Can't Take Me Anywhere

Overheard while waiting in line at the pharmacy:

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-....I want to be sedated!

In my head (original meaning of the song notwithstanding):  Sedated?  And I’m waiting in line to refill my sleeping pills! BWAHAHAHA!!   

A week or so later, in the same pharmacy:

When I was a child, I had a fever....

In my head (again, original meaning of the song notwithstanding): Fever?  Giggle,giggle, snort.  This pharmacy rocks.  Why isn’t any one else smiling?  Am I the only one who thinks this?

Later on, at the shoe store...

'Cause it feels just like I'm walking on broken glass.  
Walkin’ on, walkin’ on broken gla-a-ass.

In my head: BWAHAHA!!!  And everybody’s trying on high heels!

Out loud (to my shopping companion): This is hilarious! 

Shopping companion: What are you talking about?

Me:  This song!  And we’re in a shoe store!

Shopping companion: Huh?  Oh - yeah.

I guess it is just me.  Carry on.

The Same Demons That Prick My Ass With Pitchforks Also Won’t Let Me Shop

Now that I stay at home, I no longer have to make a mad-dash to the mall during my lunch break to buy the kids’ clothes.

Instead I get to go to the mall dragging two screaming children around, while I desperately try to grab at whatever looks about their size as quick as possible, so we can leave without causing the other patrons permanent psychological damage.

I try to look put-together. Really, I do. I’ll shower and style my hair. I’ll even wear makeup. But by the time I walk into the store I end up looking like I’ve been blown in by a tornado.

I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore....

I always look windswept, even if it’s not windy. Somehow, even if I left the house with clean clothes, I arrive with snot, or spit-up or some other fluid on my jeans.

I walk around the store in a state of confusion, since I never know where anything is kept. I fall down escalators. I’ve paid for my purchases and then left the bags sitting on the cashier’s stand more than once, AT THE SAME STORE.

Yet every time I walk into Gymboree, or Baby Gap, or, heck, Target, I encounter mothers wearing clothes that are clean and stylish. Their hair is glossy. They can still wear high-heel boots while shopping. Their kids are nowhere to be seen, but when they’re around they’re quiet and complacent and sort of fade into the background. Mine are usually screaming. One may have fallen out of the cart. WHO KNOWS?

So, how do all these put-together moms stay...put-together? Is there some sort of elixer I’m not aware of? It can’t be booze. I’ve tried.

Maybe their kids are in pre-school or grade school, so they don’t puke on their mothers every day, and their mothers get to take uninterrupted showers?

My personal demons mock, “The only problem is you. If you tried harder, you’d be put-together, and beautiful, and no one would ever puke on you.” These demons also stab me in the ass with tiny pitchforks, but that’s the least of my worries right now.

But it can’t be just me. There has to be other mothers of preschoolers and toddlers and babies walking around with frizzy hair and wearing puke.

I just wish I knew where they were, so we could go shopping together.

Just When You Think Nothing Happens To You....

Disclaimer: Smut isn't my usual genre. But for the sake of this post, I have to use the word penis. It can't be helped. Fair warning.

I went to the grocery store today. Upon opening the car door, I was faced with a strange something lying on the cold, snowy pavement. I tried to take a picture with my cell phone, but all I got was this:

What do you mean you don’t know what this is?!

The mystery object was...some....thing.....

It looked something like a plantain, but there was no knobby bits at the end.

It wasn't this. Maybe...

It also looked something like a kielbasa, but it wasn’t ring shaped. Sometimes smoked sausages are packed more like traditional sausages. Either way, those suckers are vacuum-packed in my neck of the woods. So in order for one to hit the ground of a parking lot, some one had to ravenously gnaw at the vacuum seal until it tore open, so they could consume then-and-there the cold, raw meat.

Getting closer. Sort of...

No one is that desperate for sausage. Except maybe the homeless. Now I feel bad.

Anyhow, it was probably either a malformed plantain, or a sausage of unusual shape and/or destruction.

But I prefer to think it was this:

Really, Who Needs To Eat Anyhow?

One thing I hate about moving to a new state is adjusting to a different grocery store.

I arrived at Sentry with high hopes, and pride in my ability to actually do something responsible.

The first thing I did was obtain a cart. Naturally, Toddler spied one of those full-size carts with car at the end of it. This thing had the turning radius of a jumbo jet, and I think I ran down 5 elderly women trying to steer it.

This is a great idea! According to Satan.

After strapping Baby and Toddler into the Satan-mobile shopping cart, we headed towards the produce section. The store had a great selection of fruits and vegetables, but even after combing the aisles 3 times, I still couldn’t find any fresh herbs. I’m pretty certain some fraction of my soul is still wandering the store in search of fresh sage.

At the Deli counter, the clerk was kind enough to give me a taste-test of the ham I wanted to buy. But it wasn’t just a little piece; it was an entire slice. I gave some to Toddler, who likes ham. She ate it, but when I tried to pawn the rest of it off on her, she said, “No, thank you.”

So then I was facing the reality that I had an entire slice of ham on my person. It was good ham. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to throw it away in front of the clerk, but I also didn’t feel like downing all that ham at 10:00 am on a Monday morning.

I did what any reasonable person would do. I put the ham in my pocket.

Then, to my horror, I couldn’t find my favorite flavor of International Delight creamer. Seriously, I’ve checked about 3 different stores in my neck of the woods and they just don’t have it. Sure, they carry other flavors, but not Hershey’s Chocolate Caramel:

No, you can't have International Delight Hershey's Chocolate Caramel Coffee Creamer. Not yours.

Eventually I paid for my groceries, and we headed to the car. The grocery store was on the top of a small hill. There are not many hills in southwestern Ohio, so I didn’t really think of it when I left Baby in the Satan-mobile while I buckled Toddler in her seat.

The slight incline of the hill, plus the heavy load of groceries caused the cart to roll away WITH BABY STILL INSIDE IT. It was like a scene from a cheesy movie, except it was real life, and very little cheese was involved. I ran after the cart, and rescued it and Baby.

All this physical activity made me hungry, so we went to McDonald’s for lunch. Unfortunately, I was so disoriented that I forgot how a McDonald’s worked, and ordered as if I wasn’t 100% certain they would give me food.

Cashier: How can I help you today?

Me: Uhh...cheeseburger? Happy Meal?

Cashier: Ok, one cheeseburger happy meal. Anything else?

Me: ??? Ummm...cheeseburger? Fries?

Cashier: Anything to drink?

Me: Soda? Diet Coke? Do you have it back there?

Cashier: Actually, you fill it yourself over there.

Me: Over there???

Cashier: Yup! Your total is $7.59.

Me: *Blank stare*

I’m asking my family to try to subside on meager rations, but they don’t seem to be listening. Now I’ll have to go grocery shopping again next week. I can’t wait.