This past weekend I got sick with the same illness, both Friday and Saturday night. The diagnosis: Diarrhea of the Mouth. Yes, it is confirmed, there is really no other explanation. Thankfully this illness usually only shows up post hard liquor consumption and pre-next day apology calls. To those of you who did not receive a call, my apologies, I cannot recall all of my actions and ALL of my words or do I choose not to?
Friday night I went on a date. What a fun date! He picked me up and half way to the first destination he tells me that we were going bowling. Well my corked-wedge-sandal shoes were not an appropriate choice for bowling and I started to panic. Thankfully the bowling ally sold new socks and my kind and obviously flustered date bought me a $2 pair. Now, I'm no athlete. Do you call bowlers athletes? I have no hand-eye coordination. In short, I suck at bowling, but I can have a good time doing it, I only get competitive at a war of stories, not 8lbs balls thrown at pins at an average speed of 11 mph. After bowling we went to dinner. I was STARVING! I've been doing weight watchers for 3 weeks now and the weekends are really starting to get in the way of losing weight, but I tried to eat little on Friday to eat much on Friday night. I had to ask if it was okay to get guacamole, when my stomach was screaming for queso and all he wanted was grilled kabobs. Oh lordy! Well, we were having a nice time, having known each other for a little while as acquaintances, I felt somewhat at ease. Then he broke out most personal questions to me, about my personal life, my dating history and what I am looking for in a partner. All questions that are too deep for me on date number one, however, I can't do anything but answer truthfully. Enter diarrhea of the mouth. Eventually he said, and I quote "Yea, this isn't a date anymore". What wonderful words to hear on a first date, errr, I mean, 1st intention of a date, but my illness turned it into an awkward interview. Super duper.
Saturday I planned to make the day healthy and productive. How did I do that you ask? A friend came over and we drank beer and then went to have Mexican food so I could get my queso and then out on the town. Now, my illness crept in when we were enjoying queso as I began to unleash the stories of my past romantic encounters and left little to the sanctity of a relationship. Then we had moved on to the last bar of the evening and I managed to alienate a friend and accuse her of not be excited enough to see me, seriously, at this point it isn't even diarrhea of the mouth, it is diarrhea of my whole life. Then I saw someone a bit more than an acquaintance but a lot less than a friend and talked his ear off about the energy industry (I may be in it, but I'm most certainly not of any status to talk intelligently about it, with or without tequila). After, or before, I don't have a time-line, I turned some guy's hat to face front because I thought it looked stupid turned to the side, again, no friend of mine, just a stranger in the bar. I knew it was my time to leave, I had insulted enough people and not eaten enough french fries.
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