Waking up to shake your money maker

I just got back from a weekend of visiting Kelli and her friend Christy in Chicago. I have lots to write about, but I'll have to do it tomorrow.

I adore these women and I love Chicago. Every time I go I have so much fun. And I haven't laughed that hard in ages.

I'd just like to say that the men? Are tall and cute. For all of you DC women who feel like there are no tall cute men around, I strongly recommend a trip to Chicago. You might even want to move there.

Tall, cute, corn-fed (if you like the type) men abound. Men who will walk up to you and talk to you and flirt with you, and the first thing they ask will not be that "So, what do you do?" question that makes you want to poke them in the eye with your finger for their lack of creativity.

If, however, sometime in the future, I say I'm going for a quick weekend jaunt to Chicago, will someone please remind me that I should rest up the week beforehand and clear my schedule the week after? Because seriously, I am not strong enough to keep up with Kelli and Christy and come back Sunday unscathed.

Honestly, this morning, when we awoke to "Shake Your Money Maker" - which I guessed immediately and correctly was Kelli's cell phone alarm - I was so discombobulated.

I think I was still drunk. I probably was. Since honestly, our last glass of wine was consumed at 4 am, around the time we were finishing our slices of enormous pizza. The pizza that we cabbed to get. You know, after we left the club at, oh, 3 am.

Kelli bounded out of bed, and was perking around in Christy's kitchen, actually shaking her money maker. They were making coffee as I slowly, quietly skulked into the kitchen. Kelli was saying how she was surprised that she felt totally fine.

Fine! She felt fine! Of course she felt fine! Because I believe she's completely insane. Either that or bionic.

Because Saturday? When I tip-toed downstairs around noon, nursing a massive hangover, after a night in which I'd retired for bed hours earlier and glasses of wine fewer than her? She and a friend were casually sipping a beer and chatting.

By the time I got downstairs she'd been up for hours, and was doing laundry, among five other productive things. She was, at that point, with Clorox Cleanup, her favorite product on earth in hand, all set to scour her backyard fountain. Which is not a weird euphemism, if any of you would even think to go there.

And did I want a beer, they asked? Yikes! I did not. I was, I said, more than a little afraid of them. I got some coffee and some juice and huddled, very quietly, in a corner of the couch, reading Us Magazine, waiting for the ibuprofin to kick in.

So this morning, Christy asked us if we wanted coffee. I most definitely did. Kelli, who rarely drinks it, said she did as well.

I looked at Kelli and said, "I wouldn't be surprised if you said you'd just have a shot of mercury and you'd be good to go."

I'm not kidding.