And by that I mean…not great.
The Cubs game on Saturday left my lips so windburnt and chapped that they became extra susceptible to a cold sore outbreak. Then I drank Orange Juice on Sunday, AND was overtired and stressed out from eating naught but junk throughout Chidope. Little did I know what horrors awaited me on the horizon of life.
Monday afternoon: ** Bam. Cold sore. **
I managed to catch it SOMEWHERE near the beginning and applied some of the wonder drug: Abreva. Then, in a brilliant feat of brazen defiance that can be likened only to an angered three year old hell bent on revenge, another one popped up on my bottom lip this morning and veritably stuck its tongue out at me saying, “who you gonna fuck with NOW, bitchtit?”.
Now, one might think that I’ve had cold sores that were worse, because my lips aren’t all puffy and blistered and gross to look at, and those people would be right, albiet rude for pointing it out. But these are a different, more…terrorism like cold sores, with a definite suicide mission. They are stealthly, flattish yet bright pink cold sores that shoot white lightning bolts of pain from my lip, up through my gums, nose and sinuses and then into my left eye, hurting so badly it makes my eye WATER. Just one eye, to make SURE it looks freakish.
So let’s suffice it to say that while I may look OK on the outside (but for a few red spots all over my lips), my face hurts.
Chorus: it’s killin’ me!
Now normally, I’d just sludge through day to day life with these painful blisters, wearing a comfortable, roomy burqua and some blistex, but guess what! I’m supposed to get my new headshots taken SATURDAY MORNING…headshots that I scheduled four months ago. AND…I have an improv show Thursday night where I’m already considered ‘the big, old married girl who’s good at playing butch lesbians’…AND the guy that looks like Christoph Schneider was on the train this morning looking particularly hot, and he usually gives me a smile and a once over. Imagine his horror when he saw my mouth looking like I was sucking on a hot exhaust pipe after blowing Tommy Lee.
Grrrrr…
Cold sores…they’re Satan’s way of saying “I hate you”