Vomitastic!

If I had known 2008 was going to be the year of being sick all the time, I would have had second thoughts about celebrating on New Year's Eve. But I did celebrate--too much--and shortly after midnight, I was sick. The next morning I was hungover, of course. On January 2nd, I had the first symptoms of a nasty cold that still has a tiny little finger hold on me. And then--then!--this past Saturday night we went out for a friend's birthday.

Festivities started at the seafood restaurant we went to for Eric's birthday last year. They were out of coconut for the coconut shrimp, so I had a somewhat disappointing basket of fish and chips and (this is important; remember this) one beer. I didn't finish my food because I started feeling full and bloated about halfway through, but greasy food can do that to me, so I thought little of it, even though I got increasingly uncomfortable after the food left the table. This is how we were persuaded to walk a few blocks to an 80s-themed bar full of pink and blue neon and loud music. Because these were primarily Eric's friends, I was determined to hold it together for as long as he wanted to stay out, and anyway I was still convinced that I just had some indigestion. So I sat in a chair and didn't drink and looked miserable enough that people felt bad for me and I felt bad for that.

And finally I was done.

I signaled to Eric that I was ready to go, we said our goodbyes, walked out of the bar and probably 15 feet down the sidewalk, and I threw up a pink avalanche into a snowbank. In front of people.

I really don't think it's fair to have to vomit hot pink in front of people outside an 80s bar when you didn't have a thing to drink inside that bar, and when the pink color (it took a while to figure this out) is from zinc and echinacea lozenges.

And, hard as this may be to believe, my night went downhill from there. On Sunday we were supposed to drive to my grandma's house to finally celebrate Christmas, but I had to call my aunt at 7:30 in the morning (after a night of sleeping for one-hour intervals) to tell her I was pretty sure that wasn't a good idea. Our belated Christmas dinner is in the freezer until further notice.

I have to say I'm disappointed. I'm usually not sick very often, and I always imagine sickness as some sort of welcome break from real life. Like if I get sick enough I'll be able to skip work and spend the day on the couch reading books and watching movies. The reality, I now realize, is that sickness likes to take up your three days off in a row, and that you don't feel like doing a damn thing on the couch when you're sick enough to stay there all day. And then your boyfriend, who's spending his two days off being incredibly nice and making you broth and Jello, gets bored.

Being sick sucks.