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Barf

June 26, 2013

So here I am, living the city life. Our cute little house will be officially sold at 10 a.m. tomorrow morning and we are living in Prospect’s fancy bachelor pad in downtown SAV for a few weeks before we head out to Clarksville.

That means once I find a parking spot I will be damned if I’m going to drive anywhere again that day, unless it’s to the other side of the street because this side is going to be swept at 2 a.m. when all the bachelor and bachelorette parties and 21-year-old Rangers are puking their guts out in the street. Thank goodness they have street sweepers to clean up after them.

Prospect bought his condo furnished which means there are random pieces you know a single dude would never buy. Like this stool in the bathroom that Dante LOVES to sleep on. Also in the bathroom is a painting done by someone named "Sun Shower."

Prospect bought his condo furnished which means there are random pieces you know a single dude would never buy. Like this stool in the bathroom that Dante LOVES to sleep on. Also in the bathroom is a painting done by someone named “Sun Shower.”

Ah, downtown living. And Savannah. Savannah is full of barf.

Let me tell you about just a select few of my barf experiences in Savannah:
(1) When we were house hunting here our Realtor asked us to meet her at Murphy’s, a bar on Congress Street on a Sunday afternoon around 4 p.m. We walked up and there was a kid puking his guts out on the sidewalk out front. At 4 p.m., on a Sunday. Just take a minute with that. Of course when he was done he came in and ordered another beer.

(2) It’s my birthday and I am at Wild Wings sitting on the patio having a drink and it isn’t late, maybe 8:30-9 p.m. and some girl with a tiara who’s all “I AM GETTING MARRIED, WOO LOOK AT ME I’M SO CLASSY” comes up and leans against the rail to puke up all of her pasta al fredo against the building. Lady, seriously. Some of us were trying to have fun and not have your puke splatter on us! I know you’re trying to fit your ass into that “perfect” wedding dress for your magical fucking day and all, but please spare the rest of us. Also, if you are trying to fit into a wedding dress, pasta al fredo is NOT the way to go.

(3) It’s father’s day and the boy and I want some FroYo. It’s maybe 5 p.m. in the afternoon. We walk into Sweet Frog and I know immediately something is wrong. My barf senses are firing and then I see it: there’s something weird on the floor. I squeeze by it but the boy walks right through it even though I told him not to (he hates listening to me). A dad there with his kid tells me, “yeah, someone ate their FroYo a little too fast.” Two minutes later a mom comes out of the bathroom and she is absolutely COVERED in vomit. A little toddler comes out after her and starts pointing out just how far his barf splattered across the room. A group of old people in there was totally unfazed by all of this, going to town on their FroYo like they didn’t have vomit splattered on the back of their chairs.

I am trying to take pictures of the cats laying around in Prospect's house to give to him after we leave. This is Oooshey in the tray that holds remote controls. He likes to rub his face on it.

I am trying to take pictures of the cats laying around in Prospect’s house to give to him after we leave. This is Oooshey in the tray that holds remote controls. He likes to rub his face on it.

Here’s the thing. When I see or hear barf, it makes me want to barf and I really, really do not like barfing. In fact, I haven’t had a barfing flu since I was 8 years old and barfed all over my reading book in class. I totally had to use that book for the rest of the school year too and it was so gross and crusty and smelled like barf (obviously!). That and the trauma of it coming out of my nose has given me a legit barf phobia.

Since then I know the exact three times I have personally barfed from being drunk. Once in NYC which apparently involved me puking everywhere but in the toilet (thank you Marisa for totally, totally handling me there, never had tequila again) once in my barracks room at West Point (thank you Michelle for totally, totally handling me there, no more goldschlager), and once in my front yard right next to the boy after a little too much of EVERYTHING at a Jazz on the Lawn in Clarksville (p.s. barf will totally kill your grass, and no more shots ever!).

I definitely have had food poisoning in my lifetime but I just can’t barf it up. I just can’t. And I think I’ll just leave it at that.

I actually hate doing CrossFit events like “Fight Gone Bad” or even competitions because *someone* will puke. Trust me. And that makes me get all shaky and weird. I just cannot handle vomit. Yet another reason I could never have kids, they are absolute puke monsters!

Beatrice with her medicinal marijuana for cancer. Her Auntie takes good care of her. Don't worry mom, it's just catnip.

Beatrice with her medicinal marijuana for cancer. Her Auntie takes good care of her. Don’t worry mom, it’s just catnip.

The boy wonders how I can clean up the thousands of hairballs or “I ate too fast and here’s the contents of my stomach” my cats puke up, but it isn’t the same. It’s not a liquidy, splashy pile of the worst smell ever and it’s never pasta al fredo. Although sometimes it is weird things like plastic bags or rubber bands.

So anyways, now that we are in our temporary digs downtown I feel like I walk everywhere with my head down so I don’t inadvertently step in a pile of vomit. They are all over the city, it’s not like anyone cleans them up (unless they do it in the street where the street sweeper is coming).

I mean how about that bank on the corner of Bull and Congress? There is ALWAYS, 100% of the time barf somewhere out front there. And it’s a legit BANK. There are customers that come in there!

Maybe it’s just me though. Maybe I am a barf magnet just because I can’t deal with it.

Anyways, I did buy some new closed-toe shoes to help protect my feet from barf with all the city walking we’ve got going on: a new pair of Sanuks and a pair of Toms. They are totally my style which means people who wear makeup probably think they are ugly. I think they are super cute though and of course they are mad comfy. I guess I’m kind of a hippy like that, but not really a hippy like I define them. Does that make sense? Anyways, these are probably the first pairs of non-workout shoes I’ve bought in at least two years, so I feel like I was due. That and I finally looked in the store that has the sheets I have been ogling and saw that one sheet, like ONE sheet was more than $500. Why? I don’t know, but it’s French or something. Definitely would not do well with cat barf because God knows my cats LOVE to barf in bed.

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