In an effort to pull myself together, I decided to pay a visit to the
fiery pits of hellnail salon this weekend. Who doesn't love the fresh smell of toxins in the air and their manicurist beheading their index finger? Who needs their index finger anyway? Having 10 fingers is so 2013 and index fingers are more for pussiespansies anyway. *Oh and I'm now changing the name of my blog to "Nine Finga Nanners."
I consider myself ever so slightly seasoned with knowledge, and I do happen to know that we have a bunch of major arteries, that if we cut, we're fucked. Well Saturday, I discovered that I have major arteries in my finger. (Keep in mind, this is according to me, the girl who uses shady chat rooms on the internet late at night to get the highest quality medical advice. Web MD is way more credible than a real life doctor...Just check it out...at night... alone).
NO GOD JESUS DONT DO IT. THANKS TO WEB MD I'M CURRENTLY FIGHTING THE WORST CASE IMAGINEABLE OF THE BUBONIC PLAGUE, AVIAN BIRD FLU AND ELEPHANTIASIS. I'm making this up, but there have got to be arteries in your finger since I'm pretty sure it was arterial spray that I experienced (thanks HBO & Dexter), straight across the salon as the manicurist hacksawed my nails into perfection. That's okay, Mrs. Ted Bundy/manicurist lady, don't mind the paramedics, the crash cart or let the fact that I screamed "holy fuck that hurt", stop you. Carry on. There was however, the added bonus of a distraction, which was the owner's 6 year old son who would intermittently tell off customers for no reason and try to sell me used magazines for 2 bucks every 5 minutes. Then, because children and all other people with screws loose typically love me, the little boy asked me play to cards with him. It was a card game which required me to loose every hand and pretend that he's a little genius trickster who has outsmarted the ditsy blonde- you know, those kind of kid games. Are there any other kind? Actually, that sounds a lot like adult mind games and my dating life.
Despite feeling like an extra in the movie Saw, I ended up sticking around the salon to breath in acrylic and play cards for 20 minutes longer than I should have. I just didn't have the heart to tell the little Einstein that I had to go and tend to the giant gaping wound his mother gave me during my nail appointment. Well, if this life has taught me anything, it's to follow your gut...The little card shark ended up freaking the fuck out when I tried to win one round (to teach him the hardships of life), so he took our deck of cards and whipped them up into the air and screamed, "NOOOOOO, I win." (Again, this story is really starting to mirror my love life.)
Me, remaining calm, (since I heard it's taboo to punish other people's kids, especially in public), bent over to pick them off the floor as he then began to yell something at me in Chinese. I may not be Rosetta Stone, but I'm pretty sure he said,
"Stupid blonde. I eat bitches like you for breakfast. You try and pull a fast one on me and you pay the price. I think I just pissed myself."
It was something along those lines, I'm just sure of it. Anyway, as my eyes locked with his during his tirade, God decided it would be funny if I pulled 40 muscles in my back.... Instantaneously. Wicked! I've never hurt my back in my entire life, but I must say I'm really happy that I had my tiny Asian friend yelling at me when it happened...he did sweet fuck all. It's not like I expected him to strap me to his back and go all Band of Brothers on me, carrying me on his back through the salon, but he could have stopped to listen to me bitch for
3 hours5 seconds. After my trip to purgatory, I returned to my parents house to collect my dignity and take a tinkle before heading home to the big bad city. Now, please keep in mind when you live alone, pissing with the door open is as common as touching yourself after The Notebook. Very common. So sometimes when I'm in other dwellings, I forget to shut the door. Sue me. It's an honest mistake...well my parent's bathroom is located right across from the kitchen, where my poor father was just trying to make something to eat, instead he witnessed his 32 year old spinster daughter urinating...sober. Upon burning his retina's with the image of his grown daughter peeing in front of him, he yelled, *Must read in Scottish accent "Close the fucking door!" Obviously Shrekmy dad startled me, and it prompted me to shut the door. I've recovered from the great vagina incident of 2010, so I can certainly recover from this. (If you don't know what I'm referencing, my robe came undone in front of my father once. I just recently logged about 1000 hours in therapy for this). Finally, I headed back to my crib where I'm free to pee sans the door shut, and my night continued to get progressively worse (in my opinion). Most of my close friends, know that I have a serious aversion, like a serious aversion to cotton balls. Ugh I just shuddered thinking of cotton balls touching my skin. The same goes for Q tips which I actually strategically pick out of the box in the centre of the ear stick of death, without having to touch the cotton itself. Anyway, yesterday in the spirit of personal hygiene I bought more white sticks of death, as I realized I was out. Here's what happened.
For about 40 minutes I sat on my couch and stared at the mess of death sticks and thought "THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO ME. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DEAL WITH THIS?" I can imagine this is how Obama feels when thinking about nuclear wars and shit. Dang this was tough. So since procrastination and I are besties, and the S.W.A.T team was tied up, I thought "fuck this," I'll deal with this later. So off I went to grab my very specialist friend in the whole wide world...My new box of Nytol. AND HERES WHAT HAPPENED.
See that little tiny ball of white???...Yeah, that's a cotton ball. THAT WASN'T IN MY LAST BOX OF NYTOL....So, I did the obvious and googled the factory address to pistol whip the person who shoved a cotton ball in my beloved happy time pill box. Eventually my PMS induced rage subsided, and I rethought the hassle of becoming violent with the Nytol people. However, During the great cotton ball saga of 2013 which had just gone down in my apartment, I forgot I had laundry virtually catching fire in the cheap communal dryer downstairs. As I ran down to collect my scolding hot laundry, (and momentarily paused in the hall and smiled when I realized our lobby no longer smelt like sausages and curry), I discovered that I accidentally shoved my neighbour's laundry card that she left behind, in the dryer, with my clothes. So there it was, melted like butter to the inside of the dryer....Sweet.
So, If you're wondering if my neighbour is doing her laundry today, that's a definite no.If you're wondering if if the q tips are still on the floor. Yes
If you're wondering if I've slept. No. If you're wondering if my heart still hurts after being yelled at by both an Asian and a Scotsman within minutes of eachother, yes. If you're wondering how I'm typing this while cloaked in a straight jacket...it's magic.