises, blindness, pierced nipple, midget in your bed, etc. etc., think back to what you ate and drank the evening before, it may save you a trip to the ER.
Despite my attempts to weaken my immune system to the point of non-existence, Friday rolled around and I was as healthy as a horse. I wasn't too tearful, it was a long weekend and I had a lot to do that required time spent outside of the confines of my bathroom.
Sunday night I broke open a bottle of champagne to celebrate the fact that I had a bottle of champagne in my fridge. My friend D was coming over after the Pat's game so I busied myself with putting together what I hope is the very last piece of furniture for my dining room. Jerry, my elusive and fearful, yet curious, shelter cat watched me from the top of the stairs, eyes bugging out of his head. With an allen wrench in one hand and a champagne flute in the other, I imagine he thought I constructing something to cause him sudden and certain death. How pleasantly surprised he was when an accent chair, just low enough for him to hide undetected (or so he thinks) emerged from the stray parts! Now he can conduct his staring bonanzas at a closer range!
So the Pat's won and my friend came over. I offered him food before embarrassingly realizing I only have triscuts, sherbet, and an impressive variety of dips in stock (no idea why I've started to stock pile dips).
It was the time call upon an owed favor. 30 minutes later Papa John arrived at the door.
After hanging out for a bit and a healthy dose of Celebreality on VH1, I dozed off.
About 3AM I woke up in severe pain -
Here it is!! The stomach bug I've been waiting for!!
In all honesty, I wasn't so thrilled considering the fact I felt as though I was being stabbed in the stomach. I curled into fetal position and waited for it to worsen. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Jerry, right in the middle of the floor, staring at me harder than ever, realizing I was in pain and in no condition to attempt to murder and/or pet him.
A staring contest ensued and before I knew it, the pain was gone.
I am not a doctor (although the 90's were kind of a blur so it's a possibility) but I have come up with this medical conclusion that I will share with you - eating four slices of pizza and drinking a bottle of champagne may induce symptoms of a severe illness. So next time you wake up with bruises, blindness, pierced nipple, midget in your bed, etc. etc., think back to what you ate and drank the evening before, it may save you a trip to the ER.
Labels: Boozing
posted by Betty Blog at 8:32 AM
2 Comments:
Poor, poor Beth. When you get older (like me), you can chalk up all kinds of maladies to plain old Gas. Yes, that's right - the flatulent attitude that all us males embrace, nay - welcome, from an early age. Oh sure, you can take your Beano, your Pepcid, your Pepto-Bismol...but sometimes, just straining out a good old-fashioned elephant-trumpet fart before bedtime after an evening of gastrointestinal debauchery is just what the doctor ordered. Yes, we men love our Three Stooges and a well-time boxer/brief ripper...you womenfolk just need to embrace your inner Moe and Let Rip(tm). Trust me. -blaise
Blaise, all I have to say is ew. Frigin ew. :-)
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