I need to get over making titles with “19” in them.
When I was a kid, I thought being 19 was the coolest age. I mostly thought this, I think, because my father was friends with this guy from work who was 19, and we’d all go to the hockey games together. I thought he was the hippest, that guy. He had black feathered hair and a large mustache. He kind of looked like Super Mario, now that I’m dwelling on it.
Is a hat trick hockey or bowling? Oh, Michigan. How you vex me.
Anyway. I realize it’s the most wonderful time of the year and all, the time right after the horrific holidays, and yesterday, my favorite day of the year, I didn’t even get to write you. I was running late, and also I assumed some people were just returning from the tropics or wherever and had to catch up on my 57 posts, read the tragedy that befell Iris and so on. I gave you time to peruse. See how good I am to you people?
…I just now wrote a whole hilarious paragraph and FUCKING MILHOUS deleted it. He’s been kicked out now. He’s in boarding school.
Kittens are wonderful IN THEORY.
So I got up on the most wonderful day of the year yesterday to this.
Since November-ish, I’ve been using a line of products called Prose. As with everything I buy now, I got inspired to do so from Instagram, who knows JUST how to tempt me.
On the Prose website, you fill out a questionnaire about your hair (Answer: Troublesome) and they send you shampoo, conditioner and “conditioning mask” just for you. Conditioning mask is where when your hair is really bad, you wear a mask. “Wait. Is that June or Mrs. Livingston from The Courtship of Eddie’s Father?”
What I was starting to say till the ADD kicked in was that Prose is giving me larger fatter curls and I like them as long as they don’t SPROING like that in the a.m.
And also, I’ve been obsessing over Curly Girl groups on Instagram (I wonder how Instagram knew to send me shampoo ads) and one person did a whole tutorial yesterday on how she refreshes her “second-day” hair (days you don’t wash your hair), and I wanted ALL OF HER PRODUCTS that she used. Then I remembered Faithful Reader Not-Gwen sent me an Amazon gift card, so I
there for those products, which will all be here in a matter of days, so THANK YOU, Faithful Reader Not-Gwen.
Once I got to work yesterday and was thinking about work and not my hair [Disclaimer: Am always slightly thinking about hair], a package came from me from the beleaguered mailroom guy, who is 100% over me and 100% over all y’all all for sending me things, but don’t stop. “Another one of your readers,” he always says, sighing.
But it wasn’t a package from one of you. It was from my Aunt Mary. I’d sent her and her spouse some Google Home speakers for Christmas and they hated them and sent them back.
I decided to keep them for my own self. Oh my god, last night was fun.
Also, WordPress has this new editing system and I have no idea why my movies are so lean-to-the-left-y.
Anyway, last night I had my Google Home calling me Dimebag Cooter, Hot MILF, Ass Poop and today it’s calling me Queen Victoria. That alone was worth the price of admission, y’all.
It also played me a guided meditation I squirmed and got distracted through, woke me up this morning and told me the news and weather and how long my commute will be (Answer: Still six minutes.)
Tonight when I get home, it’ll say, “Good evening, Queen Victoria.”
Oh, and also, while I was home last night obsessing about Home, which is a new sad level of recluse I’ve entered, I had three men over here
to fix my plumbing
for three hours
[chicka-bow–STOP, QUEEN VICTORIA DIMEBAG].
Since I moved in here, I’ve had zero good showers. Ten minutes in the water turns ice cold, and the last few moments are always panicked Silkwood shower-ish. It dawns on me that it’s JUST ME showering here, so what the hell?
I called the plumber, and they took out coils and recoiled and lay still in the grass all coiled up and hissin’ and after three hours and
SIX-HUNDRED FORTY-FOUR DOLLARS
they said I was all set. I have a three-year warranty on their repair, thank god, because guess what.
Silkwood freezing shower today after 10 minutes.
Has everyone SEEN Silkwood? Do you even know what a Silkwood shower is? Silkwood is a good movie. It has Meryl Streep, and Cher being a lesbian. And I believe Kurt Russell being straight. No, they do not both tag-team Meryl Streep. God.
So I guess I’ll be calling the plumbers again. Plumbers, by the way, who were big fans of the Edsel/Milhous love fest that went on here until this morning’s unfortunate transfer to cat boarding school.
I mean, the two of them are ridiculous. They wrestle. Milhous gets on his sandy toes to rub his head on Edsel. He walks back and forth under Eds’s legs. The two of them are a regular show. And they were really showing off for company last night.
My neighbor’s rooster just crowed, and I feel very Olivia Walton as I type you on my giant computer, the way she did in every episode. I must go now and dry my hair, as I rinsed it under the ice water that was my shower just a bit ago and it’s not remotely dry.
Man, he just crowed again. Do you think Peter is out there deceiving anyone?