First of all, before we all up and forget, it’s Steely Dan’s birthday. He is one, according to the estimated birth date the vet gave him back when I first brought him in. I would take a picture of old Steely Dan, but he’s outside tripping the elderly or whatever the hell. He’s mostly a come home to his flophouse, eat and fall into a dead sleep kind of a cat. Not much of a lounge-around-with-you-inside creature. He’s outdoorsy, like his mom.
But wherever he is, I do love that cat. I admire his spirit. I admire his gumption to, as a bitsy boopy baby slip of a lost gray kitten–barely able to walk yet–find those two college boys on a rainy afternoon and say, save me. save steeleee dan.
And now he’s big and healthy and tripping old ladies. Or whatever.
Anyway, that is not why I gathered you all here today. I gathered you all here to tell you about my evening. Because, busy?
I had a lot I wanted to accomplish last night. I had freelance work to do, and I wanted to get to page 10 (aka work for two hours), then do my workout, then clean the kitchen in anticipation of my mother’s visit. My goal was to clean one room per day so I wouldn’t get all exhausted and cranky.
So, when 5 o’clock rolled around, I stayed at work and started on m’freelance. I wasn’t hurting anyone; I was just sitting at my desk reading papers. But I was already in work mode: I figured if I drove home I’d find a way to distract myself.
But near 5:30 I remembered I had to pick up my contacts. I wear daily contacts, and I get them in 90-day packs, and the last time, for some unknown reason, they gave me a different brand. They were called Daily Comfort or some other similarly ironic name, because they felt exactly like I was wearing dinner plates in my eyes.
Nevertheless, I persisted. I am such a tomboy. I went all 90 horrific days wearing this stupid brand of contacts, that I abhorred, and when it was time to reorder, I was extra super clear about what kind I wanted.
Here’s the problem. All daily contacts are in blue boxes. I don’t know why this is, but it’s a thing. And they all have the same kind of stupid names: Focus Daily Aqua Moist Comfort Dailies Daily Comfort.
But I got the woman at the store to assure me I’d get the right ones this time, and they were ready for pickup, and I was so excited that I’d made it through those 90 days of hell and waterboarding, but I had to scream over there fast before they closed.
So I left work and stampeded over, and as per usual, there was only one person working and one extremely annoying customer who was convinced his frame purchase was the most riveting thing anyone has ever considered.
“Now, do these have the progressives?”
If there’s anything that says nerd, it’s progressive lenses.
June. Driving away all the (horseshoe-haired) progressive-lenses wearers, since 2017. (It’s been awhile since I offended the horseshoe-haired.)
Anyway, eventually my contacts guy said, “Rob, you mind giving me a minute while I help this young lady?” My contacts guy is really nice, even though he’s a Republican. It’s not the first time I’ve been in there while he’s dealing with frame narcissists.
I finally got my (correct!!) contacts and stampeded to the store for a rotisserie chicken and some green beans, which I ate like a cave woman when I got home. I was fucking starved, as I had had an extremely disappointing Weight Watchers frozen lunch entree. It was so bad that I offered half of it to Edsel, and he was all, edz say thank yu, but he cutting out karbz.
You know it’s bad when your dog, who adores poop, turns up his snout.
Among my plans last night was, of course, walking Edsel. But first? The kitchen. Oh, I put away dishes and washed countertops and tried to get the dried paint out the sink and polished the faucets and cleaned the broiler and scrubbed the floor and I even took off the doorknob to the pantry and put it back on going the right way. The thingie was backward and it wouldn’t shut easily.
I’m so butch lately with m’doorknobs and m’thingies.
I got on my stepstool to change a burnt-out bulb, and realized I needed a fancy kind I did not have. Those kitchen bulbs rarely burn out, and I think the old owner left me, like, two or three replacements.
This meant I was gonna have to go to Lowe’s. Again.
I was just there this Sunday. I was returning some door shellac that I was thinking of using on the front door to make it high gloss. The girl who sold it to me admitted she was thoroughly hung over, and when I got home, I realized the gloss was for indoor use only. Nice hangover, Efficiency Expert. God. So I decided the door was FINE, and I had been planning to return the damn stuff for forever.
On Sunday, I was driving around buying a paintbrush anyway, so I headed to Lowe’s after to return the shellac. The Return of the Shellac. While I was driving, I was listening to the pet psychic on my Sirius radio, and I got the brill idea to call her to ask why Edsel attacked Lottie.
Naturally, the lines to the pet psychic were totally jammed, so I kept trying to call call call, and there I was in line at Lowe’s, my shellac in one hand and my phone in the other, when
I dropped the goddamn phone on the hard concrete floor o’Lowe’s.
This has resulted in my phone acting wonky, and I dearly wanted to take it to the Apple store Monday night, but please see all of the above bullshit I hadda get done. In fact, I was IMing with Faithful Reader Fay yesterday, and I told her, “I was at Lowe’s when I dropped my phone because I was trying to hold some door shellac and call the pet psychic at the same time, and now I’ve screwed up my phone.”
“That was the most June sentence you’ve ever uttered,” she wrote back.
Anyway, there I was at home Monday night realizing I had to go back to get a weird lightbulb, and I was also realizing that cleaning one room a night wasn’t going to work, because mom gets here on Friday and I have eight rooms.
Goddammit. Maths. Not m’strong suit.
So I also cleaned the dining room, and discovered a burnt-out bulb THERE, too, which ALSO needed a weird bulb, so you know what I did?
I killed two birds, is what I did.
I took Edsel to Lowe’s. Note my light bulbs in my purse, because my purse has an idea.
I had an absolutely ADORABLE photo of Eds in the checkout line, sitting ahead of me but tilting his head back to look at me, but see above re phone. Wonky. I barely got THIS photo as it was. Stupid broken phone. It probably had PTSD returning to the scene of the crime.
I’m two payments from paying it off, of course.
When we got home (we walked all the aisles, and in the mirror aisle, I noticed Eds stopped to admire his own self in each one), I replaced the bulbs, commenced to copy editing, and fell into an exhausted heap by 10. Not done: the workout.
Oh, and before I go, I have to remind you that today is Amazon Prime day, which I never paid attention to but now that I’m getting rich off them I care about deeply. Apparently you get Black-Friday-like deals today. So below is a photo that links you to Amazon; go there from here and I get thousands and hundreds of dollars to buy a new fucking phone.