I finally took the leap into blogdom (blogtopia? the blogosphere? blogtown?) after a long time of wanting to blog but HAVING NOTHING INTERESTING TO SAY. I'm a PR/Theatre major; networking and social media blogs have been done to death, and I rarely see enough shows to constitute even a weekly post. And researching news, other blogs, far-away events... no thanks. I'm a college kid. I barely have time to sleep.
Then today happened, and I realized that I do have something consistent to write about.
I am consistently embarrassing myself.
9am: I am being a good student for my summer class. I got to my building super early to eat breakfast (packed from home, trying to be economical) and catch up on my reading for the day. I grab my favorite arm chair and open my computer, starting chugging my soda for a much needed caffeine rush and...
I CAN'T SWALLOW.
My chest tightens up like I'm having a heart attack or something and I inhale half of it into my lungs (a text to my doctor-parents later reveals I might have had a spontaneous throat spasm. What the heck is that?) So I'm wheezing and in agony, with my ribs feeling like caving in, and there's a janitor watching me.
Oh thank God, I think, someone to help me.
"I can't breathe... I... I feel sick. My chest..."
"You party too hard last night, ma?"
"WHAT? I... no, I don't party... AHHHH"
At this point I was breathing but still in pain, and certain this knight-in-shining-armor was not going to be of any assistance. So I hurriedly pack up my stuff and try to rush to the bathroom, because this adrenaline rush and clenched stomach is flashing MUST PUKE NOW red lights. He asks me where I'm going as I stand up to rush away and...
Have you ever tried to stand up after a lack of oxygen? BAD IDEA. Cold sweat, spots, dizziness. I half fall over, half sit down in the middle of the floor. The janitor is still staring at me. NOT HELPING.
"I can't move."
"There's a water fountain right there. Water would probably help."
Thanks, Dr. Obvious. After some serious deep breathing, I get back to my chair and tentatively sip my soda. No explosions. I can do this. The janitor, seeing I'm not about to seizing or spurting blood from my eyes, speaks again.
"So, you want to hang out some time?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"You want to hang out some time?"
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this guy saw me choking, wheezing, turn pale, fall over, crawl to my chair, offered NO ASSISTANCE, and still thought I was one bangin' babe. I was completely and utterly flabbergasted.
Unfortunately for him, I am not into erotic asphyxiation. And I have a boyfriend. And how do I know if we were out at dinner and I started choking that he wouldn't just let me die? Joe the Angry Marine told me that my survival skills in the face of near death made me an appealing mate from a genetic level. I feel like the fact that I got myself into this near-death situation by my own awkwardness should cancel that out.
I finally hauled my humiliated (and now thoroughly creeped out) ass outside to finish waiting for my class on one of the outside benches. If I choked again, hopefully there would be more people around, right? Anyone know CPR?
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