12.09.00
Post nasal drip has managed to induce nausea, the likes of which is normally reserved for french toast and eggnog.
The low point of today was scrabbling around for a telephone book so I could cancel a doctor's appointment, before sprinting to the bathroom to hurl a plateful of spaghetti. This was followed by curling up in bed in a fetal position and wondering if this was what dying felt like, and then getting up an hour later and going to work, where the toxic fumes of hair bleach sent me into a paroxysm of coughing that could only be ameliorated by cough drops, the mentholated taste of which drove me into the bathroom with a paroxysm of dry heaving.
If I actually had a list of least favorite things, I'd like to put 'puking spaghetti' to the top of that list. There's nothing quite like dry heaving up those last couple of noodles that wrap around one's uvula and tickle the esophageal opening. I'm sure I would feel equally distasteful for 'yakking chow mein' or 'ralphing ramen', but I can't recall having done either in recent memory.
As a matter of fact, if I had to choose one thing to vomit, I think it'd be the peach julius from Orange Julius, because those things just seem incapable of tasting bad whilst traveling in either direction. Strawberry's a fairly close second, but the little seeds are a bitch sometimes.
On a positive note, someone did tell me that I'm the only hairdresser she's returned to in the three years she's lived in this town. She likes my witty patter, keen haircoloring technique, and sassy sense of humor. Plus, she likes the way Carol and I play off of each other. (Whatever that means.)
