Grocery Store

You know its no wonder that America struggles with obesity. I mean, they put the bloody cookie and crackers in the baby aisle, right there opposite from the diapers and the formula are the fucking cookies. If the kids don’t want them then the parents definitely need them. And let me tell you how I wandered around the store, in awe that I was there with 10 men, 2 of which I’m sure were “partners” if you get my quotes. One fellow was looking at the cheese while I’m perusing the beer. Taking out my handy-dandy cell phone which also has a calculator so that I may compute the cost of a bottle of beer. It was 72 cents. And I pay how much at a bar? Oh, I think I’ll be staying home and drinking by myself more often. Its more fun too. No need for makeup, nice clothes or even underwear AND I get to listen to the music I want to listen to. Like Damn Yankees, Styx and Winger. “I was a loner, cruising with the wind, I wasn’t lookin’ when you put me in, I had to leave you like I always did, you knew damn well I’d come again. Now I’m falling, where I’ve never been, My resistence is wearing thin, somewhere in the distance, like a long lost friend, oh oh oh, yeah a yeah ah, Lord here I come again. . . come again.” Don’t care what anyone says, that’s a damn good song, 80's long hair or not. “When I finally get my hands on you, tell you what I’m gonna do, lay you down, strip you bare, make love to you ‘til the morning comes around.” Now that’s a goddamn love song!! None of that exceptionally obscene Yanni shit or Celine Dion, “my heart will go on.” Any girl who wants to hear that shit needs her fucking head examined because if a guy can’t throw you on the bed, rip your fucking clothes off and make you happy all night long I sure as hell don’t want him waiting for me at the end of the fucking movie on a goddamn ghost ship. Oh, I forgot, he did rip her clothes off in a corset sort of way. Or was it she? You know, I think he was tryin’ to be all noble, noble sucks, she has to look at him and say “touch me Jack.” Or some stupid something like that. What the bloody hell? The best love stories though are the ones that include drugs and money like “Scarface” and “Blow.” Al Pacino, Johnny Depp, yeah, I could love them. Of course I wouldn’t mind taking a trip back to say the late 60's, early 70's because Robert Plant could really fill out a pair of hiphuggers. And if he couldn’t? Well, I’d be more than glad to hug his hips for him, on my knees. Yeah, he was HOT! Now, well, you need a relief map to find his mouth but hey, we all have our problems. I digress, back to the grocery store. I almost cracked myself up a few times because I kept wanting to break into song, like the Pirate Song and quote lines from Pirates of the Carribean. (Rolling like thunder, from above I'll take you there, I'll take you higher than you've ever been before, Now come on, yeah, You've got to, Tell me how you want it (won't you tell me), Tell me what you want me to do - another fine love song from our friends Damn Yankees). Once again, I digress. Aside from wanting to call everyone “Captain” and “mate” I’ve taken to acting quite a bit like Jack Sparrow, the weaving part, not to mention the accent. Something between, oh I don’t know, French, English, Australian and Irish. So, I’m walking around, seemingly lost, but I do have a rag tag assortment of shit in my buggy. The mega super supply of toilet paper. You know like 30 double rolls. Its myself and a small child. But hell, I figure everyone needs shit paper, shit happens. And an 18 pack of Icehouse, which is supposed to be for New Year’s Eve, but I got an early start. Now me, I think its fucking hilarious that I have all this party stuff, the little wieners, meat to make meatballs, deviled ham, cream cheese and crackers, the beer and this huge fucking package of toilet paper, oh and milk, because I needed milk. I must feed the small child in my house milk you see. Just 10 ½ more years and there will be more room in the refrigerator for beer. Oh, you found me out, Mother of the Year material I am not. Anyway, so, I get this feeling that I’m being “checked out” and not by the cashier. He was your typical teenaged young alcoholic in the making with incredible dark brown eyes with insanely long lashes that I could teach a few things. In other words you young punk, I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever know. And I know this because I’m a female, therefore I forget nothing and you being male forget everything not directly connected to beer, football, baseball, and basketball, in that order. Of course you could be a little different, it could be beer, hunting, fishing and Nascar or any combination of the above. I did feel sort of feel like the “odd man out” since I was the only female, until I realized in front of me in the checkout line was actually another female. She could have passed for a man but I didn’t say anything. I just freaked her out by weaving my way past her to grab a magazine and I notice that dark brown eyed, incredibly long lashed cashier was away from his post and I looked at her, in a very Jack Sparrow sort of way, and I said, “ I suppose we’re in a holding pattern here, eh?” Her eyes got very big and she didn’t answer, can’t figure out why. So, I’m on my way to my car, keep in mind I’m sober and I don’t want to be. I see a bunch of young persons, kids, hooligans, what have yous, hanging out and true to form, I don’t think first of my person, or my purse, I’m thinking, “I will stomp the living shit of anyone who tries to take my beer.” And no, I don’t take medication for that, what’s that word? Oh, um, you know, paranoia. I like being paranoid, keeps me on my toes. I told you I’m in this Jack Sparrow mood. Well, if you don’t know who Jack Sparrow is then go and rent “Pirates of the Carribean: The Curse of the Black Pearl.” Actually I’m in more of a Captain Barbossa mood. And you don’t know who that is see the second sentence of this paragraph. Anyway, I told my boss today that I was disinclined to acquiesce to his request. He said “in other words you would like to be fired.” I said, “on second thought, I would so inclined to acquiesce to your request with continuous gluteus maximus smooching.” Never try to out-argue the man whose name is on the door, the letterhead and the mortgage. I just finished my third beer and I’m trying to decide whether I want another one even though it is getting a little difficult to type. I mean, if I don’t, then I have an odd number of beers left. That’s make me wonder about the synchronicity of it all. Aye, it makes me wonder a lot of things. None of which I should put in writing. Okay, maybe I could put it in writing but then what would be the consequences? Probably nothing, because I never get a straight answer anyway. I think I’ll just smoke another cigarette. I mean, cigarettes are fairly simple, you light them, you suck on them, they go away. Which leads me to the conclusion that all cigarettes are male. So, that was my trip to the grocery store, savvy?