When things go horribly, horribly wrong.

First, I would like to thank everyone who commented on my Gwyneth Paltrow post [I think I another reason I hate her is her dumb name - that's a bitch to spell].  I'm glad to see that my animosity toward her is shared by the right thinking people of the world. 

So yesterday was kind of a long day, particularly in that really ridiculously bad things happened to me.

For instance:

I took my daughter to a very trendy hair salon where the stylist we used to go to now works. 

So, FIRST bad thing was that traffic getting there was horrific - all kinds of construction and because we went to a college town and the students are moving back in [which I COMPLETELY FORGOT when I booked the appointment many weeks ago] there were a lot of people who didn't know where they were going.  So we were running late. 

SECOND bad thing was that I really, really, REALLY had to pee.  Now, you ladies who have had babies know that when you have to pee, YOU HAVE TO PEE.  I was very worried that I was going to pee myself and I had no other pants in the car [which, believe you me, I am storing an extra pair of pants and underwear in the car from now on] and I was 45 minutes away from home.  PLUS, I still had to navigate the downtown, find and pay for parking and find the new salon, where we had never been.  I mean, I knew the address, but wasn't sure where, exactly, it was located.

The girl, by the way, is finding it hilarious that I might pee my pants.  Not so hilarious if rub it on you, is it?

THIRD bad thing was that by the time I finally navigated the downtown and finally found parking [on the 6th floor of the parking garage for $5!! for an hour!!], we still had to book a block and a half to the salon, which was located UPSTAIRS.  So, my lungs are still kind of a mess from the bronchitis and the medication, and I'm walking superfast and then basically running up a flight of stairs, not caring that we're 10 minutes late, more caring that I'm going to PISS MYSELF in the salon.  So I make breathy small talk for all of 30 seconds with the receptionist and the stylist before begging them to point the way to the bathroom.

Sweet relief.

FOURTH bad thing was that - and I can't even believe this happened - I plugged up the toilet.  No. I did not make a massive poo.  Instead, as I quickly unbuttoned and sat down, I glanced at a handwritten sign saying "Only flush toilet paper down toilet."  It seems, in my experience, and I use a LOT of public restrooms, that signs like this mean "Please only use one [1] square of toilet paper.  This toilet cannot handle the two-ply stuff."  But, because of my near-trauma and the fact that I was still not breathing without gasping, I wasn't focusing and used a normal [o.k., maybe a bit more than normal, but I wasn't focusing, alright?] amount of toilet paper and then flushed.

Which of course, OF COURSE, plugged up the toilet.  So I'm standing in this trendy bathroom at a salon I'd never been to before, gasping and wheezing, wondering what the fuck I'm supposed to do.  I wash my hands and start poking around, but don't find a plunger or even a long handled scrubber.  I look through a cabinet, but that only had people's toothbrushes and hand lotion.  I'll admit, I thought briefly of using someone's toothbrush to fix the problem and then throwing it away, but realized that was a dick thing to do.  I have my morals.

Instead, I rooted around in my bag and found an old emery board.  Using that, I was able to fix the problem without touching anything, threw away the emery board [goodbye, old friend!] and then scrubbed and sanitized my hands until they hurt.

Shortly after, my breathing returned to normal and the girl's haircut was complete.

While waiting for the girl to be done, I was sitting in a very comfy chair and the stylist gave me a book to read, saying, "Here, you'll like this!  I know you're into it!"

It was a book about sexual relationships and astrological compatibility.

So, this is the FIFTH thing, not necessarily bad but maybe just weird.  Because I'm not sure what, in our two years together gave my and my daughter's stylist [actually, just my daughter sees her for cuts, I see her for color.  Not that you needed to know that, necessarily.  I just felt the need to clarify.  Evidently, like Dickens, I'm paid by the word.] the idea that a book on sexual astrology would be of interest to me, but also I WAS THERE WITH MY KID.  Who, luckily for her own pysche, did not see the title of the book mommy was reading.

Yes.  I read it. 

But I couldn't remember if my husband was a Sagittarius or a Capricorn, so I read the Leo Woman + Each of Those Man sections.  And I was kind of surprised to find a bit of truth in each of the sections.  I won't bore you with the details but I WILL SAY that the part about keeping me in a cage?  NOT TRUE.  [Yeah.  It was a weird book.]

So, that was just PART of my day yesterday.  I could not make this stuff up if I tried.