This post brought to you courtesy of the Outer Banks Emergency Room
I have a new theory on the little girl who starred in the movie "The Exorcist." Little Reagan was not possessed by the devil. . . she ate some bad scallops.
Last night we ate dinner at a restaurant we’ve been eating at every time we come here on vacation. I had a seafood combo dinner consisting of broiled scallops and a crab cake. About 20 minutes after finishing my dinner, my stomach blew up like I was 5 months pregnant. The pressure, the bloating, the nausea was terrible. When we returned to the beach house I went to bed, knowing that I was going to be having some problems as the evening wore on. I had no idea.
I believe it was around 11 p.m. when the first unbearable abdominal pains sent me running doubled over to the bathroom. People, it wasn’t pretty. Still, I felt a little better and tried to go back to sleep. I was woken up about 45 minutes later by worse cramps and extreme nausea. This time, my body was nice enough to give me one end at a time to deal with; the next time I wasn’t so lucky.
The third time I was barely able to make the switch in time. The fourth time. . . it was either barf in the jacuzzi tub, on the floor, or throw everything out of the trash can and use that. I chose the latter. This time, my digestive tract rebelled with such force against the offending foods of earlier that evening, that I believe I may have levitated off the toilet. See where I’m going with this whole exorcist thing?
After the fourth episode, I could not stand up for fear that I was going to pass out and hit my head on the ceramic tile. I began calling for my husband who was doing a stand up job with Lil C, who did not want to sleep for more than an hour at a stretch. I contemplated asking him to just put me out of my misery and snap my neck or something. Instead, I asked for my Mom, who was sleeping upstairs in the bedroom, unaware that her first born was being possessed by some bad seafood.
My Mom showed up in the bathroom, then left to get my dad. I took a few minutes to lie down on the cold ceramic tile before finding my flip-flops and purse. My parents drove me to the Emergency Room at around 2:30 a.m. They showed me to a room in the ER and I covered up with a blanket and tried to sleep. I was alternating between hot and cold at the beach house; but the ER was freezing.
And then it appeared I was hallucinating, because a Dr. McPhearson came into my room and leaned in close beside me and asked me how I was feeling. I’ve got two words for you: Mc Dreamy. Yes, I said it. I’m a Gray’s Anatomy fan and I had my own McDreamy last night. If there was one good thing about showing up in the ER with food poisoning and probably bits of puke in my hair, it was him.
He checked me out, verified my suspicions of a bad case of food poisoning, and ordered IV fluids and some anti-nausea drug called Zofran, which was amazing. He said it was a good thing I came to the hospital because I was extremely dehydrated and my heart rate was not good because of it. I told him that if I wasn’t married and didn’t have puke breathe (despite brushing my teeth 4000 times), I would totally kiss him.
After some rest and a bag of IV fluids I was discharged. The discharging nurse told me to come back to the gift shop during the day so I could buy one of their t-shirts that says, "I spent my Outer Banks vacation in the ER." I got home around 4 a.m. feeling a little better and went to bed. Today, I have spent the day resting and trying to ward off a killer headache and body aches. I feel like I did about 8 million crunches. Who needs pilates when you can have food poisoning? Nothing quite tones the body like violent heaving.
My husband and daughters have had a real bonding day, because I have been too weak to hold Lil C for any length of time. I am hoping I feel better tomorrow so I can enjoy the rest of this vacation and stop feeling like a train ran over me.
Tune in later this week for the post titled: 101 reasons I will NEVER eat scallops again. I’ll give you a hint. All 101 reasons have to do with varying degrees of severe bodily functions. I seriously don’t wish food poisoning on anyone. O.k., maybe Osama Bin Laden, but that’s it.
“Vacation, all I ever wanted. . .” (minus the head injury)
If your comments take a while to appear, or if it seems I haven’t been a good commenter lately, it’s because I’m on vacation, y’all. Yeah, I said "y’all". My family and I are vacationing in North Carolina at the beach; and after living in the Northeast for almost my entire life, it always shocks and amazes me how nice the people are down here. Nice, y’all, really nice. You may ask why I am blogging while at the beach on this gorgeous afternoon; but it’s because I am on hotel room nap duty. Lil C is out like a light and is enjoying her first uninterrupted nap since Thursday night. I’m blogging before digging into my pile of books I’ve been saving for such an occasion. It all works out.
So far, we’ve only had one little problem on our trip. This little problem has brought to my attention yet another difference between men and women. Let me ask you this. . . when you are driving and you put the car in reverse, do you simply turn your head and use your mirrors to see where you’re going? Or, do you need some help from your arm, as in drape your arm over the back of the passenger seat in order to facilitate your turning around? When I reverse, I turn my head. When my husband reverses, he puts his whole body into it.
Last night, this little physical anomaly caused some serious head trauma. We were backing out of a restaurant. My husband was driving. I turned around and was in the process of retrieving some toys that had been thrown on the floor by Lil C. The next thing I know, I am being clothes-lined by my husband’s arm. As he flung his arm from my seat, back to where it should be, he hit me with an outside block to the ear and head so hard that all I could hear for a few seconds was, "whop, whop, whop." When he made contact, my head moved at a very unnatural angle to my neck and sent pain shooting up my neck and into my head. I felt like the entire left side of my brain was throbbing.
So, as I’m reeling from the blow and trying to figure out what just happened, he decides to school me on not putting my head there while he’s reversing. Because his response wasn’t a resounding, "I’m so sorry. Are you o.k.?" right away, I was slightly peeved. So, I decided to accuse him of having a genetic defect that many men seem to have. . . the inability to reverse a vehicle without using their arm to turn their body. What is up with that???
A few sucker punches to his arm later (and one well deserved apology), I felt a little better about the whole thing; but that didn’t stop the raging headache that lasted until this morning. Ouch. I am hoping that this will be the last of the vacation injuries.
I am happy to report that when leaving a grocery store today and reversing, my husband was able to do so without the aid of his arm. It’s progress people. I’m hoping I can break him of this potentially head-rattling problem by the time our vacation ends. But let’s not talk about that, because this vacation has only just begun. . .
Why men don’t have home parties
It’s amazing really, what women do to each other and to themselves. This is how it generally goes for me. I get invited to a make-up party or some other kind of home party. I immediately start to think of excuses for why not to go. I suddenly become very "busy" if I’m invited in person. If it’s an invitation in the mail, I audibly growl a bit as I look at the calendar and notice I’m free. Then I contemplate for hours, usually days actually over whether or not I should go. "I’ll have to buy something," I think. "I don’t really need anything." In the end, I usually convince myself to go. The inner demons get the best of me by calling me anti-social, a home-body. They tell me I need a "night out." They tell me I’ll have fun.
So, I go. I sit there, in someone’s living room or dining room for hours, instead of having a nice dinner out, catching a movie, reading a book, playing with the girls, or catching up on sleep. I listen to things that make me want to roll my eyes. Because I’m polite, I don’t. I peruse the catalog or product set-up and try to figure out how soon I can go home, and what product I can buy that will cause the least amount of damage to the American Express. Which product will not make my husband roll his eyes? (I haven’t found one yet.)
This week, at one of these parties, I found myself wondering why women do this to each other. Each party has the same format. "If you book a party, you get this. . .(oohs, aahs). If you book a party, your hostess will get this. . . (oohs, aahs)." The "hostess" either looks around the room with pleading eyes or ends up finding her belly button extremely interesting during this little exchange. You start to rationalize each purchase. You start to rationalize booking a party. You want to be a good friend. You don’t really need that foot scrub, but it’s. . . just. . .so. . . damn. . .tempting. If you buy it, you can also pick a free product. "My God, what if there’s free eye cream! FREE EYE CREAM!" It starts to get to you.
Because of this scenario I once ended up hosting three make-up parties within one calendar year. All my friends and family filled their bathroom cabinets up with stuff they’ll never use; and I collected free gift after free gift that I’ve never used, and finally, at the last party, with the help of my relatives, I said, "No." I practically needed a 12 step program to do it; but "no" is a really great word, cathartic even. NO. It feels so good to say it ladies. Say it with me. . . NO. The fact that 99% of women can’t say this word when it comes to home parties is the reason why they are so successful. These parties feed off of peer pressure and the female flaw: the complete and utter inability to say "No" to a friend.
Can you imagine if men had these types of parties? Let’s imagine a tool party for men. Men gather on a Friday night during a basketball game or on a Sunday afternoon during a football game. (I know, I’ve pretty much lost you right here haven’t I? See why this would NEVER happen. Follow along though, just for fun.) All the men gather in the living room of the host. The party begins.
"I’d like to welcome you to Dan’s house tonight for this wonderful and exciting Terrific Tools party. I’d also like to thank Dan for asking me to be here tonight. Because Dan has hosted this party, he’s going to receive a complimentary drill bit set." (Hands set to Dan. Dan lights up with absolute JOY! The other men stare at the bit set for a moment or two. They start to think, "I want a bit set.") The party continues. "If you’d like a bit set, you can purchase one for $70 or (and pauses for effect). . . you can host your own party and receive one for FREE!" The men all clap, ooh, and aah. "Now if you decide to book a party tonight you will receive a goody bag, but I’m not telling what’s in it! You’ll have to wait and find out!" The men stare at the goody bags and let their imaginations run WILD. The presenter moves on to discuss the products.
"Did you know that the tools that you currently have are complete crap? Did you know that they are made from duck feces? Did you know that just by touching them, you are potentially putting chemicals into your body from the duck feces?" The men’s mouths drop open; they look at each other. One mouths, "Oh my GOD! Did you know that? I didn’t know that!" The presenter continues.
"Our tools are made from 100% pure liquid magma. Yes! It’s true. We drill in China to the center of the Earth. We get the best liquid magma through a revolutionary system that extracts the most durable materials on all of the Earth. We then put this liquid magma into the tool molds, and fly it in our specialized airplanes to the North Pole. Once there, we allow the magma to cool, creating the most natural but durable products known to MAN." (Men "ooh" and "ahh" some more.) Twenty more minutes of magma nonsense continue, as the presenter takes the men through the tool catalog page by page explaining why these tools are "the best," and "like no other." The men follow along, hanging on every word, even though they are all perfectly capable of reading on their own.
Before the ordering begins, the presenter gives the pitch on how GREAT it is to be a presenter. They talk about all the money the men would be able to make by becoming a Terrific Tools party presenter. They discuss how you could be driving a BRAND NEW H3 (once you sell $3 billion worth of tools and give up your first born child). Some of the men think, "Wow! A Hummer. I wish I could have a Hummer." (O.k. well actually, this part could be true.)
At the end of the presentation, the men line up to give their orders to the presenter. EVERY man has found something he has to have. The men line up in the dining room so as they wait, they can stuff their faces with cookies, sandwiches, and chips that have been neatly arranged by Dan. Each man spends twice the amount he had thought he would. Several of the men decide to have their own tool parties. After all, that drill bit set is "so cool," and it’s a "great deal." Dan is allowed to pick $200 worth of free products. He orders $600 worth of products. The party is a success!
This is completely ludicrous, right? But go back; insert any home marketed make-up name instead of tools, and change "men" to "women." Instead of duck feces, insert lamb sweat. You’ve now got something that happens on a daily basis. These parties don’t happen with men because men aren’t wired the way women are. They don’t care if they say, "No" to a friend or relative.
When a friend or relative calls and asks me to go shopping and I don’t want to. . . I go. When a friend or relative calls a man and asks him to go shopping. . . oh, wait. That one’s just stupid. Like when does that EVER happen? O.k. a wife asks her husband to go shopping. He says, "No." He doesn’t feel bad; he feels no guilt. He won’t contemplate his nay-saying for the next week. In fact, two minutes from the question, he won’t even remember his wife asked it!
People have built empires around female peer pressure and the fact that we just can’t say "No." I remember, after my third make-up party, the presenter asked me if she could ask me some questions. I was exhausted from ordering three times the amount of stuff I’d told my husband I’d order. I was spent from refusing to book another party. I think I may have even sweat when she asked about yet another party, and I hedged and looked away before finally saying, "No." So, of course, I was worn down. I said she could ask me her questions.
She started in on the whole "you would be great at this" junk. She told me how! much! money! I could make! Playing along, I asked her about the commission. She told me about the commission. This is when I finally woke up. I work from home, and am commission only. I work as a recruiter, placing candidates in salaried jobs. I make 70% commission, and not off the price of a lipstick. I told her so. In a smart tone, she asked how many hours I spent working. I told her I worked extremely limited hours; and I could work with my daughter on my lap. (I felt like I was gaining some momentum.)
"Well," she stuttered, "you can do this on weeknights and weekends. It’s ME time." "That’s not ME time," I retorted. "I work during day time hours and can work when my daughter is napping or playing with a friend. I can also work on-line at 2 a.m. if I need to or want to, but best of all, I don’t have to work nearly as hard as you do and I can make more money than you. I am NOT at all interested. My job doesn’t require me to use family and friends to make a living." I had her on her heels. She’d been bugging me about doing this for a while now. I was getting sick of it.
She said, "But will your job buy you a car???" She thought she had me here. She really did. The look in her eye told me so. "Honey, I can buy myself an XJ8 if I want to, in any color I choose, if I work hard enough and make enough money." (Let me just add here that I do not have an XJ8 and right now have no desire to work hard enough to even get one. Even if I did have the money for one, I’d never buy one. It’s more fun to drool over them and dream anyway. "Dream cars" don’t require gas or tune ups.) I asked her how much she made last year. She told me. That was the end of our conversation. That was also the end of my string of parties. My friends and family were EXTREMELY grateful. So was my husband.
I wish I was wired more like a man when it comes to parties like these. I wish I could say "No" to friends and family more easily. I wish I didn’t have to have the guilt that follows saying "No" when it comes to this kind of stuff. I also wish I didn’t have to now go through my cabinet full of cosmetics to throw out all the stuff that contains squirrel sweat and ladybug feet. Being a woman is exhausting.
Before you start writing me hate mail about how "I am a home make-up presenter and I love it, and everybody I know loves it and you suck and I hate you, etc. etc. etc.," let me just save you the time by telling you that if you enjoy it. . . good for you. I don’t; and it’s my opinion. This was meant to be funny, and if you can’t see that past the 4,623 shades of lipstick you either buy or sell, then that just means you’re in way too deep to appreciate what I’ve said. Seek professional help-hate mail doesn’t work.
Things I learned while on our roadtrip/family visit this weekend
Filed under: Lessons I've Learned
1. When playing Mexican Train Dominos, do not under any circumstances, line up your dominos close enough that if you bump one, they will all fall down. This is not the object of the game. You will lose that game.
2. McDonald’s will cause belly aches, not only in children, but in adults as well. (I won’t go into any more details.)
3. When choosing ice cream at a Turnpike restaurant, do NOT choose the fat free, sugar free Butter Pecan. You will be sorely disappointed, and will strongly consider running off with your 5-year olds chocolate.
4. Babies do not like to be in the car for five + hours.
5. Because it bears repeating, Babies do NOT like to be in the car for five + hours.
6. A backwards facing car seat behind the passenger seat will under no circumstances, provide for a reclined sleeping area.
7. Because of #7, you will fall asleep with a gaping mouth and a nodding head and be laughed at by cars passing you.
8. You also might drool.
9. Opening juice boxes in the car is a bad idea.
10. If you ignore the warning and choose to open up a juice box in the car, make sure that you are wearing the same color clothing as the liquid in the juice box.
11. Nursing a baby along the side of a major highway while having a full bladder is not smart.
12. On a five hour road trip, your husband is bound to ruin a song you like for life. (As in, Shakira’s "Hips don’t lie," your husband will start singing the chorus and using the words, "So be kind, rewind," instead of "So be wise and keep on" and you will forever associate Blockbuster with a song that you used to like.
And to think, our summer get-away is 7 + hours away. . .
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