A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || March 19, 2003 || 12:13 pm

So, I am up at the asscrack o’ dawn this morning, feeling well-rested even though I only slept a few hours last night and have lost tons of hours over the last few days (something in the air, what can I say?). Proactive and ready to pounce, I kissed a half-awake Maxim and wished him a Happy, Happy Birthday! before I went walking in the rain. Damn, a good walk in the rain is SWEET. I then came home to shower and wake the kids.

I do the requisite girly frou-frou stuff that makes me feel good: The shaving of legs, the administering of facial, et al. I’m out of the shower, into sweats and greeting my children in clockwork fashion. I’ve even downed 24 ounces of my daily requisite 100 ounces of water before I gently shake them awake.

I help Sam understand that the socks he wore to last night’s events are NOT acceptable to recycle for school, I help Mathias wriggle into his favorite SpongeBob shirt, I help Scout put up her hair. Oh, my beautiful chirrens. I feed them breakfast, which goes along smoothly with no bickering and nonsense. Off to school with everyone!

I drive to Wal-Mart (shut up, Delmer, you’re there just as much as I am) to pick up a couple things and upon entering the parking lot am dumbly reminded that the BRAND NEW SuperCenter opened today. Holy mother of Israel, it’s gonna be pure madness for just some paper towels and baby wipes. I put on my “I LOVE HUMANITY. NO, I REALLY DO.” face and park the car way out in BFE because that just so happens to be the closest spot. Upon entering, I notice a large crowd gathered and some speechifying by local perceived bigwigs is going on. I am promptly informed that the store doesn’t open for another fifteen minutes and if I would like to join the crowd I am welcome to do so.

I prefer not to; my hair is still wet and twisted behind my head, I’m No-MakeUp Girl and I really just wanted to get the fuck in and get the fuck out. So I settle in against a wall and wait about as long as my patience can stand, which, if you know me at all, amounted to roughly ninety seconds.

“Screw THIS,” I say to the couple nearest to me (who appear to work there or something), “I’m here for paper towels, not pomp and circumstance. You can find me on aisle five, folks.” With that, I sashayed past the checkout stands and into Magical Retail Land. Nothing has been clearanced here yet, so I am wildly disinterested, but the new smell of everything is pretty neato.

I come back with the paper towels and wipes to find that they’ve gone decidedly over schedule and I stand there, shifting purchases and wallet and weight from one side to the other. DAMMIT! HURRY UP, YOU FUCKERS! DAMMMMN it!

When the checkouts open up and I head toward them, two associates jump crazily in front of me, grab a tin of Altoids and cry, “WE WANT TO SPEND THE FIRST WAL-MART DOLLAR!” I give them the ‘give me a big fucking break’ look, but they, in their glee, miss it. What a waste of a good face.

Well, they got to SPEND THE FIRST WAL-MART DOLLAR, but I had the proud distinction of being the first Wal-Mart customer to have the CSM called over for a problem at the register.

This, fine readers, does not bode well for their future.

The cashier is all goofy and flustered, but I am remarkably patient with her and leave with no ill will. I head to the gym, where I see that someone has bled over into my tanning bed time slot and I’m patient this time for all of ten minutes. Maaaan, I’m on a regimented schedule, I’ve only got so many fucking hours in a day, so I approach the woman at the desk to inquire. She comes to my rescue as do several teenage boys who start banging on the door and yelling, “BRANDON! Get the heck outta there! We’re here to WORK OUT, not to lay inna tannin bed!” A boy emerged, smiling goobery at me, his drawers exposing miles of asscrack, pulling on a tee shirt.

“You wipe the bed down?” I ask, and he looks at me dumbly. One of his male companions has to repeat the question to him. Earth to redneck, come in, redneck…

“Uhh, naw.”

“Well, could you please do that?” I crinkle my nose. He still looks at me dumbly. The boy who appears to be the most intelligent of the four explains to him: “GO CLEAN OFF THE TANNING BED FOR HER.” I’m all about standard procedure in matters of hygeine.

I head back home, hop into the shower once more, do more girly stuff, get outta there feeling fiiiiine, condition my hair, brush it thoroughly, down a protein shake, apply a facial. For the second time. Oops!

I scoop up my toothbrush, but the toothpaste is nowhere to be found, so I look in various places in the house, frustrated, until finding it in Sam’s room (what the…??). Then I go back to the bathroom to grab my toothbrush, which has disappeared. I look updownandallaround for IT, but cannot locate it. When I stop to take a breath and assess the situation, I stand and think for two full minutes before discovering that it’s in my fucking hand and I had been toting it around all this time.

I’m ironing my clothes when I realize that, although I did massive amounts of girly frou-frou nonsense in the shower, I forgot to wash my hair, only wetting it instead. Not once, but twice…both showers. For fucksakes.

Stupid head. Stupid clouds. And the butterflies a-dancin’.

3 worked it out »

  1. waistdog 3.19.2003

    See what Wally World does to people?

    I was at my local Wal Mart today.

    I bought a pair of pants.

    The checker spent over fifteen minutes trying to remove the “seek and destroy” anti theft tag.

    She had to call for help.

    The help had to call for help.

    I asked them what would happen if I walked out with the anti theft tag still on? They didn’t really know.

    But it was sure to be bad.

    Sixteen checkout isles. With sixteen cashiers.

    And it took over a half hour, to get out of there.

    And you know what?

    When I got home.

    The anti theft tag, was still on the pants.

    And when I yanked it off.

    Nothing happened.

    Although the F.B.I. may be zeroing in on my house as I write this.

  2. Jett 3.19.2003

    They’re clocking you waisty. They are.

    My sources are good.

  3. April Love 3.19.2003

    You are killin’ me. Can I say “Eat up with it?” You get my meaning.


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