Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.



Fun fact to know and yell: salt is an emetic. Funny story how I know this.

So, last night, I went to dinner with my two closest friends to celebrate my birthday (which is next week). This year, I didn't really want a whole lot of hooplah, just a nice evening out with my besties, good food, and tasty margaritas. Lately, it seems like nothing I do turns out quite how I expect or prefer, so I figured something small was most likely to actually be a good time.

Well, there were some planning things that didn't quite pan out, but the evening got off to an okay start. Dinner at Tweet (my fave brunch joint, that now does dinner on Friday nights only) was really amazingly tasty - fresh basil pesto linguine, soooo good. Then, I rocked the red velvet cake (with a candle cunningly stuck to the plate), which was good (but not the best I've had, so the search for genuine red velvet cake continues!). Tasty, tasty, tasty.

After dinner, we went over next door to Big Chicks and started in on the margarita-drenched portion of the evening. We were on our second round, waiting for the dance floor to pick up, when I sucked a mouthful of salt up the straw of my margarita. Awful! I didn't think anything of it, though, after washing the taste out of my mouth with another drink.

A couple minutes later, I'm twisting around to stare at some of the boob-tastic artwork on the wall behind me, when I suddenly start feeling a little green around the gills. I immediately start deep breathing, trying to figure out why I'm nauseated out of the blue. Deep breath. Deep breath.

My observant friend Jen, across the table from me, asks me if I'm okay, and I nod wordlessly. It's about two seconds later that I realize I am not okay. I vaguely think, with some portion of my brain that is able to think beyond the panic infusing my bloodstream with adrenaline and trying to keep my digestive tract calm, that I should head for the bathroom...but I have suddenly been struck by the sensational equivalent of tunnel vision, and I can't think about or focus on anything that isn't about trying not to hurl.

It was futile effort. I won't get into the gory details, but I'll tell you what: I have awesome friends. They got me out of there, home, cleaned up, and would've taken me out again if I hadn't felt like I'd been sucker-punched repeatedly in the gut (not to mention the faceful of burst capillaries that is *still* freaking me out this morning). They went out and brought me a DVD and a Slurpee and then hung out with me making cracks about the latest Bond flick and its retro usage of glass in the action sequences.

So, you know, it wasn't exactly a good birthday outing, but it was in keeping with my luck lately, and I did get a nice reminder of what real friendship really is. I luff my girls.

Most importantly, though, I learned that a mouthful of salt will, in fact, make me projectile vomit everything I've eaten for the past week. Learning experience.


Tony R said...

Whoa! So I guess you'll be getting your margaritas without salt now?

Tari said...

No way, man; it's not the same without the salt. However, I think beer might sound really good for the next little while...

Tony R said...

For me, lasagna with red sauce and ricotta is forever ruined due to a few formative experiences like that. I admire you for not letting it get you down! Even with a break. :)

Oh, dude, we made vegan Margarita cupcakes a few weeks ago that are amazing! Even though they're vegan!

Tari said...

My love for margaritas knows no bounds....they're like a friend I've known so long that I would (eventually) forgive them for totaling my car, you know?

And these vegan margarita cupcakes, tell me more...

Ask A Life Coach! said...

Ew. and I'm sorry to hear that.