Yesterday was strange. I should have known when my receipt at Tuesday Mornings was for "666". I said "better that receipt than my scalp."
The horoscopes say mercury is out of retrograde as of today ... maybe that explains it.
Saved a neat $300 by taking my beat up glasses with mega-expensive lenses (complete with the magical turn-into-sunglasses thing, HBO and extraterrestrial communication application) and chipping, battered designer frames to a big eyeglass place.
The guy said most people have a 10% chance of walking in with their lenses and finding a frame; he had mine. And it was two for one. Happy, happy, happy. I hate wearing contacts all the time.
Dropped a hundred at the pet supply store, got green-appropriate poop bags (I can now scoop guilt-free), meat-flavored toothpaste with finger brush, the healthiest kibbles and new retractable leashes (in pink) since the cheapies I have are toast.
The people at the Pet Supermarket on 41 near College are incredibly knowledgeable and helpful. The retractable leashes were locked up like Tiffany diamonds; the guy said kids come from the Edison mall after the movies and rip them off big time. That is such bullshit, the cops really need to put an end to it.
Went to the sex toy store. Bob* is dead. Bob has been dead for about 7 months. I guess I have mourned long enough. He is in my bathroom drawer, all pink and small and his little cord is tattered and gray and his ... control rattles like death rasp.
Choices were slim and ranged from $19.99 to $199.99 with basically nothing in between. The $19.99 unit looks like a purple rocketship from "Mom and Dad Save the Planet"; but beggars can't be choosers.
The clientele in those shops is always interesting. The woman behind the counter was a bit of a hoot. You know she has seen it all. She says on Fridays and Saturdays they're open til 2 a.m. with guards on staff because people file in drunk from Ricochet. (A rough country bar; I think they're down to one stabbing per 6 months now.)
Richochet folks don't buy so much as they point and laugh. I'm sure she had a lot more stories but I had too much to do.
Had a potential match date that evening. The guy is from my folks' area.
There is a regional factor to personalities, I swear to God. People from the north, especially that area of the UP and Northern Wisconsin are just very real and naturally funny. His name is Harry. Harry warned me via voicemail that if I couldn't meet him until 7 I wouldn't be meeting him at his best.
That would be the Beer Factor.
So I go to Lighthouse Tiki Bar to meet him. I was early, so I talked to Scott, the outside bartender. He is such a hard luck story. His wife got very ill and died and he lost everything they had to her medical bills. He's down here starting over. If you to go Lighthouse, please make it a point to be served by Scott outside - weather permitting.
Scott is doing OK. The cold weather has hurt his business, but it is inevitable that the weather will warm. So I'm sitting there chewing the fat and a humorous, Steve Martin looking guy in a baseball cap walks up with a really pretty young blonde. I looked at them - they looked at me - yeah, it was Harry and his niece.
We went inside, wherein he ordered way too much food at the bar and got acquainted with everyone within about 10 feet. It was hilarious. He totally disregarded my "one to two drinks" rule and every time I turned there was another drink. I paced carefully, still I found myself - like him - doing what I do when I drink too much: chatting up everyone within 10 feet.
A cute petite blonde with spiked hair and extensive tattoo work between the top of her low-cut jeans and the bottom of her sweatshirt was similarly friendly. We got to talking ... what do you do - she's a bartender who wants to move here. What do I do - writer. She says what they all say - "you should write about my life."
I have heard this a million times and my response is always the same - nobody can write your life like you can.
We're chatting on and off, between my chatting with Harry and his niece and others, back to the spikey blonde bartender. I told her to start by blogging, send me an email and I will send you to (here).
Spikey blonde is well into her drinks by this time and I mention something about Harley. She says she has been riding Harleys for years and gives "dick washes at Sturgis".
Like you're thinking "what???!" reading this, I was thinking "what???!" when the words came out of her mouth.
She says "yeah, $15 a dick, 3 minutes per dick, so many dicks per hour (demonstrating crouching like she's getting ready to shoe a horse and mimicking the hand motions) ... I can make enough in one biker event to not work half the year."
But she said she doesn't make nearly as much as the woman who "ties the guys by their wrists and drips hot wax on their" (couldn't understand her). Her date - an older man - was BEYOND mortified and dragged her away when my back was turned.
If she blogs - and I hope she does because you can't usually make this shit up - her blog should be pretty interesting.
The evening was a total hoot, a fine time and fun people to hang out with.
*Battery Operated Boyfriend
