How’d That Happen?

Stephen and I carpool to work so we often have a good time in the car. In the mornings we usually don’t talk, we just listen to our favorite morning show. But in the afternoons, we chat. Because of certain circumstances at his work, Stephen and I have been driving separately this week so he can spend more time at the office. So on Tuesday night when we were driving to the Astros game, we started discussing what we’d heard on the radio that morning.

S- Did you listen to Roula and Ryan this morning?
C- Of course.
S- It was funny because they sent Intern Adrian out with Special K to hit on girls.
C- I didn’t hear that.
S- (raises his voice) It was funny because they sent Intern Adrian out with Special K to hit on girls.

At this point I couldn’t speak. I was laughing so hard I was crying. When I said “I didn’t hear that” I meant that I didn’t hear that segment of the radio show. Even as I replay the events in my head, I start to giggle a bit. This is why I love carpooling with Stephen. It’s entertaining. Driving alone is not.

You know those terribly scary times when you somehow arrive at your destination and have no idea how you got there? You’re in your car alone, singing or thinking or looking around, and then all of a sudden you realize something… you’re in your driveway. I hate when that happens. I makes me wonder if I was driving safe or if I ran any lights or hit any squirrels. Not that I’d be upset about hitting squirrels, but I’d like to know about it if I hit one. That’s not the point. The point is that somehow I got home, and I don’t remember doing it.

I had a similar experience on Tuesday night. It was friend date #2. The four of us went to an Astros game. We bought cheap tickets and then sat on the FiveSeven Patio. We sat and talked and had a couple beers and got to know each other. It was a fabulous double date. We laughed and joked. They bought the tickets, we bought the beer. It all worked. But then something happened. It was time to go. I looked at the clock and it was 10:15 and two things had happened: 1) A baseball game had been going on in front of me, and now it was over. And I don’t remember what happened. 2) I had a killer headache.

Let me just say this in my defense, because I know what some of you are thinking. I hate when people come to games and then sit and chat the whole time. I especially hate it when those people are behind me. As a baseball lover, I really find nothing more obnoxious than a chatterbox in the row behind me. But we weren’t sitting behind anyone. And as cool as the patio was (really it was, I would totally do it again) , you couldn’t see much. You could see the field and a score board, but you couldn’t see the Gigantitron or the roster. And for someone like me with terrible eye sight, it was hard to pay attention. So it’s really not impossible to sit there for over 3 hours and not realize there is a major league baseball game going on right in front of you. Did I make my point?

And about the headache… oh boy. I knew I had a headache the whole time but I was trying to ignore it. You know, like when you were little and you were on a road trip and had to pee. And your mom would say, “Just don’t think about it.” That doesn’t make it go away, but if you can focus on other things, it becomes bearable. So I focused on other things. But the second we got in the car to go home, all I had to focus on was the traffic and the drive ahead of us. My headache instantly became unbearable. It was a full-on out of control migraine complete with nausea and the desire to die.

I got home and took a pill. These usually take 30-45 minutes to provide a bit of relief. An hour went by… nothing. By this point, Stephen was fast asleep. I got up and took another pill. I instantly regretted it as my nausea got worse. The last thing I wanted to do was throw up my pill. So I sat in bed, held an ice pack on my head, and repeated “do not throw up, do not throw up” over and over in my head. About an hour later I had decided that the pill was probably safe. I got up and spent the next two hours throwing up. Apparently the last thing I ate was matches and the last thing I drank was lighter fluid (or Bud Light… whatever) because I was throwing up fire. Over and over. Until I thought my throat had third degree burns on it. It was awful and I don’t wish it upon anyone.

I know you usually come here for a bit of entertainment so I’m sure you aren’t pleased with my topic today. I’m telling you this story so that you excuse me for my absence yesterday. And so that you truly know that I was not enjoying my day at home in bed.

And now here I am, and somehow it’s Thursday. And I’m not sure how I got here.