12 years, 1 day

Last night, I told my B friend that I'd never had a sponsor. Not for all the 12 years I've been sober. He thought that was ridiculous. He (who is not an alcoholic, but claims to have many sober friends), said I hadn't really been sober, then, and I should either go get a sponsor or go get drunk. I have many things I could say about that, but I'm holding back. Like the fucking Hoover Dam.

I was on the edge of a migraine this afternoon...it hit me about 2/3 of the way through a meeting with a couple of esteemed colleagues at Toast, one of my favorite lunch spots (and not because it's where, a few months ago, Paris Hilton told her companion as she passed me on the way out, "She has great hair"). Within minutes, my eyes began to burn and turn red, my vision blurred, I felt vaguely nauseated...by the time I got back to my office, the back of my head felt like it was being slammed by a small cast iron frying pan.

When I got in my car, to seek Chinese medical attention from my beloved and brilliant acupuncturist/herbalist Jeremiah, I could barely see -- the late afternoon sun hit my eyes, and I was virtually blinded. Ironically DUI. Terrified, I called my associate and kept her on the phone until I reached the elixir bar (just in case I had an accident, she'd know where to find me), where Jeremiah concocted a combination of herbs that, in a matter of about 4 minutes, relieved most of the symptoms. It was mutually decided that I could use a massage at the place across the street.

Just as Jeremiah found the right ingredients for my healing beverage, so did a big African-American masseur/real estate agent (get over it, this is LA) named Lamont find precisely the right manipulations for my aching body. End of migraine.

Later, when I extolled the virtues of these guys to B, he scoffed, as is his wont when it comes to non-traditional therapies. I do believe he'd rather see me drunk. Too late, baby -- by 12 years and 1 day.