I don't know what the deal is with my body. You hear of people who can't eat hot food, people who can't eat seafood, fuck, even people who can eat anything they want (btw F UUUUUUUUUUUUU!!) but with me, it's hit and miss. Some days I can eat a taco, but other days I will eat the same thing and my body makes me pay for it in every Goddamn way it can think up.
A couple of nights ago I went out for pizza and wings with my boyfriend and a friend of ours. Everything was fine. The next night, my boyfriend ate some of the leftover wings and he was totally fine. Less than 6 hours later, I get the munchies and decide to snack on them and BAM. My insides were on fire.
At first I thought it was heartburn or indigestion or something because they like their wings suicide (which is what the wings in question were) and I usually only eat medium at the most. But fuck was I ever hurting. They burned like fuck on the way down, so I washed them down with a couple of glasses of water. A couple of hours later, I could still feel the heat radiating from my stomach up my esophagus and I took a gravol and went to lay down. Bad idea.
It seems my sphincter (which I just recently learned is actually the muscular valve attaching your esophagus to your stomach, NOT your butthole) was malfunctioning, because within 5 minutes of laying down, my chest was burning more than ever. I was burping like there was no tomorrow and every time I did, I could taste the chicken wings again which was making me feel sicker by the minute.
I decided to be brave and venture on downstairs in search of some pink pepto salvation and I finally succeeded on finding some on the bottom shelf door of the fridge. I was so happy, I finally thought I was going to start feeling better. I take it out, shake it, and just to be sure, I checked the label. Expiry: Apr 2008. FFFF UUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!
I didn't want to risk making myself feel even worse so I decided against trying to choke back the chalky pink bismuth. Instead, I thought that maybe taking a steamy shower would maybe help loosen the grossness living in my chest. It worked, but only for about as long as I was in the shower. Then it hit me. I'm gonna have to puke this shit up.
I absolutely HATE throwing up. It's disgusting, it hurts, it smells terrible and frankly I never quite seem to be able to get my hair out of my face in time. Ugh. So I ventured upstairs to the bathroom and plopped myself down in front of the toilet. I was home alone at this point and had no idea when anyone would be home, so I didn't bother to close the door.
I never really know how to go about making myself throw up. I don't think I could ever use something like a toothbrush or whatever, because I hate gagging. I could never use my finger because I mean, what if you don't move it fast enough? Then it all goes down your hand and your arm... not my idea of a good time. The cleanest way I find to do it is to just think of some gross stuff and spit in the toilet a lot. I don't know if the spitting even helps, but I like to think I'm warming my mouth up for the main event. Don't judge me.
Basically, I could never be bulimic. Puking and me will never be friends.
So anyways, I end up eventually throwing up. I think after the first initial puke, it comes easier. I mean you're bent over a bacteria infested toilet staring at your warm chunky left overs. It's kinda hard not to wanna throw up at that. I felt the second wave coming and honestly it's like it couldn't get the fuck out of me fast enough. I either had my head tipped over too far or whatever, but I totally blew hot wing chunks out of my nose. I started freaking out because I couldn't breathe, and the acidity from my stomach and the hot peppers made my eyes water. I was fumbling around the bathroom trying to find the toilet paper like a bat outta hell. I seriously thought I was gonna die in a puddle of my own spicy grossness and no one would find me for hours. Thankfully that was all my stomach could handle. After I got it all out of my system and nothing else was coming up, I laid down on the cold, tiled floor exhausted and twitching like a crack head.
I leave my eyes closed for a few minutes, and when I open them, that's when I realize my poor little chihuahua is staring at me from the door, shaking like a leaf completely traumatized by the sounds coming out of me and probably sure I'm about to die. Then she comes over with her tail tucked between her legs and does that nuzzle thing Simba does to Mufasa after he gets trampled. It was the cutest thing, and it did make me feel a lot better, just by her being there. I mustered enough energy to sit up to try to calm her down and started petting her to let her know I was indeed, not going to die. I got myself a glass of water and rinsed out my mouth the best that I could, then went to lay back down.
Only thing eating bad spicy chicken wings had to be puking them up. The feeling of the hot pepper sauce and the acid going back into my already burning throat was less than ecstasy, let me tell you. Thankfully the super cold water seemed to help soothe it and soon enough I passed out.
I woke up about 4 hours later to my boyfriend telling me that I clogged the toilet, the bathroom stinks and the dog refuses to leave my side (what a good little dog!). After I explained to him what happened, he went out and got me a fucktonne of McDonald's fries and some ginger ale. Secret: this combination is the only thing I can eat when my stomach is sick. I have to leave the ginger ale out til it gets flat though, or else the carbonation kills me.
Basically, I've spent the last couple days being a hot mess. And when I blow my nose I'm still getting rid of leftovers. Yum.
'Til next time,
xo
Lucky
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