When we last spoke, it was Christmas–and you know how I love it, give me Christmas 40 times a year. At any rate, I was blogging at you and everything was copacetic till the phone rang.
It was Ned.
Dun dun DUNNNNN.
I'd taken Ned off my contacts list on my iPhone, so when he rang (am British), it didn't have his signature train whistle sound effect. He used to live four inches from the train tracks, and so I'd made his ringtone a train whistle. Plus, he absolutely loved getting all his friends together to pull a train on me. It was so romantic.
Anyway, so the phone rang like a normal person, and I figured it was some relative calling to say Happy Christmas because we're British, then when it was Ned I got all twitterpated. "NED!" I said, and I literally said "Ned." He laughed.
We both abhor this holiday, and his was officially over, so we got up for a Christmas drink at the place where we had our first date. It's a hotel, so it's open. Not that we had a date at the hotel. TJ Hooker, over here. I mean, it IS a hotel, but our first date was at the hotel bar. Calm down.
Am particularly glad that I captured Ned, in what is probably the last picture of us, in my sparkly reading glasses. And also paying. Which is how God intended it.
Aw, Ned. Look at him. I've always admired his nose, which ends the way I want mine to, instead of having its grand finale at the ball. Letting the ball drop. It was nice to see him and his nose. And yes, I did get my pot back. How Stella got her pot back. Shut up.
Anyway, that was that. I am not reuniting with Ned.
I am also not reuniting with the Tall Boy, with whom I hung out yesterday.
Mostly because he's turned himself into a chair. Billy Jean is not my lover. She's just a girl who thinks that I am the one. But the CHAIR is not my son.
There's a story behind this chair. See.
I'm on the lookout for two floor lamps, cool ones; and an ottoman, an old leather one to match m'face; and also a couch. My mother is helping me buy a couch as part of my Christmas gifts. Christmas. I'll abhor it, yet I sure will take your gifts. Just another reason June is an Asshole.
Now that we don't have a June Advent calendar, maybe we need to get a June's an Asshole list. Like Santa's list, only longer.
Anyway, this means I spend quite a bit of time at this antique/secondhand shop near here, the same place where Ned and I got that tall bed. Yesterday, instead of seeing a couch or a lamp or an ottoman that matched m'face, I saw this office chair. I've been LOOKING for a chair like that for quite some time. Also, is it possible for me to take any photos in my house without a pet in them?
At any rate, I snatched that office chair right up, bought the shit out of it, and brought it home. Tall Boy and I had plans to go to a movie, and he said he'd ride his bike over "around 2:00," and knowing the German Tall Boy, that meant he'd be here AT 2:00 OH MY GOD NO STOPPING HIM GET OUT MY WAY BIG BEN, IT'S 2:00 AND I'M GERMAN.
At 2:00, the doorbell rang. "Oh, good, I just got here with my new office chair. Come admire it." I swirled around in my chair seductively.
"It's missing a caster," said detailed Tall Boy.
What? Son of a …
I called the damn store, and they said I was "welcome to come see if it fell off anywhere." This store is a HUGE storeroom, so I was looking forward to that.
So before we took off on Caster Find 2015, we fortified ourselves with Prosecco. Nothing says highfalutin' like sparkling wine in a Mason jar. It was the Tall Boy, in fact, with whom I had the conversation long ago that you never, ever add the "g" to "highfalutin'" and they should just change the spelling of the word. Also, nothing is ever lowfalutin'.
I just noticed there's a pet in that photo. Jesus, with the pets.
Our plan was to go see the movie Joy, but when we got to the theater, hey, guess what? It's the Saturday after Christmas. What people? I really feel like, as someone who goes to that theater three times a month EASY (see above ref to hotel on first date), I should get some sort of VIP pass to walk past the riffraff and right up to the popcorn. We stood in the line for a minute, but gave up. "There'll be even another line at the concession stand," TB pointed out, which is crucial. I don't understand people who go to the movies and breeze past concessions.
"Since we're here, can we go to Trek?" he asked, and I had no idea what that was. Was that like a Dirty Sanchez or, worse, a Cleveland Steamer? One delightful thing I learned from seeing Ned the other night was what a Cleveland Steamer was. OH MY GOD NOT LITERALLY. I mean, we Googled it in the midst of our conversation. I feel like Prince Rainier never said to Grace Kelly, "You don't know what a Cleveland Steamer is? Get your phone, we'll Google it."
It turns out, unfortunately, that Trek's a bike shop, and all you women who go insane over the Tall Boy will be interested to hear he bought fingerless gloves, and the extra large was too small for his hands, and he had to ask if they had extra, extra large.
And a thrill went up over the land.
In the meantime, since I'm never IN a bike shop, I wandered around and giggled at seventh-grade-humor things.
Breaking the friction barrier!
Tall Boy and the earnest bike salesman were having quite a time, with their bike talk. They SPOKE quite a bit. HAH! Eventually, emboldened by Prosecco, I announced, "I don't know how to ride a bike!"
It was like when EF Hutton talks.
"Is she even allowed in here?" asked Tall Boy.
After that, we headed back to the damn antique store, and Tall Boy got all, "I've been looking for a side table. I've been looking for a chair. I've been looking for a red suede pump," until I had to remind him we were there ON A MISSION. A CASTER MISSION. And right when I said that, Tall Boy said, "Here it is!"
And there it was! On top of a desk, about 200 feet from where I'd found the chair in the first place. I mean, WHAT WERE THE CHANCES we'd actually find it? We took that motherfucker and got out the store. And as you can see from the first photo, it's already fallen off again. Son of a …
But cool chair, right? I'm in it right now. How do you screw in a caster? How do you mend a broken heart? Step one, don't sleep with your ex because it's Christmas.
Oh! Oh oh oh! And I FINISHED MY STATISTICS TEXTBOOK! FINISHED! Oh my god, that was torture. But now I get to spend that money! Fleeta, at work, asked me how much of it I'm gonna save. God, don't you just hate the youth of today?
I'd better go. I'm off to see and be seen. By pets.