(Some credit goes to the comedian Gabriel Iglesias for the idea)
Last year, there was nothing but open houses. Pretty much every weekend was some kind of party, mostly in the days graduation party, at nights...well, graduation after party. It was free food every weekend, and my family could tell how popular I was just by the sheer mass of invites I received. They had no idea I had so many friends.
There were many games of volleyball played. I got really good at that game by the end of the summer. A crude bean bag toss game where there's a slanted board (probably about fourteen inches to sixteen inches long, eight to ten wide and tilted at about a twenty five degree angle) and the point is to throw a bean bag onto it and get it to stay or even better to go into a hole towards the top part of it. I got pretty decent at that game. Made so many buckets you might as well have called me Charlie! (Charlie Bucket, the kid from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory...yeah, a very esoteric joke I suppose)
There were a couple parties that really stood out in my mind, but there was one thing that surpassed everything. That thing was the racist gift basket.
I have a black friend, he's my only black friend. Now, this isn't due to a racist or prejudice reason, I mean, hell, I am a person of tanliness, but around here, the general populace happens to be that of white like snow. Unless they tan a lot. Then in that case they're just cooked.
So just because I liked foolin' around with this guy, I decided to do a bit of shopping. I had an extra twenty dollars and I decided to make it stretch. I'm very glad everything was on sale. The list flowed as follows:
BBQ Potato Chips - 6 Pack
Funions - 2 Pack
Fried Chicken - Whole Chicken (never seen a whole fried chicken before this day)
Grape Kool-Aid - 6 Pack
Grape Soda - 12 Can Pack & 2 Liter
Watermelon Bubbleyum
The biggest watermelon I could find
Black Gentleman Quarterly - A magazine
The only thing that was missing was 40oz., but I'm not 21 so I couldn't buy it. That was all the money I had anyway and I decided it was adequate enough as was. I decided to wrap it up, everything but the watermelon, and put it in a gift bag.
I know that some of you live in other countries, but to sum up, here in America, these are the things that a stereotypical black man likes. I'm too poor to afford obnoxiously big rims/spinners for his car, can't buy fat white women, and he doesn't like hip-hop so I wasn't going to buy a CD he wasn't going to listen to, even as a joke, so that was what I was going to give him.
I finally arrived at his party, and I inconspicuously left it on the gift table; the bag in front of the watermelon. I quickly sauntered off and joined the rest of the party and started to have a fun time swimming and doing things, eating, hydrating myself, the norm. The moment soon approached when I was filling my plate with more food (I eat a lot, read back through this blog to anyone that's new and you'll see) I heard a roar of laughter. Believing I missed a joke or something, I shoved a piece of chicken in my mouth, threw some fruit on my plate and jettisoned out. I saw everyone around the table and my friend have this smile on his face. One of those smiles where he wants to laugh, but at the same time he doesn't.
I see he has just begun to go through the bag and is pulling out things one after the other. He pulls out everything, the chips, drinks, chicken, and after every time he appears speechless. Everyone snickers or laughs at what seems to be an endless bag of racist foods until he pulls out the magazine with a big black guy staring very threateningly at the camera in his picture and everyone loses it. I have the biggest smile when he looks over at me.
"I...was....", he sighs again, "Was this really all your doing? Did you buy all this?"
"Yeah, it ran me a good twenty bucks", I said after swallowing some grapes.
"A part of me doesn't want me to like this as much as I do...but I know, I know...that all of this is going to be gone by the end of the night", and he pulled me forward for a man hug.
Best 20 dollars I had ever spent.
Showing posts with label Party. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Party. Show all posts
Monday, July 25, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Bachelor/Bachelorette Party
As I said a couple posts back, I was going to tell you of my uncle's and my aunt's bachelor parties. I got to see them last year. It was the first time in many years before I got to see them. They live over in Hawaii (along with everyone else in my family) whereas I live in Michigan. It's really expensive to go and see family and we're not the most wealthy people on the block so we don't get to go back. Luckily enough, they saved up enough money to come over here to watch me graduate.
So while they were over here, we spent a lot of time together, and told stories about our lives. The story that stood out the most to me though were their stories about their bachelor and bachelorette parties.
My uncle told me about his first. He said that his was a huge party with friends. He talked about how they ate a couple hundred burgers and hot dogs throughout the whole day, went down to the beach, surfed and swam (I mean, it's Hawaii after all), fucked around, and drank a lot. One of the most pertinent things he talked about was just the sheer volume of drink they had.
Apparently nobody fell asleep willingly. Everyone passed out. There were three people crammed into a tiny bathroom, people on the floor, people in the kitchen, but everyone for the most part was inside. The other odd thing was that even though there were THREE beds, not one of them was used. Nobody thought to use any of the beds.
Everyone had fun but when they woke up...there was something wrong. Nothing was broken so it wasn't something expensive. Everyone was alive and breathing and nobody appeared hurt, so it wasn't a medical thing. Then they decided to do a head count and one of their friends was missing. It was a real life version of the Hangover.
They're in a forested area, but it's also suburban so they were worried a number of things could've happened. They were worried he could've gotten lost in the woods, fell down and hit his head. He could've broke into a house thinking it was his. They were freaking out.
The looked around everywhere. They all spread out before even eating breakfast. Dispersing through the woods, they cruised around the neighborhood, asked neighbors. Nobody had seen him. They checked outward going farther and farther until they had to give up.
They got home and they were going to call the police when they got home. Then they noticed something that they didn't notice before. There was a big blue tarp in the backyard. One of them tripped over it and a voice came out from it. They kicked it and the guys voice came out wondering what the hell was going on.
It appeared that just like in The Hangover, the guy was closer to home than they though. Apparently, he felt that the tarp was a really warm, dry, place to sleep and so rolled up inside of it like a sleeping bag. Everyone was pissed at him, but relieved.
Then there was my aunt's bachelorette party. She seemed a bit hesitant to tell everything what happened, but she did tell me about one thing. The penis cake. Do you see how this ties into the story from the other day? I told that girl about it, she had a hankering for penis cake. Or maybe penis. Or maybe just cake. Who knows.
Anyway, apparently this cake was a work of perverse art. It wasn't just a regular sized cake, it was a sheet cake bigger than any phallus could ever be. The head of the dick was made out of Rice Krispy to give it a nice crunch. There was LOTS of frosting on the inside, especially in the middle. Seemed appropriate. The veins were constructed using twizzlers. The taint was created by dyeing very thin pasta black and put by the base.
She described the cake as being truly befitting of the phrase 'one eyed monster'. She added only one woman was brave enough to take a slice. I was appalled that they would've let that much cake be wasted. If nobody else was going to eat it, I would've definitely taken a piece, regardless of it's genitalia related features*. Maybe that's just me though. What about you all? Would you have taken a piece regardless?
*No Homo.
So while they were over here, we spent a lot of time together, and told stories about our lives. The story that stood out the most to me though were their stories about their bachelor and bachelorette parties.
My uncle told me about his first. He said that his was a huge party with friends. He talked about how they ate a couple hundred burgers and hot dogs throughout the whole day, went down to the beach, surfed and swam (I mean, it's Hawaii after all), fucked around, and drank a lot. One of the most pertinent things he talked about was just the sheer volume of drink they had.
Apparently nobody fell asleep willingly. Everyone passed out. There were three people crammed into a tiny bathroom, people on the floor, people in the kitchen, but everyone for the most part was inside. The other odd thing was that even though there were THREE beds, not one of them was used. Nobody thought to use any of the beds.
Everyone had fun but when they woke up...there was something wrong. Nothing was broken so it wasn't something expensive. Everyone was alive and breathing and nobody appeared hurt, so it wasn't a medical thing. Then they decided to do a head count and one of their friends was missing. It was a real life version of the Hangover.
They're in a forested area, but it's also suburban so they were worried a number of things could've happened. They were worried he could've gotten lost in the woods, fell down and hit his head. He could've broke into a house thinking it was his. They were freaking out.
The looked around everywhere. They all spread out before even eating breakfast. Dispersing through the woods, they cruised around the neighborhood, asked neighbors. Nobody had seen him. They checked outward going farther and farther until they had to give up.
They got home and they were going to call the police when they got home. Then they noticed something that they didn't notice before. There was a big blue tarp in the backyard. One of them tripped over it and a voice came out from it. They kicked it and the guys voice came out wondering what the hell was going on.
It appeared that just like in The Hangover, the guy was closer to home than they though. Apparently, he felt that the tarp was a really warm, dry, place to sleep and so rolled up inside of it like a sleeping bag. Everyone was pissed at him, but relieved.
Then there was my aunt's bachelorette party. She seemed a bit hesitant to tell everything what happened, but she did tell me about one thing. The penis cake. Do you see how this ties into the story from the other day? I told that girl about it, she had a hankering for penis cake. Or maybe penis. Or maybe just cake. Who knows.
Anyway, apparently this cake was a work of perverse art. It wasn't just a regular sized cake, it was a sheet cake bigger than any phallus could ever be. The head of the dick was made out of Rice Krispy to give it a nice crunch. There was LOTS of frosting on the inside, especially in the middle. Seemed appropriate. The veins were constructed using twizzlers. The taint was created by dyeing very thin pasta black and put by the base.
She described the cake as being truly befitting of the phrase 'one eyed monster'. She added only one woman was brave enough to take a slice. I was appalled that they would've let that much cake be wasted. If nobody else was going to eat it, I would've definitely taken a piece, regardless of it's genitalia related features*. Maybe that's just me though. What about you all? Would you have taken a piece regardless?
*No Homo.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Bingo
So this little event happened over the Winter, sometime in January. I was hanging out with my friend Chris one day. We're chillin', hanging out, having fun. We went down to the Flea Market (Swap Meet, or in other words pretty much a large ass garage sale for people from all over).
We got bored and had a few extra bucks to blow off at Dixieland (the Flea Market) and decided to just look around at everything. We saw a lot of old records, CD's, clothes, jackets, board games, videos...Pretty much, it was just a big ol' nostalgia fest. We eventually found a stand selling really rare Yu-Gi-Oh cards and bought a bunch for real cheap and decided we would dig up our decks later and play each other for old times sake.
Before we left, he got a call from his mother. It turns out he forgot that it was Bingo night. He likes to go with his mom from time to time cause if she wins anything, he gets a cut of it. My friend asked me if I would like to go to Bingo with him and his mom. I was now faced with two decisions. Go home to my sister (who I have a great distaste for) or go play Bingo. I've never played Bingo before, so I decided to go on with that.
When we finally got there, I asked how long it would take. Chris said it would take about two maybe two and a half hours. I thought that sounded like a good bit of time to nap and catch up on some sleep so I wrapped myself up in my coat, popped the chair back and went to sleep...
[Fast forward two and a half hours]
The chilling cold started to settle into my jacket and I woke up shivering. I looked at my watch and saw that a lot of time had passed. They hadn't gotten out yet and the parking lot was still full, so I figured it was still on, but was going to get out soon. I took out my phone, gave a couple of girls a ring, talked a bit, but eventually started to question why they hadn't gotten out yet. It was about three hours since they went in.
I got out of the car, into the bingo hall and looked around. This place was HUGE. There was easily a hundred, maybe more, all playing Bingo. There were a few large screens with footage of the numbers being drawn being projected upon, but that was not my primary concern. Looking aloof, I was flagged down my friend only to find that they were only two thirds of the way done.
That's when my trip to number hell began.
As I sat there and heard number after number being called out, I found something out about myself that was rather odd. The longer I sat there, the more my soul would be extracted. My soul was exiting from my mouth, I could see it fleeting from my body as it sought something more. I desperately tried to keep it inside, but a stunning realization hit me. The reason why old people play Bingo. They go there to die.
Old people realize that they're not fit for the rapidly advancing world and want no part in it as the innocence that they once had is slowly destroyed by evil technology. They cannot keep up with what's going on around them. Or they could just be bored and miserable. Whatever their reason, they go there to shorten their life spans via soul absorption.
You could tell how miserable these people were. Desperately stamping every number called out with such precision and accuracy as fast as they can. Some of them would fill up whole tables with sheets of bingo sheets, others had machines that held HUNDREDS of bingo sheets in their memories and stamped it for them. These people were tenacious to say the least.
Then, they snapped at the bingo caller. This was something I could not understand. Apparently, this man was 'bad' at calling out numbers. At one point, a group of people actively jeered this man.
"B-16"
"HE SUCKS! WHAT'S HE DOING!? GET SOMEONE ELSE!!!"
"Please don't boo him, he's a new guy, he's learning the ropes."
The fact that he was 'bad' at calling out numbers because apparently you need training to do this advanced task just blew my mind. We left about an hour and a half later winning no money whatsoever at the cost of half my soul, and a feeling of dread over what the others might do. I know one thing I am never doing again. I hope you heed my warning and don't make the same mistake that I did.
We got bored and had a few extra bucks to blow off at Dixieland (the Flea Market) and decided to just look around at everything. We saw a lot of old records, CD's, clothes, jackets, board games, videos...Pretty much, it was just a big ol' nostalgia fest. We eventually found a stand selling really rare Yu-Gi-Oh cards and bought a bunch for real cheap and decided we would dig up our decks later and play each other for old times sake.
Before we left, he got a call from his mother. It turns out he forgot that it was Bingo night. He likes to go with his mom from time to time cause if she wins anything, he gets a cut of it. My friend asked me if I would like to go to Bingo with him and his mom. I was now faced with two decisions. Go home to my sister (who I have a great distaste for) or go play Bingo. I've never played Bingo before, so I decided to go on with that.
When we finally got there, I asked how long it would take. Chris said it would take about two maybe two and a half hours. I thought that sounded like a good bit of time to nap and catch up on some sleep so I wrapped myself up in my coat, popped the chair back and went to sleep...
[Fast forward two and a half hours]
The chilling cold started to settle into my jacket and I woke up shivering. I looked at my watch and saw that a lot of time had passed. They hadn't gotten out yet and the parking lot was still full, so I figured it was still on, but was going to get out soon. I took out my phone, gave a couple of girls a ring, talked a bit, but eventually started to question why they hadn't gotten out yet. It was about three hours since they went in.
I got out of the car, into the bingo hall and looked around. This place was HUGE. There was easily a hundred, maybe more, all playing Bingo. There were a few large screens with footage of the numbers being drawn being projected upon, but that was not my primary concern. Looking aloof, I was flagged down my friend only to find that they were only two thirds of the way done.
That's when my trip to number hell began.
As I sat there and heard number after number being called out, I found something out about myself that was rather odd. The longer I sat there, the more my soul would be extracted. My soul was exiting from my mouth, I could see it fleeting from my body as it sought something more. I desperately tried to keep it inside, but a stunning realization hit me. The reason why old people play Bingo. They go there to die.
Old people realize that they're not fit for the rapidly advancing world and want no part in it as the innocence that they once had is slowly destroyed by evil technology. They cannot keep up with what's going on around them. Or they could just be bored and miserable. Whatever their reason, they go there to shorten their life spans via soul absorption.
You could tell how miserable these people were. Desperately stamping every number called out with such precision and accuracy as fast as they can. Some of them would fill up whole tables with sheets of bingo sheets, others had machines that held HUNDREDS of bingo sheets in their memories and stamped it for them. These people were tenacious to say the least.
Then, they snapped at the bingo caller. This was something I could not understand. Apparently, this man was 'bad' at calling out numbers. At one point, a group of people actively jeered this man.
"B-16"
"HE SUCKS! WHAT'S HE DOING!? GET SOMEONE ELSE!!!"
"Please don't boo him, he's a new guy, he's learning the ropes."
The fact that he was 'bad' at calling out numbers because apparently you need training to do this advanced task just blew my mind. We left about an hour and a half later winning no money whatsoever at the cost of half my soul, and a feeling of dread over what the others might do. I know one thing I am never doing again. I hope you heed my warning and don't make the same mistake that I did.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Doctor's Visit
This is a short story about when I had to go to the doctor's last summer. The saga began when I was at a party. My friend's brother had gotten back from the Marines, so that meant it was time for partyin'. While it was fun, it wasn't any different from other parties. Food, games, fun, drinking, though I don't drink personally. I can't even drink pop without it burning my mouth and throat, but I digress. That night when I went to sleep, I started to feel really odd. I felt an overwhelming cold, but that house is always so cold (in the winter, you can see your breath), that I figured it was just the environment. Later as I slept, I felt a complete switch to being super hot and started to feel a dull pain in my head. I thought that maybe I was just a bit dehydrated, or at the worse, I was going to get the flu. If only I was so lucky.
Days later, the condition only worsened. After a couple days, my fever got a bit higher, but thankfully not high enough to really warrant any troubles over that specifically. So I took care of my already sick little brother and sister. They needed my help more than I needed to rest. What I didn't notice at the time was that little brother was playing bio-terrorist and kept on drinking out of my drinks. I noticed a couple times, though I didn't think anything of it. 'I got a strong immune system, it'll be alright'. Oh boy how wrong I was.
Meanwhile, the headache wouldn't go away. My mom got pissed for a couple days cause she thought that I had started drinking at that party and I had an extreme hangover, though after the second day, she figured I was probably a bit sick and got of that theory.
Now, I really, REALLY hate taking any kind of medicine, the idea of medication floating around in me pisses me off, so for awhile I refused to take any kind of Aspirin. At a certain point it got so bad, I kinda had to tap out and take the meds. That unfortunately, did nothing. My headache eventually turned into a migraine of such huge proportions. It felt like a railroad spike was being slowly twisted into my head from all angles. My mom finally took me to the hospital.
At the hospital, I took a couple of tests. Remember that time before when I thought I might have been getting the flu? Yeah, turns out that I had something called Viral Meningitis. For anyone that doesn't know what that is, it's a disease that attacks the fluids in the spinal column. Yay!
They had the general hint that that is what it was, but in order to be fully certain they had to give me a spinal tap. Some people are a bit confused as to what that is. Well, a spinal tap is when (if you don't like needles, just skip down a paragraph) they take a five inch needle and insert it into your spine. I had to have it injected, ALL OF IT, into my lower spine. Twice. I gotta say, although they gave a tiny bit of numbing medication, it's still the weirdest feeling to feel a needle scraping on your vertebrate column.
So after the spinal tap, they drew some blood and left to take some tests. When they came back, the doctor said that the results of my test came in, and even though by this time they had doped me up on a couple pain drugs (morphine being the big one), I was still able to ask the question I've always wanted to ask a doctor.
"Hey, have the results of my midichlorian test come back yet doc?", if you don't know what that is, you need to watch Star Wars.
The doctor didn't even bat an eye, his immediate response was, "Yes, and it appears that the force is startlingly strong within you. After this you shall be training with Master Plo-Koon."
My mom barely even got what that was even to mean, she just understood the force part of that. My nurse just gave us the weirdest ass look ever like we just spoke another language. I had the biggest grin that I got the smart doctor. Yes, the fact that he knew Star Wars made him the smart doctor.
So the results came back in, and I did indeed have Viral Meningitis and I'd have to stay in the hospital in a few days to make sure I didn't have Bacterial Meningitis. If I had that one, shit was gonna get real.
So I went upstairs and stayed in a room. I took a nice long sleep (I woke up really early with that headache so I was still quite sleepy. In combination with the drugs, I was just knocked out). When I woke up, I realized I hadn't eaten a thing so I decided to order some room service. I know they say hospital food is terrible, but I decided to take a chance. I ordered a turkey sandwich, some vanilla wafers, a banana and some water.
It came and I started to scarf down the sandwich, I was a lot hungrier than I thought. It was a week full of mistakes for me. I threw up the sandwich, and to feel mushy bread and the texture of deli meat coming back up through the esophagus is the weirdest thing. So I threw that up, called in a nurse, they took it away.
A few moments later, I decided I still needed something in my stomach, and I know it's always good to eat crackers when you're throwing up. In my mind, vanilla wafers = crackers, so that was the next thing to go. Well, my body started to kick it back. I literally spoke out at my stomach.
"Really? You're going to throw up wafers? Don't be a puss, keep it dow-Blllllaehakhdkcahuikushdikfuhaikhfkhkash....Fuck you stomach". So Again I called the nurse to take my puke bucket.
After throwing up twice, I figured I was probably quite dehydrated so I decided to drink the water, and if you've been reading this, you can probably predict with great accuracy what happened next.
"God damn it stomach, don't do this to me. You're going to kick back water!? You're such an asshole. Keep. It. Bllaaaarrgggghljoakwejfpasdvwoeifjoidf...You suck". By this time, I wouldn't blame the nurse if she hated me by now.
It was found out that the reason why I was throwing up so much was because I am one of a very small group of people who have a bad reaction to morphine. Woot. So they switched me over to some other stuff and I went to bed again, though this time when I woke up, I was able to actually eat, and eat I did.
The next day, it was relaxing. I was able to just be in some peace and quiet, away from my loud ass family and sleep. I watched a couple of classic movies and the nurse that I had was quite intrigued that someone kind of young would be interested in that sort of thing.
This nurse was really cute. She was a black girl, probably in her mid twenties, going through med school, pretty voice. After the classic movies, I started to switch to the Discovery Channel and watched that. A show about medical weed came on and she entered the room while I was watching it and we talking about weed ( I don't smoke, and she said neither did she, but we had a large talk about it nonetheless). We talked about music and got to know each other, and I felt kinda bad I was keeping her all to myself. Kinda.
Every time she left, she'd always say something like, "Well...I gotta go, unless there's...anything else that you need?"
Me being the pervert that I am, thought she might be hinting at a little somethin' somethin', though I figured that wasn't the case. I know that only happens in porn, and I couldn't possibly have been that lucky. Plus, it would've made every trip after that awkward if I tried to make a move. Still, I think I should have.
She eventually got switched out with another nurse, a man nurse, for the midnight shift. He was a pretty cool guy, a black dude, we talked a little bit. Though there was one awkward moment.
He asked what I thought about T.O. and some other football player being on the same team that season. Well, I don't watch football, I watch hockey and asked him if he knew anything about that. He just stared back at me and said, "Dude, I'm black. I have no idea about anything about hockey".
So long story made a little bit shorter, I got better, had the most relaxing three days I've ever had, and went home...only to find that I had to stay home for a week. So what did I do that week? I watched a TON of anime. It's just how I roll as a cool kid.
Days later, the condition only worsened. After a couple days, my fever got a bit higher, but thankfully not high enough to really warrant any troubles over that specifically. So I took care of my already sick little brother and sister. They needed my help more than I needed to rest. What I didn't notice at the time was that little brother was playing bio-terrorist and kept on drinking out of my drinks. I noticed a couple times, though I didn't think anything of it. 'I got a strong immune system, it'll be alright'. Oh boy how wrong I was.
Meanwhile, the headache wouldn't go away. My mom got pissed for a couple days cause she thought that I had started drinking at that party and I had an extreme hangover, though after the second day, she figured I was probably a bit sick and got of that theory.
Now, I really, REALLY hate taking any kind of medicine, the idea of medication floating around in me pisses me off, so for awhile I refused to take any kind of Aspirin. At a certain point it got so bad, I kinda had to tap out and take the meds. That unfortunately, did nothing. My headache eventually turned into a migraine of such huge proportions. It felt like a railroad spike was being slowly twisted into my head from all angles. My mom finally took me to the hospital.
At the hospital, I took a couple of tests. Remember that time before when I thought I might have been getting the flu? Yeah, turns out that I had something called Viral Meningitis. For anyone that doesn't know what that is, it's a disease that attacks the fluids in the spinal column. Yay!
They had the general hint that that is what it was, but in order to be fully certain they had to give me a spinal tap. Some people are a bit confused as to what that is. Well, a spinal tap is when (if you don't like needles, just skip down a paragraph) they take a five inch needle and insert it into your spine. I had to have it injected, ALL OF IT, into my lower spine. Twice. I gotta say, although they gave a tiny bit of numbing medication, it's still the weirdest feeling to feel a needle scraping on your vertebrate column.
So after the spinal tap, they drew some blood and left to take some tests. When they came back, the doctor said that the results of my test came in, and even though by this time they had doped me up on a couple pain drugs (morphine being the big one), I was still able to ask the question I've always wanted to ask a doctor.
"Hey, have the results of my midichlorian test come back yet doc?", if you don't know what that is, you need to watch Star Wars.
The doctor didn't even bat an eye, his immediate response was, "Yes, and it appears that the force is startlingly strong within you. After this you shall be training with Master Plo-Koon."
My mom barely even got what that was even to mean, she just understood the force part of that. My nurse just gave us the weirdest ass look ever like we just spoke another language. I had the biggest grin that I got the smart doctor. Yes, the fact that he knew Star Wars made him the smart doctor.
So the results came back in, and I did indeed have Viral Meningitis and I'd have to stay in the hospital in a few days to make sure I didn't have Bacterial Meningitis. If I had that one, shit was gonna get real.
So I went upstairs and stayed in a room. I took a nice long sleep (I woke up really early with that headache so I was still quite sleepy. In combination with the drugs, I was just knocked out). When I woke up, I realized I hadn't eaten a thing so I decided to order some room service. I know they say hospital food is terrible, but I decided to take a chance. I ordered a turkey sandwich, some vanilla wafers, a banana and some water.
It came and I started to scarf down the sandwich, I was a lot hungrier than I thought. It was a week full of mistakes for me. I threw up the sandwich, and to feel mushy bread and the texture of deli meat coming back up through the esophagus is the weirdest thing. So I threw that up, called in a nurse, they took it away.
A few moments later, I decided I still needed something in my stomach, and I know it's always good to eat crackers when you're throwing up. In my mind, vanilla wafers = crackers, so that was the next thing to go. Well, my body started to kick it back. I literally spoke out at my stomach.
"Really? You're going to throw up wafers? Don't be a puss, keep it dow-Blllllaehakhdkcahuikushdikfuhaikhfkhkash....Fuck you stomach". So Again I called the nurse to take my puke bucket.
After throwing up twice, I figured I was probably quite dehydrated so I decided to drink the water, and if you've been reading this, you can probably predict with great accuracy what happened next.
"God damn it stomach, don't do this to me. You're going to kick back water!? You're such an asshole. Keep. It. Bllaaaarrgggghljoakwejfpasdvwoeifjoidf...You suck". By this time, I wouldn't blame the nurse if she hated me by now.
It was found out that the reason why I was throwing up so much was because I am one of a very small group of people who have a bad reaction to morphine. Woot. So they switched me over to some other stuff and I went to bed again, though this time when I woke up, I was able to actually eat, and eat I did.
The next day, it was relaxing. I was able to just be in some peace and quiet, away from my loud ass family and sleep. I watched a couple of classic movies and the nurse that I had was quite intrigued that someone kind of young would be interested in that sort of thing.
This nurse was really cute. She was a black girl, probably in her mid twenties, going through med school, pretty voice. After the classic movies, I started to switch to the Discovery Channel and watched that. A show about medical weed came on and she entered the room while I was watching it and we talking about weed ( I don't smoke, and she said neither did she, but we had a large talk about it nonetheless). We talked about music and got to know each other, and I felt kinda bad I was keeping her all to myself. Kinda.
Every time she left, she'd always say something like, "Well...I gotta go, unless there's...anything else that you need?"
Me being the pervert that I am, thought she might be hinting at a little somethin' somethin', though I figured that wasn't the case. I know that only happens in porn, and I couldn't possibly have been that lucky. Plus, it would've made every trip after that awkward if I tried to make a move. Still, I think I should have.
She eventually got switched out with another nurse, a man nurse, for the midnight shift. He was a pretty cool guy, a black dude, we talked a little bit. Though there was one awkward moment.
He asked what I thought about T.O. and some other football player being on the same team that season. Well, I don't watch football, I watch hockey and asked him if he knew anything about that. He just stared back at me and said, "Dude, I'm black. I have no idea about anything about hockey".
So long story made a little bit shorter, I got better, had the most relaxing three days I've ever had, and went home...only to find that I had to stay home for a week. So what did I do that week? I watched a TON of anime. It's just how I roll as a cool kid.
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