I love pizza. Who doesn't? I've dabbled in famous independent pizza chains, but Pizza Hut has always been my favorite place. Don't judge.
I remember one weekend when I was in high school when I was told that my sister and I were going to eat at Pizza Hut. I waited for her to come back from (I think) hanging out with her best friend, but she was gone so long I was told to order. And when the pizza was delivered (it was a medium) and my sis still wasn't home, I just started eating. And eating. And eating. I ate six of the eight slices of pizza because 1) I was hungry and 2) I assumed that if she was gone so long it was because she got something to eat with her best friend. I think I had a slight stomach ache, but I thought I could, if I really wanted to, eat the whole thing.
For the past few weeks my parents and I have taken advantage of Pizza Hut's one-topping pizza $6.55 for carryout deal. We get two larges, both pan crust, each with different toppings. It's always been on Thursdays, but due to the humidity -- they cook all their food with a propane tank in the back deck -- they wanted me to get Pizza Hut yesterday. After having bacon and sausage for the past few times, Mother told Father to tell me (over the phone) to get something different. So I went with ham and black olives. (The black olives did not go over well; mental note.)
Anyway, even though I spent yesterday putting in a double bill of The Wolverine (suprisingly atmospheric; James Mangold is a great director; Grade: A-) and We're The Millers (went only because Jennifer Aniston is a stripper who stripteases in the movie, and she did tease us but rolling down her panties to show her sweet, sweet ass, if only for half a second; Grade: C+) and thus consumed popcorn and pop, I ate eight whole pieces between the two pizzas. I had regularly only eaten six, but I have this OCD thing where the leftover pieces have to be an even number because Mother folds up two of them so the bottoms are back-to-back when she wraps them up. The past few times we've eaten Pizza Hut there have been exactly six slices left (so she bundles them into three plastic wraps), and I think there were only six. But ... shit, I don't know if I was hungry, maybe I was trying to fall on my sword after ordering a pizza with black olives, but I ate one, and then I saw that there was an odd number of slices, so just before Mother was wrapping them up, I got one more slice. So I ate eight -- the equivalent of a whole damn pizza.
And damn, I shouldn't have. That's a lot of pizza. I'm glad I ate it without too much difficulty -- not like the bottomless fries I had after scoring that day -- but there was a pit in my stomach. Not that I felt really fat as I have after some dinners, but there was something ... different about last night. I didn't feel full, but I felt like I shouldn't have eaten those last two pieces of pizza, you know? And it's not like I'm shitting my guts out. It was very tasty, and I didn't feel the greatest afterward, but I didn't have any adverse physical effects, and I'm good now, and I just downed waffles and coffee this afternoon without any trouble.
Oh yeah ... it's possible that the mass I felt in my stomach, and the bowel movement I didn't have, is because the boil on my ass seemed to grow like a mushroom yesterday. Maybe sitting through two movies does that. But around the time I blogged the previous entry, about missing the call of an important home run because I wanted to listen to porn instead, I felt something liquid while sitting. The boil, or whatever it is, popped a bit, and a good amount of blood seeped into my underwear. And afterward the pain in my stomach went away.
Put a bandage before going to bed last night. Still have it on right now.
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