I have, as usual, many things to tell you and all of them are dumb. ...I guess technically I have just two things to tell you, but, still, dumb.
As you know, my air conditioner has been not what you'd call, you know, cooling the place down a lot, which is its one job, and it's kind of how I feel when I miss a comma that needed comma-ing. Yesterday it was 402 degrees out--look it up if you don't believe me--and when I got out of the shower, nothing would dry on me because it was heaty hot heat heat warm in here.
I cursed myself for awhile for being so first world. I mean, aren't there people who live in much hotter climes, which I just accidentally typed "much hooter climes," and yes, there are people who practically live at Hooters, I would imagine, but guess what. They have air conditioning. Anyway, after hating own self for being such a fussy American, I called John's Cooling and Air Conditioning, or some name like that. I know it had "John" in the title, and I was kind of hoping it was run by a lot of prostitute customers. Just because that'd be interesting.
They were able to get here right away, which, who knew? Those johns are eager to go. So I told my boss I'd work from home for an hour or so, which involved me having to call in to a meeting like I'm important or something.
But first, I had to get money. My assets (assets! bah!) are still frozen thanks to my being a CRIME VICTIM and all last weekend, and yes I AM getting irritated that it's taking so long. For heaven's sake, you know it was fraud. YOU called ME. So give me my money back. I want my two dollars. That was only funny if you saw Better Off Dead, which you really should.
So I had to go to the bank and talk to an actual person and ask could I please have some of my savings, which the thieves hadn't managed to steal with their stealy-pants selves. They'd stabbed my savings with their stealy knives but they just couldn't kill the beast.
By the time STD Air Conditioning got here, I was on that conference call, while looking in on it through a webinar, and also surreptitiously trying to edit something, as well. My three heads and I went to the door to let in the guy, and as usual Tallulah growled and "hrrrrr"d and acted generally terrifying, while Edsel saw that it was a man and melted directly onto the floor, and then his puddle evaporated in little heart-shaped waves.
"Oh, this one likes me," said John, whose name was not, in fact, John and I don't know why they advertise falsely like that. Faux John had no idea how much Edsel loved him. Swiftly and deftly, did he love that man. He's had more love affairs with more maintenance men than all the women in all the stupidly plotted dirty movies combined.
It didn't take long for Faux John, Edsel's new man, to say, "I found the problem, ma'am." He had one of those accents that when I first moved here rendered him unintelligible. I'm good with it now. I speak North Carolina blue collar.
Yeah. I hope you were sitting down. It would appear my filter is what you'd call clogged with hair. Tallulah decided to hate Faux John less so she could check her handiwork. And I know. Faux John was kind of hot.
"But I CHANGE the thing every, you know, so often!" I said. He looked at my dogs, my cats who were winding around his legs, and finally, at my hair. "You should check it every month," he said.
I was also out of coolant or freezant or frigidaire or something, and $224 later my house was cool again. I mean, it's always cool because I'm here. Daddy-O.
But SPEAKING of my hair, and when aren't we, the New Girl at work loaned me her Curly Girl book because did I mention my frozen assets and hot house? In which I, the hothouse flower, reside? So not only did I get to READ parts of the book yesterday, I also got the Curly Girl-approved conditioner in the mail, which I purchased before my assets fell off.
THIS WAS GOOD NEWS. So after my grueling Tracy Morgan workout, which was done in air-conditioned comfort, I started doing the Curly Girl methods. And have I MENTIONED I'm not gonna bilk this poor author out of her funds by reiterating them here, not to mention I could be sued if I did that? Go get the book. It's $11. Or make the New Girl loan it to you. You must have a New Girl. Go.
Anyway, here I am on the way to meet Ned at the movies. We saw Willy Wonka. You know who needs the Curly Girl method? Is Willie Wonka. It's good, right? I mean, okay, I took this at a red light and half my hair is cut off. But you can SEE it's less frizzy and all already, right? It's supposed to get better with time, too.
I know you are already sick to death of me mentioning my new Curly Girl method. And you don't even KNOW me. Imagine if you were sleeping with me how often and irritatingly I'd be talking about it. Did I do something different with my hair.
During the movie, we could hear it thunder outside, and there was a giant thunderstorm when we walked out. Despite walking through it, here is my hair after at the restaurant.
June and her tusks, out.