dancin' machine

“Eh, it’s not going to make much of a difference.”

Yep, there’s plenty of places in my life where that phrase fits in perfectly. A time when a decision must be made, and you’ve got to stick with the consequences. Love or hate the results. Enjoy the fabulous disaster that may occur.

Last night, it was a simple one.

I went to the freezer and pulled out one of those frozen, all in one meals. This one was only bought because I had a coupon. It was from the Macaroni Grill. I think they retail for something ridiculous like $7.98. The coupon was for half off. So what the heck. But that’s not the decision I had to make. No, this one ranks up there with LeBron’s.

I opened up the package. Well, I attempted to at first with just my hands. However, it appears I am too weak now to even open up a sealed plastic wrapper with frozen vegetables, chicken and pasta inside. So, I found a knife, almost cutting my finger in the process as I just stuck my hand into the drawer and grabbed, and I proceeded to cut that thing open with a flick of the wrist. Did that sound sexy at all? Or is it even possible to say ‘flick of the wrist’ and be sexy?

Looking at the contents as they trickled into the frying pan that I use as a sauce pan, it looked edible. Better than the cheese toast I had for dinner the night before, for sure. (Ha. Night before, for sure.)

I look at the directions (for the first time) and am stunned to see this “add ¼ cup milk.”

“Shit. I don’t have any milk.”

But wait, there is a jug in the fridge. Way in the back. Behind the Orange Juice. Behind the tap water filled jug. Even behind the month-old Budweisers I bought for a buddy that came down. I even drank some of them.

I reach in and pull it out. Expecting solid waste.

Instead, the jug is liquid. The expiration date is Oct. 11. It’s officially Oct. 30 when I’m doing this. I take the cap off and look inside. Just a few swirlies in the mix. No cottage cheese. It’s still white as well. Then, I do what has to be done, I take a sniff.

“Eh, it doesn’t smell bad.” Not that it smelled good, but these are important little details that I wasn’t really worried about at that moment. I’m hungry. It’s after midnight and the only open store is the BP down the street. And, I won’t ever shop at a BP again. Fuck the little man and watch the big man rebrand itself.

I get the measuring cup. This is when you know the decision has been made. You’re going to eat this. Damn the consequences. Much like not going to the dentist in 17 years. But not really.

I pour it out into the cup. Then I pour the cup into the pan. It sizzles on contact.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m eating. This isn’t that bad. I don’t know, but Alien on the television just shot out of the guy’s chest while he was chewing on his food. Fuck omens.

I got to bed a few hours later. I tried to watch ‘Million Dollar Baby’ but just couldn’t fight off the monster of sleep. I stumble to bed. Taking a pee along the way.

In bed now, I slowly try to drift off. Then my stomach decides to say something.

It’s angry. With me. I try to just sleep through it. Nope. You’re getting up.

I go to the potty. Sit down and relieve myself. Yep. I said it. You read it. That uncomfortable feeling stays after the purge. You know what it means. There’s more to come. Yet, you don’t want to sit on the toilet and have your feet and butt fall asleep in the process.

So, I go back to bed. Leaving the bathroom light on, because, I know I’ll be back.

Funny thing is. I don’t. Instead, I wake up at 9 a.m. Take a pee. Go back to bed, laughing at the light still being on.

Then the stomach says, “remember me?”

Now it’s 10:46 a.m. I’ve been on the toilet four times. Lots of toilet paper used.

It’s the decisions you make, my son. They determine your future, whether you want to believe it or not.

And no, my dad never sat me down and filled me with such wisdom. I’ve learned it all on my own. With a little help from some awesome and not so awesome women. Some who dance, most who don’t. Not that I’m a dancer, mind you. I just have danced before.