I thought I’d share my previous Renaissance Fair experience as I’m traveling to Kansas City today to enjoy the festivities. Summer in Texas, May 2005. knights It’s 100 degrees outside and it’s May in Texas. I’m 6 months pregnant and while I can see my feet, I can not actually reach down and touch them. This means I have snaggle toes and I’m randomly hairy and I can’t do anything about it. Blake decided we need to go to something called the Scarborough Fair. This is a Renaissance Fair in the middle of a field outside of Dallas. This pregnancy has been one big slap in the face regarding what I think I can do versus what I can actually do. I have been constantly overwhelmed by unexpected pregnancy limitations and I seem to have no foresight whatsoever when it comes to seeing approaching disaster. This being the case, I think the Scarborough fair in 100 degree heat sounds like a marvelous idea. I sleep in, it takes me a while to get ready as I shower then rest. Find clothes then rest. Brush my teeth and hair and then rest. It ended up being noon by the time we rolled up to the fair. Oh my word, I’m stupid. Noon. In Texas. In the summer. People are swarming all over this place and we are forced to park in the back 40. Blake pulls my massive girth out of the truck as waves of heat drift up from the cracked and dried earth. I hobble my way up to the front and already sweat is dripping, pooling, gathering in horrible places and my bathroom visit is already becoming and emergency. We spend the next three hours doing the following: Sweat like a pig, restroom, drink something. Sweat like a pig, restroom, drink something. Sweat like a pig, restroom, drink something. Finally we are in the back area where they are jousting. No actual bathroom is available, all they have back here are porta potties. Porta potties aren’t enjoyable at the best of times and they are a nightmare when you are 6 months pregnant. I can no longer balance myself properly so that I don’t touch when I’m using the porta potty. This was full fledge contact. Surface to surface. Plus I’m sweaty and it takes a while to get situated and I end up peeing on myself a bit anyway. I’m in the sweltering porta potty, I’ve peed on myself, and now I’m crying. I stand up and I realize that I’m too sweaty and pregnant to pull my pants up. They are stuck around my legs and I don’t have enough room to bend over to pull them up. It is more than 100 degrees in the porta potty. It was at least 120 degrees from horrible green house effect. Plus I’m pregnant so my one super power is super sonic smelling. I’m crying. I’m sweating. I have pee on me and I’m naked with my pants stuck around my ankles. My very swollen ankles. I now have to make a choice. Die from heat exhaustion in the sweaty, stinky, sweltering porta potty in the middle of a Texas field or boldly step outside with my sweaty pants around my ankles. I don’t have on granny panties by the way. No sir mister. I am rocking a horrible overtaxed thong this 6 months of pregnancy. So I step outside. Naked. Pants around my ankles. Massive behind waving in the wind for all to enjoy at the Scarborough Fair. I couldn’t even quickly get my pants up as I’m too sweaty and fat to bend down and pull them up quickly. Someone had to help me. I don’t think you understand. Someone had to help me pull my pants up over my naked behind and over my pregnant belly in the middle of a field in a public event with thousands and thousands of people. This may be the most embarrassing, yet hysterical, moment of my life so far. This kid better be amazing.
1999-ish timeframe. Sometimes you have to make a big push to start out your life. A big, scary, all by yourself push. I had just graduated college and I was in love with a sailor. A submarine officer that was never going to live in the middle of landlocked West Texas. We weren’t ready to marry, we were just ready to see if our relationship could survive for longer than an extended weekend. So I loaded up my Isuzu Hombre with all my stuff and I headed out to follow my man. I pulled out of my mom’s driveway on a Thursday morning and it took us two days to get from Texas to San Diego. I had never driven more than 4 hours away from my family and this was bigger than any adventure I could have imagined on my own. I had a total of $2,000 to my name, no credit cards, and I had no plans to live with Blake. I had to find a job and an apartment in San Diego in less than a week. But I was young so these worries didn’t stress me out in the least. I don’t think my truck engine had even cooled down from our drive before we were making plans to go to the ocean. Blake’s buddies had a sailboat and the San Diego sky was a blue as blue could be. We get to the boat and the Navy guys are doing what Navy guys do to get a ship ready to sail: hoisting the Jolly Roger, swabbing the poop deck, and dancing the hempen jig. It’s comments like this that get me thrown of the ship and sent to get the grog. Basically a beer run. The sailboat was stored at a dock with many other ships all shapes and sizes. Ours was on the smaller end and further down were the massive beasts of the ocean. Needless to say they have measures in place to protect the boat owners. I end up trapped at the gate to get off our dock because I can’t figure out how this round key fob opens the gate. I’m fiddling with the gate and a homeless man approaches and says, “Hey man, that’s not how you do it. You do it like this.” Then he proceeds to help me out of the gate. I’m fresh out of Texas and my accent was a thick as my mom’s buttermilk pie and my manners were just as sweet. I proceed to thank the homeless man and I bend down to pet his two ancient poodles. They weren’t cute, poodles do not age well. They get that crusty tear stain around their eyes, they shake, their hair looks like a badly colored perm and usually their breath smells. I continue to chat the homeless man up when I see a hugely muscled man sprinting towards us. Sprinting and mad. I can not fathom why this man would be mad so I leap to the conclusion that these men are gay lovers and he is jealous and sprinting towards me to claim his territory. No shit, this is what I thought. I’m in San Diego, my mom told me about this stuff, I’m going to play it cool. So I use all my southern charm to chat the mad muscle bound man up to let him know I’m not poaching in his territory. I even reference my Navy boyfriend who is now sprinting past us all to actually get the beer I was tasked to buy. It’s not even 2 minutes into the conversation when the muscle bound behemoth relaxes. I’m under the impression that I’ve soothed his jealous soul. We had a lovely conversation about dogs, San Diego, my adventure from Texas, sailboats and I end up inviting both of them back to our boat to chill and have some beers. I do have to tell them they need to bring their own beer as I think the Navy guys might drink every drop of their own beer. This seemed to amuse them greatly. The homeless man and his huge muscle behemoth of a companion are as nice and nice could be and they decline graciously. I continue on my way back to the sailboat and we prepare to set sail. We are chatting with Blake’s buddies and they mention that Carlos Santana has his massive ship docked at this marina. It’s docked here and he is here all the time. And guess what, there it is. There he is!! My super sweet homeless man that I chatted with for at least 15 minutes was Carlos Santana. The huge muscle behemoth was his bodyguard. #carlossantana #Santana *That year Carlos Santana released his album Supernatural. It went 15 times platinum in the US and won nine Grammy Awards, including Album of the Year as well as three Latin Grammy Awards including Record of the Year.
I am 36 weeks pregnant and 6 days. I wake up this morning uncomfortable as usual but with a bright spot of hope regarding the day as I had approval to work from home today. We were going to see if I could make that work for the next week or so. I had the tech guy come in yesterday at work to show me how to make the laptop plug into the UOP systems and I was all set. I sleep in an extra 45 min and then roll over out of bed and take my time eating breakfast, looking out the window, feeding the dogs and then I am pretty much prepared for the day. I was so happy this morning, I should have known to prepare myself. I pull out my computer and do EXACTLY what the Tech guy said to do. Nothing. Can’t log in. Okay, so I fiddle around on the computer (pretty much just pushing random buttons thinking I might get lucky) and then cave and call the Tech guy at work. He helps me log in and we hang up. I get into the system and it all looks great. I just about get the system to work and then – BAMB – my battery goes dead and the computer shuts off. (Sigh) I now HEAVE my massive girth off the couch and dig up the power cord and set it all up again. I am not too worried at this point as the Tech guy showed me what to do and I know I can do it. So I do the same thing. Nothing. Nada. Can’t log in again. Again, I call Tech guy. Can he get me in this time? Of course not. I spend the next THREE hours on hold with DSL-Yahoo, fighting with DSL-Yahoo, and basically wasting my time. The nasal sounding 12 year old girl on the phone kept telling me politely she couldn’t help me and then she would go into a long stream of computer jargon that might as well been Japanese as I couldn’t understand it. She might as well just said that my Flux Capacitor was broken and that is why we couldn’t break the time continuum. I was so frustrated at this point that I believe I started stuttering and spittle was flying from my foaming mouth onto the phone. This may have happened as the black void of rage was consuming me at this point so who knows what really happened. I can tell you that at some point in that conversation my hands swelled up to twice their size. I am sitting down and realizing that what I really need to do now is drive into work to get something done. But then I realize that my husband, never one to miss a window of opportunity, had scheduled the maintenance man to come in to see what was wrong with our upstairs A/C. So I am trapped in the house and can’t leave until this happens. I also have a doctor appointment that I have to make so there is NO WAY I am going to make it into work before 5pm. I am attempting to make the best of life and think that I will begin cleaning. The house needs TONS of things done before the baby gets here and this is apparently my ‘golden opportunity.’ This is where I start to get confused. I keep moving and I’m re-arranging the piles of crap that are EVERYWHERE in the house but mysteriously nothing seems to be any cleaner. I keep this up for 2 hours and I have to tell you that I really can’t see that anything got done. The A/C man gets here and announces that he needs to turn the A/C off to work. It is 110degrees and HUMID in the Dallas Summer heat. He shuts off the A/C and then begins to fiddle with the unit. At first it wasn’t so bad, but the house is big and the cold air is precious. It didn’t help that he kept going in and out and forgetting to shut the door behind him. I’m guessing he was raised in a barn. So an HOUR and a HALF later, I am a sweating, heaving, non-productive, swollen up mass of frustration. He has me sign his bill and goes on his merry way. He still forgot to shut the door on his way out. I now have a little under two hours to get showered, dressed, and into downtown Dallas for my doctors appointment. Now, this would sound do-able but I’m extra slow these days and everything is in super slow motion. The house is now 90 degrees. I finally drag on my one pair of pants that fit and my one of two shirts that fits over my massive breasts and waddle to the door. My hair is in wet strands around my head as who is going to turn on their blow dryer in a 90 degree house. Certainly not me. I had forgotten that I had moved my dogs into the big yard so they wouldn’t jump on the A/C man. I make the mistake of just opening the gate and assuming they will follow me into the yard they need to be in. I didn’t look around to notice some poor lady was walking her dog in the ally behind my house. But my dogs certainly did. They were on this poor lady and dog faster than I could even get turned around. I spend the next 15 min yelling at my dogs, running (well, fast waddle) after my dogs and apologizing to my neighbor. I have to wrestle both the wild hyenas into their yard one at a time. My pug had morphed into a Tasmanian devil. At this point, I am dripping sweat again and who knows – maybe I peed myself again. At this point I’m not wondering if I stink – I know I stink. I glance to my car and realize that my right front tire is flatter than road kill. I have no words to express to you what I was feeling at this point but I can assure you it wasn’t nice and it wasn’t pretty and it certainly wasn’t funny. So I get in the car and drive the block to the gas station to fill up my tire. I have exactly one dollar on me and I pull up to the air pump and plug in my 75 cents for air. So again, I am 36 weeks and 6 days pregnant and swollen up so much that I can not close my hand into a fist. I now have to SQUAT down low to fill up my tire with air. This is impossible. Next I attempt to bend over. Nope – can’t do that either as it cuts off my air and I can’t breath. I don’t want to sit on the ground as these are my ONLY pair of pants that fit and if I ruin them – I have to go buy some more. I attempt to lean against the car and reach down to fill up the tire. I almost can reach….just a little further……BAMB. I slide down the side of the car and land on my butt on the nasty ground. Okay, I’m here, I might as well fill up the tire. I fill her up. Getting up off the nasty ground was almost a production in itself. I have nothing to hang on to so I have to flip myself over onto my hands and knees (yes, new pants are a must at this point) and CRAWL to the pump to HEAVE myself up with the gas pumps. I am a sweaty mass of nastiness with dirt marks on my butt, my knees and all over my hands. I get into the car and drive to my doctors appointment. I barely make it and realize that I’m not seeing my regular doctor – I’m getting to meet another doctor for the first time. (sigh) Okay, bring it. So I wait in the office. Wait. Wait. Wait. She finally comes in and the FIRST thing out of her mouth is that I tested positive for some STREP bacteria and will have to be on antibiotics when I give birth so I don’t give Alaina pneumonia. WHAT? ARE YOU SURE YOU HAVE THE RIGHT PERSON? I actually ask to see my chart as I don’t believe she is speaking about me. So I’m sitting there, trying to be brave, and all I can think of is that I am a bad mother as I might pass some bacteria on to my infant child. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. THEN she tells me that they need to do a sonogram on me as the baby feels breach and they will have to schedule a C-Section if she shows breech on this test. WHAT!! ARE YOU SURE YOU HAVE THE RIGHT PERSON? I haven’t read ANYTHING ON C-sections and I CERTAINLY don’t want to have one. I’m thinking to myself all the time I’ve spent planning what I was going to do in the labor and delivery room. I can’t breastfeed right away the way I am supposed to if I have a C-Section. This means the baby will have to get a bottle and then she’s going to have nipple confusion and not get the benefits of breastfeeding and WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO NOW?? DOES THIS LADY KNOW I BOUGHT A FREAKIN’ BIRTHING BALL?? So she goes out of the room to set up the Sonogram. It takes like 20 min and the ENTIRE time I have big fat tears running down my face and snot dripping out of my nose. I keep trying to pull myself together but I keep thinking that I am a terrible mother, I’m not prepared, I can’t get anything done right, my house is a mess, none of the baby stuff is organized, I don’t have everything I need yet, I keep wetting myself, I can barely breathe, and I WANT MY MOTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So the doctor finally comes back in and does the Sonogram. THANK GOD Alaina is where she needs to be. Apparently she has a good sense of direction and her head is exactly right and she is not going to be breach if she stays right where she is. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. So now I leave and am thinking that I need time to pull myself together so why not go to Discount Tire and get my tire fixed for free before I go into work. God I’m stupid. I pull into the Discount Tire and verify that I can have this done for free. So I wait. Wait. Wait. Read a magazine. Wait. Wait. Dang these chairs are hard. Wait. Wait. Wait. “Ms. Edmondson, we have a problem.” Okay – THIS IS NOT WHAT I WANT TO HEAR. Mr. Tire Man proceeds to tell me that my little 1 mile drive to the store to get air in my tires has RUINED my tire and I NEED TO BUY A NEW ONE. I lost my shit right in the middle of Discount Tire. I had had enough. I started sobbing and sobbing and crying and sobbing and heaving. My entire body was just heaving from the massive amount of emotion that was pouring out of my body. I had to struggle to get a breath between the sobs it was so bad. I know I looked just like those trailer park people that sob on the News Camera when the tornado blows their house away. I mean, it was horrible. The day had just given me all I could take in at that moment. These poor trucker dudes that were in the lobby with me were just as horrified as I was. I think one just left and another man just broke down with me and attempted to pay for me to get a new tire. Finally Mr. Tire Man couldn’t take it either and he just started stammering and told me he would replace my tire with a used tire that would be just as good and that it would be free. I was finally able to get myself at least to stop the heaving and sobbing and Mr. Tire Man all but threw my keys at me in his rush to get me out of there. IT was HORRIBLE and HUMILIATING and pretty much one of the funniest things that have happened to me all at the same time. Can’t wait until tomorrow…… *Note from 2015 – I ended up having a C-Section.
This was written in 2005. First Pregnancy (week 12 of being pregnant) You know it is going to be a bad day when your cell phone is broken for no reason that you can comprehend. I woke up Wednesday morning feeling as horrible as a pregnant woman can feel. I was under a false sense of hope as I was able to refrain from my, now regular, 30 minute heaving episode. You can imagine that even though I’m upset that my phone is broken and I am effectively cut off from civilization as I know it, I had a false sense that it was going to be a good day. I was wrong. I manage to squeeze myself into my clothes, slap my hair up in a semblance of a pony tail, brush on some mascara and grab my broken phone in the hopes that it is temporarily broken and will recover miraculously during the day and head out the door for work. I’m going to make a side note here for everyone, myself included, that has supported the thought that the reason you see pregnant women that normally have blond hair sporting these horrible brown roots is because they are worried that coloring their hair will hurt the baby. This is not true. This is a myth pregnant woman spread around to keep the non-pregnant women ignorant to lure them in to the same torture trap they have been tricked into themselves. These are the woman who are being held prisoners by their bodies and when they finally have a spare moment away from laying down praying for salvation or being held hostage near the toilet – THEY DON’T GIVE TWO HOOTS IN HELL ABOUT THEIR HAIR. As far as I’m concerned these days – if I don’t have vomit on my chin or in my hair then you can stand to see me in whatever I could find on the floor or manage to fit into. I get to work just fine and I won’t bore you with the details as for the most part the morning was fine. I didn’t start to feel sick until around 2pm . This is when the day starts to go downhill. Fast. I’m in my office and my first wave of a hot flash washes over me. I am apparently one special gal as I am the lucky vessel of pregnancy combined with menopause. I have read as many books as possible and I really don’t think this is normal. Nothing mentions that I’m going to have hot flashes. But I do and that is all there is to it. I have so far been taken by surprise each and every time. I’ll be doing something normal and then I start to have a feint headache and then my face feels flushed and then I can’t stand the clothes that I am wearing as they are suffocating me. This is unfortunate for me as this happens to me at work where I can’t just strip down without serious charges being brought against me in a court of law. The next wave can only be described by what I call “Rotten Mouth.” Rotten Mouth is horrible as it isn’t bad breath as I could just brush my teeth and be done with it. This horrible, horrible thing is a hot, rancid taste that comes up from my throat and sits in the back of my mouth. It tastes like I just nuked a two day old rat and am holding it in the back of my throat. Nothing helps this, which is why I always start vomiting pretty soon afterwards. So I am sitting in my office trying to decide if I can tough it out a few hours or should I just go home. I’ve just about decided I could vomit in the downstairs bathroom again as not many employees or students use that bathroom. That’s when the Demon comes in. The demon is an employee in another department and she likes to pretend that she is my friend. I say pretend as she has all the characteristics of a friend but as soon as you get lulled into that sense of trust and safety – BAM – the snotty comments spew forth. The Demon has taken to walking past my office the past two weeks and announcing loudly to everyone how horrible I look. She makes these announcements with a glance at the 3 inch roots I have and the hair that is either in a messy ponytail or in a disaster around my face as I hadn’t the energy to dry it properly or at the dark circles I have under my eyes. It always frustrates me as she does this on the days that I’m thinking I’ve managed to pull myself together slightly. So Wednesday she announces how horrible I look and then walks into my office to chat. So I am in a bit of a panic at this point as the Rotten Mouth is getting stronger, the heat is driving me batty, and her perfume is about to drive me over the edge. Vomiting in my trashcan in front of someone with fake sympathy is not an option so I’m sucking it up and trying to look like I’m busy on a student issue and can’t talk. This does not sway the Demon. So the Demon chats for a bit and is really staring hard at my hair. So of course I automatically lift my hands to touch it to see if my worst fears have been realized and I have vomit somewhere in my hair. This is my worst fear as what I stated before is true – I don’t give TWO HOOTS IN HELL as to what it looks like fashion wise these days. So while I lift my hands my shirt lifts up and she sees that my pants are not buttoned or zipped. Okay, another side note so you realize I didn’t unbutton or unzip them from the hot flash. I am 12 weeks pregnant and while I have lost weight, the weight I do have has shifted to my breasts and my belly. None of my pants will really fit me these days as it hurts my belly. I’m too small for maternity pants and it doesn’t help to get a bigger size as all that does is makes the rest of it bigger and the waistline is still too small for comfort. So my options are as follows. 1) Wear my regular pants unzipped and unbuttoned with a big shirt (It has to be a big shirt as my breasts are now enormous imposters of their old shape and most days I look as if I’m auditioning for a porn flick. Not that I’ve seen a porn flick, I’m using my imagination. I’m not even going to mention my fat arms. 2) Wear my maternity pants that are HUGE and will fall off (I sometimes pick this option as my belly feels great those days) 3) Just don’t come to work at all (not really an option). So the Demon sees that my pants are unzipped and the horrible words that have made me nick name her the Demon spew forth. “Wow, I can see if you are already doing this at 6 weeks that you are going to be a complainer.” Inside my head I was jumping out of my chair, grabbing her hair and slamming her face onto my desk over and over. What I managed to choke out was, “I am 12 weeks along right now and the pants feel better this way.” I also wanted to rant and rave about the complaining. Let me go on record and say while I might shoot out a funny e-mail now and then to friends and if someone asks me how I feel I might roll my eyes and let them know it is not so great – I do not go on and on about vomiting 6 out of every 7 days, I don’t chat about my frequent trips to the downstairs bathroom at work, I don’t chat about the horror that has become my body and if this chick thinks that me having frazzled hair and unbuttoned pants is complaining then someone needs to have a coming to Jesus meeting with her soon. Sooner rather than later. I banish the Demon from my office with a chuckle and a wave goodbye when what I want to do is make the sign of the cross and throw Holy water on her. This is a pretty strong feeling and I’m not even catholic. I’m sure you are not surprised that after this visit and the continuation of the Rotten Mouth that I decide that home is where I need to be. So I get in my car and I’m concentrating on getting home. I stop at a stop light and some guy in the car next to me starts waving at me. Okay, I’ve only been pregnant for 12 weeks so you can excuse my deluded brain for forgetting what my hair and face look like at this point and for thinking this guy was hitting on me. So I raise my head up to see what he is saying only to realize that God is certainly a jokester and I am his favorite reality show. They guy let’s me know that I’ve got a flat and it is REAL flat. Lovely. All I can think is that my cell phone is still broken and I haven’t managed to remember my own number much less Blake’s so he can rescue me. I pull into the nearest gas station and find the water/air machine. It takes 50 cents and I happen to have a total of 6 dimes and 3 pennies on me. I shove 5 dimes into the machine before my brain kicks in to remind me that these machines have to have Quarters. If you know me, the next reaction will come as no surprise to you. I started to cry. I sat on the grass next to the machine and my flat tire and started to cry. Then I started to heave, and then full fledge vomiting on my hands and knees on the grass. My little “complaining session” is so overwhelming that I don’t notice my Savior pulling up in a battered truck right next to me. To tell you the truth I didn’t even have time to really get a good luck at him with the heaving but this nice man in his overall/work jumper plugged in 2 quarters and filled up the air in all of my tires (not just the flat one). He stood next to me and told me I’d be fine and got in his truck and left. God apparently was still watching his favorite reality show. So of course I make it home but I need to tell you about the rice and my cell phone so I’m going to continue my story. I get home and by the time Blake gets home the Rotten Mouth and hot flash have come and gone and all I’m left with is the headache that just keeps getting worse. I start to worry as I’ve had migraines before and this was just a step away. I’m drinking Gatorade like no tomorrow and decide that sleep is the only thing that will make this go away. It is 3 am when I wake Blake up with my whimpers and ask him to get me an apple, a Tylenol and some water. He does this without groaning, moaning or hesitating and going back to sleep so the man gets brownie points. It is 6 am when I realize that work is not an option today. I’d like to note that is my first day to call in sick since I realized I had a bun in the oven. So the rest of the day was miserable and I won’t torture you with it but note that the headache went away around 4pm . Now my thoughts turn towards my cell phone and the horrors that can happen to you if you don’t have a cell phone. I was just enlightened by a coworker Wednesday morning about all the crazies out there kidnapping pregnant women so they can stab them and rip out the baby to keep for their own. ISN’T THAT A HORRIBLE THING TO TELL A PREGNANT WOMAN!!!!!!!! What are these people thinking when they tell me this crap. Apparently they don’t realize that I will always take this type of information to the Nth degree and am now afraid to get my mail as I’m sure the van parked around the corner is a group of barren women stalking me for my child. I haul myself up of the bathroom floor and manage to shower and throw some sweats on so I can go to the Sprint store. I push open the door to the store and am attacked by the sales rep. I let him know that I need the MOST RELIABLE phone (I didn’t go into the barren women stalking me) but I let him know that the phone I had prior had a camera, web connections and all that jazz and it had a HORRIBLE connection. I tell him that I am convinced that all the “extras” make the phone basically useless as far as reception and that I want the most basic phone he has so it can just focus on the actual call. He gives this information 2 seconds of thought and then points to the $350 phone with all the bells and whistles and tells me how much his wife loves this phone. You can imagine the look and direction I then gave this man. I think in my rant to him I mentioned flat tires, Demons, and inconsiderate people who have no idea what life is like in the “real” world. THANK GOD THE MANAGER has apparently had a pregnant wife as he didn’t kick me out of the store; he just took over for the idiot and sold me the cheap phone. (My cell phone number is the same so please don’t delete my number). I go home and am waiting for Blake to get home and I start to get a craving for a Crunch roll from the sushi joint. Now don’t panic as the doctor said I can have the cooked sushi rolls and this is fully cooked so it is okay. Blake gets home and I’m excited to eat a Crunch Roll. Blake is a skeptic but I insist this is what I need to feel great tonight. We get the works: I had edamame , miso soup, a bowl of steamed rice and my crunch roll. Everything goes down great but by the time Blake pays the bill I start to worry. We get home and yup, you guessed it – we just wasted $40 bucks on a dinner that I didn’t hold down longer than 30 minutes. Please note that the only reason I’m even sharing this particular upchuck story is that the feeling of the rice coming back up is worth sharing. I have upchucked a lot of things in the past few months and I have to tell you that undigested rice is the WORST feeling ever. Please take note and if you ever feel sick – do not eat rice. The rice comes up chunky and not all in one ball. It’s hot, mixed in with the liquid you have in your system, it comes up all separate and it sticks all the way up and down your throat and it will keep you heaving WAY longer than you would if it wasn’t there triggering all of your gag reflex triggers. Today is Friday and I didn’t heave this morning, but I do have a pony tail holder looped through my button hole and then wrapped around the button of my pants to hold them together. Keep your fingers crossed for me……..