Saturday was Girls Night Out. Susan picked me up, and we all met at Shellie's new house, which I like much better than Herbie's house, since it's easier to get to. Not to bash Herbie's digs, but her house looks like a furniture showroom, too perfect, and not cozy at all. I'm always afraid I'm going to ruin something. We didn't have to pay a Sherpa guide to make it up the driveway. At Shellie's, we mostly sat at the kitchen table and then on the lawn furniture in the sunroom since the new couch is going back to be replaced by a darker color. We didn't want to risk spilling margaritas on it if it's not going to stay.
Dinner was good, at Carraba's next to North East Mall. Back at Shellie's, we taught Heather how to play poker, drank margaritas, ate chocolate, strawberries and cream, and banana pudding Shellie's mother-in-law made since Shellie can't cook. I felt almost sick, it was so good. The best part, though, was just the sitting around, talking. Eric was with us, and kept saying we need to plan on going to Las Vegas for my birthday in September. If only. I won most of the hands of poker, so I kept telling the gals that we needed to be betting real money!
The party finally broke up around 3 a.m. When I got home, I noticed the slight pain I felt earlier in the night had developed into a full blown panic attack. I felt pain shooting from my jaw all the way down to my wrist -- on my left side, which can be a symptom of a heart attack. I took a Tylenol #3, but got no relief. Logan gave me a Darvocet, and then a Flexeril. After having Logan massage my arm and shoulder and taking a second Darvocet, I was finally able to fall asleep around 7 a.m. I slept 'til 4 p.m., when Eric called and woke me. After talking to him a while, I got up, brushed my teeth, peed, checked my email, made myself a cup of soup, then went back to bed at 7 p.m. to watch a little t.v., but I fell asleep until 9 p.m., when I awoke as if I'd set an alarm clock just in time to watch my new favorite show, Gray's Anatomy. It was over at 10 p.m., and I had no trouble falling asleep after calling Eric to give him an update on my pain situation.
I have been mulling over something he said about about GM cars and who might drive them. For some reason, it makes me sad. I'd drive just about anything now, considering that my ten-year old Taurus is dead, and Logan won't front me the money to fix it -- not that it's really worth fixing, mind you, when the repair bill costs more than the price I paid my sister for the car. I guess as one's financial position improves, one's ability to stomach the bourgeoisie declines. Let's just say I fondly remember sailing over the asphalt waves on I-30 in a boat of a car, a "myrna-mobile". Money is great, don't get me wrong. I'd love to have more of it, but just enough so that I could stop worrying about paying the bills, the average, garden variety bills. In a lot of ways, though, money has been a bad thing. It's kept me apart from my friends, as I can't afford to live the way they do.
This again raises the specter of writing. I'm currently mulling over the idea of writing a children's book based on a story told to me by Dennis, our former Nigerian boarder. I'd have Eric do the pictures since my drawing consists mostly of stick figures. We need to plan a meeting with Sandy and Gary, as they have actual contacts in the publishing world.
Well, this has drifted, as it usually does, from the topic I started, and lunch is almost over, so that's all for now. -30-
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