Wherein I still make bad decisions sometimes
The breakfast I chose to make myself this morning is, three hours later, still threatening to return like Ahnold in the first Terminator. I thought it would be a good idea: A Sunday morning breakfast like cowboys had at a saloon served by a big-titted hooker with a heart of gold and washed down with hearty gulpfuls of whiskey. I'll say this though, no wonder cowboys were so quiet and stoic all the time- they were trying not to barf all over the damn place.
It started with a can of hash. Really, I should have know better when the lid came off and I thought to myself, "That looks like regurgitated cat food." It was a death present from my grandparents nuclear fallout pantry. If the bomb didn't kill you, the food might have. I didn't look at the label until after it started cooking because in my (tiny, feeble) brain, if I'm already eating it ("preparing to eat" also falls under "eating") then there's nothing I can do about the nutrition content1- or lack there of- or if the 'nutrition content' is 75% fat and the other half is sodium- or whatever.
My fingers are swelling up at the thought of this. It might be psychosomatic, but I feel like it's getting harder to type.
Two eggs over easy, corned beef hash, and bacon2. Ugh, just reading that sentence makes my innards quiver. Eating it, it tasted alright after I doused it in hot sauce and sour cream. And even after the first hour or so, the feeling I was getting was Overfull with a dash of Lethargic, which I mostly blamed on it being Sunday and my not wanting to do my homework. (I still don't want to do my homework, why do you think I'm posting?) But then:
Then a little while later, I dragged my distended belly with a rock of what I can only imagine as congealed fat with bits of potato and egg stuck in, out of the house despite every cell feeling like it was swimming through used fryer grease. And then, the burping started. Every couple of minutes, I would burp a few times in succession, and each time my guts threatened to contract in massive spasms violently ejecting the filth I had recently shoveled in. My body was staging a full-scale revolt against me. It felt like while my stomach was willing to handle globs of gunk, my intestines were less inclined and staunchly refused to let them in.
I felt terrible. I was bloated and sweaty and nauseated- and in public! Well, the Dollar Store, so probably I fit right in with the other people there, but still... This is an important lesson for me to learn right now3, with the Epic Road Trip of 2011 coming up shortly, where Danni and I will be hitting up various tourist traps and restaurants during our 24 hours of driving.
The story ends well4; I hope you aren't too worried. I drank a ginger ale, and while I'm still not 100%, my fingers feel normal sized again and there's only a slight discomfort through my midsection. I quelled the uprising. That is of course, until later when my body might blitzkrieg me with a ...different tactic.
I think I'll have a nice salad for dinner.
1. I know this is faulty logic, because I don't look at the things I know are going to be bad and I always look if they are good for me, and if they are bad and I look, I can convince myself to eat something better. Usually. In this case, I totally would have and I probably would have taken the can and dropped it (and 50% of all the other death presents which are equally unhealthy) at the local food shelter. Also, I know that math doesn't add up. Also, I am not trying to kill homeless people, even if it sort of comes off that way.
2. The bacon was delicious. I mean, c'mon, it's BACON.
3. I can't be sure, but I thiiink the lesson is don't eat crap just because you're on a road trip. Some "Road Food" is okay, but don't be stupid. And sub-lesson A is still don't eat crap when you are at home. There are things you are trying to accomplish (Ahem, 15K), and eating crap food is pretty much the opposite of all of those things. And sit up straight, for Pete's sake!
4. Aaaannnd managed to procrastinate for an hour and a half. And write something, which (besides school papers) hasn't happened in too long a time.
It started with a can of hash. Really, I should have know better when the lid came off and I thought to myself, "That looks like regurgitated cat food." It was a death present from my grandparents nuclear fallout pantry. If the bomb didn't kill you, the food might have. I didn't look at the label until after it started cooking because in my (tiny, feeble) brain, if I'm already eating it ("preparing to eat" also falls under "eating") then there's nothing I can do about the nutrition content1- or lack there of- or if the 'nutrition content' is 75% fat and the other half is sodium- or whatever.
My fingers are swelling up at the thought of this. It might be psychosomatic, but I feel like it's getting harder to type.
Two eggs over easy, corned beef hash, and bacon2. Ugh, just reading that sentence makes my innards quiver. Eating it, it tasted alright after I doused it in hot sauce and sour cream. And even after the first hour or so, the feeling I was getting was Overfull with a dash of Lethargic, which I mostly blamed on it being Sunday and my not wanting to do my homework. (I still don't want to do my homework, why do you think I'm posting?) But then:
Then a little while later, I dragged my distended belly with a rock of what I can only imagine as congealed fat with bits of potato and egg stuck in, out of the house despite every cell feeling like it was swimming through used fryer grease. And then, the burping started. Every couple of minutes, I would burp a few times in succession, and each time my guts threatened to contract in massive spasms violently ejecting the filth I had recently shoveled in. My body was staging a full-scale revolt against me. It felt like while my stomach was willing to handle globs of gunk, my intestines were less inclined and staunchly refused to let them in.
I felt terrible. I was bloated and sweaty and nauseated- and in public! Well, the Dollar Store, so probably I fit right in with the other people there, but still... This is an important lesson for me to learn right now3, with the Epic Road Trip of 2011 coming up shortly, where Danni and I will be hitting up various tourist traps and restaurants during our 24 hours of driving.
The story ends well4; I hope you aren't too worried. I drank a ginger ale, and while I'm still not 100%, my fingers feel normal sized again and there's only a slight discomfort through my midsection. I quelled the uprising. That is of course, until later when my body might blitzkrieg me with a ...different tactic.
I think I'll have a nice salad for dinner.
1. I know this is faulty logic, because I don't look at the things I know are going to be bad and I always look if they are good for me, and if they are bad and I look, I can convince myself to eat something better. Usually. In this case, I totally would have and I probably would have taken the can and dropped it (and 50% of all the other death presents which are equally unhealthy) at the local food shelter. Also, I know that math doesn't add up. Also, I am not trying to kill homeless people, even if it sort of comes off that way.
2. The bacon was delicious. I mean, c'mon, it's BACON.
3. I can't be sure, but I thiiink the lesson is don't eat crap just because you're on a road trip. Some "Road Food" is okay, but don't be stupid. And sub-lesson A is still don't eat crap when you are at home. There are things you are trying to accomplish (Ahem, 15K), and eating crap food is pretty much the opposite of all of those things. And sit up straight, for Pete's sake!
4. Aaaannnd managed to procrastinate for an hour and a half. And write something, which (besides school papers) hasn't happened in too long a time.