Monday is skinny jeans day forever

Or why a stomach ache + bowling ≠ fun

Last weekend Lisa and I drove to Chicago to attend BlogHer, the largest women’s blogging conference in the US. To say a good time was had by all is a big, fat understatement. We ate, drank, yapped, met famous big-girl bloggers, yapped some more, met old friends and made new ones. And then we kept yapping. At least I did.

Lisa found solace in standing next to celebs and having her photo taken.

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Lisa, Mr. Gunn of Project Runway, friends and Cincinnati bloggers Monika of Such a Red Kat Blonde and Kate the Great of Kate’s Random Musings

I became reacquainted with my masculine side while driving muscle cars.*

After two days of conference fun, Saturday night found us fatigued and famished. Thus, we stumbled glided from our hotel to a local eatery (which will remain nameless) for a quick bite. For some unexplained reason I lost my culinary sense of direction and ordered spaghetti and meat sauce. I never order that dish.

And now I know why.

Then She Bowled

The grand finale of the whole big honking weekend was BowlHer, an-all-you-can-bowl party replete with free drinks and junk food snacks.** As I pride myself in my bowling prowess, I took this party a bit too seriously.*** After bowling one game for myself and the second for both of us, I’m pretty sure I won both. But my memory is a bit hazy now.

Because I was working on a world-class case of food poisoning.

Those who know me can confirm my love of exercise. I rejoice in completing an hour-long spinning class, walking uphill for 5 miles, swimming like a shark, and spending so much time body surfing that I emerge from the Pacific with blue lips. So when I can’t walk across the street, something is wrong. Oh so very wrong.

As Sunday was not pretty, you will be spared the details of my 24-hour encounter with the above mentioned poisoning.

You are welcome.

Fast Forward

Monday morning found me waking up in hazy jubilation. Why? My stomach is flat! No more tummy pooch. Hey, Chicago, get a gander at this.****

I’m skinny again!

Well, maybe it’s just the interim reduction in the perpetual swelling that seems to plague my tummy. Nevertheless, I’m bloat-free America. Food poisioning be damned. I’ll spend half of every weekend doubled over in pain if it means I can proclaim Monday as Skinny Jeans Day Forever.

Rejoice with me, won’t you?

Spoke Too Soon

As much as I love exercise, I too love my coffee. It’s my one vice and I enjoy every mouthful. From dawn to dusk, I sip with abandon. I’m proud to say that the staff at not one, but two McDonald’s know my exact order when I arrive. That’s dedication.

But my party is over.

Food poisoning gave me the gift of a flat tummy but stole my taste for coffee. Try as I might I could not choke down more than a stale tasting sip or two of my beloved beverage. And trust me when I say I tried. Made three cups of my beloved java; all of them bad. Really awful. As if there’s no going back.

So I haven’t. It is now Day 5 of ‘Leslie Sans Java’; a phenomenon that has not be seen by man (actually no men at all, but that’s another story) for some 20 years.

The amazing factoid? I’m still alive. I don’t need two large McDonald’s coffees with five creams in each or one tall Starbuck’s Pike’s Place with room for cream or even a large White Castle coffee with moderate cream to wake-up, remain vertical and be human.

Darn, just as Micky D’s really juices up their McCafe line. I’d planned my whole summer around fancy coffee drinks at budget prices.

The Silver Lining?

I get to select a new vice.

Any suggestions?

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*Photo soon, but the whole experience sparked an idea for a soon-to-appear car review web site for boomer women by yours truly.

**For the girl from NE Ohio, nothing screams party like complimentary (nothing is ‘free’ in whammyjuice.com land) processed, sugar-laden, cellophane-wrapped snack cakes and bowling.

***Warning: Lane-side tantrums erupt if I don’t bowl a strike or a spare.

**** Me jumping up and down while pointing to the now flat but still sinister area just beneath my belly button.