Deep in the dark, very corners of my mind, I told myself daily that the longer I stay away from blogging, the harder it would be to come back. It wasn't that I didn't have random thoughts running through my head, or that I felt like the words just would not come pouring out. Quite the opposite, actually. The thoughts are there, racing through my brain, having moments daily where I thought "oh hell yes, I could blog about this until my fingers cramped up". I have been in a whirlwind of activity, where I'm having to remind myself to shower, skipping the nightly ritual of drinky poo, scheduling out my weeks very carefully on a desk calendar complete with hot pink post it notes to remind me of the things I absolutely can NOT FORGET.
And in the meantime, the thoughts are racing. The WTF moments have multiplied, I've been left speechless at the stupidity of my daily activities more times than I can count, and I've just considered medicating myself with cold medicine to force my brain to just shut up for one single moment.
Tonight, I find myself with drink in hand, paused between chores, and actually home in unacceptable lounge wear prior to 8:00 PM. I'm not complaining as I've been enjoying these extracurriculars, and have a glorious day of girl time planned tomorrow and a Halloween party tomorrow night, but my gawd, this house has obviously been neglected this week. And though I would be horrified if someone knocked on my door and actually WANTED TO COME IN, I don't have to really worry about that, since I haven't even been here, and this house has turned into pit stop central. Mess schmess...who the hell cares.
With a full day tomorrow, I knew I would need to prep food for the Halloween party tonight. Having not entered a grocery store for a week, this meant I didn't have all the ingredients I needed on hand. And knowing how DIVINE that broccoli cheese soup is, I just knew I HAD TO HAVE a crusty bread to go with it.
Crusty bread. In the town of smooshy bread. Hot dog buns, white, wheat, and oh look, aren't we getting fancy with those pretzel rolls, but oh hell no, the grocery store I normally use does not have anything remotely resembling a crusty bread unless I were to buy a loaf and let it sit out on the counter for a couple weeks. And then it would just be crusty fuzzy bread that belongs in a petri dish.
OH GAWD. Fucking Hellmart. And their bread selection that includes crusty bread. But it's Hellmart. And it's a Friday night because I've had other shit to do every night this week. Maybe that's why my stomach hurt today...it was the Hellmart ulcer.
I can do this. I made a list late last night and it's really not a huge list so I should be in and out in no time.
Except life does not work that way when you are in the bowels of Hellmart.
First of all, I'm at war with this shit hole over a bottle of wine. It was recommended by a friend, and according to the wine's website, it is only carried in this area by Hellmart. The first time I went in for it (again, on a Friday night), I could not find it anywhere. And being Hellmart, there wasn't an employee anywhere to be found to ask about it. I considered asking someone at the front of the store (where all the employees are lurking), but the mental picture of the blank look accompanied by the mouth hanging open was too much for the end of a work week.
Since this time, I actually was in Hellmart for other things, I checked for the bottle of wine (again). I know where the liquor is located in the store, and not much else, so this was the first item to check off my list. And, being Hellmart, it of course, was STILL not on the shelves. I looked around fruitlessly for a Hellmart employee and of course, found none. Giving up, I worked my way through the list.
I very quickly realized that I don't know where anything is in this pit of despair. Which meant, already frustrated over the missing bottle of wine, I was wandering back and forth between aisles, muttering under my breath. And into the second round of backtracking through the store, the screaming began.
I work with the public. I get that kids throw fits. But this wasn't fit screaming. I'm very familiar with that through my work week. This was screaming for the joy of making noise. And though I didn't see the screamer, it seemed to follow me wherever I went, even though I was erratically pushing my way through random aisles. By the time I made it to the front, needing produce and realizing the candy corn was going to be ACROSS the store in the opposite direction, I was nearly ramming the cart into every stationary object in a blind rage.
Carrots...toss into the cart.
Broccoli...toss into the cart.
Large very round onion...glance around to see if screaming child is nearby so I can throw it at his head and really give him something to scream about. Toss into cart.
I was nearly at a jog by the time I skated through the store to find the Halloween aisle. But I grabbed that candy corn lickety split and raced to the finish line while listening to the WAAAAAAAAAAAH, WEEEEEEEEEE, WOOOOOOOOO echoing through the place.
And just my luck, screeching little bastard is at the checkouts. I'm tossing my shit onto the conveyor as quick as I can to just get the fuck out of there before I join in on the screaming, all while listening to mom say "be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, be quiet". I have a brief moment of a little twinge of compassion and then dad comes strolling over. Wait a goddamn minute. DAD IS THERE TOO? Why the hell isn't dad grabbing that hellion and removing him from the place? Oh hell no, wussy dad just says "stop screaming" over and over in which the spawn of Satan just laughs and then keeps right on wailing his siren song.
How the hell I managed to notice that my checkout clerk was double charging me for the overpriced bag of Reese's Pieces, I will never know.
And wouldn't you know it, that screeching little hound followed me as I raced out into the parking lot and nearly dove into my truck.
Good thing I didn't buy the bottle of wine, because I would have bought a corkscrew I didn't need just to open the damn thing and chug it in the confines of my car.
And I forgot the crusty bread.
I fail at life.
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| The 7th Level of Hell |
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