Trip to Tucson part 1

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E and I (with her permission).

You guys might be wondering where I have been this past week. And if you remember, I was on vacation in Arizona. See, my friend, E, won an award and got to go on an all expense paid week long trip to Tucson.

 

I have never been out west and when she invited me to go as her plus one I was actually just staring at my phone in shock. I wanted to respond in a way that didn’t make her instantly regret inviting me but my brain was short circuiting with excitement and all I could really think was “askjaksadjask.”

 

I played it pretty cool though and hopefully managed to be appreciative. Which I was and am. Because my trip was fucking amazing!

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It’s going to take me a few posts to talk about all the things we did and saw so I will just start here with day one when we got to Tucson.

 

I am a well known vomiter in the circles of people that know me in real life. I get every kind of motion sickness possible, plus I puke when I have a bad migraine.

 

I read once that the average person vomits 1 to 5 times per year. But if that is the case then I am vomiting for a lot of you out there. Because I vomit more than that in an average month. In February of this year alone I vomited about 20 times.

 

This is important to my story because despite all the planes, buses, shuttles, and bumpy jeep rides I did not puke the entire trip!

 

As soon as we landed in Tucson I started freaking out about the scenery and plant life. It was so different from Florida. There was ZERO humidity and the mountains and cacti were everywhere. The sky was so open and blue. Like nothing I had ever seen before.

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The hotel was set low into a mountain overlooking the city. E and I stayed out every night looking at the stars with our new friend, J. None of us had ever seen so many stars before. It was awe inspiring.

 

E and I had run into J at the airport and the three of us really hit it off right away. We seemed to be the only single people on the trip and spent most of the rest of the time hanging out together.

 

To be honest, I had no opinion of J until that first night. We were all given fleeces for our trip. Men got black and women got sky blue. Mine was too tight for me and I preferred black anyway.

 

I got with the coordinators and asked if I could trade mine out. The coordinator asked what size I needed and I wasn’t sure. So I asked J if I could try his jacket on. He pulled it up over his head and his t-shirt completely stuck to it from static. He flashed everyone at our table his stomach and chest.

 

Not wanting to stare or make too much fun, I looked away, respectfully. He seemed embarrassed (who wouldn’t be?) and I didn’t know him that well. I took the jacket, unzipped it, and went to put it on. That was when J said, “The zipper goes all the way down?!”

 

I stared at him for a moment and realized that was why he had pulled it up over his head. He hadn’t known it had a zipper! I completely lost it. I laughed so hard I had to put my head down because I was crying.

 

I am sure he was mortified and I do feel a tiny bit bad for laughing so hard. But it was just so fucking funny. Besides, it was a good ice breaker and it reminded me so much of something I would do. I really started to like him after that.
And I obviously brought it up every chance I could for the remainder of the trip because that is what true friends do.

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All photos taken by E.

Wheelchairing

After my most recent heart surgery I wasn’t able to walk due to the hematoma on my leg. But I still wanted to do things. I mean, I was young and wanted to celebrate not dying.

 

My ex, A, and I decided to go to Leu Gardens. It is a beautiful botanical garden. Sometimes there are weddings there. Also, I adore plants and love botanical gardens. One of my old friends used to tell me I was a lesbian for Mother Nature. So there you go.

My next gf?

 

A and I went to the main entrance and saw that there was an option to rent a wheelchair for free. I hobbled over to the lady behind the desk and let her know that I needed a wheelchair.

 

She gave me this appraising look with an arched eyebrow as if to say she didn’t believe I was sick enough to need a wheelchair and perhaps I was faking/lazy.

 

At this time, my leg was so swollen and painful that I could only wear elastic waist banded skirts. I couldn’t wear any pants or shorts. Not even sweatpants or pajama pants.

 

Instead of explaining myself or arguing with this rude bitch, I lifted up my skirt (flashing her my sensible but loose fitting underwear) and showed her my hematoma.

I was all “Bitch, please.”

 

She gasped and asked me what had happened. So I told her about the 5 heart surgeries and she ran to get me a wheelchair. She was super nice after that. But is still a terrible person for making rude assumptions.

 

A pushed me down the hallway and out into the gardens. They were beautiful. It was a warm and sunny day. Flowers were in bloom everywhere I looked. It was one of the most romantic things A ever did with me.

So pretty

 

And it all would have been really great. Except for my motion sickness. I almost immediately started feeling sick. A had to push me slower and slower because every turn felt too fast. Soon we were barely crawling along.

 

I don’t know if other people in wheelchairs get motion sickness. I don’t know what I would do if it were in one permanently. Even the motorized ones make me feel sick.

 

I was dizzy and miserable. I tried wheeling myself but it didn’t seem to help.

 

After about half an hour of rolling around in the wheelchair I begged A to stop. Unfortunately, he stopped me right by a park bench. And I immediately threw up my breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast all over it.

 

Once I threw up, I felt much better. A and I laughed about me ruining the bench and we found a hose nearby to spray it down. We finished looking around and enjoying the gardens. But I would love to go back sometime now that I am ambulatory.

Maybe don’t sit on any benches there.


It took me quite a while to be able to eat eggs again after that.

Fiction Tab

Okay, I keep talking about my fiction and hinting about sharing it in some super secret way for only the cool people to read. But I don’t really know how to do that. So, I will occasionally be posting some fiction under the fiction page at the top. I would love to have readers and feedback.

But if you don’t want to read it, or don’t want to give feedback; that’s fine with me. I probably wont post very much very often. And I will definitely still be telling my usual vomit and vagina stories on here.

I know I share some really personal stories on here, but in a way, they are just stories. They are part of my life and part of my past. But they aren’t me. They are only things that happened to me.

My fiction is more personal to me than my past can ever be. My fiction is who I am. And I have something posted over there now.

Vomiting at Disney

Living in Florida means one thing for most people. Beaches and Disney (okay, that’s two things). I’ve spent most of my life at the beach. I even lived on the beach for a year. It long ago stopped having any appeal for me.

 

My treadmill.

 

But growing up so poor, I didn’t have a lot of experiences at Disney. I went for my first time in high school. I was 15 and it was my best friend, L’s, 16th birthday present from her parents.

 

 

Not something I would choose, but it was fun.

 

I had two best friends in high school, both were girls (that’s the first time I ever had female friends, let alone two). L and K. I’m not sure how the three of us became friends. We had met in middle school in a journalism class. We actually had very little in common.

 

K was sweet and feminine. Her family was very close. They went to church twice a week and had dinner together, at a table, with no TV, every night. I spent a lot of time at her house. It was like a TV family from the 50s. In a Twilight Zone kind of way. She was one of the prettiest girls I have ever known in real life outside of my sisters.

 

Who the fuck still does this? People with something to hide, that’s who.

 

L was very tomboyish, even more so than me (if that’s possible). Her parents were the most in love people I have ever seen, even still. She was kind of a redneck-y farm girl type. She drove a dually pickup truck, listened to country, and had chickens.

 

The gas mileage on this thing must have been terrible.

 

Everyone thought L and I were dating. But we weren’t. In fact, I hear K recently married her girlfriend and is very happy. I bet all those assholes I went to school with would be shocked to find out that she was the gay one and not us.

 

But I never minded my bad reputation. And believe me when I say, it was bad. Because it only served to prepare me for the bad reputation I have at my job now. Besides, I never took being called a lesbian as an insult.

 

So L’s mom took us to Disney. Her mom was a nurse for an OB/GYN and was hilariously funny. I adored her. I used to wish one of their families would adopt me. I suspect they would have if I had ever talked about my home life. But I didn’t.

 

L’s mom had gotten fast passes for our day. We felt so cool and important, skipping the long lines of people that were waiting. As soon as we arrived at Disney, we rode the Tower of Terror. Four times in a row.

 

Pukiest ride ever.

 

You might think this was a bad idea for someone that can’t even ride in the backseat of a car without getting motion sickness. And you would be right.

 

I felt moderately nauseous the rest of the day. But I was trying to not make a fuss and enjoy my day.

 

We went on ride after ride. I had an amazing time. It was my first time on anything scarier than a ferris wheel. I’m great on rides because I am kind of a wuss and will totally scream and shriek at everything.

 

I didn’t feel well when we stopped for lunch, but tried to eat my fried chicken meal. After lunch we went on the Haunted Mansion. We were all eating popcorn. And I think that’s what really did me in.

 

I kind of love this ride. But I do love ghosts and weirdo occult-y stuff.

 

I almost lost it then and there, but managed to keep the vomit in.

 

It was getting dark out and they all wanted to go to the Country Bear Jamboree. I have no memory of this show and my mind has instead substituted Lester’s Possum Park from a Goofy Movie. (That movie still makes me laugh).

 

 

It seemed at least this annoying and cheesy.

 

I spent the entirety of that show sitting on the floor. My stomach was churning. I felt disoriented and dizzy. The bears singing was impossibly loud and obnoxious. It somehow made me feel more sick.

 

I didn’t even make it to the end. I pushed out of that room and ran over to a low fence. Where I vomited my brains out. I puked so hard I’m pretty sure there was milk from back when I was breastfeeding in there.

 

L, K, and L’s mom came over, but I waved them away. I didn’t want to ruin her birthday. Plus, I hated being touched back then even more than I do now. I didn’t want someone trying to rub my back or some shit.

 

After I had retched 10-15 times, a Disney park attendant came over with a sprite. She asked me if I could please move away and puke in the nearest trash can.

 

It turns out I was puking over the fence and directly into the Splash Mountain waterpark ride. And I was disturbing some of the guests over there with the violence of my sickness. There had been actual complaints.

 

 

Isn’t this ride based on that super racist Song of the South movie?

 

That was enough to make me laugh. And knowing I was disturbing others actually did make me feel better.

 

Once I had puked out the entire contents of my stomach, gallbladder, and, I suspect, bowels, I felt much better. You can only puke so much until your entire body has been cleansed of food, bile, and other contents.

 

I didn’t go back to an amusement park again for over 10 years. But don’t worry, I have more stories from Disney to tell.

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.