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I ache.

Over the weekend, Mom and Dad picked me up to take me to my (future) sister's bridal shower. We would go out to dinner, spend the night in a hotel, then go to the shower on Sunday.

Saturday night, after enjoying some nice Chinese, of which I didn't eat much because I felt strangely full, we went back to the hotel and rented The Mexican to watch on the VCR.

Right at the part where Jerry reveals that "Leroy" is actually Winston and shoots him, I started thinking I needed the bathroom. Bad.

Then all that lovely Chinese food made an encore in reverse order.

I'm not sure whether it was stomach flu or food poisoning, but my stupid insides were convinced after each retch that they'd somehow missed something, because they would try again every hour or so. Seven episodes in as many hours. I started to look like a Disney character- all huge dehydrated eyes and icy-pale skin. And believe me, on this white girl, extra paleness doesn't even seem humanly possible. It was scary. I had nothing left, not even bile, by about five in the morning, but my stomach kept trying.

My muscles ache. They are not equipped for that kind of thing. I mean, once would've been tolerable. But no matter how much you work out, that's like the Ironman Triathlon of stomach workouts. My entire torso hurts, because every muscle you own throws in to that ugly little reflex.

Me no like puking. 'Sbad. And it makes adequate breath support for singing today very hard. Pray for me and my vocal jury tomorrow.

At least I can hold down tea and toast now. Thank God for small favors.

::collapses into a puddle of unhappy::

At least this proves I will never voluntarily be bulimic.

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