Ethiopian pygmies

Since this silly blog is about being a diva, martinis, and shoes, and associated superficialities of modern female life, I am posting today to testify to the stupidity of drinking and sunning.

I broke two diva rules this weekend. These Rules are not formally introduced in the Rules of a Diva (coming soon), but I'm thinking of adding them as a warning to diva-potentials.

One of the broken rules involves drink mixing. No, not the kind where you come up with a funky new martini mix called "Dirty Panties" but where you choose your source of alcohol for the evening. As in, Do Not Mix Beer and Hard Liquor. I broke that rule, and this diva paid.

I woke up the next morning with the sensation of a horse standing on my head. Beside the horse was a horde of tiny Ethiopian pygmies, battering my skull with their little drumsticks and wailing something along the lines of "aaaAAAAAAooooAAAAAuhhhhhhhAAAAOOOOOuuuhhhhh," which did not grok. I lurched out of bed and begged the pygmies to go away, but they tied me down like Gulliver. I sucked down some advil and water and crawled back into the prone position.

The next rule I broke was trying to cure the hangover by sunning myself by the pool. You know that sensation that your hangover is finally gone, and you feel OK but your mind is not working at its usual warp speed? I loaded everything up and went to the pool, armed with a gallon of diet coke, ice, and pretzels to soak up the remaining alcohol.

I failed to put on sunscreen, of course. I forgot what it was for. I looked at the bottle and I swear I thought, "I don't need moisturizer today. I haven't even showered." I FORGOT WHAT IT DOES. People! I survived the hangover only to attempt self-immolation by sunburn.

So in the interest of diva management, I am attempting to come up with a new rule to add to the book, something like "Diva Rule #x.2: Do Not of Mixing of the Beer on Vodka, or the Pygmies will Burn Your Face to Dead Hurt."