Greetings from the Underworld!

Just kidding, I'm not in the Underworld, I just always wanted to say that.

Dudes, I got this stomach flu last Wednesday. I wasn't gonna blog about it but then I read Jaimie's Blawg, and she blogged about being sick, and I want to be just like her when I grow up.

About 4am Wednesday morning I woke up and felt that "all wrong" feeling you get when you're coming down with the stomach flu. I got up and went to the bathroom, and gallons of acid water came out my bunghole. I was like "Whoa!" and Murphy was like "Dood."

Then I went back to bed. Rinse & repeat until your hair falls out.

I stayed like that for FIVE. DAYS.

I couldn't even watch TV! Watching TV was too difficult, so I just tried to listen to it instead. It was like sandpaper on my brain. Sometimes I would wake up from the long naps I took several times a day, and be able to stand watching a few hours. When I did, it seemed like Cheaters was always on. I watched Cheaters everyday. They even had a marathon on Saturday. I called and left Leslie a voicemail asking her what she thought the ratio was of disappointed, weeping chicks that Joey Greco banged in the back of the Cheater's Suburban.

I also watched "Black to the Future" on VH1. The only thing I remember from all 3 hours of that was this quote from one of the female comedians. "My body's not made for Tae Bo. It's made for gumbo."

Word, sista.

Every once in a while I'd emerge from my cocoon to try to walk Murphy. This was hazardous to us both, because I could only make it to the stop sign before I got dizzy and/or felt like I was about to shit my pants. Glorious! I'd also get frustrated with Murphy, who is happy to stand completely still for several minutes straight, staring at a bird 5 miles away. I yelled things at him like "MURPHY, GODDAMN!" and then I'd sway a little from the force of my blasphemy. Thank goodness I have my dad so close to help me walk him, or I'd have died shitting my pants at the stop sign by my house and gone straight to hell.

As usual, Dana & Angie were awesome to me, and brought me things to drink, plus soup, crackers, applesauce & popsicles. (and Sonic ice. woot!) Suzie & Leslie called me everyday to check on me, and I only cried because I was alone twice. I don't know what it is about being really sick, but I get so weepy! They should really start some kind of service for Singles. Forget sex escorts, I want a sick escort. I want some hot guy to come sit with me and tell me it'll be okay, and bring me glasses of Sierra Mist with crunchy, perfect Sonic ice. I want him to say comforting things like, "You just rest, honey. I'll wake you when Cheaters is on." or "Don't worry, if you die in your sleep I won't let the dog eat your face off."

Just the little things.

~