I will now recount last Friday, September 2nd for your reading pleasure.

I went out with Katie Day Thursday night to our college friend Amy's Birthday party. I had a couple beers, but it wasn't like I was massively drunk or anything. I came home, ate something, drank a glass of water, and went to bed.

Friday morning I wake up feeling like I have been plowed over by one of those large and very noisy trucks that druise past my apartment on Columbia Street. I throw up. "Gosh," I think, "I must have been more drunk than I thought last night cause I am seriously hungover." I was mystified, but alas, I figured I made my bed so I should lay in it and made myself go to work. I get to work and at first glance my boss says, "Um, Are you okay??" cause I clearly looked like death warmed over. "Oh yeah," I say, thinking I am just hungover, "I just woke up this morning feeling like I could really use another hour of sleep..." Good one, Sam.

I actually had a lot of work to do, but any time I would start to focus on a given task I would feel a wave of nausea and have to head to the bathroom to throw up. I slyly did this three times before I start thinking, "Gee, maybe I'm not just hungover," and was suddenly hit by an overwhelming need to lay down on the floor. My boss wasn't in her office, so I sent her the following email:

To: Juliet
From: Sam
Subject: Help

i just threw up.

i hope you don't mind but i am laying down in martha's office.

i don't know if i have food poisening or what, but i am really dizzy.

And with that I went into Martha's office (she's not in on Fridays) and curled up on the floor clinging to a sweatshirt.

About two minutes later my boss rushes in freaking out because of course she hadn't seen the email and has just walked past Martha's office to find me passed out on the floor. She thinks I am dead.

FLASHBACK: It's Thrusday night. I'm pondering what to make myself for dinner. I open the fridge. I have no groceries except for some hamburger patties I made last Friday night for BBQ-ing and didn't use. Hamburger it is! Andy walks into the kitchen and says, "Um, are you sure that meat's okay?" "Oh, yeah, sure, it's fine," I say, "What's the worst that could happen?"

Return to me curled up in the fetal position on the floor of an office at work. Shaking.

Shit.

I continue to sleep on the floor of the office for the next four hours only waking to throw up what little is left in my stomach into a trash can, which Tiffany, angel that she is, disposes of for me. Eventually I take a dramamene, drink a few sips of gatorade and am sent to my boss' house in a car, toting Saltines, gatorade, canned soup and the latest copy of In Touch, so graciously purchased by Jenn and Tiffany at Walgreen's.

I fall asleep immediately in Juliet's guestroom (the comfiest bed in the world btw) and wake up around 6pm. I call my sister and find out she is engaged (!!!), eat some soup, and tell Juliet "I'm just going to lay down for one more hour." I wake up at 7:15am the next morning to Juliet poking me in the side, making sure I am alive. "Yeah, I'm alive," I tell her and fall immediately back to sleep for two more hours. I wake up. I eat breakfast. I finally go home.

I will never eat questionable meat again.