onlysweetpea
Bluelighter
I'm completely indecisive in grocery stores.
I don't believe in lists. I make them, then forget them at home. I sit down to make on then end up making a list of people I wanna makeout with.
Then I play MASH (any girls rememeber MASH? that game for determining your future?) and cheat when my my answers come up with me living in a shack with my hot cousin Bobby in South Dakota.
Then I contemplate eating a hot dog before I go to the store 'cause I don't want to get hungry when I'm shopping and end up buying 4 packages of Ho-Ho's and chocolate milk and a Mama Celeste Pizza in an attempt to re-live some college year nostalgia...without getting stoned.
And well...
I end up in the store with a vague idea that I need food and no clue as to what it is I'm going to buy.
I wander the aisles aimlessly, tyring to look like I know what I'm doing.
I fail miserably. I'm too easily distracted.
There is a large Summer Sausage near the deli section I have a crush on. I usually head there first, to pick it up and caress it.
When the Grocery Store Dieties are on my side, the moment the gargantuan 20" sausage is in my arms, the store sound system starts pumping out some Al Green and my knees turn to jelly.
On one sad ocassion though, I headed over to see my Meatfriend to find that someone else had purchased him and the brain grating beginning electronic keyboard chords of "Crocodile Rock" filled the store.
I had to be carted away. Overcome by MeatGrief and "Crocodile Rock", I broke out into an epileptic fit complete with hair foaming and mouth pulling. Or mouth foaming and hair pulling.
Same difference.
But that's neither here nor there.
See... Grocery ADD strikes again.
Last night, I went to the store determined to be in and out in less than 5 minutes.
I think I lost a lifetime.
I was going to suck it up and do the whole Pre-Made Piping Hot From the Oven Rotisserie Chicken deal.
After heavy petting with my sausage friend, I went over to where these were. There were six chickens left, spaced just so under the heat lamp to make them look like misunderstood goth loners.
When I took a closer look into the packaging I noticed why. Each one was quite homely.
Being an openminded Equal Opportunity Fowl Eater (EOFE), I grabbed one and tried not to think about how decrepit the chicken looked.
Then I got distracted by my boyfriend again and had to go and fondle the Beef Log.
Then I got distracted by the heirloom tomatos.
Then back to the sausage.
Then I decided I couldn't handle the chicken. It was just...too sad to eat.
It dripped with the depression of a thousand Morrissey songs.
I put it back and wandered over to see if the pudding was still on sale. It was. I picked up a pack of 4 little cups then contemplated ice cream for dinner.
Then I got plagued by chicken guilt. I mean...it's not the bird's fault he looked so anorexic. Maybe he was slaughtered Maybe he was slaughtered in the prime of his life before he could overcome his eating disorder? Maybe he just never fit in and got bullied out of the chicken feed trough.
I think of the chickens I used to collect eggs from in the Philippines. My grandfather had a chicken farm.
I went back and picked the chicken up again and headed towards checkout.
Not before saying goodbye to my meatstick.
Halfway towards the checkout line, I decided to give up the cheap pudding. You don't want pudding overkill.
On the way back to giving up the pudding, something in me snapped and I decided I was NOT going to be a victim of chicken guilt and I made a stop to put him back with his other lonely, anorexic bretheren.
Take that. I'm not going to feel sorry for you. I know you'll taste bad. I know you'll be unsatisfying and gamey.
YOU ARE GAME, that's why. YOU ARE GAME, NOT MISUNDERSTOOD.
I put the pudding back too and grab the ice cream I was eyeing.
In line for check out, I prove to myself once again that I am mentally unstable.
I lose my coveted almost there spot in the checkout line.
I return the ice cream, I get the chicken, I get back in line.
Exhausted.
On my way out, I notice the grocery store security guard giving me the stink eye. I think he had been watching me stalk the chickens all night.
I do my best to restrain myself from giving him the double-finger before I shamble out of the electric doors and into the night.
Note To Self: I need to get out more often.
I don't believe in lists. I make them, then forget them at home. I sit down to make on then end up making a list of people I wanna makeout with.
Then I play MASH (any girls rememeber MASH? that game for determining your future?) and cheat when my my answers come up with me living in a shack with my hot cousin Bobby in South Dakota.
Then I contemplate eating a hot dog before I go to the store 'cause I don't want to get hungry when I'm shopping and end up buying 4 packages of Ho-Ho's and chocolate milk and a Mama Celeste Pizza in an attempt to re-live some college year nostalgia...without getting stoned.
And well...
I end up in the store with a vague idea that I need food and no clue as to what it is I'm going to buy.
I wander the aisles aimlessly, tyring to look like I know what I'm doing.
I fail miserably. I'm too easily distracted.
There is a large Summer Sausage near the deli section I have a crush on. I usually head there first, to pick it up and caress it.
When the Grocery Store Dieties are on my side, the moment the gargantuan 20" sausage is in my arms, the store sound system starts pumping out some Al Green and my knees turn to jelly.
On one sad ocassion though, I headed over to see my Meatfriend to find that someone else had purchased him and the brain grating beginning electronic keyboard chords of "Crocodile Rock" filled the store.
I had to be carted away. Overcome by MeatGrief and "Crocodile Rock", I broke out into an epileptic fit complete with hair foaming and mouth pulling. Or mouth foaming and hair pulling.
Same difference.
But that's neither here nor there.
See... Grocery ADD strikes again.
Last night, I went to the store determined to be in and out in less than 5 minutes.
I think I lost a lifetime.
I was going to suck it up and do the whole Pre-Made Piping Hot From the Oven Rotisserie Chicken deal.
After heavy petting with my sausage friend, I went over to where these were. There were six chickens left, spaced just so under the heat lamp to make them look like misunderstood goth loners.
When I took a closer look into the packaging I noticed why. Each one was quite homely.
Being an openminded Equal Opportunity Fowl Eater (EOFE), I grabbed one and tried not to think about how decrepit the chicken looked.
Then I got distracted by my boyfriend again and had to go and fondle the Beef Log.
Then I got distracted by the heirloom tomatos.
Then back to the sausage.
Then I decided I couldn't handle the chicken. It was just...too sad to eat.
It dripped with the depression of a thousand Morrissey songs.
I put it back and wandered over to see if the pudding was still on sale. It was. I picked up a pack of 4 little cups then contemplated ice cream for dinner.
Then I got plagued by chicken guilt. I mean...it's not the bird's fault he looked so anorexic. Maybe he was slaughtered Maybe he was slaughtered in the prime of his life before he could overcome his eating disorder? Maybe he just never fit in and got bullied out of the chicken feed trough.
I think of the chickens I used to collect eggs from in the Philippines. My grandfather had a chicken farm.
I went back and picked the chicken up again and headed towards checkout.
Not before saying goodbye to my meatstick.
Halfway towards the checkout line, I decided to give up the cheap pudding. You don't want pudding overkill.
On the way back to giving up the pudding, something in me snapped and I decided I was NOT going to be a victim of chicken guilt and I made a stop to put him back with his other lonely, anorexic bretheren.
Take that. I'm not going to feel sorry for you. I know you'll taste bad. I know you'll be unsatisfying and gamey.
YOU ARE GAME, that's why. YOU ARE GAME, NOT MISUNDERSTOOD.
I put the pudding back too and grab the ice cream I was eyeing.
In line for check out, I prove to myself once again that I am mentally unstable.
I lose my coveted almost there spot in the checkout line.
I return the ice cream, I get the chicken, I get back in line.
Exhausted.
On my way out, I notice the grocery store security guard giving me the stink eye. I think he had been watching me stalk the chickens all night.
I do my best to restrain myself from giving him the double-finger before I shamble out of the electric doors and into the night.
Note To Self: I need to get out more often.
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