I only have 10 minutes while my root dye sets in--I'm trying to do things like my own roots to save money since this move. Although we'll be RICH soon, because we're saving so much living here together, at first I have laid out what the official money people call a shitload of cash.
I also waited three weeks to order contacts to save the $127 it costs to get them. For weeks I've worn glasses every day, and I look not unlike Margaret from Dennis the Menace. Appealing.
My last pair of contacts I'd saved for a special occasion, and that special occasion was this past Saturday, when I danced at the gay bar with some friends and some complete-stranger lesbians once my friends got all tired and middle-aged and sick-of-Cher on me. Margaret from Dennis the Menace has no place in a gay bar, so I went glassesless.
Anyway, I ordered contacts, finally, Tuesday, and my contacts guy called Wednesday. He and I get along like peas and carrots.
"How we doin'?" he asked when he called.
"Well, I'm doing fine, and I don't care how you're doing," I told him. He'd ordered my contacts to come in fast, as a surprise to me, and I cannot wait to be a normal member of society today and not Daria.
Only five minutes to go on the hair, then I have to rinse it out. So far I've covered a lot of crucial info.
Here is another important story: My landlord, who is gay but he's really more pleated khakis gay, and I will call him Gaylord from now on, is obsessed with complex light fixtures. Almost nowhere in this house can you just, oh, switch on a light. Oh-ho-hoooo, don't be silly. Whoever heard of doing something so plebeian as being able to flick a switch up? That is so 2011.
When I'm not cooking my hair, I will show you the chandelier in the second bathroom, and the world's fanciest light in the bedroom that you need a remote for and a four-digit code to operate. "I just want to turn on a goddamn light," said Ned as he punched various keys on the control panel to our back porch light.
So, my office, here, has a--wait for it--fancy light fixture, and Gaylord said, "Oh, the bulbs on that are really hard to find, so I don't use the overhead, I just always used it as a ceiling fan."
....! I mean, HOW much did you pay for this thing? Because it LOOKS like it cost a million dollars. And there is one--one!!!!--outlet in here, at the back of the room, so I could plug two lamps in way over yonder and have the rest of the room be dark. Perhaps I could bring people in for questioning.
So I insisted we find bulbs for this effing light. And Ned, because I am charming and persuasive, agreed. He had to get on a ladder and unscrew the elaborate top to this light in here. Each light bulb has its own little home in this wrought-iron cage, like a go-go dancer from 1912. Ned lifted an old teensy bulb from the fixture.
Then he went to Lowe's and got a similar one, got back up on the ladder, and realized it was the wrong size.
"Son of a BITCH," said Ned. "Where's the receipt?" Ned asked me while I was crouched in front of the litter box with a Lowe's bag. "um..." I began.
"Oh GODDAMMIT," said Ned. "Well. Okay. These bulbs weren't that expensive. It's okay that you covered the receipt in cat poop, because you are so generally charming most of the time. But let's go back and try to find some bulbs that fit."
So Ned handed me the teensy bulb, and as we drove, I did an Uncle Fester impression, and I also said I had an idea and held the light bulb over my head, and of course there was the inevitable guy-with-testicular-cancer impresh, and finally we were back at Lowe's.
And that is when I got out of the car and dropped the bulb onto the pavement.