Why I Hate Grocery Shopping More Than umm…Anything

grocery shopping
Trying to keep it clean people. No matter how hard that is for me.

I went to the grocery store today.  The Kid opened the refrigerator this morning and proclaimed that there wasn’t a thing in it.  So, I guess I needed to.  Even though it seems I just went.  I don’t know why, but grocery shopping day comes real quick-like.  Don’t you think?

Anyway, it was 17 degrees outside according to the temperature gauge in my car.  Tried as I may, I could not find a blessed spot closer than a football field away from the front door of the store.  So I parked.  And sat there.  And sat there.  I heard car doors slamming shut all around me.  Other people were not just sitting there.  They were getting that crap done.  Because they are smart and did not want to prolong the inevitable.

I mean, I had stuff to do while sitting in my car.  Like text a friend.  Check Facebook.  Update my status.  And when I was done with that, I googled “will pigs ever fly and if so, when?”  When I finally got the courage — yes, you need courage to drag your ass out of a warm car with butt warmers into freezing cold temperatures — to start my excursion, I noticed there were several empty spots.  Even one that was right next to the handicapped spot.  Figures.

I realized pretty quickly that I should have tried to convince myself to stay in my car a little longer.  Or at least until Spring.

  1. “Don’t look.  Don’t look.  Don’t look.”  That’s what I said to myself as the nice cart attendant was gracious enough to grab me a cart.   Out of the corner of my eye, I saw hanging from his nose, one of those mucusy, thick snot strings.  You know the kind that are so thick, they don’t even move with all the head shaking in the world?  That kind.  But I looked.  It’s kinda like a bad car wreck.  You really don’t want to look but you are compelled.  All I can say is, I’m surprised I purchased as many groceries as I did.
  2. One of the things that irks me the most is when people find it necessary to have a reunion smack in the middle of the cereal aisle.  Standing 6 people deep, carts included, makes it kinda hard to pass, in case you were wondering.  My dad used to say, “you make a better door than window” whenever we would stand in front of him while he was watching television.  Well, what I wanted to say was, “you make a better door, vault and Fort Knox than a nice, CLEAR OPENING IN THE CEREAL AISLE SO MOVE!!!”  But I didn’t.  I stood there.  Huffing and puffing.  Because I’m passive-aggressive like that.
  3. I just wish people wouldn’t walk backwards in the grocery store.  Because if they do, they stand the chance of getting run over by my cart.  Well lady, you shoulda used your rearview mirror. Or better yet, you should not walk backwards in the grocery store.  She seemed a little miffed.  I don’t know why.
  4. I find it funny that you suddenly feel really bad about some of the choices you made while you are putting the items on the conveyor belt and someone is standing behind you in line  watching your every move.  Even with the mucus snot image branded into my brain, I got a few extra fun snacks.  To help pass the time while we are all home staying warm.  Thank God I grabbed some broccoli.  You know.  To dip into the Ranch dressing.
  5. “Don’t look.  Don’t look.  Don’t look.”  This time it was the man in line behind me who only had 4 items (I have good peripheral vision).  “Oh God.  I should probably offer to let this guy go in front of me.  That would be the nice thing to do.  Oh screw that.  I want to get home just as much as he does.  Why is MY time any less important.  If I pretend I don’t see him, then he won’t think I’m selfish.  Because if I didn’t see him, then how can I have the opportunity to ask if he wants to cut me?  Besides there are like 3 Express lines here.  That’s his problem if he doesn’t want to use them.”  “Excuse me, sir.  Would you like to get in front of me?”  Yeah, I looked.
  6. They really outta invent brakes for shopping carts.  Either that or stop building grocery stores with sloping parking lots.  I’m tired of running after my cart.  Well, that actually didn’t happen today.  But it could have.  If it did happen, I most likely would have let it go.  Because I seriously haven’t the energy.  This season should not be called Winter.  It should be called the “I can’t get out of bed because I’m tired all of the time energy sucking” season.  Don’t you think?  Anyway, what I am tired of is thinking of ways to get my cart from running backwards down the hill.  Do you know how hard it is to keep your foot behind the wheel while unloading that thing?  I can barely chew gum and walk at the same time.  It’s a damn circus act.

Ok, so this was going to be a quick post.  Because I have a ton of laundry to do and I haven’t even finished putting away those darn groceries.  But it wasn’t so quick.  Sorry about that.  Anyway, this is a great excuse to not do those things, right?  For both you AND me.  You’re welcome.  Stay tuned for “Why I Hate Laundry and Putting Away Groceries.”

Quick Call the Doctor. I Think I Have Cabin Fever.

Just kidding.
Just kidding.

Part 2 of My Reader’s Suggestions.  This one is about Cabin Fever.  Because when we can’t get out, that’s what it feels like.  A damn fever.  A fever that will not go away.  No amount of Motrin can help either.  Believe me.  I tried.

If you live in the Northeast like I do, hell, if you live anywhere besides Hawaii, you have suffered the effects of this crazy winter.  I will almost bet there is an epidemic of Cabin Fever going on all over the country.  As for me?  I’m just about at my wit’s end.  I can tell you that.

I’m not a skier.  I’m not a sledder.  I’m not an outside in the cold kind of person in any way.  I secretly feel blessed when I ask the kid if she wants to go outside and build a snowman or make snow angels and her answer is, “heck no.”  Thank the Lord.  Following in her mom’s footsteps.  That’s good, right?

So, now if it isn’t bad enough, I have a disgusting head cold.  Disgusting.  With snot, phlegm, the works.  I feel like crap.  Which translates to not wanting to leave the house because I don’t have the energy.  But at the same time, I am beyond bored out of my gourd.  The Kid wanted a drive over to a friend’s house last night.  Even in my fog, I jumped at the chance to actually breathe a little fresh air.  Even if I was just going from the garage back to the, umm, garage.  Hmmm.  I feel duped.  How did that happen?

Anyway, how do we cure the dreaded Cabin Fever?  You know, if you don’t ski, sled, ice fish or partake in any of the fun outside snow activities you can do?  Damn.  Even if you do do those things, it’s just too damn cold out.  Unless you like frostbite.  But I’m guessing you don’t.

I’ll tell you what I have been doing:

There are 10 billion channels on cable.  Yet there is nothing on.  I have become a Facebook stalker to the creepy extent.  My brain is so fuzzed up from mucus plugs and television radioactive waves, that it can’t think.  So, in my attempt to write, I sound like Justin Beiber on pot, tequila and prescription meds.  You know…stupid.  (Yeah, yeah.  You’re all sick of hearing jabs about JB.  But I haven’t said a thing about him yet, so I’m allowed.)

I could play a game with The Kid, but I haven’t.  And don’t really want to.  I mean, I will if she asks.  But I’m hoping she doesn’t.  I could get up and go on the elliptical.  But that would mean I would have to remove myself from the position in which I have been for the last 3 days on this couch.  And the indentation from my butt in the leather is at such a comfort level that if I move, I fear losing that.  Besides I don’t feel good.  But I mentioned that.

I could walk to a neighbor’s house.  But I’m afraid of the cold freezing my nose hair to the point where they break off.  And we need our nose hair.  Don’t we?  But I could go there with my hairless nostrils and drink wine and sit by her fire and bitch about stuff only we girls can bitch about.  But I don’t feel good.  But I already mentioned that.  Three times.

So, this reader of mine with the suggestion to write about Cabin Fever?  Sorry.  I think I just completely disappointed you.  I cannot help in any way.  Well, I did attempt to clean out the toilets before I got sick.  I even stared at my closet to organize it.  But I just stared.  That, by the way, was my second attempt.  Three time’s a charm?

It seems I’m not the best person to ask about Cabin Fever.  Probably because I’ve got it so bad, I’m delirious.  But it was fun talking about it.  And getting it off my chest.

So, stay warm everyone.  Only 146 more days till summer.  I think.  I may have forgotten how to count.  Actually, I just cheated and looked on-line at one of those countdown sites.  Because I believe I have forgotten how to count.  That’s what happens to frozen mucus brain.

Peri-Menopause: Nature’s Gift to Global Warming

peri-menopause

On my Facebook page last week, I mentioned that I wear baby doll pajamas to bed.  Even in the dead of winter.  That’s because if I don’t, I run the risk of death by drowning.

When I got my first night sweat, I wasn’t sure what was happening to me.  I thought maybe I had a bad nightmare.  I was drenched.  Like someone doused me with salt water.  I actually had a puddle right where my boobs meet.  My head was as wet as if I just came out of the shower.  And the sheet under me?  It was more like a Slip ‘N Slide.

I was relieved to discover that this didn’t happen very often.  Just once in a while.  I could totally handle it.  That was about 3 years ago.  Recently, it has decided to kick itself up a notch.  Including the hot flashes.  You know the ones.  Where you swear someone lit a match to your insides and started a bon fire?  Yeah.  Those.  And in the last 3 weeks my night sweats have produced enough water to create a small sea.

I was told that I was in peri-menopause.  Peri-menopause?  What the hell?  I can’t be going through that already.  I’m only thirt — oh — 46.  And I’m not sure who told me.  Was it my doctor?  A friend?  My mother?  I don’t know.  Because one of the other symptoms of peri-menopause is…ummm.  Hmm.  That’s funny, I don’t remember.

Even if you just started hanging around me, you quickly get the idea that I’m freaked out by the whole aging process.  The changes to my body is completely throwing me for a loop.  I mean, I don’t mind being in my forties.  I feel like I’m all mature and stuff.  Mature.  Something I’ve been trying to achieve since 1987.  But really.  Can’t the Age Fairy just leave my body alone?  What did I ever do to her?

So, Age Fairy.  You are a meany.  Here’s what I say to you:  this old age may cause me rage but sweat and mood swings will never hurt me.  Nanny-nanny boo-boo.

 

Oh Christmas Tree In My Living Room, Oh Christmas Tree In My Living Room

Christmas treeThere is a tree in my living room.  A big ass tree.  Big.  There is also a motorcycle in my living room, but I already talked about that last winter.  So I’ll talk about the tree.  In my living room.  Drinking water.  With lights and all kinds of crap hanging from it.  Crap that literally took me years to collect.  Years.  Who came up with that tradition?  I’m sure if I took a minute and googled it, I could find out in the flick of an enter button why we do this.  But for now, let’s imagine that there is no way of knowing why we take a tree from the great outdoors and put it in our houses for at least a month.  Even longer if you go for that “Little Christmas” thing.  Which is something else I don’t understand.  But whatever.  I’m going to stay focused here.

Let’s imagine that about 200 years ago (I know this tradition has to be at least this old because of the Little House on the Prairie Christmas episode I watched when I was 10), a man was taking a walk in the woods.  With his axe, because what man took a walk in the woods in the 18th century without an axe?  He saw a tree.  He liked it.  He cut it down.  And put it in his house.  He decided it would be a great place to put his Christmas presents under.  Because just putting them on the floor seemed a bit lacking.  This guy was the male Martha Stewart of his time.

What?  You were expecting an epic tale?  That’s all I got people.  I am not Ernest Hemingway.  I write a blog.  Anyway, the real reason?  ‘Cuz I googled it.  It turns out the Greeks started doing it centuries ago.  It actually had nothing to do really with Christmas or Christ (I always thought maybe Jesus had a little something to do with it even though they didn’t have evergreens in Jerusalem.  Or did they?  I don’t know.  I skipped that class.)  Anyway, they used evergreens to celebrate winter festivals.  Or something like that.  I kinda sped read through it.  Because I’m tired.  I spent half a day decorating the tree in my living room.  With 20 year old ornaments.  And lights.

Fire hazard?  I think possibly.  Again, whatever.  It’s a tradition and who am I to forego the risk of losing all of my belongings to a house fire because I forgot to water it for two weeks and it’s sitting next to the baseboard that is set on 72 degrees.  It’s cool.  Not the baseboard.  Me being okay with a fire hazard.  I also sometimes wonder what kind of critters could be living in there.  It came from outside.  There’s got to be something, right?  I don’t want to know.

I sound bitter.  But I am not.  Really.  I was brought up with a fake tree.  But I love the one from outside.  It’s the real deal.  I thoroughly enjoy our little tradition of going out to a farm and choosing our own tree.  It’s awesome.  Honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I stare at my tree because it is so beautiful.  I am in awe.  Then I snap out of it and think, “WTF?  There is a tree in my living room.  That is really, really weird.”  So what if I have some anxiety about it?  A few years and thousands of dollars worth of therapy is nothing for the memories we are making for our child. 

By the way, I said if the motorcycle was still in my living room this winter, I would move out to the shed.  Well, I’m not in the shed.  And neither is the motorcycle.  Like I said.  Thousands.  Dollars.  Therapy.  It’s cool.

 

Reiki Away My Pain

ReikiCartoon
Reiki does not use a rake. Just so you know.

A dear friend of mine recently became a Reiki Master.  For anyone who doesn’t know what Reiki is, here is the official definition as taken from my google search:

“a healing technique based on the principle that the therapist can channel energy into the patient by means of touch, to activate the natural healing processes of the patient’s body and restore physical and emotional well-being.”  

I know.  It sounds like hocus-pocus medicine man witchery.  But in my opinion it is not.  Our bodies, the universe, everything, is made up of energy.  So really, it makes sense.  But I’m not here to discuss whether you believe in these practices or not.  I am here to tell you my experience in the only way I know how.  My way.

My dear friend wanted to perform Reiki on my bad knee.  Actually, I should say on my “healing” knee.  Because I’m seriously hoping it’s not bad any more.  It better not be after this bull poo I went through the last couple of weeks.  It’s ridiculous.  I would rather birth 10 more babies than do this again.  Okay, so maybe that’s not true.  Birthing babies kinda really sucks.  But I digress.

I’ve never had Reiki performed on me.  So, I went in a little worried that I wouldn’t do it right.  Even though I wasn’t going to be doing the “it.”  The first thing my friend, and I’ll call her “Dee”, said is that I need to think of what the intention of the session is, relax my mind, call for my guides, God and/or Jesus to assist (or something like that).  Well, anyone who knows me, knows that I am unable to relax my mind.  I’m not talking about relaxing my mind of all the stressful, crazy crap in life.  Because honestly, I really don’t worry about that.  Just ask DH.  I basically have a very difficult time focusing.  Period.  I think I am one of those undiagnosed ADD adult people.  In fact, I must be.  There are so many reasons why I think so.  But again, I digress.

The space was beautiful.  I really love that word “space.”  I don’t know why.  It’s just…cool.  The music was calming.  Warm.  So I laid down and allowed Dee to do her work.  I think I started out okay.  Here is pretty much the conversation I was having with myself, inside my head which is supposed to be kinda empty at this point:

“(inhale, exhale) okay, I am focusing on my knee, feel the light surrounding it, let me see…ok I’ll visualize the inside of what my knee looks like.  Loosen up, scar tissue.  Be free.  Mmm, what is that scent?  I think it may be lavender?  OMG, that is my fave!  oh, poop.  Focus.  Knee, knee, knee.  Ummm, please let my knee heal. I wonder if I’m doing this right?  I hope Dee can’t read my mind or that her guides snitch on me.  That would be so mean.  Those tattletalers.  Oh wait, I forgot to ask for God’s help.  Dear God, please come help Dee and me pull bad energy out of my body.  Wait.  Where should I visualize the bad energy going?  Through my head?  But then it will go by my heart.  Is that bad?  Maybe it should go through my eyeballs, ears and nose?  I mean, does it need to go out a hole?  Oh, my feet are closest though.  Lord I hope it doesn’t go through poor Dee.  Does she really need my bad energy?  Speaking of which…Lord, please help me heal.  And spirit guides, if you’re listening, you help too.  I really need to stop by the liquor store for some wine.  I wonder what book I should read next?  Ugh, I hope the dollar store has baskets because otherwise those mothers can be expensive.  I love the dollar store.  I really should start buying my cleaning supplies there.  Do you know how much money I could save?  I think I’ll blog about this.  I wish I could take notes.  Oh, darn.  I’m doing it again.  Knee, knee, knee.  Go out of me swelling and pain.  Vanish.  I didn’t poop today.  I hope I don’t fluff right here on this table.  I will just die.  Oh, but it’s only Dee, she’ll understand.  Fudge.  Oh, sorry.  That probably wasn’t the best choice of word at this moment.  I’m sorry God.  Hey God, please help.  Ok, let me visualize all that ugly swelling in my joint dissipating.  I wonder if Dee will give me bad feedback.  What if she feels that I have something wrong with me.  OMG.  Speaking of knees, I haven’t done my exercises today.  Boy is my therapist going to be mad at me.  I’m such a bad patient.  I think everybody is sick of my drama by now.  Freaking A-Balls…KNEE, KNEE, KNEE.  THINK ABOUT YOUR FRICKIN’ KNEE DANGIT!!!  We would look so weird if we didn’t have necks, wouldn’t we?”

And with that, it was over.  30 minutes gone in a blink of an eye and some serious brain chatter.  But all kidding aside, it was a wonderful experience.  I was completely relaxed (except my brain, but that’s my own fault).  I felt heat in my knee and felt a zing here and a zing there.  I literally got up off that table and felt more flexible.  Seriously.  It feel good.  Really good.  And guess what?  I practically ran down the stairs, using BOTH my legs when I got home.  That right there is a bonus because until today, it has basically taken me about 2.4 minutes to complete that task.  Also at work, I was able to bend my knee.  Like, really bend it.  Total bonus #2 since it’s felt like I’ve had 2 pounds of cotton shoved in my knee joint for the last 2 weeks.

All in all, I would say it was a success.  I think I’ll be going back.  But this time, I will try to leave all that chatter at home.  You do realize that if we didn’t have necks, it really wouldn’t be weird.  But it would be weird if we, the un-necked species, imagined having necks…or would it?