The Strife is O'er, Part I

The first of my two fundraisers is over, over, over, and I am glad, glad, glad. I had a nice crowd of people eating, drinking, and making merry to celebrate the opening of an exhibit at the Chicago Cultural Center. The food was delish, the drinks plenteous, I met the Mayor's wife, and was petted and praised by all. Yay, me.

And now, I get to do what I want to do. Which is sit around in my pajamas and play Snood Solitaire on my laptop. When I'm not blabbing on the phone with RW of Chasing Vincenzo, who, believe it or not, is even funnier in real life than he is on his blog.

The cleaners will be here soon, so I'll help them out a bit by doing my bulldozer bit, wherein I put away my crap and put everyone else's in big grocery sacks and then carry them down to what a realtor would call our "rec room," (otherwise known as "that tomb of gloom down in the basement that, many owners ago, was enlivened with a green linoleum floor and knotty pine paneling.") So that takes care of my workout, because that will be a few bags and a few trips up and down the stairs.

So really, life couldn't be better, except for the Liprosy.

Maybe you haven't heard of that.

"Liprosy" is what you get when you let your lipstick wear off and then spend five hours in the sun at an amusement park surrounded by sixth grade boys and roller coasters. Because without lipstick on, you get a sunburn on your lips. I know! How weird is that? And then you have two days to wonder whether you've become allergic to your usual lip balm, and why isn't it working, and why are your lips two different colors, and what's with all the peeling?

So anyway, I'm all better now, but yesterday I'm afraid I looked ... a little unsavory.

So the moral of the story is: wear lipstick. Even if you're a guy.