Throw up vs. Vomit

It doesn't matter what you call it, all I know is I can't get the smell out of my car. Apparently 6 year olds can get car sick. Who freaking knew? All I remember of this lasting moment is the slo-mo vision of my son expeling bucketsful of orange slop in the backseat of my semi-new car. I might as well trade it in because the smell is lingering like the pesky dead body of an ex-boyfriend. I bet if I drove my car into a deep ravine, the ravine would start to smell like puke. I bet if I drove it into a lake, all of the fish would taste like vomit.

Everytime I get in my car, I get queasy. I hate the smell of throw-up. When I smell it, the contents in my tummy start to behave as though they are training for the circus. The only exit is up. It takes just about all I have to keep my intenstines from making a guest appearance on the side of my car.

Vinegar doesn't work, Febreeze doesn't work, a stink bomb doesn't work, cutting out the fabric and interlacing the hole with yarn and potpourri doesn't work. I am considering asking him to poop in my car to mask the smell of his throw-up. My rationale is that I am a sympathetic puker, not a sympathetic pooper.

Marathon Blues

I was so bummed about the Pasadena Marathon being cancelled, I lounged on my couch all day and watched Friday Night Lights until I couldn't stand it anymore and then proceeded to move to my bedroom and watch the 5th season of The Wire until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. Plus I ate chips and drank some beer. This is the kind of marathon training I've been missing.

In a few days, I'll don the sneakers and get back on the horse for the next race, but until then, YES that is a greasy cheese stain on the front of my shirt and YES that is a double chin on my face...and NO, I will not get up and fetch you a beer.

That requires moving.