Throwing Down the Throw Up

2:00 PM. Work is going well. I am doing my nerdy thing, bebopping in my office, when I hear the foghorn that means a ship is pulling into Powell Port. My spirits are high, as I think it is Santa Claus. Oh no, it is the USS Sickness, and it wants to throw a Vomit Party with me as the Guest of Honor. Long story short, I left work early and I feel like poop. However, this will not get in the way of my Constitutionally-mandated Thursday post to Goulash.

I may've mentioned this already, but I had an incredible no-vomit streak going when I was at college, in San Antonio. My luck didn't hold in other cities, but for like 3 and a half years, I didn't throw up in the city where I spent the vast majority of my time. I thought I was going to make it the whole way through school without doing so, and there was a definite buzz around campus. People would speak in hushed tones whenever I entered a room, and I was advised to look into getting a tuxedo for graduation time. Why, a graduation party? No, a banquet to celebrate 4 vomit-free years. I was pumped.

But of course, I flew a little too close to the sun with that one, and one early morning about two months before graduation, the streak died. Likely I was poisoned by someone jealous of my gastrointestinal success, but whatever the case, I came to discover that I was indeed a mortal man inside the 210 area code. There was much sadness when I informed my adoring public of the news; Will cried even more than normal. I didn't let it keep me down, though; I knew there would be other cities to not throw up in. It certainly worked for a while here in Austin, but today, Austin failed to live up to her side of the agreement. So, yes, I'm sick and gross and unhappy about all of this, but even more than that, I feel betrayed. You must atone for this with an Eskimo Pie, city of Austin.