How to Overdose on Puff Paints…

It’s easy, really. Just make 500 invitations for your boss’s “Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow” party (celebrating her new hair extensions; yes, ONLY in L.A.!)… BY HAND. You, too, will overdose on bright pink and orange neon puff paint fumes. I know you’re laughing at the thought of such a thing, but it’s true…

So I just finished the invites… and I can barely type this, my hand hurts so much from those blasted puff paints. At times like this, I wish I were ambidextrous.

And you know how I thought each bottle would cover about five invites? I was wrong. Three invites. Tops. Plus, then there was the drying time… And the rushing-back-to-the-store-for-more time. (The first Michael’s ran out of neon, so I had to go to a couple other ones all over town. Fun. But at least I get reimbursed for mileage.)

So did the senior citizens help me out…? You bet they did. They loved it! They said it was a nice change from making “50th Wedding Anniversary” and “75th Birthday” invitations for their friends. And they loooooooooved Chloe’s hair (believe it or not!) and asked me 101 questions about hair extensions. Most of them thought it was pretty frivolous (as did I), yet they were also intrigued: “Why would someone want to extend their hair?” Good question… “That’s an… interesting hair color choice.” That’s one word for it. “Is that hair real?!” Supposedly… They also loved all the neon puff paint colors; I love senior citizens.

For the next several hours, about fifteen women (and one man) and I puff painted our little hearts out. I insisted on paying them with petty cash (I’d make up an excuse to Chloe later; perhaps I’d have to “lose” a grocery receipt, or something), but they insisted on not taking a dime (something sooooo, sooooo rare in L.A.). Instead, I promised to come help them with some crochet and knitting projects sometime soon (though I’ve never picked up a needle). (I also promised myself to drop off some cookies or brownies for them even sooner.)

I got home around midnight and safely stowed the invites away until morning. I went to bed… only to be awakened around 1 a.m. by my cell. “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” started playing, full-blast; my ringtone for Chloe. Uh. I pick up…

“Avery?!” she shouted. Fuck, dudette, settle down. “I didn’t get it!” Get what…?! Shit, I couldn’t remember what she was referencing. Oh… the audition. She started crying. I told her I’d be right over…

I arrived at Chloe’s, proudly holding the 500 invites in my hand as I walked up to the house. She opened the door before I could even ring the bell… only, I didn’t recognize her under her tear-stained face and messy hair… Wait… her hair…! “They wanted someone with shorter hair!” she wailed. I then looked at her. Her hair was a mess – and SHORT. Her hair extensions were now IN HER HAND. WTF?! “Cancel the party,” she said, covering her face with her hands and motioning for me to come in. I stared at the invitations in my hand forlornly as I followed her inside.

Did I ever tell you how much I hate this job?