Projectile Romance

Meet Alex:


My new breakfast and current partner-in-crime. He doesn’t want his face to be shown because he thinks it objectifies his delicious body. I just want to show everyone what I had for breakfast…


Now meet me: clearly the fatal attempt of the pretty girl straddle isn’t working and my new lover should be more than slightly embarrassed for me… and him.

My lover is probably the flossiest person I have ever dated. He’s got better hair than I do, perfect teeth, rubs my feet, and too boot, he’s a top-notch kiteboard slayer, which I totally make sound not so cool, but it’s actually one of the sexiest sports to watch. Especially when you get to take them home after and warm them up… Anyway, he’s pretty awesome and I’ll stop with my gushy love-bird mess because it is making me want to vomit, which we will get to later.

I really tried my hardest to keep my clumsy, embarrassing antics out of sight from him for as long as I could. It’s been seven or eight months now and I think he officially unlocked the chamber and my pig is on the loose.

A couple weeks ago, my lover separated his shoulder (again) in a gnarly kiteboard incident. It was about the 4th-5th time he ripped that sucker out of the socket, so surely the doctor told him it was time for surgery. The weekend before his surgery, we decided it would be awesome to travel somewhere where he could enjoy the surf and kite one final time.

We made our way to the Oregon Coast, where I had never been before. Traveling to the coast has been on my bucket list for quite some time. We were both so excited to be able to spend the weekend together, get all romantic and cozy, listen to the waves and birds, and enjoy the beautiful scenery.

Ya, things didn’t really work that way.

It all started in Bellingham, WA in my apartment. I woke up feeling great, but the second I stepped outside, a horrible feeling encapsulated my soul and I knew something was up. I felt like a critter was slithering their way through my alimentary canal and feeding on my stomach. OH HELL NO, NOT THIS TRIP. I shut the bug up with a soy chai and pumpkin muffin at Starbucks, hoping that maybe it was food that was missing from my life.

Nope, no. That definitely was not the fix. If anything it made it worse. I tried sucking my soul up and putting on a happy face. I knew how much this trip meant to him, I wasn’t about to ruin it and complain of the stomach bug.

We stopped in Seaside, Oregon, so Alex could get his body in some coastal surfing. I started drooling a lot. Not the good kind of drool that you get when you see your sex-partner surfing, but the kind of saliva you experience when you’re about to throw up. NO NO NO. I think one of my least favorite feelings in the world is purging. EW, even just thinking of it makes me want to hurl and it’s a nasty cycle. I was hoping that maybe I would just throw up a little while he was surfing and he would never know, I would feel so much better, and we could carry on with our little romantic adventure.

It didn’t really happen that way and I don’t really feel like writing more.

Well, we got to the campsite, Alex was hungry, so he started to set up camp. We were sleeping in his car, but he wanted to make a romantic little setting for the two of us. He brought along a lantern, a tarp to protect us from the wind, a small stove to cook our stew on… Aw, it was just so romantic.

YA, romantic… if I wasn’t rolling around the backseat like a moaning slug. He totally thought I was one of those girls that doesn’t know how to camp, wants the dude to set everything up, while the lady sits in paradise in the warm car.

Fuck, he totally probably thought I was such a faking-sick bitch. I finally told him I actually was not feeling that great and that I really wanted to help set up, but I didn’t think I could move. He kind of just stared at me and said, “OK.”

OK. Well, I continued to be a moaning slug for a good half hour, until Alex set up camp all by himself, lantern and everything, finished making himself beef stew when all of a sudden, I felt it coming: Oh no. It was coming and it was coming fast. I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t just run to the bathroom. I just needed to get out of that car and away from him as fast as possible so he wouldn’t see me projectile vomit and ruin our romantic stay on the coast.

I made it over the front seat with the first half of my body, with enough time to spare to be able to open the door before loud squeals of food poison exited my body, while Alex sipped on his stew in the rear seat of the car. Over and over again it happened. I was absolutely mortified. If it was any other time other than our romantic vacation, I wouldn’t really care, but this was supposed to be our weekend! How could my body reject me at such a delicate moment?

Alex so generously walked over to the front of the car with a stack of paper towels in his hands:

“Hey babe, do you need anything? I brought you some towels.”




Alex: “Oh, god.”



If you thought that was bad, try picturing a romantic evening filled in a small car, freezing, not being able to cuddle at all, while I periodically opened the door to vomit all. night. long. The worst part? Every time you open the fucking door in a car, the lights turn on. So naturally I woke him out of hibernation every time I needed to rid my body of the poison! OHH! The unsalvageable romance.

The following day I spent eating saltines and sipping on coconut water while I sat in the front seat of the car, looking like a seriously haggard coastal mess.

We still did manage to have a great time together. We always do. We took a long walk on Cannon Beach, and even climbed to the top of a famous monument in Astoria, Oregon.

It’s funny looking back on that fateful weekend, because it actually brought us closer. WHAT? CLOSER? I guess when you are faced with a situation like car-camping food-poisoning, you have no choice to get to know that person better.

Thank you, Alex, for being my knight in shining armor always equipped with a perfect smile and a roll of paper towels.



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