I very, very rarely eat Chinese food. There are far too many places that peddle horrible food and you never know what you are getting yourself into at a random Chinese restaurant. For some reason, my father is a big fan, and tries to get it at least once while on most vacations despite being in new and unfamiliar territory. Today was one of those days. I nearly had him talked out of it, but in the end, I was outvoted. I’m pretty sure my suggestions were vetoed simply on principle, because they came from the troublesome (pseudo-)vegetarian that had been making mealtimes difficult all week. I considered going off on my own for some alone time and to find something I actually wanted to eat, after several days of being subjected to crappy, unhealthy, and unsatisfying food. I conceded mostly because my knee is still really bothering me after the trip into the Grand Canyon yesterday and I didn’t feel up to walking anywhere, and in the hope that veggies and tofu would be a fairly safe and somewhat healthy choice.

Fast forward about 15 minutes after I finished eating to me trying not to puke on the sidewalk. Jump ahead a few more minutes to when I was trying not to throw up in our 15 person van, or in the parking lot of the night sky talk we were hearing. Several hours later I am still taking deep breaths, drinking cold water and trying to ignore the feeling in my throat and the lingering bad taste from the meal I never should’ve eaten…

April 24th of 2008 may mark the last time (at least for the foreseeable future) that I ignore my better judgment and make the mistake of having Chinese food.