I had so much. To share. With you Dear Reader.
[insert sad face]
I had heartfelt stories of my tender youth.
There was poetry. And edelweiss.
The sound of harp music was everywhere and the whole of HS smelt like sugar cookies and sunny days.
I had anecdotes from my childhood without mention of secondhand smoke or tax evasion. (I didn’t say “stab”, “stabbed”, or “stabbing”, not once.)
I had recipes and homemaking pointers.
There were Ancient Chinese Secrets.
I had DIY brilliance and design tips better than HGTV’s finest hour (or half-hour) without the gay-on-gay cattiness. And without the crying.
I had stories to warm your heart and sharpen your mind.
I had tales of awe and wonder.
There was no swearing. And I only alluded to the V-word. I never actually said it.
You can’t do a post titled “M*rtha takes on David Bromstad” without referencing the V.
I had a frakken Don’t Stop Believin’ for Housewives. On. Deck.
When Daycare Mama came to get the kids she was "feeling puny", as they say.
I commiserated with her as we loaded kids into her car.
The fam and I went to dinner in a neighboring town.
Veni. Vidi. Vici.
I specifically vicied in that I consumed my goal weight in meat and veggies.
When I’m at the buffet I’m peacocking really. For the guy in the hairnet. (You know it’s you; Raul, or Rawl. I can’t read the neck tat. Is that infected?)
Anyway, I’m at the altar, loading my plate, wearing my wrist brace and loving the mounds of meat and bountiful broccoli... I'm wearing superfat pants and the harness that keeps me from hyper extending my lumbar region...
Eh...fast forward to the vomiting.
Cuz we love the Unholy Urlich. It’s nature’s way of snaking the drain.
And I post about it because sharing is solace, I tell myself.
This was the grippe, not Meniere's.
This wasn’t worth a meme, a ballad or sonnet.
It wasn’t worth a post, not this post, or several posts.
(PostS, as in plural? Who-the-hell does that? PostS about puke? EgadS.)
This was vomi typique.
Move along people. There’s nothing to see here…
Or IS there?
What transformed this run-o-the-mill ralph into spew spectaculaire is not that my Mr undressed me with his eyes whilst I made suffering cries that are disturbingly like pleasure noises.
This wasn’t Meniere’s.
This Reverse Atkins was significant because it interrupted posting and left me with nothing.
That’s what this post is about; nothing.
I can’t tickle you with tales of my technicolor yawn.
This emesisal episode wasn’t merely as underwhelming as kissing your sister. This was like dry humping the ayatollah. Who hasn’t?
But being sick ran interference on my posts.
I can’t talk about the time I got drunk in math when there’s emesis. And a raging headache.
It’d be inappropriate to share Kel’s Amazing Penne after telling you I yakked. And layed on the sofa all day with a raging headache.
You don’t wanna know how the 206-pound cheer captain made me feel like a failure. Cuz she was simply an unhappy b*tch.
So I share the puking. Cuz it’s relevant.
It’s relevant to my “To Do” list.
It’s relevant to weight loss and the following Bucket List (updated and revised during a four-hour stint with my head in a bucket. Cuz it’s relevant, and I’m cerebral, classy, and totally appropriate like that.)
BL549 Item 1 - I want to faint before I die. Not right before, as in Unconscious Before Death, cuz that’s a gyp.
I’d like to faint with the back of my hand to my forehead, gracefully falling onto [someone else’s] anomalous piece of furniture. A chaise or a settee will do.
I want to live to talk about it. Or blog about it. I’d like pictures ["Somebody grab Mom's camera!"], but only if I don’t pee myself. Do you pee when you faint? See? I need the experience, so I can teach you.
BL549 Item 2 - I’d like to learn to read British.
BL549 Item 3 - Like my mother (and her mother before her); I’d like to lead an uprising. It’s in our blood to cause a revolt. We’re natural revolters and I’d like to claim my rightful title as revolting.
BL549 Item 4 - I’d like to talk in hushed tones with my arch nemesis using veiled threats while pretending to look at art.
BL549 Item 5 - I’d like to perfect a recipe for soup using household cleaning products. I’ve made several batches but I’ve got no takers. I’m not even a good cook with real food so there’s that.
BL549 Item 6 - I’d like to write a serious piece.
Several of my blogger friends write fiction (aside from their blogs, which are totally fabricated tales of their fabulous lives). I have a piece of autobiographical work on deck but I’m having difficulty gelling my intro as man-nip with meeting and having to reproof a certain American Idol judge. “My eyes’re up here, Ellen.”
I can’t write about the semester I used chemical courage to get through Comm101. I’ve been giving rainbow speeches all night.
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6 hours ago