Do you like it? *le shrug* I'm still on the fence.
Do you like it? *le shrug* I'm still on the fence.
Yesterday was amazing. Woke up early, laid in bed beside my sleeping lover. flipping aimlessly through a digital camera photography book. Grabbed some laundry and went to my moms condo. While waiting for the laundry, I grabbed a peppermint tea from the Broadway Roastry and proceeded to window shop… literally. All the stores were closed.
Boyfriend treated me to some Subway, went home and had a nap with the amazing scent of lavender wafting through the house. Woke up, went to Manos’ with his parents. They treated us- I had the hamburger!
Came home, met with S & S, my neighbors, and went to the local pub. Liquid therapy at its best, my stomach sure did love me, but my liver.. er, not so much. Raspberry beer, paralyzers, appletini, and a vodka slime. The best part was the chocolate eruption cheesecake.
Went home, fell asleep in the familar arms of Ty, had good dreams.
What did YOU do?
So last night, at midnight, Usdm hands me my zoloft pill. He asks if I need some water. I groggily shake my head no, collect some spit, and down it. No chaser needed, thanks. I fall back asleep.
1:45 hits and I’m awakened by an intense pain shooting through my chest. Oh fuck- I’m having a heart attack! No, wait.. that happens with the left arm? Bleh. I go to the bathroom, heavily salivating from my mouth. Foaming, infact.
My chest is tight, it hurts to inhale, and it feels as though something is lodged within my throat. Erg. I do the two finger try to throw it up. Little would believe this, as I weigh only 100lbs, but I didn’t know how. Nothing except tons of spit all over my fingers. Gross.
Usdm is conked and doesn’t even wake up. “Omg, what if I pass out and die?” I think. “ARGH USDM WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP NOW!”
He meanders to the bathroom and (don’t forget he was asleep) says: Audge, shh, I’m trying to sleep. I’m panicking and putting clothes on and shoes without socks. Forget this, I’m off to the E.R. I CAN’T FRIGGIN BREATHE!
He lays in bed and tells to calm down and just… chill. I’m hyperventilating, sweating and within seconds, I’m out the door and in my SUV.
I speed to the E.R and get in immediately due to the fact it is a breathing problem at hand. This nice Dr. takes my story etc. He listens to my heart, lungs, etc. He orders some tests. He leaves.
I can hear Usdm in the hallway “Uhm.. my girlfriend? shes small, cute.. can’t breathe?” He comes into my room. I glare, and he smiles weakly. Its 2:30am, I feel safer.
Someone comes to take my blood, we chat about HIV transmission risks of her job, probably the last conversation she wants to have with me..
Someone else comes to put stickers all over my legs (that have, written in pen, “I LOVE USDM!”- Don’t judge, I got bored at work.) and arms, and neck and chest (“Er, This isn’t someone like your brother, right?” – I crack up giggling) and hooks me up to machines.
Someone ELSE comes and makes me drink a shooter of some pink/white substance that smelt, appeared, and tasted like cheap highschool soap. Ugh. however, it made my tongue numb and that made me laugh like another barrel of monkeys had opened. It coated my throat/tube so the medication I swallowed and lodged didn’t burn through my esopogus.. yay? The pain subsided with this luckily.
Ew, the worst part is: Dr. came back, gave me the okay to leave. He added as a side note that my blood pressure was a little high for my age and size. He also told me that my potassium levels were low so he was going to give me some potassium. If you have EVER had this potassium drink, you know what I’m saying by GROSS. They mixed it with orange juice to try and help but it tasted like.. salty orange juice mixed with gasoline. Not that I have any knowledge of that. It made me cry and once I was half down the first glass, I added MORE orange juice, thinking that would help. Instead, I had to drink TWO of these god-awful drinks.
Needless to say, I’m home, Usdm is exhausted at work today, I slept until 12, and it is really friggin windy out there.
Sometimes, I have these angry spurts were I get incredibly pissed off, walk around the house calmly and trash it. My boyfriend just stares at me, knowing not to even move.
Then I go to my bedroom. I chill and write stupid as shit blogs, and voila, I go back out and clean it.
Nobody said it was easy, folks. Sometimes, trashing your house is what helps.
The Obama cheerleaders are under scutiny, I see. It was coming even though it would have been awe-inspiring if it didn’t. Can you imagine? A president, *ahem* a BLACK president who did everything perfect, first time around? Why didn’t they think of this sooner.
The fact that I’m Canadian leaves something to be said.
Ick. Boyfriends home for lunch and I’m only wearing one slipper and drinking my third hot chocolate.
My sister is enrolling into a college to get gel nail, manicures and pedicures, as well as a waxing certificate.
Do you know what this means?
Oh yes. Her baby sister is gonna have some cute toes!