This weekend my high school friend Anna and her husband (another high school friend) came through town for the Final Four and we managed to hook up yesterday for several hours of drinking and goofing and catching up and making new friends – because when you put me in a bar with dumb intoxicated men, I can’t help but pick on them. Though I was home by 10 and in bed by 11, said extravaganza had me awake again at 2 a.m. expelling the fruits of our adventure.

If I had to guess I’d say it was the uber spicy won ton soup at the Thai place on top of 5 or so Capt’n and Cokes, half a PBR and some blue cheese chips that threw my belly over the edge. Fragile, sweet little belly.

Sitting on the cold tile of The Mc’s bathroom floor with a stainless wastebasket in my lap lined with a plastic grocery store sack, I was glad he was away visiting family and only Amber was present to witness my disgrace.

It wasn’t enough that I could feel my belly churn and it made my nose run in anticipation (what is that!?) , or that I was all too aware of a pulled thigh muscle because I really can’t help but sit Indian style, but the cherry on top is the searing pain that ripped across my back with each involuntary stomach convulsion.

Current injury tally from hurling: one bruise left calf (ball), one bruise, right thigh (stick), one bruise right ankle (ball), one abrasion right forearm (stick), one scratch upper left arm, one set of grass-burned knees, one pulled left thigh and one sore back from hips to bra. Some photos here.

I’m fully aware this was just a horrible pile of very loosely related and incredibly unattractive events, but oooh-doggie if I could pull you into my still churning stomach to enjoy the ride I would but I can’t so I’ll just force you to travel along with the verbal vomit instead.

Cheers.