My head is looking like a Chia Pet.

My eyes are constantly puffy and my surgeon is out of Botox, which can lift the brows.

Three nursing pads on each tit seems to stop the nasty leakage.

I'm wondering whether I should say anything about the cancer before I launch into a completely unrelated story at the Heeb event.

Today, after I brought Wally to my pool for the first time, he proceeded somehow to end up in the pool doing the doggy paddle with the most adorable, heart-breakingly helpless expression on his face. I didn't even see him go in, and when Laura exclaimed, I thought my flip-flop had blown away or something. The last thing I expected was 13-year-old Wally, who's only been in a pool once, to have done that. I actually think he was disoriented and stumbled in there accidentally or something. Poor baby. It was very bizarre. And pretty fucking funny.

I made my first radio appearance today, on a show that will be airing in a few months. Talking a little about men and dating relating to the breast cancer thing.

But I am *so* going to the Vogue party next week. Oh, and I'm live blogging from the Victoria's Secret fashion show taping here Saturday and airing next week on TV. We'll be in a separate media room, watching the taping as opposed to sitting in the audience though.

I should be excited about all this stuff, right? So then why am I completely blase and utterly bored with my life? I think I'm going through cancer withdrawl, which all my fellow cancer people said would happen. Life's so fucked-up.