Stuff

-Attention old drivers of the world: just because you do 28 mph in a 45 mph zone, does not, by default, make you a SAFE driver, OK? What it does make you is the Typhoid Mary of the transportation world. Perhaps we will call you 'Road Rage Mary'. Like Typhoid Mary, nothing ever happens to YOU as you toodle on down the road. But like Typhoid Mary, you blithely INFECT everybody else. Traffic stacked up and impeded behind you, sending blood pressures skyrocketing as people try and pass you to make their appointment. Otherwise rational people taking radical risks behind the wheel and running over small children and baby ducklings as they swerve wildly out of control to make the green light ahead that you seem oblivious to. In their anger, desperation, and over aggression, they then crash and die a slow, agonizing death in a fiery hell, cocooned in their burning, metal, four wheeled coffin, wondering why the gray hair that held them up and changed lanes every time they did, has a 700 horsepower Cadillac, if said gray hair never drives it any faster than one half whatever the actual speed limit is. And you, dear old person, just cruises down the highway (at 28 mph) blissfully unaware to the carnage that just occurred all around you. You will then mutter under your breath "Damn kids are driving like crazy!" as the cityscape fills with twisted hulks of burning metal and scorched corpses. You go home secure and arrogant in the knowledge that you just had another accident free day behind the wheel...not realizing you're actually a serial killer worse than Ted Bundy.

-Did some ground fighting today as a result of a training day at my job. After rolling around and incurring facial abrasions, bruised knuckles, pulled and strained muscles, a rolled ankle and a kick to the left ear, I realized something: I'm not a kid. Sure, I'm in pretty good shape. I run 5 miles every other day, and go to the gym in between that, about five to six times a week. And I look pretty good...but I'm 40. What the 25 year old jujitsu ninja sadistic instructor doesn't realize is that we have two very different realities. His is he'll jump out of bed fresh as a daisy tomorrow, like yesterday was just a walk in the park. My reality is I'll wake up like I was hit by a train and will be munching on Advil like it was a bowl of M&M's. Good times. What I did take away from the experience was this: apparently I have 'loose shoulders' because they were amazed that a Kimura and another shoulder lock had little effect on me no matter how far they cranked it. I have no idea what good this knowledge will do for me, but there 'ya go. Also, I have no idea how championship fighters do what they do. I'm in pretty good shape like I said, but after a mere 2'30" of boxing and grappling, it felt like my lungs were on fire and puking seemed like a real option for a moment or two. Doing that for up to 25 minutes is insane, and I'm not sure how you get to that level of fitness without steroids, methamphetamine, some cappuccino, a Mountain Dew, and a Red Bull. Oh, and maybe routine hypodermic injections of pulverized walrus testicle. Anyways, it was fun, but I think I prefer hanging out in my jacuzzi with a nice cocktail as a preferable source of entertainment.

-went to Roller Derby Saturday night. Here's a few pics from the match and me with my friend Poppy (derby name Devious Dolly #88) of the V-Town Derby Dames (city of Visalia) "B" team.





They played 'No Town Roller Derby (city of Fresno) and the Visalia "A" team played a team from Santa Maria. It was actually pretty fun (although my friends husband, who is a really cool guy, saw it a little differently and stated he'd be 'camped out at the beer garden...let me know who wins'. Funny guy). It was an interesting combination of 50's Rockabilly culture (there was a Rockabilly band), burlesque, and girl on girl aggression. Like I said...fun:) There was a larger crowd than I was expecting, plus a beer garden, so perfect, right? The crowd was pretty diverse too. Besides all the guys with duck tailed haircuts and girls with the Betty Page thing going on, there was the usual "Bro and Bro-Ho" contingent (vomit), cowboys, Barbie Dolls, skaters, normalish looking housewives and dads, and the very young to very old. Who knew a bunch of women skating around in short shorts and fishnets knocking the crap out of each other could bring such a diverse crowd together? Oh wait a minute...why WOULDN'T a bunch of women skating around in fishnets and short shorts engaging in various forms of violence appeal to the masses? "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?????" hahaha Anyways, it was cool. So there you go, my one weekend activity. I could regale you with tales of cooking for a couple of demanding teen girls, laundry, and doing the dishes, but somehow I'm not sensing the anticipation for those stories.

My second rate supermarket is a first rate radio station

I have ranted in the past about the dearth of good, hip, cool, tasteful, relevant or progressive music radio stations. It seems as if the only thing you can hear now is talk, sports, news, top 40, r&b, rap/hip hop, and hard rock. That's it. Oh, and Spanish language...which I'm sure is even transmitted to the surface of Mars. Anyways, most radio stations in California (and I have lived and/or worked in every region of the state) suck. Balls. Majorly. It is an endless source of frustration for me, and what eventually drove me to purchase an iPod large enough to put my musical collection on, so I could hear it in my car. I had given up on the idea that a radio station was going to play me good, or introduce me to new, music. But check this out: My local and closest supermarket plays really good alternative/Brit pop ALL THE TIME. You know how most stores have this pumped in muzak stuff? My local Save Mart (which I only go to when I'm too lazy to drive the extra mile to the Vons that has a better selection of foodstuffs) has played the following bands on its store sound system: The Catherine Wheel/Rob Dickinson, The Doves, Supergrass, The Style Council, REM, Ride, The Stone Roses, The Pixies, The Police, Johnny Marr, Crowded House...and those are the ones I can think of off of the top of my head. Are you kidding me? You can't even hear this stuff on the college radio station here! The supermarket? Save Mart? REALLY? That is so sad when a town's food store is its bastion of indie/college/ alt. rock. It has also introduced me to new music as well, something that hasn't happened in FOREVER as a result of over the air radio. Yesterday I was buying some things to make our traditional humongoid family breakfast, and I heard this perfect little pop ditty on the speakers in the produce section (gots to have my Fuji apples). I had never heard it before, and it literally stopped me in my tracks to try and discern its lyrics. I memorized a few lines, went home and Googled it, and through the magic of iTunes, found it. Unbelievable. And by sampling that song, it turned me on to another band I had never heard of whose music resonated with me. Wow. My local grocery store turns me on to music in a way that the actual music industry itself has failed at for the last fifteen years or so. There's just something inherently hysterical about that.

Other things that bounced through my head as I pushed my cart along the grocery aisles:

-I wonder why most of us don't party like we did when we were younger? I mean we can, and sometimes DO (I had an experience at a football game last fall that was reminiscent of my best/worst 19 year old behavior), but something seems to fade that demands we tie one on every weekend, Thursday, every other Tuesday, and dollar beer Mondays at the local dive. I went to a Super Bowl get together tonight and had some beers. Caught a slight buzz and had good conversation and laughs. Good times. But back in the day, that vibe would have been "Time for me to really get my drink on!" Tonight the vibe was "Hmmmm....kinda drowsy...need to think about going home...sleep sounds gooooood right now." Plus, I was feeling kinda inflated by the beer. Why is that? At 20 years old you could drink a 12 pack and still wolf down an entire meal. Now? Four Newcastles and you skip the meal for fear of exploding. And sleep? I can remember partying literally until sunrise, sleeping for an hour, showering, then going to school/work...and then doing it all over again THAT NIGHT. I dunno. I think a certain gene kicks in that regulates these things. I think it's the same one that also makes us file our taxes on time and keep our pool clean.

-I never seem to completely finish a pot of coffee. Ever. And I love coffee like others love soda, Jesus, whiskey, or cocaine and strippers. Seriously. There's always that unconsumed 1/4 of an inch in the pot whenever I go to make a new pot. Why is that? People always finish their soda. God knows a drunk polishes off his whiskey. But never the coffee for me. And it doesn't matter how much I make. Two cups, twelve cups...same result. 1/4 of an inch left over. If you added all those leftover dregs up, its probably about a pot a month. And good coffee is expensive. Not un-prescribed oxycontin or hydrocodone expensive (not that I would, you know...."know" about that), but it ain't cheap. Personally I think it is some sort of subliminal sacrifice to the great coffee goddess Insomnia (who I picture is a goddess dressed in a bathrobe, bags under her eyes, hair frazzled, a little twitchy, and clutching a steaming mug of java. She of course magically transforms into a breathtaking vision of loveliness...but only after that morning cup).

-if you ever lose a grandparent, or other elderly loved one, do not fret. I will find them for you. Just let me know they are missing, and I'll get straight to work. All I have to do is be in a hurry, and at the grocery store. They will immediately magically appear in front of me either pushing a cart slower than a snails pace right down the middle of the aisle with no hope of passing them on either side, or be arguing with the cashier about an expired coupon while writing a check for the wrong amount. I have guaranteed results and charge a reasonable finders fee. Just let me know.

A trip to the grocery store

One would think a quick shopping trip to the grocery store would be a simple enough, and pleasant enough, experience. You pop in, grab what you need, and leave. Bada bing...done. Yet, for cosmic reasons I do not understand, my trips to the grocery store do not EVER go this way. Again, tonight was no exception.

After going to the gym (when in Fresno, the gym and the grocery store seem to be lately about the only two places I leave my home for), I was given a list of items to purchase for the hungry hoard (two daughters, mom, and sis) waiting back at home. One of these items was crackers and garlic and herb cream cheese spread. So I went about collecting my items in about ten minutes, and last on the list was the cream cheese spread. So off to the cheese aisle I go and....hmmmmm. Cream cheese, shredded cheese, blocks of cheese, individually sliced and wrapped cheese...and, um, apparently no cream cheese spread. I look again. And again. And oooooone more time to be sure. Nada. Then it hits me, "OH! It must be with the fancy cheese in the little kiosk near the deli with all the other foo foo stuff." So off to the fancy kiosk I go and......gorgonzola, feta, goat cheese, brie, blue cheese, aaaaand....no cream cheese spread. So I look again. And again. And again. Nada. Obviously I must have over looked it back at the cheese section, so I go back. Nothing.

OK, so this back and forth goes on for about twenty minutes before I finally locate the cream cheese spread in a third location next to the deli counter that contained NO CHEESE AT ALL (well, other than the one I was looking for). What it had was imported pastas, and hummus, and other dips, but no obvious signs of CHEESE. OK, all of this leads me to this question: WHY IN THE HELL DO WE HAVE CHEESE IN THREE DIFFERENT LOCATIONS???????? Here's an idea: you have ONE AISLE, labeled, crazily enough, "cheese". And in this aisle would be "cheese". All of it. You need cheese? You go to the FUCKING CHEESE AISLE. How hard would that be? Just imagine, cheese in the cheese aisle...what a concept. In fact, lets take this idea a step further. There's an aisle labeled "meat" that contains, you guessed it...meat. And one "dairy" that has...yep. The stuff from a cows boobs. The frozen aisle has...you get the idea. Etc. Conversations would go something like this:

"Excuse me sir? Where do I find the queso de la hombre con grande pelotas? If you could just point me to your gourmet..."

"Huh, what the hell is that?"

"Well, its this exquisite goats milk curd from a small region in Jalisco that accompanies a Red Zin like nothing you've..."

"Goats milk curd? You mean like cheese?"

"Well...yes."

"Oh. Well, then it's in the cheese aisle you pretentious dick."

See? Simple, clear, concise. Perfect for you, perfect for me, and perfect for pretentious dicks everywhere. It's a wonder we can find ANYTHING in a grocery store. Need roasted peppers? Are they in the canned vegetable aisle? No. The produce aisle? No. They're in the CONDIMENT aisle with ketchup and mustard. HUH??? Chili con carne is in the canned meat aisle, not the Mexican food aisle, but refried beans is in the Mexican food aisle, and not the canned beans aisle. WTF???? Is there a rule book on grocery store nomenclature I can study?????? Anyway, I found my cream cheese spread as I said, but only after an obsessive search for it that resulted in my forgetting to get lemon juice, which caused a momentary tea crisis when I got back home (luckily, I had just enough left in the fridge...but thanks for your concern). Had my garlic herb cream cheese spread been my only issue, no biggie. But as usual, there's more...

I get to the register to check out so I can just go home and get out of my gym clothes, shower and enjoy a nice dinner. As I stand in line with my stuff dumped onto the food treadmill that leads to the cashier (i.e. I am now committed to this line. Kinda like after you sleep with somebody. Sure, you COULD leave, but it's AWK-WARD) in the misnamed "Express Line", I now realize there's a commotion at the register. There's wild gesturing, the shaking of heads, lots of finger pointing, furrowed foreheads, the shrugging of shoulders, and a general sense of cluelessness...it was almost like I was watching a video of the day I lost my virginity. Anyway, people clearly do not know what to do. Finally, an older guy who obviously had to be brought out in the middle of his lunch break comes over and punches a numerical code into the register that was about as long as as the square root of pi, and apparently, twice as complicated, because he had to do it three times to get it right (again, see losing virginity above). And what was the issue you may or may not be asking yourself? Apparently somebody wrote a (GASP!) check...and royally fucked everything up. Now, I'm guessing this person pulled up in their Model-T and just wanted to buy some sarsaparilla, Epsom salts, and wanted to know if the war was over...the War of 1812 that is. Anyway, yes, they were old. But still, the way everybody was acting, I thought maybe he was attempting to pay with stone coins from ancient Sumeria, as opposed to a check. Luckily, they got it worked out, the old fart got his, well, whatever geezers venture out on a Saturday night for, and I went home to people wondering what the hell took so long. I related my story in a rather animated fashion, got a laugh, and everything was fine. But still...three cheese locations? Really???

Pet Peeves

Well, I haven't had a blog in a while where I vented a good bitch or two. So, in order to preserve the calm mental state I have been enjoying as of late, I'm going to purge a few things here:

1) Work place refrigerator cola thieves-I about blew a gasket the other day as a result of this. At 6pm I had put not one, but TWO cans of Coke in the office refrigerator. At 10pm, deciding that a frosty, caffeinated beverage would hit the spot, I go to the fridge and....hmmmmmm, where's my soda? Must be behind this guys burrito....no....oh, it's behind the macaroni salad.....no....WTF??? Ordinarily, I would let this go as maybe a one shot mistake. But this is the fourth time this has happened, and it was TWO COKES that were pilfered from the refrigerator. My question is this: WHAT KIND OF SOCIOPATH DOES THIS????? How do you open a refrigerator, see beverages and other food stuffs in there that are CLEARLY NOT YOURS, and take them? Do you have the following conversation in your head:"I know I didn't put those sodas in there, and I didn't pay for them, but since I'm the only person in the universe and my narcissism knows no limits, they were clearly put there for my sole enjoyment." How do you STEAL something and not give it another thought? Or are you still in some sort of childlike state where you think magical office refrigerator gnomes lovingly restock the refrigerator with your favorite food items? Or are you the same type of person who tortures small animals, doesn't give a shit, and is one step away from being a thrill kill serial murderer? Yes, that's right, I just equated a soda snatcher with Jeffrey Dahmer. And yes, I think a person who can continually steal foodstuffs from a community refrigerator is as equally disturbed,and they need to be removed from society...or at least castrated. Want to know what the kicker is? The kicker is this: right next to the refrigerator is a SODA MACHINE. Can of Coke? 65 cents. It would seem a small price to pay for a clean conscience, wouldn't it? Oh, that's right...a sociopath has no conscience, which is precisely my point about these people.

2) Putting me on hold when you're the one who called me in the first place-if you take the time out of your busy day to call me just to say hello, I'm touched and appreciate the gesture. If you take the time out of your busy day to call me just to put me on hold after two seconds because the person you really wanted/needed to talk to called you back, I would feel no guilt if your mobile phone instantly gave you a brain tumor. If you're going to call me, please make sure you can devote at least 3-5 minutes to a conversation. All kind meaning taken from a phone call turns into a steaming pile if you reach out to me just to blow me off. "Hey John, how 'ya doing? Just thought I'd give you a call to let you know you're not worth talking to. Ciao!" What a dick move. My promise to you is if you call me, no matter how busy I am, I will stop what I'm doing and make a few minutes for you. I wasn't always like that, and I used to be kind of an ass if you called me and I was busy, like if I was cleaning my pool I'd act all shitty if I was interrupted. But I have grown and learned I was being a bit of a jerk. If I am legitimately super busy, I will immediately tell you I'll have to call you back, which I will do, usually pretty promptly. It would be nice if others learned that same lesson.

3) SUV's and speed bumps-so you're the type of person who drives a 36,000 pound SUV with an all terrain suspension of an M1A1 Abrahms front line battle tank, and yet, for some reason, you feel the need to slow down to .0000000001 MPH for a six inch speed bump. In fact, if you're this type of person, your favorite move is this one: make a left turn into a parking lot off of a busy street, and I follow right behind you. As you enter the parking lot, you notice there's that deadly speed bump directly ahead, and despite your behemoth of a vehicle being equipped with the "V8 mountain crushing deforestation package with brush guards, winch, and small woodland creature killing studded tires", you immediately slam on your brakes in order to negotiate this Mt. Everest in front of you. Since I'm behind you, this of course hangs me out to dry in the oncoming lane of traffic, so I can take a broadside hit from a distracted, mouth breathing, high speed teenager in a 1983 Corolla who is yakking on their cell phone and looking down trying to find the remnants of the joint they've just dropped. Clearly, if you're this person, you have merely purchased this freighter sized vehicle because you're a douche bag. OK, that wasn't fair...you could just be merely retarded. My apologies.

4) Old people in economy cars-back in the day, old people drove cars like 700 horsepower Cadillacs and Lincolns. Now matter how slow they WANTED to drive, these cars had so much asphalt shredding power that the simple act of just lifting your foot off of the brake pedal resulted in a 0-60 mph time of 3.8 seconds. Now? Now old people drive the 22 horsepower Prius and Yaris. These vehicles, from what I have seen, appear to have a built in safety measure that once you hit the gas pedal, there's a 45 second delay before the car actually accelerates forward. Couple this delay with the typical octogenarians reaction time as a red light turns to green (approximately 25 minutes), and you can now see why our commutes are getting slower and slower. So, because of this, I'm thinking we petition the government to provide senior citizens with 500 horsepower Shelby Mustangs or Chevrolet Corvettes. It will help out the American auto manufacturer, AND shave ten minutes off of my commute. It's a win-win.

OK, thanks for letting me rant a little bit. I now feel centered again, and the universe, once again, makes sense...except for my inability to locate a dark chocolate peanut butter cup in any Fresno area grocery store. That makes no sense at all.