On Monday Julio and Yo! Adrienne rang up and asked what we were doing for dinner. They suggested coming over to their place and eating pizza. We were bemoaning the huge amount of food our mothers had given us--Easter leftovers sufficient to feed an army--when they called, and suggested instead that they come help us eat that stuff.
We ordered pizzas as well. Delivery pizzas. One with pepperoni, one without. While we waited we ate stuffing and leftover mashed taties. Cha and I ate the pizza without pepperoni while they ate the one with. Julio and I put a variety of hot sauces on our slices, and eventually began competing with the Dave's Insanity Sauce. Shortly thereafter Julio started hallucinating. I figured it was due to the chilis, which of course were grown in a Guatemalan insane asylum.
"This pizza slice looks like a meat butterfly," he said. "I think that hot sauce opened something and now I see differently." Next thing we knew he was standing up in obvious discomfort. "I think we need to go," he said to Yo! Adrienne. "I've got work to do."
The next day I was typing curriculum at work when the phone rang. It doesn't often ring, because who needs to call curriculum writers? Nobody. It was Julio. "How ya feelin'?" he asked.
"Fine," I said.
"I'm checking because I was violently ill until five o'clock this morning. Adrienne just called and she's sick at work and is coming home. I think that pepperoni pizza had a free extra topping--fecal matter."
The pepperoni pizza gave them both food poisoning. We should have ordered from a better joint and picked it up. Poor Adrienne rode the Metro home from the Liberry of Congress, barely maintaining her composure, unable to find the toilet on the train. There was of course a 20-minute delay at one point. I can't imagine being that sick and stuck on the Metro for more than an hour.
I've had food poisoning before--three times. It's the fucking worst thing in the entire world. Once I got it from sushi and my temp rose to 106 degrees at 3am. Attempting to cool off, I slathered myself in Flexall and got into a tub full of cold water and ice cubes. Unfortunately the tub soon also filled with bile and chunks of stomach lining. I was sure I was going to die. I barfed every ten minutes for 20 hours, regardless of the existence of stomach contents. The barfing was only mildly more unpleasant than the continuous pooping. I lost 18 pounds in one day.
Yo! Adrienne claims she lost five Tuesday during her stint on the salmonella diet. She looked a bit haggard returning our Twin Peaks DVDs last night. Good to see her up and about, though. She and Julio gave us an extraordinarily nice housewarming gift. We must invite them over and make them ill more often.