Worst Abs Workout Ever

*Warning: this post may contain facts or descriptions that are utterly disgusting and extremely repulsive. It is not for the faint of stomach. You have been warned.

By Monday evening, I felt pretty good about myself. The apartment was beginning to take shape. There were far fewer boxes than in the morning. I was getting things put away. All in all, it was a fairly productive Monday.

Jessie returned home from her first day of work with a smile on her face, which is always a good sign. Since our fridge was completely empty, we decided to grab a bite to eat at a local sandwich/pasta place called Panes. I knew that this was to be my first visit to Panes, but little did I know that it would be my last.

I ordered one of the daily specials, a cajun chicken sandwich. It was pretty good, going down at least. After Panes, we went to Jewel to fill the aforementioned empty fridge. Within about five minutes of leaving Panes, I began to experience some abdominal pain. It felt like the beginning stages of the dreaded "bowling ball stomach" that I get when I eat guacamole or avacado.

While at Jewel, I informed Jessie of my discomfort and desire to exit quietly and expeditiously. Despite my warnings, Jessie continued to drag on her shopping experience. Finally, I explained that I was "nearing the vomit point," which apparently got her attention. Ever the caring wife, she told me to go find a bathroom. I told her that my desire to ralph in a Jewel bathroom was about the same as my desire to send my kid to Purdue. After some prodding, she finally agreed to leave.

Upon our return to the apartment, it felt like there were several major battles going on in my stomach, and I was losing all of them. I staved off the inevitable for about 10 minutes, at which point I entered our only lavatory with fear and anticipation. Then all hell broke loose. Without question, I ushered in a new low point in my life, surpassing the time in Boston when I was hammered and I busted through the bathroom door only to find out that McClure was in there, thus forcing me to puke in the bathtub while both of us were laughing our asses off.

Anyway, this was much worse. One of my worst nightmares came true. I don't know how else to say it, so I'm just gonna say it: I shuked. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, just know that I love word combinations. Think about it for a second. What two vile words must you combine to get the word "shuke"? Needless to say, we are now short one small trash can.

Now that you have undoubtedly reached the "oh my God, that's fucking disgusting" point, I will say that no matter how bad the visual may be for you, it pales in comparison to experiencing it firsthand. I would not wish such a thing on my worst enemy. Hell, I wouldn't even wish this on Kevin Federline. Well, that's not true. K-Fed deserves to shuke at least once a day, that is, if he can be pulled away from his Newports and burgeoning rap career long enough to make it to the bathroom for some PopoZao.

But I digress. After the shuking, I immediately went to bed, although I returned to the restroom a couple more times over the next few hours (not to shuke, thank God). Finally around 2am, I managed to get some non-vomit-interrupted sleep. I woke up around 10:30, at which point I took the dog for a nice little walk, after which I returned to bed. At about 11:30, I got a call from the Direct TV installation guy, who was early for his "between 1pm and 5pm" appointment. I must have looked like a hundred dollars because he asked me if I was alright, and I explained that I thought I got food poisoning. I sat/lied quietly on the couch while he set everything up. The last thing I wanted was for him to be able to go back to his Direct TV buddies bragging about "some asshole who was puking while [he] robbed the guy blind."

Anyway, I didn't puke, but as soon as he left I went right back to bed, where I stayed until Jessie got home around 6. Jessie proceeded to yell at me about how little I had unpacked, failing to notice that I looked like Powder (with more hair and less deer-life-saving ability) and smelled like an old folks' home. I got up, ate a couple pieces of toast, drank some Gatorade, got yelled at some more, moved a couple things around, and then fell back asleep around 9:30, waking up around 8 this morning.

In case you're counting, in the past 36 hours, I have been awake for about 6 to 6 1/2 of them. I'm feeling 1000 times better today, although that is sure to change when I realize that I have to pull double duty today to make up for yesterday's lack of productivity. I sure as shit don't want Jessie to be pissed when she gets home tonight. The last thing I want to do is accidentally fall down the stairs again or, worse yet, for her to make me go back to Panes.