Avoid Reading While Eating

I’m not afraid of ghosts or flying. I don’t flinch when the doctor pulls out a needle or when I need to present in front of a group. Heights don’t bother me much. But, every cell in my body is terrified by the thought of public vomiting.

I started feeling nauseous on Tuesday. I had worked late and taken advantage of the “Free Car After 8pm” rule. I could feel my stomach begin to ache as the driver told me all about how he had picked up Lauren Bacall last week. Apparently she’s very particular. Anyways -- I blamed the ache on car sickness. I don't ride in a car very often anymore. I figured my stomach was just out of practice.

When my alarm went off in the AM, my stomach was still angry. I could feel it coming and I knew that if I was going to throw up I needed to do it between 6:43 and 7:10. That’s my assigned bathroom time. Oh, how I miss life pre-roommates. After barfing on schedule, I felt great! I felt alive again. I showered, dressed, and headed off to work.

I have a 10-block walk from my apartment to the train. I made it about seven and then began to panic. I could feel the revolt that was happening in my stomach. Focusing on the Nirvana Unplugged playing on my iPod was not helping. My fight or flight reflex immediately kicked in and three options popped in my head –

1. A crowded Starbucks two blocks away
This was risky because there would likely be a line for the bathroom. I definitely didn't want to throw up next to Joe Latte while he read the New York Times and ate his oversized muffin.

2. The park across the street
This would be better than the sidewalk, but still way too public. Plus, right in the middle of the park is a dog run filled with my neighbors (and their dogs too, of course).

3. Home
This was the riskiest of options. The apartment was about 15 minutes away. I would just have to walk really fast and pray I didn't toss my cookies in transit.

I went with Option 3. It got very close a few times, but I managed to skirt any public humiliation. This is assuming that you don’t consider a green face and power walking humiliating.

I am really good at embarrassing myself. I do it at least once a day. But, throwing up outdoors, I can’t handle. Thank goodness I inherited Mom’s fast walking genes.

K-Fed, Hold On To Your Hat

There was a pickle on the sidewalk outside my apartment. It struck me as a weird place for a pickle. I’ve had the same jar of Vlasiks in my refrigerator since I moved to Hoboken. I really like pickles, but I’m never sure when to eat them. In general, I eat the same 10 ingredients. It seems like a tidier way to live. I think I’m more of an adventurous food-watcher than food-eater. In a sugar-induced haze (see below), I stayed up entirely too late last night watching the Top Chef quarter finals. This is the last show before the contestants go to New Orleans for the finale. What a brilliant PR move for the New Orleans Visitors Bureau -- a city about to enter its prime tourist season. I can’t believe it’s Mardi Gras time already. Yesterday, there was a king cake delivered to my apartment(Thanks Mom and Dad!). I sent a mass text to announce its arrival and within 30 minutes there were eight people in my kitchen. I was grateful to have nearly all of the cake out of my apartment by the end of the night. I love cake o’ king (this one was especially delicious), but I’ve suddenly developed anxiety about my cholesterol levels. It’s an irrational concern, really. But, when you make Cheerios commercials for a living, cholesterol tends to be top-of-mind. I went in to have said levels checked this morning. I’m worried that yesterday’s spontaneous king cake party may skew my results. As an unremitting glass-half-full individual, my worrisomeness has caught me somewhat off-guard. It may be partly due to the unsettledness of life right now with the tide of roommates coming in and out of the apartment. Ben’s the newest addition. We should have made ownership of a microwave and eating utensils a requirement to move in because I’ve been using the same plastic spoon for the last few days. The recent knock-a-mole, lack-of-eating-utensils way of life has made me feel rundown and, well, lazy. I know I live in a place where metal flatware is readily available and all. But, sometimes it's those kinds of chores that seem unbearable. I’m trying to pull myself out the lazy hole. I have mentorship training tonight. They asked for approximately 275 references, so if you read this blog, I probably gave them your name. Please say nice things when they call. Nice things make the world go ‘round. It’s kind of like the subway guy that gives everyone a fist bump when they get off the train at Christopher Street. I’m generally not comfortable fist bumping strangers, but I don’t want to be impolite. The whole island seems like they would benefit from a friendly fist bump or two. Maybe it’s post-holiday let down. Maybe it’s disappointment that K-Fed won’t be on this season of Dancing with the Stars. Most likely it’s because every New Yorker can name five close friends that have been laid off this month (this theory is assuming you’re not talking to anyone in the banking, retail or media industries). On top of that, the weather has been really dreary. Today is so windy it blew my headphones out of my ears. Oddly enough, that pickle in front of my apartment didn’t move an inch.