I am having a severely detached-from-myself day. it has been the most awkward, strange, surreal, bizarre day ever. should I really be shocked that at 6:30 this evening it got even weirder? probably not. but, I am.
the folks who groom my dog are simply lovely. a pair of the most festive queens you'd ever want to meet, in a pink saal-on in weho with a disco ball and paw signed photos of their groomables. (ps) juice did not make the fame wall, but that's ok. we're not into breed cuts. we're puppy-cut-oatmeal-bath purists.
I scheduled a bath and a summer cut for the kid tomorrow @ noon. I got a call this evening at... 6:30. good. you're keeping pace.
R: katie, D walked out today and I think he quit.
ME: oh. really?
R: yeah. he got into a HUGE fight with one of our customers about paris hilton.
R: yeah. the customer said that paris hilton's toenails were dirty and D screamed, "no, they weren't, you dirty lying hag." and he screamed, "I quit" and, poof. he was gone.
at this point, I'm thinking, are you fucking kidding me? an argument about paris hilton's toenails not only took place, but actually cost someone their job?!
my mind is now racing, D must be a drug addict. you judgmental bitch. don't say that. he's lovely. he's so nice. or not. wait. I've allowed a drugged up queen to bathe my son. what if he dropped him and caused all of his knee and back problems? oh my god, I am a horrible mother. I should be locked away for negligence. but, wait, it's such a festive environment. hi, katie, obviously. drugs. who the fuck fights over paris hilton's toenails and practically decks someone over it. better yet, actually gives up a paycheck for it?!
are you mother fucking cock sucking kidding me with this?!