So I guess it's not a fully productive week at work until I've wasted at least 7 hours devising a ridiculous plan to totally freak out one of our regular clients. Before I tell you that story though, I want to talk about last night. And how I am now engaged to be married.
Being that it was a Friday and I am the kind of idiot who forgets that she'll have to be up for work at 730 on Saturday morning, I got pretty drunk last night. Not too drunk. Not so drunk that I ended up standing shirtless on the roof of Dante's apartment singing Journey songs to his neighbours. Not this drunk. Just drunk enough that when I woke up this morning there was $70 missing from my wallet, a large bruise on my leg, and a copy of Nicole Richie's first novel lying facedown on the bed beside me.
The perfect amount.
Gem, Elle, Kat, Jane and I had congregated at Elle and Mischa's apartment to drink, chat, watch movies and just enjoy each other's company. By which I of course mean 'ingest a copious amount of high-percentage alcohol and dicuss the idea of boning via text message'. 5 Roseville girls and 2 bottles of Jagermeister? This is exactly the kind of situation that usually winds up with me drunk-dialing one of my highschool history teachers. And while I didn't do THAT last night, I did make a pact with Jane that should neither of us have found a husband by the time we're 40, we'll just turn lesbian and marry each other. Ellen Degeneres would be so proud. Anyway, I can say with complete honesty that I have almost no idea how I got home last night. I know there's an extremely pissed off cab driver somewhere out there who now harbours a desire to kill me on account of the fact that I kept accidentally giving him the wrong directions, but that's the extent of my knowledge. Good times.
Now, for my original story. We have this client at work called Tom, and everyone loves him. 'Everyone' here meaning 'Alex and I'. And I suppose - if I'm being honest - it's more accurate to say that we don't really love him so much as we thoroughly enjoy confusing him with our hairdressing mind games. Why? Well because we're idiots. And it's fun. And since he's probably the only teenage boy ever to come into Toni&Guy for a haircut and NOT act like a total douche-bag, it only seems appropriate to pretend like we think he's a blonde version of, well, The Navy Man.
He's not, but I'm an excellent actress.
He's not, but I'm an excellent actress.
Anyway, about a week ago Alex and I were standing at reception and laughing at all the crazy names in the computer address book (yes, we take our work extremely seriously), and Tom walked past, all excited because the next day was his 17th birthday. Oh, bless. I love that there are boys out there still innocent enough to believe that turning 17 is something to be proud of. It gives me hope for the human race. It also gives me acute anxiety about being almost 21, but I try to focus on the hope thing. Tom eventually left, but - long story short - the two of us decided that since we didn't have much going on at the moment, acting like 2 crazed cougars the next time he came in for a haircut might be a fun thing to do. Not in a weird, creepy way though. I mean, it's not like we made a countdown chart until his next appointment:And crossed the days off one by one until it was One Hour Til Tom Time!:Okay, so we're total weirdos. And you know what? I think Tom sensed it...because 45 minutes - 45 MINUTES - before his scheduled appointment, he called to cancel.
Sigh. All that insanity, just wasted. I'd probably be more upset about this whole thing if my insanity supply wasn't unlimited, but still. Good one, Tom. Thanks to you, I had to spend my day at work actually working. I hate it when that happens!
In other news, I'm watching The Matrix Reloaded right now, and trying to imagine something more uncomfortable than having sex with those weird matrix-y plugs all over your body.
Nothing springs to mind.