Oh Horriffic Embarrassment

Getting your foot in your own mouth is a universal problem in the greater New England area. In the rural areas, the fault lies in people who have poor conversational skills attempting to make meaningful conversation. It should be enough to ask me how I am, and then confirm that they too are doing well, but it never is.

I was pushing my grocery cart up to the casheir counter, and the 30-something casheir says to me, "Isn't it so hard to try to diet on a budget?" And I looked at her, then into grocery cart, then at myself. What was it about any of these things that said I was on a diet? Or, worse, what was it about me that said I was on a budget?!

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I was buying scrubs for work recently, and the casheir said to me, "Oh, you must be a nurse!" And its true, I do work in the medical field, but I'm not a nurse. My boyfriend says, "No, she's just planning on getting fat."

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Which reminds me...
Ever have a sex dream about a co-worker, then when you're at work and they give you this look, this 'I know what you did, you sick pervert.', look? Or worse, you feel as if they're tormenting you, you ask for a pen and they say "Yeah, you want it??" And even though its completely impossible, you still can't help but wonder to yourself 'how do they know this?!' and then you promptly avoid eye contact for the rest of the time you're working there.

Joke of the day: All the girls I knew in college were bi. I'd mention sex and they'd just raise their hands and say 'Bye!'

Mom Burn

I was sitting in my parent's living room, visiting my mother at about 8 o'clock this evening, and we were talking friendly about the parents of people she works with, and the company who mows her lawn in Florida, when my mother stood up, and walked into the dinning room, and I followed her. "Pie?" She asks. I decline. "Coffeecake?" I decline. "Do you need anything?" She says, as she sifts through her pantry, I say quickly, No.
 

Her pantry has had the same dry goods in it since I was in high school. There have been multiple logo changes --full companies have gone out of business-- since she replaced any of that food. We move into the laundry room, and out onto the porch. She hugs me and says "Alright then, Goodnight sweetheart." Except I wasn't leaving. Well, I was now, but I hadn't thought I was before. I didn't even have my shoes on.

I was kicked out of my own house by my own mother. burn.

Also, I saw six skunks. two biggins and four little ones. They were very
cute, and I did get a picture.

Black Out

As you probably already know, I'm a terrible fan of domestic abuse.

A few months ago I was sitting on the T, on one of the older bench style underground models on the orange line, and this girl sits down across from me and she's had one black eye, and -- I kid you not-- a fist shaped bruise on her right cheek. And I'm wearing my dark sunglasses, so I can pretend that no one knows what I'm looking at. Not that anyone would notice what I was looking at; we're all gawking at the human meat bag sitting across from me. Regardless, it made me regret not paying more attention in Spanish class, so she would understand me when I yelled, "Bet 'cha wont do THAT again!".

--- On a related topic...

Today, at work, I was completing an intake form for a woman with a bruised chin and two black eyes, and being the naturally curious but non-threatening person I am, I asked her "So, what happened?" And she told me that on Sunday she slipped getting out of the tub, and I said "Oh, is THAT what they're calling it now."

I do believe God gives us second chances.

Pinky out

So. I believe I need to take a moment for etiquette.

At the market today, I was picking up a few things for dinner; Spaghetti sauce, brownie mix, white wine, and as I was reaching down to a low shelf for the ginger ale I heard the sound of bottles falling behind me. And now, in Boston, I wouldn't have flinched. It would have been rude of me to even acknowledge that person behind me juggling. But I turned around anyhow, and there was a boy, younger than myself -but not too much younger- holding about four bottles of Snapple, with two bottles on the floor, his knee his crooked holding open the freezer door, and he was giving me this look, this 'well, aren't you going to do something about this?' look. As if, in the time it took me to contemplate not turning around, I had inconvenienced him. It was my responsibility to pick up those bottles for him, regardless of my own juggling.

Now when I attempted to share this story, all I received was a 'I hate it when people don't help you in the grocery store.' Right. Now I'm the asshole.

Cheesey Mac and Bacon

When left to my own devices, I rarely do the right thing. Tonight, I was on my own for dinner. It turned out well, and so I am including the recipe, in case there are any bachelors out there looking to get either one: fatter, or two: more alone. Or both.

Ingredients:


Box of mac and cheese
4 pieces of bacon
Shake cheese

Directions:

To make mac and cheese, follow directions on the box.
Cook all four slices of bacon and let cool.
Crumble 3 slices of bacon and add to mac and cheese.
Eat fourth slice of bacon separately while standing over the sink.
Add a little shake-cheese.
Stir and enjoy.

For a healthier alternative:

Eat a salad, you fat, lonely bastard.

Ball-er-ama

There aren't many venues for a person to experience night life in this green place. However, if you were in the market, White River Junction is like the Detroit of Central Vermont. You can find a mediocre Thai restaurant, a Mexican restaurant that boasts a margarita the size of your head, and the Jewel of the town: a combination bar/bowling alley/strip club. This marvel of modern engineering serves to please all walks of life. Where else is it appropriate to have a eight-year-old's birthday and a lewd bachelor party simultaneously in the same establishment? Separated by a black ply-wood construction, its enough to make you spill your lemon seabreeze. All that is left for patrons to decide is whether they want their 15 dollar fully-nude lap dance before or after a round of bowling.

Bear it

Yesterday I was introduced to my neighbor.

She was a broad, sunny woman named Michelle in a pink peasant blouse. I hate peasant blouses. She drove her crossover SUV up the driveway, got out of her car, and started to walk toward me all without any greeting. I was on my way back from the chicken coop, still in my pajamas with a water bucket in my hand, and finally, pulled by the awkwardness of the confrontation and the realization that I could never overpower anyone with a plastic water bucket, I said "hello". And she said "I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood." And with that, my heart filled with love. What a wonderful gesture. Followed immediately by, "Yesterday I saw a bear." And pointed to the corner of my garage, the place of the bear sighting. If there's one thing that scares me more than change, and the dark, its bears. Because bears smell fear. She looked me up and down, and held her hand out at shoulder height, "It was about this tall. Maybe 150 pounds. But when I drove toward it, it ran away." Oh, good. I was considered about its ability to run. "It was probably looking for garbage." She said as she slowly, judgmentally, scanned my yard. As if my yard was a perfect place to find garbage. I look behind me at a heaping ancient burn pile that was my back yard. Sticking out from the soot were aerosol cans, insulation, half-burned books, and other trash left behind by the previous owner.
I'm probably going to have to clean that up.



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I was picking up feed at the local store, and there was a middle-aged man in front of me in line. On a rack hanging by the counter were pamphlets on how to best raise your live birds. Feeding and Breeding mostly. "How much for the 4 foot picket?" He asked. Erskine replied "89 cents". 89 cents, I thought. What a bargain, what can you get these days for less than a dollar? A four foot picket. As I marveled at the beauty of local business, the man proceeded to haggle. Unsuccessfully. "I'll give you 85." "It's 89." Erskine said with a tone of finality. The man grumbled something about highway robbery. My 50 pounds of chicken feed: $6.50, I didn't haggle.