Miss Peach

On Friday night, I went to a friend’s apartment for wine and to hangout. It was fun—she just ended a long-term relationship so there was lots of life talk, lots of philosophizing and analyzing, and lots of wine. LOTS. I’m talking two bottles, and then we finished off what was left of a third (like a half-glass each). I’m aware that’s a bottle and smidge each. I was slightly horrified when we totaled it up.

I was also pretty hungover on Saturday. I had to go out that night to a birthday party, and come 5:30, my attempts at not eating too badly were keeping me from any semblance of a happy recovery from the festivities of the night before. So I gave in and ordered a turkey burger and fries from our local spot, and ate half the burger (I don’t know what seasonings they used, but they were not good) and about half the fries.

I haven’t had fries in, oh, about two months. I’ve had the odd fry here and there, but I haven’t actually had more than 5 at any given time. Well, word to the wise, because apparently your body loses the ability to digest them. People, I have never had such stomach issues in my LIFE. I was dying. My stomach felt like it had tied itself into a double-knot. I couldn’t sit or lay comfortably. I finally found that tossing my left leg over the left arm of the armchair was the only solution. (I couldn’t stand up straight either.) I kept drinking more and more water in an attempt to dilute the offending fries into oblivion, but that just gave me the look of a starving Somalian child, as my stomach was legitimately distended. Meanwhile, I had a birthday party to attend, and needed to leave in about 20 minutes. So I’m sit/laying there, in horrible pain, all dressed up and ready to roll, but completely unsure as to how I would actually get up, get into the elevator, and get downstairs.

Somehow, someway, with the help of some tums and more water and a lot of me just willing it to go away, it finally passed. This entire experience has, however, caused me to rethink having children. Maybe I’ll just adopt. SWEET MOTHER OF GOD, I thought I was going to die. I imagine this is what it’s like having a baby in your stomach. Gaaah.

Flash forward to last night: I bolted from work relatively early because I was sure I was coming down with a cold. When I get sick, soup is about all I want. Chicken broth with anything works—I was so broke in college I once nursed myself through a cold on generic broth alone. I didn’t have any on hand at home last night, though, so I decided to order wonton soup from a spot near my apartment—it’s fresh and chock-full of spinach and veggies and the wontons are fabulous. In order to get them to deliver it, however, I had to order something else, so I went with the steamed veggie dumplings. They are deeeeee-lish.

Well, I haven’t had Chinese food in about as long as I hadn’t had fries, and good god, it’s SALTY. I couldn’t taste the salt, but I know it was in there, because my fingers were sausages when I went to bed. My solution was, again, to drink as much water as I could to flush the sodium out of my system. So I’m sitting on the couch, pounding water, watching a Lifetime movie called “The Christmas Wedding” starring Sarah Paulsen that was crappy, even by that station’s standards, and my hands and feet are swelling. I finally just went to bed. Which was great—I needed the sleep. I just didn’t get it, because I kid you not, I had to pee ever hour on the hour all night long. It should have stopped around, oh, 2 or 3, but I was so thirsty still, I had to drink more water, which perpetuated the cycle until I had to get up for work.

Tonight, I plan on eating dry toast and a banana. No more fun food for me. It’s blandsville from here on out.