I have a confession to make: I have a really delicate stomach. So, if you’re grossed out by the idea of that, let’s just stop right here.
To summarize, I had an interesting weekend. Saturday was my birthday, I turned 25 just in case you were curious. I started off my day with a Caramel Macchiato and a facial at skoah.
My facial was lovely, more on that later.
Dave and I then trekked over to Bellevue for some dim sum and a movie. We ate many dumplings and noodles, and Frozen was an absolutely enjoyable film. Highly recommend that if you’re into feel-good Disney movies. On the way home, we stopped to share a cupcake at my favorite, Cupcake Royale.
After our fun afternoon, we departed Bellevue only to find it snowing. Yay, I love snow! Wait, Seattle drivers are terrible in the snow. Uh-oh…
Despite the snowy weather, we called for an Uber and departed our lovely Eastside condo. Uber dropped us at the door of Art of the Table in Fremont at 8:30 pm.
We enjoyed a lovely 9 course prix fixe meal. By the end of the meal, I had a lot of wine and a very full tummy. And then I started to not feel so good… Ruh roh, better get home quick! But wait! All of the Uber X’s are busy. And all of the Lyft drivers are occupied. Even the Yellow Cabs aren’t answering the phones and the app is not telling me jack shit about when we could expect a cab. Awesome.
Finally, we gave in and went for the insane 3x the normal fare Uber Black. So he shows up, and my stomach is doing flip flops. Not only am I stressed about getting home, but that raw shellfish and the wine aren’t mixing well. Then it happens. We get stuck. On a hill. Our Uber driver is utterly clueless about driving in the snow, I mean, the guy stopped in the middle of a snowy hill. That’s like Snow Driving 101 no-no material. Thank god for some pedestrians, one ran behind the car to push, and 4 others joined him. They got us pushed up part of the hill and onto a side alley so we could get moving again.
At this point, I’m starting to say silent prayers to the stomach gods to not lose it until I get home. Welp. Dave sees my green face and offers me one of Rigby’s poop bags if I need it. Boy did I ever need it. I proceeded to yak my stomach contents, into a lavendar scented dog poop bag in the back of an Uber town car.
Yep. That’s how I rang in my 25th year.
You’re welcome for the TMI, but it gets better.
So we get off the freeway and are home. I run to the bathroom to, um, you know. I’m feeling better. D comes in laughing. He wants me to guess how much our ride home was. $307! Three-hundred-and-seven-dollars to get stuck in the snow, and be pushed by strangers, and to have a warm place to barf.
Hey, thanks Uber.
Please tell me someone has a more embarrassing birthday story than I do.