Some days, there isn’t a solid point behind my entry. It winds up just a lot of mush…rambling. Today is one of those days.

With the hangover of the next hurricane looming, I’d have been a fool not to have spent the weekend playing in the sunshine, riding with the top down, allowing my hair to become a hopelessly tangled mess.

And I wonder why it comes out by the handfuls in the shower?

Friday night my headache and I shared a pizza (naughty!) and got to bed by 8 in hopes that one of us might wake up alone. Though I tossed and turned (each time fully aware of my throbbing cranium), when I finally rolled out at 8:30 Saturday morning I was alone. I threw the bike on the back of the Jeep and hauled myself out to East Bumble, where I only managed about 10 miles on the Silver Comet before I decided I’d had enough and would rather be laying in the park reading a book. One parking space adventure later, I was situated on a grassy hill on the 10th street side of Piedmont Park. Bliss.

When I’d had enough I took myself on a little lunch-date - for one of my favorite foods: Houston’s chicken salad with honey mustard (instead of honey lime). As near as I can recall, I went home after that, tidied the place a bit and went to bed.

Sunday arrived and found me with morning hair and my book at the laundromat - which - for the first time I can remember on a Sunday - was not a zoo. A nice older man who seemed down on his luck offered me the rest of his Tide. Awww. Another was having trouble with the change machine and I, apparently; have the touch.

A quick shower and a few hours of running errands in the sun later, it was time to head home and get some quiet time before The Hair Ball.

VOD has the potential to be a beautiful thing. It’s a shame Comcast (The Tree vs. The Dish = Good-Bye TiVo) hasn’t worked out all the glitches. Signal hiccups in the middle of a show, non-standard on screen graphics, unfriendly navigation, etc. make it almost not worth your time to deal with. Just the same, I managed to watch the first half of the last Six Feet Under - I had previously seen the second half - and then got dressed.

I guess it’s bad form to show up to a melanoma fundraiser with a tan and a heat rash, huh?

My reason for going to the ball was two fold: my friend MaryJac was one of the designers for the show, and my friend Amy has been kicking melanomas ass off and on for several years. The plan was to show up, and then attempt to find MJ’s man Eamon in the crowd. Brave, right? Not like me. As I was making the turn off 14th St. I decided to call Amy. I didn’t get the usual “Melanoma Monday” type e-mails from her this year, and after having dinner last week I knew she was going to Europe soon, so I assumed she was going to miss the event. My message was rambling but said what I need to say and the next think I knew ~ring~ring~. It’s Amy. She, her husband Chris (who is a DOLL), and her friend Chad are at the event. Also there are her friend Bunny and Bunny’s friend Jo. Safety in numbers.

The weather and the venue were agreeable. When discussing the water feature with Chad, I wondered out loud how many drunk people wound up in it every weekend - Chad replied that drunks don’t wind up in there, the crack kids do. Oh.

The show itself was - entertaining. There was an Ode to The Pink Panther that I could have done without, and a few “do’s” that Cher did in the 80’s. I couldn’t help but think that Intern Nick would have really loved the show, the eye-candy, the pseudo high-fashion, and the attitudes to match what hadn’t been earned. Despite how it may sound, I didn’t lose sight of why I was there — why we were all there. There was a touching tribute to Don and Sylvia Shaw’s daughter, the reason the Hair Ball takes place every year.

After half a glass of white wine, an hour of standing behind a lot of tall people (where did these freakish Amazons come from?) and annoying the hell out of a guy in a Burberry shirt with our heckling, it was time for my tired little feet to head for the hills.

I never did find Eamon.