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GOAT CHEESE & RODEO DRIVE 

It was 1991. I was in LA pursuing acting. My agent called. I had an audition for Dionne Warwick's PSYCHIC HOTLINE.  
I left early because I had to drive through Beverly Hills to get there. Traffic is always a nightmare in Beverly Hills.
My boyfriend told me to stop at his bar on my way to the audition. He wanted to buy me lunch. He ordered me a Goat Cheese Salad. "I don't eat Goat Cheese," I said. I ate it anyway. I got up to leave and a wave of nausea came over me. Then I felt sharp pains in my abdomen. I started sweating and feeling dizzy. 
I didn't want to miss the audition. It was a big opportunity to get in the door with Dionne Warwick. (I'm kidding) I stifled the nausea and jumped in my car. By the time I arrived at the studio my skin color was pea-green.  I'd never turned colors before. This wasn't good for the camera.
The casting director asked me if I was feeling okay. I didn't respond because I felt like I was going to puke and that definitely wouldn't look good on tape.  
Instead, I sprinted out the door, knowing my agent would dump me for missing such a great opportunity. (kidding again) I didn't care. The pain was that bad. I pulled into a 7-11 parking lot and found a pay phone. (pre-cell phone days) I called my boyfriend. He said it was the goat cheese. It was bad. He was sorry. OH MY GOD I HAD EATEN THE ENTIRE SALAD. He said I should go to an emergency room. I had food poisoning. Emergency room? I didn't even have health insurance! 
The pain was getting worse by the SECOND. I crawled (literally) into the 7-11 and begged anyone to help me. "Is there a doctor in here? A nurse? Anyone who can help me? I have food poisoning!"  By now, I was ROLLING around on the filthy disgusting floor, moaning and crying from the excruciating pains in my stomach. I was begging strangers to help me.
Two men responded. They said they were doctors and I should go with them to their place so they could give me some medicine. 
Sounds shady, right? It was. I didn't give a FLYING FUCK. I thought I was DIEING. The two men drove me to their apartment. One of them pulled out a giant book of MEDICINE. If I hadn't been so sick I would've laughed out loud. This was getting SHADIER by the MINUTE. The guy with the medicine book said he found a drug that would induce vomiting. He went to the pharmacy and returned with a bottle of liquid. I guzzled it. HOLY SHIT it was potent. We all waited for something to happen. I couldn't believe the fucked up situation I was in. What the HELL? Typical of my life, I thought to myself. The three of us were sitting there, waiting. It was awkward. A second later I was running to the bathroom. I puked. Whew! Much better! (not really, but at this point I just wanted to go home) The "medicine man" told me I shouldn't leave yet. He said I had a long way to go before it was over. I insisted on leaving. Medicine Man went back to the 7-11 to get my car. I thanked both of them profusely. I felt like such a LOSER. I ran to my car and drove away. Damn. It was rush hour. I was in gridlock on RODEO DRIVE when the medicine took full effect. It hit me like a TRAIN. I rolled down my window just in time as I began PROJECTILE VOMITING into the street. I felt like Linda Blair in THE EXORCIST. The vomit was SHOOTING OUT OF MY MOUTH LIKE A JET STREAM. I remember looking into the eyes of a horrified woman in a RANGE ROVER- she had 3 kids in the backseat. There was nothing I could do as my vomit hit her passenger side window... there were cars all around me- everyone was watching... IT WAS SO HUMILIATING and the traffic WASN'T MOVING so I had to sit there while people were getting sick all around me from watching the scene. I tried to hide my face. The mother was still gaping at me. Her kids were trying to roll down the back window so they could see the puke on the side of the car. She was yelling at them. Then, it hit me again. HOLY SHIT- there's no stopping it!  This time, I tried to open my door in attempt to avoid hitting her car again. My hand got stuck in the door handle and the projectile vomit was spraying all over me and my steering wheel and my door- I had no options. I leaned out the window again. For the second time I made eye contact with the horrified mother as my vomit sprayed across her windows and doors. 
The traffic started to move. I rolled up my window and tried not to gag when I gripped the steering wheel. 
It was over, right? I couldn't possibly have anything left in my stomach. Now if I could just get the FUCK home. The worst part was being in traffic with the same people who watched me projectile vomit. I wanted to disappear.
It happened 3 more times before I got home. The third time was on Hollywood Boulevard. A group of tourists captured some great photos.

I didn't book the Dionne Warwick spot. My agent dumped me the next day. 
I WILL NEVER EAT GOAT CHEESE AGAIN. 

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