Peeps can also be eaten out of the microwave. This is often done in conjunction with “Peep Jousting,” a game in which two Peeps are placed in the microwave with toothpicks stuck in them. The Peeps expand in the microwave, the player whose Peep pierces the other Peep gets the honor of eating both hot and gooey Peeps.

Outstanding.

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On the one hand, once again I have trouble taking seriously the Lenten season, as today I got an unintentional but very clear sideways penis drawn on my forehead with anointing oils.  After all, in the past few years the forty days before Easter have been marked by an intention to cut down on easy and sinless vices like vending machines and fast food, a sharp rise in the real venial sins around spring break, and an undying reluctance to go to Mass more than once a week.  So this phallic little gem is a pretty fitting way to kick off my half-assed attempt at repentance.

On the other hand, I can’t even think of something minor to give up this year.  I need my fatty foods if I’m going to regain the 15 pounds I lost this year, and I’ll just disappoint myself if I say something like “go to yoga more often” because, schedule-wise, I just can’t do it.  So, during the homily today, while he talked about repentance as a means of “turning oneself around,” I thought seriously about what I could do.  The answer: ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT.

Enough of being a bitter pill, getting all flustered over nothing all the time.  Damn it, you used to be like the man of unaffected steel — nothing and no one could get you to show an ounce of emotion.  Remember all those years you were called an unfeeling robot?  Well get back there!  Not all the way back, I mean, you should still have some fluff left in you.  But somewhere in the last year you became a sobby sap with an unfounded but certain feeling that nothing’s ever going to work out, wah! Which is beyond stupid, because WHEN HAS IT NEVER WORKED OUT FOR US?  You’re either a) incredibly lucky to keep tripping into perfect situations, or b) talented and qualified and likable enough to have earned those situations.  Either way, it’s not all going to come collapsing down after college.

So regrow your backbone, don’t let one small rejection letter or one bad Skype connection get you down, and stop crying all the damn time.  For God’s sake, you have a penis drawn on your forehead — would you laugh a little?

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This time, my prize customs moment was coming through the US citizen line in Boston. I had absolutely nothing to declare, had only been away for a short time, and was simply visiting my boyfriend. The agent looked up as she stamped my duty card and furrowed her eyebrows.

“What’d'ya do to your head?”

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Warning signs should have gone off when we decided to put the concepts of “romantic weekend” and “Northern Ireland” in the same sentence. Nah, I’m only kidding, I really liked the North. There’s not much evidence of nationalist feelings or terror anymore, at least not where we were. In fact, there was absolutely no indication that we’d driven from one country into another except for signs warning us that speed limits would now be in miles per hour. There are no more towers or flags at the border, and we only spotted one or two flags in the countryside.

Belfast was a neat city, if very quiet for a Friday night. Because we can’t spend Valentine’s Day together, this was our replacement night. I chose Indian food, a favorite of both of ours. It was my delicious usual: chicken tikka masala, peshwari naan, coconut rice, Cobra beer. Familiar and tasty, and though my stomach rumbled a bit I kept eating.

We went for a nice warm-ish walk around Belfast city centre for about an hour, then stopped into our hotel bar for a nightcap before hoping to get to bed early. Neither of us had slept very long all week, especially the night before, as my flight had come in at 5:00 AM, and my kind, doting, and soon-to-be very understanding boyfriend picked me up.

After watching some late night TV, I tried to sleep but my stomach was still unsettled. For about a half hour I tossed in bed, pulling the sheets on and off, until I finally realized what was about to happen.

Ladies and gentlemen, I had a really, really fine case of food poisoning. I’m not even embarrassed about it anymore, just still in awe of the sheer devastation it caused to my body. We’re talking everything, from everywhere, top to bottom, at the same time, every half hour. I would then clean up, fall back into bed, and spring out as somehow, by some curse of Satan himself, I still had more to go.

My dear boyfriend was asleep for the more graphic parts of it, thank God, as this is not exactly what I’d had in mind for a romantic replacement Valentine’s weekend. He asked a few times what was happening, but I did not want to — nor had the strength to — elaborate.

In total I ran to the bathroom about ten times in four hours, but it was around the fifth time that I had my crowning moment. I was perched on the toilet, absolutely exhausted but with no say in the matter. I remember thinking, You’re going to fall asleep, you haven’t slept in two nights now. I then remember thinking, Yeah you should be careful, imagine him finding you on the toilet in the morning. I stood up.

And then I remember about twenty minutes going by where I was involved in a high-speed chase and got hit by a bus, which backed up and hit me four times: my head, my back, my nose and my arm.

Except it hadn’t been twenty minutes, and I hadn’t gotten hit by a bus, because there was my boyfriend knocking at the bathroom door, telling me to move my foot. I squealed in pain and squinted up at him from the floor, saying, “Oh my God. What happened?” He said he’d just heard a big thump and came running.

He pulled me to my feet and we surveyed the damage. Somewhere between standing up and the sink, I’d fainted. I’ve been trying to put together how exactly I fell, because it doesn’t really make sense. But it seems I fell forward, cracked my forehead against the porcelain sink, went sideways, hit the small of my back/hip on the side of the bathtub, then went face first into the floor, breaking my glasses. (And stranger still, not breaking the glass of the glasses — but flipping the nose piece that holds the nose pads 180 degrees. The metal snapped later when I tried to put them right.)

“Holy shit, I fainted,” I panted, staggering out of the bathroom. My vision went black as it happened again, but this time I had both a bed and a boyfriend to catch me. He wiped the blood off my face and then I slept for two hours.

The rest of the trip was a bit dramatic, as I was absolutely wrecked. I’d evacuated everything I’ve ever even thought about eating before, with very little sleep the last few days, on top of my current underweight status. I felt like I was made of paper. I ate nothing and drank only sips of ginger ale. I wish I could say I didn’t act like a baby the whole weekend, but it’s hard to describe me as anything else as I whimpered in the passenger seat, changed my mind back and forth about whether I wanted to eat, and needed the heat blasting in the car each time I came back from the bathroom.

Still, we sallied forth to the Antrim coast and even braved the Giant’s Causeway. This is a very, very simple walking route, but I only made it halfway and onto four rocks before bursting into tears at my wobbly legs and needing to be helped down. Oh, I was a sad sight indeed, and not the kind of sad you want to take care of — the kind you want to drop off the side of the Giant’s Causeway and speed away from. Fortunately, though sorely tempted, he didn’t, and after a long sleep that night I managed to get a bit more strength in me for a castle tour (which, again, ended in embarrassing hyperventilation, shivering, and tears as I needed to be helped up a few stairs at the end).

—

Anyway, I’m fine now, and kind of endlessly amused by what happened. Alls I know is, that wasn’t exactly the weekend I had in mind (although aside from the food poisoning it was really amazing and so good to be back). Also, thank God I’m going to Rome in a few weeks. It’s time for a major Valentine’s do-over.

UPDATE: Finally got a copy of my Day After face.  Brace yourself for a goofier, creepier, paler version of my post-wisdom teeth expression.  (Also: there’s a LOT of make-up on my forehead.  And before you say anything, I’d like to see you try putting on liquid eyeliner with broken glasses on!)

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