Took the taxi to the hospital for my tests today. I had told the dispatcher yesterday I wanted to pay by credit card, and she said OK. The guy dropped Ashley and me in front of the hospital, wrote me out a receipt for the $21.50 charge (I thought it was going to be AT LEAST $30), and then drove away. Didn't scan my card or anything. The cab company has no address for me other than knowing they picked me up at Privateer Place (I met the guy at the front gate), and apparently they incorrectly wrote down my number because the driver said he tried to call me to say he was running a little late but couldn't get through. My phone never rang.

I'll mail them a check on Monday. Why do I have to be so freaking honest? Guess you can always use extra karma points.

So, because the guy was running late, I got to the hospital at 9:05. My first appointment was at 9:00, and I still had to go through registration. Oh, well. Went to do the PFT first and had an awesome RT by the name of Suzette. She did this one test on me that gauges your lung muscle function. I've never done that one before. I need to tell P and Gina about it and tell them to have that done on all their future PFTs. Then it was to off to cardiology for an ultrasound of the ticker.

I'll tell you something. It's a humbling thing to watch your heart working. With all the muscles I'm used to thinking about being so weak, it's amazing to see that I have a muscle that is that strong and works that hard all the time, non-stop. It really makes you think about what you eat and how you live. ::shakes head:: I mean, it looks as though it should give out at any second, the strokes are that intense, but it just keeps going. I wish I could explain the feeling.

So after that, Ashley and I walked to Magazine Street and caught the bus to Canal Street. What to say about Magazine Street? I was expecting it to be wider, like the rest of the major streets here in NOLA -- four driving lanes with the neutral ground in the center. Nope. It was a two-laner made a little narrower by street parking. It's loaded with antique stores (I stopped counting after six in about ten blocks) and little boutiques and tea rooms, most of which are in converted residential homes so there's NO WAY I could get in them. And the sidewalks are TERRIBLE -- some of the worst I've seen. The trees laugh, push up their roots, and say, "This is what I think of your stupid sidewalk!" One of them even had a French accent. ::grin::

Got to the Quarter, ate at Subway, then headed for the Green Pirogue. As I was headed up a curb cut for the GP, I spotted a store catty-corner whose sign boasted imported Belgian chocolates. After buying some triple chocolate pralines at GP (have I mentioned yet that I'm PMSing?), we went into Grenier & Chocolat. That's French for "attic and chocolate" -- they sell antiques and those Belgian yummies I mentioned. I've had three of the eight dark chocolates I bought. The orange and the cantaloupe were tasty, but the hazelnut creme one would've brought me to my knees if I could walk. As it was, I had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and just moan. I've heard people compare some kinds of chocolate to sex, and I'd bet money this little bit of heaven would make that list. I've never tasted anything so incredible.

Now, I'm just waiting for the vet to come bring some antibiotics and Advantage for Reba, and I'm going to try to do a little writing on Nay's b-day story.