I am not feeling too good today. In fact, I’m making tea for myself at 11 at night because I’m try to get the taste of vomit off my tongue and hopefully my nostrils as well.
No, I’m not drunk. For Pete’s sake, I’m typing this now, aren’t I?
I went for a sushi buffet today with a couple of friends and I swear to God, either my karma is really bad, or they were plotting to kill me. Christmas is coming and I’m trying to keep on Santa’s good-girl list so I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.
I had 15 plates of sushi, multiply that by 2 and you’ll figure out how much sushi I actually ate since each plate held 2 pieces. On top of that, I had a bowl of Soba (which wasn’t the tastiest I’ve had), Chawamushi (Did I spell it right? Who cares, because they almost forgot it.) and a little cup of mango sorbet. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had 30 pieces of rice wrapped in seaweed and topped with fried chicken, but I’d have everything on my sushi raw.
Shooting myself in the foot? Yeah, tell me about it. I’d had 17 pieces of those spicy with raw salmon sashimi. I should have stopped at my 6th piece because I’d already started to feel funny, but I wasn’t big on food wastage.
And I am really competitive.
I’M SORRY, OKAY?
You see, that’s the thing about eating with the guys while being one of the guys. You sort of grow an ego as well. It’s like growing a dick, just…not…quite…like that.
We tied in the end, all of us being too full to even move.
I’d done this before. Had more than 15 plates of sushi actually, but this time it felt different. I noticed how I could feel the sushi slosh around in my tummy. It was like the salmon had managed to somehow piece itself back together and was now flopping around in my stomach, trying to get out.
But it was only just the beginning.
Reasons why my guy friends were OBVIOUSLY trying to kill me:
1) They went to the arcade.
Immediately after lunch. Loud music and a headache don’t mix. Any practical (and sane) person would know that but the guys wanted to play racing games (of all things) and since there were no Jubeat machines in sight, I sat beside them and watched. It wasn’t too bad, pretty fun to watch, actually.
Until motion sickness kicked in.
Or at least that’s what I think motion sickness would feel like, because I almost never get sick over anything. It was probably all the staring at the glaring screen that got to me, or how my friend would constantly drift and get rammed by said other friend every 3 seconds or so. I wouldn’t know for sure. All I knew is that when I walked out of the arcade, I couldn’t stand straight and walking had become positively torturous.
Public Puking #1
I couldn’t take it after a while. The boys were smoking (their 2nd stick of the day) and the smoke was pissing me off.
I guess I learnt the hard way that my body does funny things when I’m pissed off. For example, when smoke was blown into my direction, I would cough a little too violently, causing my stomach to clench which really didn’t help my situation.
Thankfully, they headed to the toilets afterwards. The only toilet available had no lock. Talk about bad luck.
No time to think, though. I was bent down and hurling at an embarrassingly high volume in a crammed up toilet in no time.
I came out of the loo, not feeling any better and met up with the guys again. I haven’t even sat for more than 10 minutes before one of them stood up and announced that we were going for beer.
2) They made me walk to the beer place.
‘It’s just a 5 minutes.’ They said
‘It’s not too far.’ They said.
Because they made me walk 5 blocks and cross two T-junctions to get there.
Walking was getting a little more than painful and the term puke-inducing had become literal and was a complete understatement. Hell, I was starting to think that me being too damn awkward to puke in public (like all over the place) was going to go down in my life as worst day on Earth.
Not because someone stole my boyfriend/husband. Not because my husband cheated on me. Not because I may never ever have kids, but because I refused to puke in public.
And I was going to suffer horrifically for it.
3) No beer for me, but a drinking game involving the bottle of water I was drinking.
I totally skipped out of drinking this time round. I knew I couldn’t take it.
Frack, I was ready to beg at any given moment if someone would just give me a plastic bag or a bucket for me to puke into. But life is cruel that way so no, I did not get a bucket or a plastic bag- or even to puke. Because I would never dirty something with something I wouldn’t even want to touch.
They started playing a game of Five-Ten, in an attempt to distract me.
I ended up sucking really badly at the game, causing me to drink a lot of water and getting bloated. Which, you guessed it, didn’t help my situation at all.
We left the place after they each had a cider (and me, a bottle of water) and took a bus home together. I couldn’t hop on the same bus so I had to walk back to my bus stop.
4) Walking back to the bus stop.
I had to walk back to the bus stop by myself. Hell no, I’m not whining over being left alone, I’d welcomed it. Every time they made me laugh, I had two options. To either vomit or suffocate trying not to. I saw my life flash by a couple times.
It was really boring.
Any-who, I walked back to where we had come from, all 5 blocks and 2 T-Junctions. Each time I burped, I was reminded of how much raw fish I’d had (the taste and smell, to be exact), which was exceptionally revolting at that point of my life, causing me to heave. But you know me, no puking in front of other people. So I held it in.
Do you know how bloody disgusting swallowing your puke is?
Hell, 2 girls 1 cup should have been filmed with vomit, not shit.
I made it to my bus stop and my bus came. I thought something right was finally happening for the day. Think again.
5) This probably isn’t their fault but I’m blaming them anyway.
The bus ride was far home was… hellish. Shoved into a bus full of people, I almost didn’t get a seat. God knows what would have happened if I didn’t. *Shudder*
The bus ride was jerky and traffic was bad. I tried concentrating on my music, but it didn’t help. Instead, I started getting headaches and funny stares from people sitting beside me.
Being paranoid as always, I was thinking:
“Oh my God, they know I’m feeling sick, don’t they?”
“What if I do get sick?”
“What’s the guy beside me wear? Armani? Well shiet.”
” DID THAT GUY JUST MOVE AWAY FROM ME?”
But I chose to maintain my not-really strong posture and attempted to fake it till I made it.
I didn’t make it.
About 40 minutes into the ride, I turned to the guy in the Armani tee and asked if he had a plastic bag. He sort of got what I meant, but looked at me apologetically and mouthed ‘No’.
I almost cried. But I couldn’t because if I dared to even open my mouth again, I’d risk puking on everyone within a 1 meter radius,
- In a confined space. Which meant
- I’d have to compensate everyone.
- I still had 15 more minutes of awkwardness if that happened.
- Everyone would smell like fish.
- What if someone was a ‘Pity-puker’?
I sat silently, for the next 5 minutes before I started to feel the puke again. This time, it was at my throat.
Like a ticking time bomb.
A mishap waiting to happen.
I gave in, tapping a lady in front of me as asking for a plastic bag, because at that point of time, I was so sure I was going to die. If not from choking on my own vomit, then from embarrassment.
She must have been a hooker (probably not) or some slut (now I’m just being judgmental) because she was clinging onto her husband like her life depended on it and when I asked her for a plastic bag (with the most pitiful looking face I had, mind you.) she waved me away. Have I redeemed myself? I think yes.
Her husband had been nicer to me, getting out his umbrella and handing it’s plastic bag to me. It smelt a little weird *grimace*, but at that point of time, I’d been desperate and thankful, of course.
Public Puking #2
I puked and hurled at the back of the bus, oh yes I did.
Logic being that as long as no one saw the vile substance leave my lips, I haven’t puked at all.
Flawed, but that was enough to have me empty half my stomach in there, because if I haven’t I’d probably have died. And I’m young (not for long), free (not really) and had so much more to live for (nope). I simply couldn’t just give everything up (I could, but I really needed to puke.), right (no)?
I finally reached my stop, climbed over an overhead bridge and was courteous enough to somehow mime out ‘What floor?’ to the lady with her hands full who entered the lift with me. I couldn’t speak. I had vomit behind those sealed lips but she didn’t have to know that.
And for the first time today, I ran.
Ran back home.
A first, seeing that my prediction was that I’d only do so in event of a zombie apocalypse.
The sight of my newly renovated toilet had never been so sweet as I hurled with pride (because I friggin’ made it) and joy (because fuck me if I’d be burping raw fish the entire night).
You’d think I’d be so relieved while puking my guts out, but it wasn’t. In fact, it was a whole new level of ‘Ew’. Let’s just say I now understand the term ‘violently sick’ because I was spewing half digested fish from my mouth and nose. And as gross as I have to include, I had to clean out chunks of sweet rice and seaweed from my teeth with my tongue in between hurls.
I was also crying. No, not just a tear here and there, but streams down my face like someone had murdered my cat. I’d like to believe my body was just really enthusiastic about finally getting to a familiar toiley bowl but I suspect it wasn’t the case.
When I was done throw up at least 70% of my lunch, I emerged from the loo and declared that I will never have sushi again this year.
Nope. Nuh-uh. No way.
No more salmon sashimi even though salmon is supposed to be good for skin. I’d go for the smoked ones at Ikea for my salmon fixes from now on for the rest of the year. They sound like a much better idea now that I’ve put it out there. I get to have meatballs at the side too.
Holding in your puke is probably up there in my list of ‘Most Horrible Things to be Put Through (Physically)’. I’m pretty sure it’s a form of torture in hell too.
Can you imagine?
Devil: Cherie, you’re going to eat all that sushi and run that marathon.
Me: But I’m too full to have anymore.
Devil: I don’t care, suck it up. Literally.
Then he’ll probably tie a rubber band around my neck just to prevent me from puking. He’d also be floating by my side whispering the words ‘Salmon’ and ‘Raw fish’ as if it’s some twisted attempt to turn me on.
Alright, my tea should be cooled now.
Till next year, Sushi.