While standing in a long grocery store line I point out this tag line on a magazine cover to G. He says “If your boobs could talk we’d be RICH!
With my luck my boobs would be sarcastic, kind of like Triumph the insult comic dog, but with boobs. Nobody wants sarcastic boobies. I forgot what magazine it was so I googled it. The astonishing result of my partial entry below. (It struck me that one of those lines is different from the others; like a Sesame Street song).
Apparently I am polishing off 2016 with the mentally of an 8th grade boy.
Last evening I stopped at a crowded grocery store with very long lines. The shoppers in the “10 items or less line” had spilled across the only aisle that crosses the front of the store creating a blockade. A tall young man wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses & earbuds was standing near the end of the line & was also holding a giant teddy bear. He had his face, well mostly his lips, pressed against Teddy’s furry nose. I maneuvered across the line which was difficult as neither Teddy lover nor the shopper in front of him moved an inch. Uuhhhgh. I was tired and now I’m irritated that they didn’t part and make a courtesy space required for others to get through. A few minutes later I was ready to checkout & happy the line had reduced to 3 people. The universe was not finished getting my attention as the first customer couldn’t get her credit card to work & the next woman wrote a check. A Check. The last guy wants cigarettes that the store doesn’t carry anymore. We all find this out together after the (more tired than I was) cashier conducts a thorough search behind the customer service desk. Finally my turn and I am released back out to the world. As I drive off toward a beautiful sunset I notice Teddy Bear Man walking along the side of the road. He’s still wearing aviators & carrying his giant bear. NOW I notice he is sweeping a white cane with a red tip back and forth. Awwww DAMmit. Teddy Bear guy is awesome. Oh & brave like I can’t imagine.
Banks are way to flippin’ friendly lately. Somehow I ended up joining in and embarrassing myself. (Again). The teller had her eyes waaaay to wide open, eyebrows up high above her glasses wrinkling her forehead, big jack o’ lantern smile. Her smile stretched so big I truly thought she was trying to send me subliminal messages. Such as- “Get help, this isn’t my real smile.” After a few minutes the smile turned a little strained so I imagined the following- “I just passed gas behind this bullet proof glass and hope it doesn’t escape through the little speak hole.”Which made me laugh a little. It was fascinating to watch and you know when someone has an accent and you start speaking the same way… Well, I am finished with my transaction and say “have a nice day” opening my eyes wide and big ol’ smile. She was not amused.
We discovered the most comfortable socks by Russell which are specific right and left foot. Worn properly they are super comfy. However, I do not have the kind of patience to match socks from the dryer (It’s kind of my thing). As long as they feel similar in texture I am great! Color & style doesn’t matter so there will be times when one is green and an anklet and one is white and a footie hidden down in my shoe.
G on the other hand has a very organized sock drawer. He even has ‘going to the doctor socks’ which still look brand new. It could be the reason I can’t wait until it is cool enough to wear boots. In the summer ONE HAS TO MATCH SOCKS because people can see (and are a bit judge-y).
Today G was talking with me while I was dressing and I couldn’t find the super comfy Russel R sock (so basically wearing two left socks…again). He’s laughing at me as I search my sock drawer and find L, L, L, L,… I mutter “how does this even happen?
G answers my rhetorical question very animated; “I’m reading a book where the detective thinks the dead girl was murdered. She was a runner and the evidence that she had been re-dressed was that the left and right socks were on the wrong feet. That theory wouldn’t work for you”.
Great, now I am thinking about getting murdered and no one would know. BECAUSE OF MY SOCKS!
I was electrocuted in Mexico. Shocking?
Not if you know me. It could have ended badly but I channel Wile E. Coyote regularly so I just went with it. I wish someone had filmed it so I could see the cartoon I picture in my head – my skeleton blinking while my hair stands on end and a loud buzzing noise. After it was over I kept looking up for a piano or an anvil to be speeding toward my head from above.
The Electrocution: I was standing at the rear of the RV washing sand off my feet reached out and grabbed the ladder for balance. The ladder sent 117 volts through me for about 6 seconds. All I kept thinking was let it go, let it go LET IT GO…which I did. Now that damn song is stuck in my head. Perhaps forever, who knows with electric shock.
This is the culprit. There is a beautiful view from this angle. Looks in code right?
I see my friends come running while I lay in the dirty puddle of water and am truly embarrassed. This is way too much real life attention for me. I am fine and now I keep thinking get up, get up GET UP! Which I do and notice a cramp in my foot is gone!
The cure for foot cramps is ELECTROCUTION! Who Knew?
It’s been 3 days now and the new thing I learned about electrocuting myself was that is not the just the voltage but the length of time. (Good information to have if you are standing in a puddle of water holding on to an electrified piece of metal) Luckily I didn’t hold on long enough for burns but the tingling stayed. It did effect the part of my brain that won’t allow me to sleep and I relive the event in my dreams. I need a just need a new dream catcher, this one is fried.
Update: I was just informed that one must die to be electrocuted, so I must correct myself that it was an electrical shock (because one must be accurate). Apparently. Unless you’re Bill Murray
Morning rush, gulping coffee, brush hair, overly multitasking> notice toilet needs cleaning, squirt cleaner, hair brush makes earring fly into in toilet….WHAT?? Now I have to decide how much I like these earrings. DAmmit.
Fast forward to this afternoon and this add pops up on my Facebook 10 things to keep out of your toilet (It’s like Facebook KNOWS!)
Some mornings when I buy a 79 cent Giant Diet Coke it costs either 94 or 96 cents with tax depending where the Circle K is located. Not a big deal, and I probably wouldn’t have noticed, but the phenomenon of how various clerks give me change very entertaining.
My experiment started on accident when I noticed that when the soda was 96 cents the clerks were reluctant to dig out the four cents change. I thought it was just that one clerk, but NO! It’s almost all of them. I hand them my dollar with delicious anticipation waiting to see what they will do. They look at me with their hand in the drawer, like I’m going to say something. “Keep the change?” Not likely.
Sometimes they hover over that clear plastic charity box. I proudly stick my hand out every time. There is usually an awkward pause followed by no eye contact. (Like they are ashamed of me for keeping my own change). Now when it comes to 94 cents they whip out the six cents and even if they are giving me six pennies they slam that door shut and offer me
“have a nice day”.
It’s scientific; my two cents matters.