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As the French say, I've awoken with a "hair ache." Or so the New Yorker says the French say this. I've never actually heard a Frenchie say this.

J'ai éveillé avec une douleur de cheveux.

Put another way, as the Danes say, I've got “carpenters in the forehead.”

I think maybe I drank an entire vat of wine with a nice boy named Oliver who is on vacation from New York and has a fancy convertible Z4 rental car. Which he called his mid-life crisis rental, but that doesn't make any sense because he is thirty-one.

Oh my head.

I plan on being altogether together in time for the Laker game. So don't you worry. Rally hat on my hopefully no longer aching head.

Phil Jackson had to plead for a five dollar bump in his per diem. Hee, hee.

In other exciting, victory filled news, I've confirmed my loft-sitting, pretty kitty-loving gig for July 17-27 in New York. At which time I will not have a fancy rental car to zip around kind strangers who pay my bar-tabs. 

The subway and my prettily polished feet.

And taxicabs. In which I will always, always wear my seatbelt.

Although I should refrain, restrain, I have been invited and accepted an invite to the Napa Valley Wine Auction and will brave the drive and traffic to that faraway, quaint town of St. Helena tomorrow to sip and swirl with la-ti-da's with purple stained teeth at the barrel tasting.

Actually, I'm not driving. That's part of the invite.

And I'm not wearing white. A silky black floral patterned  dress will do.

And I'm packing toothpaste in my purse. Or maybe those Go Smile sticks.

I've been to the auction a few times, but it was years ago when I was a member of The Trade (so droll). I think my traveling per diem was equivalent to Phil's back in 1984. Did I pay for my own flight from LaLa? And I stayed at friend's condo. I think he picked up my bar-tab too.

Oh my god, I feel better already. 

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