Monday night I had a migraine. I have a migraine about once or twice a year. Which, if you have to have migraines, isn’t that bad I suppose. This one was one of those nasty migraines where light hurts your eyes, sound hurts your ears, and you feel like you’re going to puke but know if you do your head will explode like a watermelon at a Gallagher Show. The only thing to do is lie there with a cool, wet washcloth over your face, moaning softly and praying the pain will be over soon one way or another. The last time I had one, in November, I got a shot of Demerol from my doctor. Later at home my heart did a skippy jump and sprained itself (!!) and I ended up in the hospital hooked up to shit and getting all kinds of heart tests and scans. I didn’t go for my Demerol shot this time because the doctors said it could happen again because my heart goes all wacky because I died once years ago. YES. I died in surgery all dramatical and the surgeons brought me back with paddles and shit (CLEAR!) like you see in those medical dramas, except none of my doctors were torn with the ethical dilemma of falling in love with me, their patient, which was okay because they were old and none of them were hot and I was all cranky on the morphine. They really pissed me off bringing me back from the other side too because now I have to live in a world where George Clooney shacks up with WHORES and I can’t have a baby pygmy goat. Fuckers.
Now here’s a picture of Shrimp Linguine I made.
Here’s the ingredients.
Traxler did not lick the shrimp.