OK, we shall start at the beginning. As in every case where I have somewhere important to be first thing in the morning, I woke up late. Well not really late.... but not as early as I wanted to. I had to straighten my hair and do my make up and all that, because I erringly thought at the time that ugly people were not allowed at Bridal Expos. I stuffed pretty clothes into a bag, as I had no nylons, and would have to buy those, so I was running around in scrub clothes. By the time I got to the car, I realized that my gas guage light was glaring at me in a not nice way, so I stopped for gas, and paid way too much money for it. I then tore off to Wal-Mart, bag over my shoulder and bought some nylons, again overpriced because they had sparkles in them. I'm a sucker for pretty, leave me alone. Of COURSE I thought it'd be quicker to go through the Self Check out thing, which informed me upon trying to bag my items, that they weighed to much and I had to take something out of the bag. So I take them out of the bag, wherein, the tiny woman living in the computer showed pretty pictures of a box being put IN a bag, with arrows and everything. I growled at the invisible woman with the brain washing monotone, "Just take my money B****!" Then stomped over to the lady who was SUPPOSED to be helping all those too inept to finagle the machine that will eventually lead to the unemployment of all toothless inbred neanderthals, highschool students, and old people who get bored wih Bingo, and informed her the stupid thing was broken, and I'm taking my nylons to the bathroom. I then went in as a scrub and came out as a hooker. (The pics show me wearing a purple shirt. It went over the hooker dress as my boobs would detract from.... well everything. Boobs have a habit of doing that.)
So I decide I have time for something to eat as I feel ill. I go to the Dunkin Donuts Drive Thru, and ask for my usual. A Croissant and a Bottle of Mountain Dew. The guy says "OK, is that all?" (Which I don't mind, as I'm sure their promotion to management depends on how many Dunkachinos and Munchkins the can force on already caffeine addled customers) I said yes, and the kid says "Are you sure? You don't want any coffee or donuts or anything?" "Ummmm I'm PRETTY sure if I wanted them I would've thought to ask for them." "OK, please drive up." I pull up, the girl at the window reaffirms my order, which I have to elaborate I get at this particular store ALL THE FRIGGIN TIME, and says "You didn't get any coffee?" NO I DIDN'T GET ANY GOD D*** COFFEE! I asked her "Have you ever contemplated that there is an off chance that someone doesn't LIKE coffee?" She looks me straight in the eyes and says "Then why come to a coffee shop?" I said "For the excellent customer service." My croissant was stale too.Â
So I get to the hair show. I'm wearing 4 inch stilettos and a Micro Mini skirt and I have to run from the 3rd floor of the parking garage to the floor because they Crowne Plaza powers that be, in all their infinite wisdom chose yesterday to paint the stairs. So I'm mincing (Or as Matt would say, walking with a stick up my a**) and then I get to the lobby after manuvering around a line of brides to be that was sticking out the door (Many of whos faces made me inwardly wince. I'm not a snob by anymeans, but WOW.) One of our stylist was just coming in from smoking a butt so she helped me find our table. My boss sees me and says "Wow Chickie lookit you! Where do you think you're going Miss Thang?" (My boss is Greek and infinitely cute. When she tries to be ghetto I laugh till my face hurts) I helped do some of the models hair for the runway show, holding pins and throwing curling irons at people. (I also burned myself on a styling implement for the second time this week, both on my left hand. If this keeps up, pretty soon you guys can call me Stumpy.) We were going to start the Demo hair after the initial outpouring of brides subsided. Then we realized we were short on raffle tickets. So I was sent off to Kinkos to get them redone.Â
I went to go make copies at the self service machine which mocked me as I can ONLY do it if I have a credit or Debit card. Ummm I DON'T. This would mean that I’d have to actually DEAL with a person. As outgoing as I am, I have a severe aversion to people when it comes to them providing a service for me. I know what I want and how it can be done, and you bring someone else into the picture that doesn’t have my vision, well I get really frustrated. PLUS when you do things yourself it’s quicker. For example you don’t have to wait in line behind a woman who’s selling a sofa and a mattress and made a For Sale poster your average 2nd grader would be ashamed of. You also don’t have to twiddle your thumbs and stare at the ceiling while this same woman peruses if she wants to have the writing turned black (Which she wrote in, Honest to GOD, purple crayon.) and the pictures in Color, and OH, she found some receipts that she wants copied for her taxes. I’m leaning on the counter half asleep at this point, trying to take the weight off my feet, as Stilettos make your legs look amazing, but they stop just short of stealing your soul for the privilege, and instead make you contemplate amputating your own feet so they don’t hurt anymore. I’m roused back to consciousness by the awareness that there are two guys behind me staring at my butt. Normally this would fill me with a smug “Yeah I’m hot, crave me, then walk away dejected” attitude, but my feet hurt and this lady was senile, and something that should have taken about 5 minutes had already gone to 15. So I turned around and glared at them and said “Can I help you?” Taken aback they said “Ummm Hi….” I muttered. “That was underwhelming.”, and turned back around to wait for Crayon lady who had FINALLY decided on her final purchases, and was now scrounging for invisible change in the bottom of her purse.Â
Then I get up to the counter. I tell the girl I want to use the copy machine but I don’t have a Credit Card. “Oh, well you can use your Debit card too!” “I’m sorry Sunshine, but all I have is PAPER money. Where do I get PAPER copies?!?!” She asked me what I wanted done, and I told her and she came out with a long inherently complicated scheme, which to be honest, I was so tired I didn’t care. Then she cut them into the right size and did a horrible job and I refused to pay for the cutting. She told me she performed the service and she needed to be paid, and I informed her she performed it poorly, and as such didn’t get rewarded, so she would do a better job the next time. Perhaps it was the fact that I gave off an aura that I devoured Copy Shop workers heads for s***s and giggles, or it was because there was a long line of angry people behind me (They had no right to be angry, they were all wearing sneakers, I checked), but she took the charge off my bill.
Going BACK to the hotel, the limo drivers hollered things at me, which I paid no attention to. Any innocent flirting, I was in no mood for, and if it was something else, I’d be flossing my teeth with the chauffeurs spine. I then got back to our table, my boss was effusive with her praise and I was appeased again. I sat down and two girls started working on my hair. I’m not an elitist, and I'm very self sufficient, but having someone do your hair makes you feel so special. Especially with Updos, as they’re so complicated, and you can get really creative with them, and when they're done right you look like amillion bucks. Anyways, they did my hair, I felt pretty, and the rest of the show went by uneventfully, save a few episodes. The booth across from us had fancy wedding cakes. They were giving out samples and brought some over for us. I took what I thought was chocolate and bit into it expecting chocolate, but it was Cappuccino and instead of sweet gooey yumminess I got bitter coffee. Blech.  The fact I made the “Blech” face in front of the lady who’s brainchild I just belittled didn’t help. And then there was this guy in the booth next to us. Some of the girls were calling him the Mafia Man. He was big and fat and had a pompadour. Tina, one of the stylists told me that he was making her nervous because he kept staring over here. “That’s because he thinks you’re hot Tina.” She glared at me. “Maybe he wants you to do his hair!” Tina mutters, “I think he’s just jealous because we look so good and he’s fat.” To which I started laughing hysterically and she screams “AGHHHH YOUR HAIR’S GONNA FALL OUT!” and then accosted me with enough hair spray to kill a colony of rats, and keep my eyelashes affixed to my eyebrows so I couldn't blink for the rest of the day.Â
Afterwards, our boss decided to take us out to dinner. Of course we couldn’t go some place normal, we went to a wicked nice place where the cheapest thing was $15.Â
http://www.countrytavern.org/ We all just stared at our menus as we all felt guilty and didn’t want to order anything, whereby Tedi and Tom threw temper tantrums, and threatened to order for us. Add to this the fact that Emily was TERRIFIED of the resident ghost, and that someone brought in a baby, who as soon as the room got cold, started screaming it’s head off. (Long story short, the ghost, Elizabeth, had a husband who was a sea captain. He came back from a year at sea to find his wife had just had a baby. He killed the baby and buried it under the gnarled tree outside, and killed Elizabeth and threw her in the well. There has been numerous sightings of her at the restaurant, and they say she looks for her baby here, because not a single baby comes in without crying.) Anyways, then I wanted a beer and I left my ID in the car and the waiter said “Well…….. who’s driving?” I said “I am but I’ll only have one and I’m Irish and can drink a LOT, so it won’t bother me at all!” The guy just kind of looked at me, and got me my beer. It was then discovered that my hair was too heavy and was falling down. My vertical French twist was slowly becoming a horizontal mess of bobby pins and hair spray. Loverly.
I had to take Emily home, and stopped at a gas station for cigarettes and to pull out all the bobby pins that were keeping my hair up (I left the ones with the braids in because you couldn’t see them and I thought they were pretty.) I bought a bottle of water with a sport cap, and waited in the car for her to get out of the bathroom. I put my bottle on the armrest, thinking it would be fine, but it got knocked off when I backed out of the spot, right into my lap. No Biggie, I thought, I had the cap down. No, No I didn’t and as a result I looked like I had wet myself. WONderful. However, still had a good time taking Emily home, as she makes me laugh a lot.
I then headed home, taking with me my left over steak, which I had had approximately 3 bites of, as I was saving it to bring home to Matt. I was still hungry and decided to go to Taco Bell. That isn’t haunted, and as such their prices aren’t inflated. I order my food and the guy says “That’s IT!?!?!” (Twice in one day? What the Ef?) I said YES, and he tells me to pull up. The guy that hands me my food has the FAKEST Boston accent Ever, and he also has some kind of tattoo that I THINK is supposed to be a prison Tattoo. The kid is like 19 at the most, and the tat is located on his left hand where the thumb and forefinger meet. The only way I can describe it, is that it looks like the Breast Cancer Awareness Ribbon. And its’ faded. As I sit there contemplating why any hardened Taco Bell worker would want to waste his $9.50 an hour on a poorly rendered Brest Cancer Awareness symbol, I get my food, and it scares me because instead of handing me the bag by the handles, like I’ve gotten it the other half million times I’ve gone, the bag is wrapped up nice and tight. Hmmmmm However, I checked it and it looked fine and as I haven’t died or had horrible crippling stomach pains yet, I assume I was just being paranoid.
Anyways, that’s what happened yesterday, and I hadn’t written a good Ang Saga in a long time and figured I was about due.
Love you all.
