Wow. I really have nothing to do.

So I'll churn out another blog. Yes, my room looks like my hamper has thrown up...everywhere, and yes, I have ironing boards, and ties, and cups, and envelopes, and PMBR boxes, and backpacks and Prada sneakers hurled to the many corners of my room (there are way more than four...I did a quick count, and there may be as many as 22...someday I'll draw you a map on Paintbrush...) but I'm still strung out on cake sugar, so I'm going to write about something.

Something I love...what do I love? If Music Be the Food of Love? O, Stay, Sweet Love? I Love, Alas, I Love Thee? She Only Queene of Love and Beauty? Why is it that all the love songs that are coming to mind right now are from the Renaissance/Baroque period?

What do I love? The "hidey-eye" on my instant messenger. The fact that my bed is very soft and squishy with lots of covers. Salty things. Thunderstorms. Nicknames. Curry and Indian food. Finding things I've lost. Clear blue oceans, with nothing lurking in the sand to bite and kill me. Walking into a bar and knowing everyone. Pointillism. Paris. Pecans. Portugal. Prague. Pens with rolly balls. Blue. Blueberries. Blackberries. Bumping into people I haven't seen in years. Bumping into people on purpose (physically). (Back to the letter "P.") Penguins. Potatoes. Pear tarts.

This game is stupid. But I need to write some happy positive message because I've been gloomy lately. I'm sure some blog wherein I sing the praises of Cartoon Network or Popsicles would bore you all to tears, but I'm adopting a new philosophy: I'm going to try to shed my Jewish Fatalism, and embrace the positive and possibility. This blog sure has a lot of the letter "P" in it. I'm glad I'm not standing in front of you reading it to you, or I'd be worried about spitting on you constantly.

I have a really good memory for mundane, weird, useless things. As I sit here, remembering random things from the past, I seem to remember lots of when I was in elementary school in Baltimore. I started school at Rodger's Forge Elementary, in Towson. I don't know why, but the clearest memories I have of first and second grade, were when kids threw up in class. That only seemed to happen in first and second grade, I don't remember it happening after that. Only two kids did it before I did, and after that, I have no memory.

Ready to walk down memory lane? Here we go!!!

First was Girl #1 I wonder what ever happened to her...hell, I wonder what happened to most people I went to elementary school with. I know that another girl went on to become an accomplished award-winning violinist and violin prodigy. She had red hair. That's about all I remember of her.

Anyhoo. The time that Girl #1 threw up: (If you're reading this, you probably don't remember me - Hello! Sorry to broadcast this on the internet. At least yours isn't as detailed as Guy....#2 ..must consult 1987 yearbook...) I was in Ms. Smith's first grade class. I think we were learning about math...no, that's impossible, I was in Ms. Roache's math class. We must have been learning how to read. What else does one learn in first grade? Well. We were learning about something. I sat two seats behind Girl #1. She was wearing a pink jacket. I heard a splat, and her desk was covered in brown. She cried. Then, she got to go home. I was SUPER jealous.

The time that Gu #2 threw up: To preface this story, in first and second grade, I really liked buying school lunch. It was TAAAA-STY! I also liked Ms. Dorsey and Ms. Gettier and Ms. Kennard the lunch ladies. Ms. Gettier is definitely dead now. That's depressing. Anyway, I stopped once we moved to Howard County, because in my elementary school, the school lunches were served on re-useable plastic trays, and the retarded kids used to buy school lunch, and I was afraid of them, so I stopped buying school lunches. I'm a much better person now, but I was scared back then. Were I to go back, I'd buy school lunch again in Howard County.

Anyway, certain school lunch days were fan. fucking. tastic. Taco and corn day? One of my favorites. Hot-dog with cheese day? Another day I relished (We'll get to that in a bit.) So, one day, in second grade, it was a rainy day, November through March. I had devoured a very tasty lunch of Tacos and corn with milk (Gross, right?) and then, we went off to Mr. Reed's music class. (I think he was one of my first crushes. Verrrry cute and preppy in that 80s sort of way...he also had very smooth skin, and pressed slacks.) We were singing one of the stupid songs that periodically pops into my head still to this day ("Hello, Who am I? Evy-Ivy-Over, My mother sent me to the store, and this is what she sent me for... she sent me for some..bread." Clearly the singer is suffering from memory loss, both short term and long term...pity.)

So, we're singing something. Rhythm sticks were possibly involved. Our music class was arranged in a horse-shoe shape, facing a black board. The piano was in the front of the room, pushed off to the left. The carpet was a bright 1982 orange/yellow. I was sitting across from Guy 2 as we're singing. Suddenly, he started twitching. Tacos and corn came tumbling down the front of his polo shirt. He sounded like my nanny's pressure cooker when it was on full-steam! Girls said "ewwwww." Mr. Reed P.A.'d the office to have Mr. Packs or Ms. Banks come down with some sawdust and a broom. (Do you remember that? The P.A. system was 2-way, and there was a little switch under it, and you'd call the office, and then the office would dispatch the custodians down...) Guy #2 got to go to Ms. Cronin's office (the nurse.) Lucky.

I believe Ms. Banks answered that call. She came on down with her pail of sawdust and her broom, and covered up the new stain on the yellow carpet.

The last time someone I remember threw up in elementary school, it was yours truly. All day, I had been particularly excited because it was hotdog and cheese day! Hotdog and cheese day was this: An Oscar Meyer hotdog, in a bun, but there was a twist! Oh, my, yes, there was a twist! See, the hotdog... rested on top of a long rectangle of colby cheese! It melted the cheese slightly. Add some mustard, and you had a gourmet treat fit for an 80s child celebrity of Chad Allen caliber!

As we lined up in Ms. Combs's class to go down to the cafeteria (oh, sweet irony!) I had my lunch ticket all ready, getting nice n' damp in my clammy little hand. I just remembered this detail - in the morning, we would give our lunch money to our teacher as well as our order for the day, and she would give us a lunch ticket, and then we'd give the ticket to the lunch ladies. Clever, no? Anyway, I was EX-CITED about my cheesedog. As the class starts out the door, wouldn't you know it? A wave of nausea hit me. As I spat up on a table in front of the blackboard, I remember crying and thinking, "Now I don't get to have a hot doggg!"

I'm pretty sure after that I went to my nanny's house. I don't really remember. But I never had another cheesedog again...because I moved shortly thereafter, and like I discussed, never ate a school lunch again.

I certainly hope you enjoyed that little trip down vomit-memory lane! I'm going to go Friendster stalk some of these people in my 1987-1988 yearbook!