A Rumbly in My Tumbly at The Met

Yes, THAT kind of Rumbly....

I don’t think there’s anything worse than having stomach issues on a date, am I right? Name a more embarrassing moment than having to excuse yourself to the restroom more than once in a 30 minute time span, I’ll wait…

Now, I don’t want to be a hypocrite because I know if a GUY does this on a date with me (especially a first or second date) it’s a major turn off. But when it does happen, I try to be understanding so that the Universe sends the same vibes my way… However, it always sort of reminds me of that time on Laguna Beach on MTV where Kristin was trying to make out with her prom date in the back of their limo and dude asked to pull over and barfed in the gutter instead. If your date stands by you and tries to HELP — I think its safe to say they actually really like you… not sure if that’s the case here?

I was visiting NYC and was planning a hang out day with the infamous “Hot Gandalf” (yes, the one you read about in the LA Times) — a silver-bearded long haired Brooklyn-ite who wears matching top knots when we go out. We had planned to have brunch at a spot in the city and then go to the Met Museum to see the American Lexicon Fashion Exhibit (My idea, clearly) before the spring met gala would clear it out for part 2.

Side Note: points for Hot Gandalf even agreeing to go to a museum to look at designer dresses behind glass for two hours…. I know husbands of friends that would pay money to get out of doing this.

Our brunch consisted of the usual for me: Scrambled eggs, a piece of bacon, a couple bites of fries and some sort of berry mimosa. I had been in town the full week working on a shoot, and because I’m gluten free (not by choice) I sort of am only able to eat very basic things like salads and sides of fruit when I’m not at home. You’d think I’d be a lot thinner because of the way I eat, but alas. Sometimes in New York, I’ll strike it rich and find a place with GF pasta and pizza, but frankly, its still a rare occasion. (Shoutout to any of my GF friends out there…. life is rough whenst traveling) Needless to say, I am not a spicy-food eater or very adventurous when it comes to food unfortunately.

I had had a weird incident upon landing in NY earlier that week… I fly to multiple cities in a year, and NEVER have issues feeling sick or dizzy upon take off or landing, or even during turbulence. I’ve been known to fully fall asleep before take off and not wake up until after landing. However this particular time, the landing was reeeeeally rough… I’m talking like in the movies when people start confessing wild shit because they think they’re gonna die, rough. And, it seemingly lasted FOREVER. It was so turbulent, I had one hand on my face mask ready to pull it off, and the other hand with the stupid little barf bag open and ready to catch whatever didn’t get caught in my mask…

Luckily, I was able to hold it together. But I got that whole sweaty palm and shaky knees thing that comes with it — which literally NEVER happens to me on a flight. Anyway, I KNEW something was up from that point on… but tried to convince myself I was totally fine.

After brunch, my tummy did a little gurgle and I excused myself to the restroom. I pre-emptively ate a pepto bismol while I was in there, completely as a precaution, and then continued out to the curb where Hot Gandalf had called an Uber for us. The restaurant we were at was downtown — about 30-45 mins in an Uber away from The Met. I stupidly assumed the pepto would have my back…. but girl…. I was wrong.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a NYC Uber, but its just as bad as an NYC taxi with super speed gunning and braking in heavy traffic. Given I don’t normally react to turbulence, there was something about this ride that made me feel truly sick to my stomach — on both ends. I couldn’t tell if I needed to pull over and barf, or if something worse was about to happen…

About 15 minutes into the ride, my stomach was flip flopping and I needed to find a restroom PRONTO.

As we got closer uptown, there were less and less restaurants to stop at and find a working restroom — in fact, we were near apartments that each had a doorman or a key code to enter, there were almost NO restaurants anywhere. I tried to be sly and ask if we should maybe “walk the rest of the way” — like, pretending to be romantique. But even as I batted my eyes and reached over to touch his knee, both the driver AND Hot Gandalf chuckled and said, “No way — we’re so far from the Met still, it’ll kill you to walk that far….”

Oh silly little girl raised in Los Angeles — she just doesn’t get how big NYC is. I stared perilously at the Uber app map, showing we were less than half way there… I tried to will the little animated car to move just a tad faster, but it seemed like we were getting stuck at every single red light instead.

I tried to roll the window down and claimed I needed some air, but really it was the other end of me that was screaaaaming for help. We had at least another 30 minutes in this terrible rollercoaster of a ride, complete with one of those really stinky car air fresheners. My stomach ached and creaked.

I started to panic, and began google-ing on my phone if I could buy tickets online that would allow us to go straight in, skipping the line… by this point, I don’t think Hot Gandalf knew there was a stomach issue, but probably thought I was some weird anxiety-ridden freak who couldn’t sit still for five minutes. And while yes, I AM an anxiety-ridden freak, I can sometimes sit still for like, a whole hour.

We finally arrived what felt like a whole ass day later, and I’ve never run up stairs faster in my life. Never mind they were filming a scene for the newest “Gossip Girl” on the steps…. My rear end was NOT impressed with this new cast at all.

Hot Gandalf was SO chill in the car mentioning the “line won’t be that long” to buy tickets when we arrived, so I stupidly didn’t buy the tickets online. I mean, I didn’t wanna seem like an anxiety-ridden freak who couldn’t sit still for five minutes, right? So instead, I was going to wait in a line of thirty tourists — who ask ALL the questions as they buy tickets for their seven children, OR their whole classroom of students who are seated nearby, while my ass is literally releasing steammmmm in anger.

We finally got our tickets, and as we entered the Egyptian wing — I asked the security guard where the restroom is, and in FULL New Yorker, she went off telling me to JUST READ THE SIGNS. But of course, as I looked around, I did not see ONE sign… she of course, looked away, ignored me, and never bothered to even give me even an inkling of which direction to go.

Finally, Hot Gandalf opened the map — and said, “Oh, I think it’s right back there!” and points behind some sort of golden tomb sarcophagus thing. MY FUCKING HERO. By some miracle of God, I made it in there — fully sweating and shaking like I was in the film “Bridesmaids”. And somehow, my cover STILL had not been blown (no pun intended, ha)

I tried to resume the rest of our date as if I was fine, but we didn’t make it through not one exhibit without me having to find the restroom in that wing. Pepto had really done me dirty…. A few times I just disappeared claiming I got “so wrapped up in the art” that I got “lost.” But Hot Gandalf is no dummy, so I’m guessing he either knew what was going on, or thought I was trying to escape from him.

To make matters worse, we decided to take the Subway all the way back to Brooklyn— something I have never truly experienced. Though it was a smoother ride, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a weirder group of people in my life, and I’ll never know what the strange liquid that was running down the middle of the car was. Coffee? Urine? Blood? Could have been anything… let’s just say the odd smells and weird liquids didn’t make my stomach feel any better.

When we arrived back at my hotel, I fully expected him to come inside and have a glass of wine with me — but instead, he told me he “needed to get home” and left me mystified as to if he was a) feeling like I was pulling away from him b) we’d lost our connection or c) was just grossed out that I was having stomach problems all day.

On my flight home — I think I ate 3 dramamine pills, and took 3 imodiums because I was TERRIFIED of what could possibly happen on the plane this time. When I finally made it back to LA, my doctor told me I had some intense sinus infection that would require weeks of antibiotics and steroids — which explained basically everything from the nausea on the landing, and the post nasal drip which made my stomach churn.

Hot Gandalf only checked to see that I made it home, and never mentioned the trip to the museum ever again. I’m still not sure what he thinks even happened…. sigh.

Have you ever had stomach issues on a date? Do we think I should ask Hot Gandalf what happened and if he knew this was going on?!