Bloggus Vomitous – The Latin Term for Food Poisoning

My dear readers, you know all too well that I don’t ask for much. What? Yes, I wrote that with a straight face. STOP INTERRUPTING ME! Was that milk that just came out of your nose? Dude. That is gross.

Anyway, I don’t ask for much. However, when it comes to eating, I do ask for my food to stay where I put it and not make dramatic encore appearances. Is that too much to ask? Apparently the scallops I ate last night think it is.

Mr. Blognut and I went out for a nice dinner with his dad and brothers at a Japanese restaurant. Fortunately for me, it was not too far from home because someone tried to poison me half to death. Oh, I know what you are thinking, that this happens and no one did anything to be intentionally mean, but I don’t see it that way this morning. I see it as attempted murder and I intend to prosecute to the fullest extent of the law; as soon as I research the fullest extent of the law and figure out how much time that is going to require of me, and whether or not my attention can be held for that long.

The food tasted great… on the way down… but not nearly so great on the way back up again. Just sayin’. By the time dinner was over, I had this pounding headache accompanied by a feeling of pending doom in my round, blue tummy. On the way home in the blognutmobile, I had the fingers of death wrapped around my intestines and squeezing the very life out of me! I.ALMOST.DIED.

No, I’m not being dramatic, I’m tellin’ you I almost died.

I barely made it home before my dinner, as well as everything else I’ve eaten since, I don’t know, BIRTH, turned to liquid and ran for the nearest exit. Experiencing my dinner live and in Technicolor reverse is not the way I planned to finish my evening! Mr. Blognut and I had the entire house to ourselves after having farmed out the blognutians for the night. I expected an evening of fine romance, wine, and candlelight. Instead, I got an evening of horrors, small sips of soda, and bathroom light.

By the way, I should warn you that the cool bathroom tile has a very wake-y up-y effect on you when you are trying to sleep on it. Bring a blanket.

Anyway, I was saying… I don’t ask for much, but when I need a little sympathy, I expect to find it here in my own lair at Blognut Manor. You’d think these people would know when I need a little extra care and you’d think they’d be tripping over each other to see that I got it.

And yet? Here I am, completely out of Diet Pepsi and recovering from a near-death experience. I am too weak and dehydrated to go out and get my own Diet Pepsi, and there is no one here to do it for me. No one is home except for The Boy and his friend, who are totally taking advantage of me in my weakened state by eating peanut butter directly from the jar with a spoon while I sit here pretending not to notice, ‘cause if I get caught knowing they’re doing that I will have to drag myself out of this chair and give ‘em hell and I just don’t have the energy.