And no, she isn't pregnant. The docs asked. We were headed to a LAN party, and the GPS was being shittily unreliable as usual. So, we're on the road, I'm on my period, we're both a little bitchy; I'm on the phone with my dad, and she starts feeling like she's going to black out, starts shaking, the back of her neck and her arms go numb, her chest starts hurting, and her tongue starts tingling. We pull over at a power company, and she tells me she can't move. I'm about to piss myself both literally and figuratively. I call 911. We wait.
My lady friend is freaking out. I'm freaking out. I call her parents. The ambulance takes about 25 minutes to find us, and I'm still about to piss myself. So, when the emergency chariot finally arrives and this 60-ish man and burly 50's ginger-woman hop out, I'm a chattering mess of dear-god-help-me and happy to see them. They ask a shit ton of questions, take the bae up into the back, and I'm waiting with her keys, backpack and phone hanging off of my body, hoping I'm not going to be left standing in the middle of a power station parking lot, two and a half hours away from home, highway speed.
After a few minutes of checking vitals, they call me to the back, then send me up front, and we're on our way. The burly lady's name is Gwen, and she probably thinks I'm a huge sissy because I'm quietly losing my shit in a very betasauce fashion. Her forearms were as big as my biceps. Cool chick, all things considered. We had a decent conversation over the course of me trying not to cry. Didn't stop her from floorboarding the Ram all the way to the hospital.
So we get there, and bae is covered in electrodes, and she has to pee like six times, and Paula Deen asks for all her info, and Mosquito takes a billion vials of blood out of her arm, and her IV looks to be bruising, and everyone in the world is worried about her. I stand there like an idiot in room 1, trying not to cry as we try to call her parents and arrange for some way to get her car out of that power plant's parking lot. We still don't know what the hell is going on with her bloodpressure/heart rate.
So what do we do? We take selfies.
The tests come out negative for heart attack, stroke, etc., so she's discharged and prescribed an anti inflammatory drug. Not sure if I agree with the prognosis, but I was just glad she was okay. Then, we hit McD's.
This happens.
And bae molests Ronald.
And we hit Walmart for tampons and shit. And man deodorant. Old Spice Wolfthorn smells like Skittles, by the way. Total hit with the ladies. Or at least my lady.
And I found my school's body wash. Go Lions, go! What a night, huh?
Also, hot centaur bitches ftw. It was a nice trip.
