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Tuesday, April 20, 2004 Yesterday we were talking with Francia about the relationship between having your period and getting drunk. Empirical evidence leads us to believe alcohol hits you much harder just before "those days". So of course we go out after work, Francia, Pilar and I. We have three margaritas each. Actually, I have two and a half and I am bombed. Sooooo unlike me. Very very unlike me. They take me back home. I crawl into bed. I feel like hell. The room is spinning. They leave. I sleep. This morning I wake up. The room is still spinning. I still feel like hell. I just got my period. Pimping as a side job Raoul called from Las Vegas. I had it wrong: he's arriving on Thursday. Before I talked to him he had left a message saying he's "dying" to see me. Isn't it nice? After all, he owes me his wife, a friend of mine whom I introduced to him. She was married to a perfectly unbearable wealthy snobbish Greek guy and he had just ended a relationship with a somewhat limited Italian jewelry designer obsessed with playing golf. I knew they were meant for each other. I was right. They now have two adorable kids that I will meet personally for the first time in Rome in a few days. 11:19 PM
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