I feel funny ... oh so funny.

Last night Jen Lancaster had a few people over for pitchers of Margaritas drinks, among whom I was thrilled to see Susie Sunshine and Sarah O and the two Jodies. Not only were the drinks plentiful, but the company was of a very high comic caliber. When you have three-fifths of Mamarazzi and one-third of Snarkywood in the room? Of course it's funny.

Even Jen's dogs were funny. I mean, you have not experienced humor until you have fed a brown and white dog half a slice of cheese, enjoying the enthusiasm and speed with which he snapped it down and engulfed it, his massive jaws mere inches from your fingertips--and then discovered that said animal is a Pitt Bull.

Now, see, the above is an example of the kind of thing I find amusing. Because actually, I'm not afraid of Pitt Bulls. Not at all. See, something tells me that just as I will do anything for a laugh, journalists will whore themselves out shamelessly for a headline. So, all those headlines about Pitt Bulls? Mere journalistic whoredom. But because I'll do anything for a laugh, I'm happy to include a description of a Pitt Bull designed to give the impression that I was peeing in my pants with fright.

When really, I only peed a tiny bit. And Jen's sofas are leather, so what's the big deal?

Anyway, yes, I felt funny. Oh my heavens, the roars of laughter in that room, some of which were because of things I said. Better yet, some of them were because Susie Sunshine decided that she needed to get out her laptop to read my latest Mamarazzi entry. Oh, the gratification of making Susie Sunshine and Jen Lancaster laugh out loud! I can't even describe it, people. Their laughter didn't even sound particularly fake.

So yes, I felt funny last night! And even funnier this morning when I woke up to discover that some ham-handed sculptor had decided to turn my normal face into that of a Cyclops, and had been chiseling away the center of my forehead, trying to carve a great big Cyclops eye. In other words, pain. Pain, people.

I should have realized what I was getting myself into when the Margarita pitcher started circulating and everyone, especially me, was topping off their not-empty-yet glasses. So how many Margaritas did I drink? Five? I'm not sure. But I do know that I have taken six Advils and three cups of tea and am kind of functional, although not all that funny at the moment.

Except. Tonight That Stud Muffin I Married and I are going to the opening night of the Lyric Opera, followed by the Opera Ball, which is white tie. WHITE TIE, people. That Stud Muffin I Married is wearing the whole deal: black jacket with tails, pants with satin stripes down the seams, white piquet shirt with a detachable collar, white waistcoat, white bow tie, silver studs, black top hat, white gloves, black dress socks ... and these:

If the idea of your husband or yourself (if you're a man) parading around in these shoes makes you smile even a little bit? My work here is done.

Thank you and good night!