on my 18th birthday, my friends picked me up before schooland took me to cooke park. we at donuts and they attached balloons to my appendages. here i am wearing my birthday suit: what i refered to as "the perfect rugby," a pleated knit skirt and a pair of red converse high tops. i believe, to the left, is my dear friend mary jo mccoy's ponytail.
one of the worst things you can send shooting backward out of your esophogus is cheese. i'm assuming this is true of all cheeses, but i'm speaking specifically about a st. andre brie and a gouda from cloquet. the result is a can filled with expensive cheese curds dumbed down to something common you can find in the refrigerator case at most wisconsin super america's. but, that i'm barfing cheese and the busch lighty fluid remains of last night's birthday eve $5 beer night at the pio is fitting:
a year ago today, at my 31st birthday party, i'd had dinner at bellisio's with jcrew. we had split the cheese tray. later, ceecee bought me a shot of poisonous vodka that bungied on impact with my stomach, dragging chunks of blue cheese with it. everyone sitting at the table saw the projectile coming. everyone scattered. well, everyone but chuck.
we'd met just once before he came to my party. he was so new to my scene that when i saw him walk in, i had to remind myself: ah. yes. chuckers mcchuckerstein. i ignored everyone else for the night and concentrated on just him. and when i threw up, inches from his foot, he didn't flinch. perhaps his senses were dulled. perhaps he'd seen a lot of vomiting in his day. i grabbed a spray bottle to clean the mess just inches from his shoes.
later, when i slurred that i wanted to make out with him, he declined. it took until the next day to realize that while he was fine with watching me puke, he probably didn't want to taste it. and, as you know, eventually we got to make out anyway. a lot. without a palate marinated in chunky blue cheese residue.
so here i am today, 32 years old and still throwing up cheese. but this time i'm doing it into his toilet while he is asleep in the next room. and a year later, i have a tooth brush here that i can use to remedy the problem. my life has come full circle. this is fine. being 31 was the greatest year to ever happen to me [although, to be fair, my 20s are merely a haze of natty light, hamburger helper and the distinct smell of superior, wisconsin]. i can only assume that 32 will be even better.