Shake and Vomit

This is a gem of a story. I actually had completely and utterly forgotten about this event. I don’t know how. My brother reminded me of this story yesterday and I laughed so hard I almost puked. Again.


My family is not an affectionate or loving family. We did not hug, or touch each other in any way. Like, ever. Not even when I was a child. Which is one thing that makes this story so strange.


Once when my brother and I were both in high school, we were hanging out int the kitchen together. I suspect we had just finished eating an after school snack and were cleaning the kitchen. You didn’t leave messes in my house.


Even this level of messy makes me anxious.


For some unknown reason, my brother picked me up off the ground and started shaking me. Like, shaking me up and down, the way you would shake up a soda to be a dick.


This shit is funny!


I don’t know what possessed him to shake me. And he didn’t know when I asked him why yesterday, either.


We laughed and I said, “Stop shaking me or I am going to puke!”


But I was laughing and after putting me down for a second, he picked me back up and shook me again. Still laughing, I again threatened to puke on him.


And instead of stopping, he shook me again.




Like a vodka martini.


I puked all over him. All over the kitchen. All over myself.


Two gifs, one post… Sorry.




Right then, we heard my father pull up. We surveyed the mess and looked at each other.


We started cracking up laughing. In fact, we were laughing so hard, I was crying. We knew we had to get the mess cleaned up before my father got in the door.


Just remembering the story made me laugh harder than I have in a very long time.


My brother yanked off his vomit soaked shirt and I grabbed the kitchen towel. We mopped up the pile of vomit with a speed never seen before.
We got the kitchen cleaned in record time. We threw the vomit-y clothes and towels in the washer and started the load. And my brother and I were upstairs laughing in our rooms before my father ever made it in the front  door.

Guest Post!

I had wanted to tell this story about something that happened when I was very young. I have a poor memory of it as I was very young. So I sent my mother an email asking her to help me out. What she wrote was so funny I decided to just post her email (with her permission).


So, here it is; in my mother’s words:


I want to set this up for you: your sister, M,  had just returned from spending a few days with Uncle J and his family.  They had purchased a necklace of “Pop Beads” for her.

Unlike the “pop beads” I was familiar with, the new strand had spacers (they looked like very small “life savers” candies) between every bead.  When she came home wearing the necklace you wanted them (it is unknown if you wanted them to keep or simply wanted to get a better look at and touch them).


Lastly, I am 91/2 months pregnant with J, huge and due at any moment (which means you are 2 years and 5 months of age).


M was fairly agreeable to you having some of the beads. Upon inspection I decided that the spacers were too dangerous for you to have (because they were so small they presented a choking danger) and told M that she could let you have some of the beads, if she wanted but to remove the spacers.  She agreed to do that and gave you some of the beads from her necklace.


A little earlier in the day your father had found a house close to where we were living (for sale) and one of us called the realtor, who arranged to meet us at the house.  We gave the telephone number of the realtor to your other sister,W, and M and left to meet with him.


I honestly do not remember anything about the house…we were gone about 20-25 minutes when the realtor received a call from his office informing him that our children were trying to get in touch with us, as there was some sort of emergency at the house.  We barely said good bye and drove straight home.


Arriving home, W told us that you had gone into M and W’s room and taken all of the “pop beads” and spacers and were stuffing the spacers into your nose.  I attempted to find out if they knew if you had any spacers currently in your nose, but they didn’t know because they didn’t know how many there were to begin with.


I drove us (your father stayed home with everyone else) to the hospital ER, which was pretty weird because they thought I was in labor and had to bring you with me.  I informed the treating physicians of everything I knew about the beads and spacers and the approximate time frame.


Several of the doctors made attempts to look into your nasal passages for the spacers but you were VERY uncooperative and they gave you a nosebleed digging around for the phantom spacers.  You screamed bloody murder and upset everyone else in the ER, as they were sure you were being needlessly tortured.

The physicians then decided they needed to X-ray your nasal passages, throat and lungs to see if any of the spacers had made their way to your lungs. There is a device X-ray techs use to X-ray small uncooperative children and I have forgotten the name given to it, but it is cylindrical shaped. The techs raise the child’s arms and slide the cylinder down and then secure the device with the child held in place with arms over their head.

They then take the X-ray photos.  Of course, I was not permitted in the room as I was 9 1/2 months pregnant, so you were FREAKING OUT and only hearing my voice but not seeing me made it worse.


You were a pretty small, thinnish child and it was agreed that you had a mighty powerful set of lungs as your screaming could be heard on every floor of the hospital.  The physicians could not find anything and decided to send you (and me) home (more I think to regain some order in the hospital than anything else).


I sensed a collective sigh of relief when we walked out the door.  Since you had been sedated, and didn’t talk yet during the X-ray incident, you fell asleep and didn’t wake up again until morning.


That is all I can remember…

Thank you, to my mother.


Styrofoam Cups

My little sister lives in Seattle. We were very close growing up (despite my stories on here). And I miss her a lot.


I have only seen her twice in the past few years. She flew down last year on 9/11. Her last night in town we all went out for BBQ (my favorite). We said our goodbyes and I drove home.


I started crying almost as soon as I drove away from her. Which is not unusual for me. I am not much of a crier, but when it comes to her…


Anyway, I was driving home and I had a half gallon sized styrofoam cup of tea (I technically live in the south). I know styrofoam is awful for the environment, can we all stay focused here?

The second biggest size here.

I went to put the cup down in the cupholder, but I missed it. I guess I was distracted by all the tears. I somehow punctured the base of the cup.


Tea began gushing out all over my car. My lovely, innocent car that I had bought only a  few months previously. It had been in nearly pristine condition. And now, my drink was urinating sweet sticky liquid all over.


I was driving down the road as my center console filled with tea. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t throw the cup out of the car window as I didn’t want to litter. And the tea was rushing out at an alarming rate. Luckily, the console was mostly water tight but it wasn’t big enough to contain the entire cup.

It was completely full.

I pulled over and dumped the remaining contents out in an empty parking lot. 3/4 of it was now sloshing around in my console. I opened my glove box, which is where everyone in my family keeps extra napkins. But I was out. I has been using them to wipe my eyes and blow my nose from crying on the drive home.


My only options were the two most unabsorbent things known to man. I dug through my purse and pulled out a handful of crumpled receipts. Then I reached into my back seat and found my bathing suit. I stuffed the receipts and the bathing suit down into the console.


It was so pathetic that I couldn’t help but start cracking up. Like in that scene from 101 Dalmations.

Totally me with my wet receipts and bathing suit.

I tried to drive home with extra care as I didn’t want to splash Console Tea Lake (as I named it) all over everything. It didn’t deserve to end that way. I had wanted that tea inside me. I thought about drinking it. I had a straw. And no shame left in life. Besides,  the console was mostly water tight.


But in the end, my squeamishness won out. The little flecks of purse lint and gum foil were unappetizing enough even for me.

What the bottom of my purse turns into. Is this just me?

And I stopped feeling sad about saying goodbye to my sister. And started feeling sad about ruining my car.


My mother was a college student with five kids living at home, 1 in high school, 1 in middle school, 2 in elementary school, 1 in daycare, and a husband that worked full time. We had one car. The Oldsmobile.


Remember the Oldsmobile?

I will never know how my mother got all of us going in the morning. Just thinking about it is exhausting. I don’t even like getting myself ready in the morning.

One day, after school, my mom was taking my brother and I to pick up my younger sister from daycare. She was having a conversation with the one of the ladies that worked there and I was impatient to get home. I am not sure why. I doubt I had much going on at 8.

I asked her for a piece of gum and she said no. I began to mope around trying to get her to end her boring conversation. When my efforts at sympathy went unnoticed, I began pulling on her. Trying to make her stop talking and just leave already.

She was an immovable force. Eventually, tired of my harassment. She snapped at me and told me to go wait in the car.

I ran away, tears in my eyes. She was the meanest mother ever. She wouldn’t leave when I wanted her to. She wouldn’t give me gum. And then she yelled at me and humiliated me in front of all the grown ups.

I got to the car and saw my chance at revenge. I was the only one out there. I could get in and lock all the doors. Then when they came out I’d be the one to say when we left. I might even be able to blackmail a piece of gum out of it.

I laughed a devious laugh as I imagined the three of them, faces pressed to the window, begging to be let in. And I would sit there like a cold and distant queen. And tell them no.

I was so caught up in this plan that I didn’t realize my right hand was dangerously close to the hinges.

This was a big old boat of a car. It was made in the eighties. The doors were heavy, rusty, dirty steel. It had only been in the past few months that I was even able to slam it closed with one hand.


Basically, this unhygienic thing.

At first, I didn’t even realize something was wrong. The door was closed, and I felt a weird pinching in my right thumb.

I pulled my hand away. And saw my thumb. I must have been in shock. Because nothing was making any sense. Part of my thumb was gone. But it didn’t hurt. It was just gone. Like it had disappeared.

And then, it started gushing blood. Everywhere.

This is called a crushing injury. You probably shouldn’t do a Google image search of that like I did.

I wrapped my thumb in the skirt of my dress and held it tightly with my left hand. The pressure felt good. I didn’t realize I was doing the smart thing there.

I looked down and saw my brother’s back pack. It was hot, neon 80’s pink and one of his most favorite things. It was covered in blood.


Like this, only covered in blood instead of spray paint. That’s true hardcore.

I didn’t know what to do. I’d have to stop holding my thumb to get out of the car. And it hurt too bad to do that. I could see my mother inside through the window, still talking. She could talk for hours.

I don’t know how long I sat there. I just knew I was in trouble. I had ruined my dress and my brother’s back pack. There was blood everywhere. And part of my hand was gone. And I knew my mother was going to be pissed.

Eventually, my brother came out to see what I was doing. My mother had probably sent him. He took one look at all the blood and frantically began trying to open the car door. But I had locked all the doors.

I just sat there watching him. Staring into his eyes as he begged me to unlock the door so he could help me. I didn’t want to. I didn’t know what would happen next, once that door was unlocked I suspected a lot of things were going to happen.

We stayed like that as an eternity of seconds ticked by. I was in a lot of pain. I knew I needed to open the door. I was losing a lot of blood. I knew none of this was good.

I let go of my hand for long enough to pull up the lock. It was agony. He grabbed me and partially carried me back into the daycare.

There was a flurry of activity as people got paper towels to help soak up all the blood. My dress was soaked through and basically useless by that point.

I don’t know what happened to my brother and sister. The next thing I knew I was crying and sitting in my mother’s lap while someone drove us to the hospital.

My mother offered me a piece of gum to stop my crying. I actually laughed at that for a second. I knew she’d had gum! But it was too late to make any difference in my life anymore. Gum couldn’t save me. The days where a piece of gum was enough to make me happy were behind me now.

The next thing I knew I was waking up in the hospital. I was groggy and hungry and my thumb was throbbing. They hadn’t been able to find the other piece of my thumb, so they’d just stitched it up.

It took many months for the bandages and stitched to come off. I had to learn to write, eat, color, do everything with my left hand during that time.

They never found that piece of my thumb. We got rid of the car soon after that. I like to think my thumb tip was still haunting it for many happy years.

I have little to no feeling in the tip of my thumb, even now. I probably have permanent nerve damage. It isn’t an attractive finger. But, I am ambidextrous still. And I do have a pretty fucking cool fingerprint.


‘The talon’ as I like to refer to it.