Hey,…to all, I am very sorry, but I haven’t been willing to go on with all the bits and peices for 2 reasons. First I’ve been afraid it’s nothing but an insignificant and incomprehensible nonsense to you, and next I’m afraid you will want to wring my neck.
It does mean something to me, however, and what I say is just the way it was. That is, it I DO give my association with the club and with him credit for alieviating a lot of depression and wretched circumstances in my life.
Even the therapeutic dose of medicine I was forced to take to stay on my feet was replaced by a new medicine that helped so much more and didn’t cause a weird dementia to grab me like a demon in the night. The only reason I didn’t die is because the handful of pills I took caused me to vomit before it put my lights out for good.
Call it all symbolic to me or call it a ship of destiny steared by God.
Kambuckta, you seemed to belittle the notion that wretched life conditions could be alieviated by seemingly irrelevant circumstances. I’m scared of you, when you don’t even give that idea the benifit of the doubt. You seem to be a very practical and no-nonsense type of person, and probably think you can always discern between nonsense and regular sense.
There is really nothing more to my “story” than I have already told you, EXCEPT for the personal contact with “him” part.
I must say, that the group of women who invited me into their club were such blessings because not only were they positive and understanding friends , but allowed me to experiance some luxurys now. They sure had more money than me and some held a certain prestige in their community.
One gal was very aggressive and charming and she invited E.H. to the Seattle yacht club. (One that my future husband was to be a part of b.t.w.) It was shameful almost the way our fan club hounded the guy.
Anyhow, it was the greatest day in the lives of about 9 women.
I was fascinated, and very nervous by unwilling to defer to him even so.
The one thing that was so wonderful about him was the way he values and is willing to spend time and attention on his fans. I hear he is still that way and that is sure beleiveable to me.
He didn’t have to take an interest in a large bruise on one side of my face, that I’d gotten by a fall onto a coffee table…, but he did.
I was a very pretty girl. I am half Spainish ( not Mexican) and have a pale olive complexion and blue eyes. I’ve been told I have a touch of the exotic in my looks (or DID have) and they are probably right. I had the kind of looks that didn’t need Maybelline. When I woke up in the morning I still had my brows and lashes.
I knew he liked me.
Somebody said in a post here a short while ago "don’t tell me you put out for him etc. " Well, honey, I can’t think of any reason why I should not.
I can see his face now; God, was he good looking! Handsome is too meger a word for his kind of devastating appearance . I am and always have been a pretty impervious woman , if I may use that word, and he’s the only man I ever met that could set my insides rocking like a motor boat.
There’s the fun side to every story. Any ???s
