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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 of flour.

"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 know.


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…looming 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.

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0 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

yay, diaryland