12.10.2002 - 4:45 p.m.
Today I went to our neighborhood
grocery store. To buy sugar. So I could make a second attempt
at a blackberry pie. Which I tried last night but ran out of
regular sugar so substituted powdered sugar. Resulting in a sorrowful
blech-y, gluey pie.
It's all about the version
1.0 pies, this time of year.
Anyway, I also bought a few
other things which included a poinsettia and a resealable bag
"Oh, those are SO pretty,"
gushed the checkout lady as she scanned the poinsettia. "..Yeah,"
I said, somewhat inadequately.
"I just LOVE these new
plastic bags of flour," she said with feeling, ringing up
my Gold Medal Flour Whatever.
Now, here's the deal. This
is the nicest grocery store on earth. If even two people are
in line, checkers rush out of nowhere to open new registers.
The person who gets the carts waves and says hi. The produce
guy practically hugs you. It's the best service I've ever had
in any store, just about (go Bellevue QFC! Woof! Woof! Woof!).
Except. They all comment on
what you buy. A little innocent comment on a random item. It's
like they've been trained to do so. Don't just scan their
items, SHARE their items!
Plants and flour, no big deal.
But what if I were buying a 14 inch zucchini, a family-pack of
KY, and a case of Old E 800?
I haven't, but you never
I was reading someone's diary
today and vividly relived the eye-puff you get at the optometrist.
You know, where you have to hold your head against the thing
and stare ahead and pfffff, you get that horrible shot
of air directly into your eyeball? The last time I had that done
I was such a shivering wreck about the whole thing, it must have
taken an hour to get it done. I'd tremblingly inch forward, stare
moistly at the light for .000001 seconds, then I'd helplessly
jerk my head back and screw my eyes tightly shut while the air
foofed against my closed eyelids. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I get kind of heebed about
by eye stuff. For instance, when I had my craptacular makeover a while back, I totally freaked
when the girl tried to put mascara on me. The wand
in my eye...warrggh. I was blinking like an epileptic watching
Pokemon, while my coworker Molly sniggered herself silly. I also
remember having eyedrops as a kid, where my mom had to sort of
loom over me and plop them directly on my eyeball. It was the
eye-puff all over again.
I should be desensitized to
all eye related things, really. Years and years of wearing contacts,
and all that comes with it (drunkenly sleeping in your daily
wear lenses then peeeeeeeling them from your eyes the next day,
for example) should have me willing to happily jab toothpicks
in my eyes if needed.
Oh, also I've had the top layer
of my eyeballs carefully razored back, revealing the peeled-grape
part, then lasers shot into my orbs resulting in a thin trail
of smoke that smelled exactly like if you've ever burnt your
bangs while smoking pot. Lasik surgery, and worth every goddamn
penny. Despite the (literally) burning retina part.
Why? Because it's the holidays.
And I love humiliating my pets.
go back :::
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004