I’m glad we’re all gathered together once again. In our uncomfortable wooden pews. Our Pepe LePews.
On Friday, I had plans to get together with Jo and Kit, actual women friends, which you know how I am about that. They’d wanted to see me on my actual birthday, last Sunday, but they couldn’t see me till 7:30 at night, and in a town not my own due to their work schedules. And all of you who work a regular office job just cringed with me.
Not only was the time and locale less than ideal, it ended up being the day the furniture guy was coming, and he’s this independent guy who loads his truck with stuff and delivers it all over yonder. We literally had no idea what time he’d be at my house last Sunday, so I had to cancel the plans altogether.
So that is how we gathered together in our uncomfortable pews on Friday night.
Before I met up with them, I screamed right on over after work to the pedicure place. I hadn’t had a pedicure since God was a child and I was sick to death of myself, and after I think all year of not having a damn pedicure, I was just sticking my feet in the tub of water when
it was m’phone. And it was The Poet, who never calls. Turns out she was sick, a thing I knew anyway because we’d had plans to see Cool Hand Luke at the old movie theater Thursday, and she’d had to cancel.
She needed my help. She never asks for my help. So I rushed the pedicure along as fast as I could (“No, not the hot stones. Just finish already.”) and screamed out of there and to my house so I could let my beleaguered dog out and then scream on over to her place.
Her dogs hadn’t been walked in a few days and she was worried about them. Careful readers will recall that The Poet and I drove way into the country a few months ago so she could sit on a barstool and pick her up some Pomeranians, as her own regularly scheduled Pomeranian had died at the age of like 409 some months back.
My many chins and I took the mom dog and her daughter, who is also a teensy Pomeranian, on their walk. The daughter was all, fuk ya! we on wak! and the mom was clearly suspicious of me. hooo wakking us?
It was so funny to walk two dogs adding up to 10 pounds, as opposed to old Pully and his Many Pounds of Pull Cart, there. Which made a heap of sense. It was like walking feathers. Black lively feathers. Their little tails are so ridic.
We went two blocks, down to a park, but there were teenagers in that park so I didn’t dare go in lest they throw drugs at me or gang rape me on Snapchat or whatever a group of 15-year-old boys and girls do these days.
Boys and girls. I’m my 1970 kindergarten teacher.
So I took Feather and Light back up the street, with the intention to turn right and keep going back when we got to the front of their house.
We got there, and once again the daughter was all fuk ya! we still wakkin! look at tail! it booshy! and the mom was all, you know what, laydee? fuk you. And she stopped. I mean, she put on her five-pound brakes and would not budge beyond her front yard. She was giving me the Pomeranian business.
I felt guilty only walking them for maybe 10 minutes, but Kit, who specializes in small dogs, said maybe they were too hot. I know I always am, because All This.
So I screamed over to the restaurant late to meet Jo and Kit, and Jo had found this gigantic birthday card at some yard sale or something. “It looks so empty with just Kit and me signing it,” she said, so she handed the card to everyone at the restaurant and had them sign it too.
The funniest people in the world were at that restaurant that night, which explains how I was let in. Oh my god, people said great things. I think you can click on the card to see it bigger. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not down with all PressingWords’ ins and outs yet.
Jo got me a shower cap, with a little matching pouch, and I really need that, actually, because see: Curly Girl method. Oh, Google fucking it.
I put this photo on Facebook this weekend, and my friend David–who I used to refer to as my Beleaguered Officemate back in 2007 when I first started blogging–left a comment below. “Dear Strawberry Shortcake Forum: I never thought your letters were true until last night…”
How charming life used to be. Back in the day, you shared your pornographic stories via letter, the way Ben Franklin did. Now you go online and boom. Porn O’Plenty.
After drinks and dinner, we all stampeded to my house so I could read everyone’s tarot cards. Jo had made dark chocolate lavender brownies, and my future read: You will eat 11,000 dark chocolate lavender brownies.
Eventually, Jo fell asleep in the chair. I pointed out her life-of-the-party status to Kit, and Jo, who did not budge one iota, spoke from the depths of her slumber. “I’m awake. I was listening to you guys.”
The next day I finally had the chance to spend my Belk gift card that I got for my birthday. Belk has the best cosmetic counter in town. To George Bailey, the richest man in town.
Oh my god, I was excited. And they had new product lines since I was last there, in probably 2014 when I last had any spending money. There is nothing I like better than shopping for cosmetics. It’s always been m’jam.
I was perusing the Benefit stuff when a woman approached me. “Are you thinking of skin care products?” she asked. And you know, I was. I was also thinking of foundation, concealer, eye shadow, eye pencils, an eyebrow wax/color thing, lipstick and possibly self-tanner. But, you know, whatever.
She lead me over to the Kiehl’s stuff. Oh my god, Kiehl’s. They were having a special, 20% off, “Which is unheard of in cosmetics.” She’s right. It is. They had pound cake (I didn’t have any) and special tools to measure the hydration in your skin (I’m at 53%, which actually isn’t bad) and what skin type you are (I’m combination skin). (Which I already knew. I’m combination everything.)
Eventually, I got a serum and a plumper, and further reports as developments warrant. I also got eye shadow from NYX and some foundation powder from Laura Gellar. In all, I was one free kitten away from a perfect day.
I see I’ve droned on for 1,155 words, so I will shut the fuck up for now.
Talk at you.