You'd think vanilla is fairly innocuous. It smells like summertime and it has such a nice name: Vanilllllllllaaaa. Anyway, this morning I gave myself vanilla poisoning.

I made French toast for breakfast and accidentally dumped in way too much vanilla, ate it anyway, and then became in immediate danger of hurling. This required professional medical advisement, so I called my mommy, and she told me that vanilla is about 45% alcohol. So essentially I had a shot before driving into work this morning. Thus explains such an excellent mood on a Tuesday morning.

And now there's a hangover. My mouth is dry and my head hurts and everything. It shouldn't surprise me that I'm nauseated, as my body reacts to every single upset in my life-- stress, pelvic exams, war, high winds-- with the need to spew.

This is what comes of trusting the French.

September 23, 2003

Mary Beth is an introvert.

She is eager to communicate but prefers doing so via email, a giant stage, or intense conversation about Important Things.

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