The Grocery Store

The idea of grocery shopping is great.  You pick out all the food you want, and just chuck it into a basket (except for the eggs).  It’s a freaking shopping spree, and nobody can tell you when to stop.  Yes, we have grand ideas of putting together the perfect meals with the food we select, but then the time comes.  It’s time to actually go to the grocery store.

You’ve got your list, and you know exactly what you’re going to get.  The plan couldn’t be more perfect.  Produce, boxed items, frozen food, and the dairy aisle. In that order.  It will be quick and painless, and you’ll be back home in 45 minutes.

Not this time.  Not next time. Not anytime.  Here’s why….

You leave the house only to realize you forgot your list.  No big deal, you haven’t even left the neighborhood yet.  One little set-back isn’t going to ruin this experience.  So you go back home, grab your carefully researched and edited list, leave again, and arrive at the store.

You look for your parking space.  You know, the one that’s far enough away from the ten nut-jobs fighting over the two closest spots, but not too far away from a cart return.  You find that prime parking space, but see a boat sized Lincoln Town Car with all its doors open right next to where you want to park, while a couple of ninety seven year-olds take half an afternoon to load up four bags of prune juice and Werther’s Originals.  Looks like you’re headed for the employee parking area…damn near across the street.

After a short hike, you enter the building.  With only a couple of disturbances, the original plan is still in pretty much intact.  You take your cart, and damn it, wouldn’t you know…that STUPID CLICHE BROKEN WHEEL!  Whatever.  Moving on.

Tomatoes are on the list, so you head over to the produce department.  As you approach the tomatoes, you notice an elderly woman is occupying the tomato stand, groping and fondling every last juicy tomato in the basket.  Totally unaware of her surroundings, and quite possibly her whereabouts, she does this for another 5 minutes.  You finally pick out what a few minutes ago seemed like fresh tomatoes, and press on.

Ah,  now it’s time for the main aisles.  Plans of zipping up and down the aisles are curbed due to the genius employee that decided to put two palettes of products side by side, blocking thru traffic.  Of course the next item on your list is just on the other side of the roadblock, so you high tail it all the way around the next aisle to get back to where you need to be, but you never get there.


Two old men (they’re all old at the grocery store) are chatting in the middle of your detour aisle, also blocking the way.  You ask politely for one of them to move, and they can’t hear you because they’re just too damn old.  Every aisle is more of the same. People aimlessly wandering with no sense direction or of anyone else around them trying to get on with their day.

Oh, and God forbid anyone looks before they come drag racing out of the end of the aisles.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve almost been T-boned while walking along the end of the aisles.

Realizing your trip isn’t going as planned, you fight your way through the rest of the store while painstakingly crossing off another item on the list.  Your list is now complete.  It’s over! It’s finally over!  Think again Jack.

The dreaded checkout line.

My philosophy is to just pick your pony and go with it.  Find a line and stay there.  In my experience it doesn’t matter if you’re in a line with 3 people or 8 people.  There’s always a problem.  Always.  It’s either the banana’s were marked 6 cents lower than what it’s ringing up for, or someone’s check isn’t going through because they don’t have enough money, but act like it’s because something fishy is going on at their bank.

It’s your turn to pay.  It’s always way more money than what you thought it was going to be, but you don’t care because all you want to do is go home.  It’s then that you realize you still have to dodge traffic with a now 100 lb cart to get back to your crappy parking spot and load them all in to your trunk.

Still not over.

With everything that already happened, there’s nothing worse than pulling back into your drive way only to have to haul all this crap into the kitchen.  You grab two too many bags and forget to unlock your front door first.  While setting all the bags back down to get to your keys, you notice something is broken inside one of the bags.  The eggs. “Damn it!  I even took extra special care of those things this time!” Until you had to throw all your bags down on the porch to get your keys out.  You make it unnecessarily hard on yourself by justifying only making two or three trips instead of four or five.  With your hands and fingers cramped and overworked from carrying 50 pounds at a time, you plop the last of your groceries on the counter, and put them away.

Two hours from when you started your treacherous journey, it’s time for a nap…a long nap.  Gotta rest up for the same thing next week.

Everything Can’t be Epic


“Epic fail!”

“I was at this absolutely epic party last weekend.”

“Did you see the fight last night?  It was pretty epic.”

Stop it.

First of all, something can’t be pretty epic.  It either is or it isn’t, and I’m willing to bet it isn’t.

Second of all, I realize that I’m a solid 2 or 3 years late in writing something about this, but it bothers me enough to make a post about it anyway.

  1. a long poem, typically one derived from ancient oral tradition, narrating the deeds and adventures of heroic or legendary figures or the history of a nation.

Do you kids even know what epic means?  I’m sure it can’t actually be used to describe your night of binge drinking, or everyday stuff for that matter.

You can’t have an epic toothbrush, or an epic pair of dress slacks.  You just cant.   If the dress slacks are epic, then where does the moon landing rank? Totally epic? That’s so stupid I can’t even comprehend what I just wrote.  Of course that could be because I’m a terrible writer and that I have no schooling or training in this particular skill.  But, the more I think about it the more it makes me cringe.  Its overuse/misuse has brought me to a sad understanding of today’s youth.

You’re bored, and you don’t know how to deal with it.

There are so many things that are actually pretty neat (but not epic-worthy) nowadays, that it’s hard for the young’ns to be amazed at all anymore.  9-year-olds have cell phones that do more than I ever thought a desktop computer could do.  Video games look like you are literally standing in the middle of a real war zone.  Now we can have every song we could ever imagine packed onto a device the size of a business card.

You use words like epic to make regular stuff sound amazing and unbelievable, but in reality, you just need to find a hobby that doesn’t involve checking your twitter account for news relating to Miley Cyrus or One Direction.  Go outside and take a walk.  Ride a bike.  Find something that interests you!

Am I thinking positively right now?  This needs to stop.

See, when I was in middle school and high school, epic wasn’t a word used to describe everyday occurrences.  We went out and made the fun happen.  Social networking meant going to friends’ houses, being a mall rat, and playing pick-up basketball at the park, but that’s a “whole nother” (grrr) topic itself.

Too many kids just sit around waiting for something amazing to happen, and when nothing happens, they get confused.  They start labeling random things as “epic” to make their lives appear way cooler than reality suggests.

The point is, kids, to find something you truly love.  That way when something actually amazing happens, you won’t miss it.


Yeah, that’s spelled with a k instead of a c.

Facebook used to be an awesome way to network with other college students, and to keep in touch with every one of your friends that dispersed throughout the country after high school.  People used to post real thoughts,  or dropped by your page to say hello and find out what everyone was doing that night, etc.  There was real communication.  It was awesome.  You would send personal messages to discuss homework with classmates, flirt, or simply add something funny to their “wall.”

When’s the last time you posted anything on someone’s “wall?”  Does the wall still even exist?

I honestly can’t remember the last time I received a personal message from anyone that didn’t want me to join their group or attend some event that I didn’t even realize I was invited to.

That’s another thing that bothers me.  Have you ever had this conversation?

Lazy event organizer- “Hey, I missed you at my party last weekend, did you have to work or something?”

You- “Sorry, I didn’t know you had a party.  Was I invited?  I don’t remember you calling me about it.”

Lazy event organizer- “I sent a mass invite on Facebook three weeks ago.  Did you not see it?  Man, you missed a hell of a time!”

Are you serious?  People do everything they can to not communicate in real life anymore.  Sure, I have this stupid blog that nobody reads, but I at least still call friends and family if I’m thinking about hosting a social gathering.  Or to just talk in general and share real thoughts about whatever.

What I’ve noticed recently is that everybody is just posting links to articles.  People aren’t even writing their own thoughts!  Hardly anyone is actively communicating.  Facebook feels spammy and fake all of a sudden.  One friend will post an article, and then three other friends will post the SAME THING!

Even when it went through that long and semi-disappointing phase of baby pictures and snapshots of what you threw together for dinner, it was still sort of original and— you know what, I can’t defend the food pictures.  Those are so stupid it’s maddening.  I don’t care what you eat and I can’t even tell what the hell it is that you’re eating from the piece of crap photo taken from your awful phone!

Even worse, is people posting pictures of recipes of things that they’re not even making.

What,  you saw something that “sounds good,” and now you want everyone to know that you saw it?  What the hell are you doing right now.

People just “like” random crap because someone they know posted it.  I’m not even sure people are reading the garbage post anyway.

This is where we’re at as a society, folks.  A “like” button.  This is how we know each other still exist.

“I think so highly of the article you just posted a link to, that I’ll move my index finger a full two inches to show you I’m out there, and that I care about your thoughts concerning the ‘Top 10 Outfits Kim Kardashian has Worn in 2013.’ ”

By the way,  fell free to like this blog entry and re-post it!

Finding Bigfoot

Yes, this is an actual television show.  It airs on Animal Planet.

You mean the Syfy Network?

No.  Animal Planet.


I was scrolling through my channel guide and saw this program on the listing.  I thought to myself,  “Cool, someone found a large weird looking mutated dead animal and now scientists and animal experts are trying to find out what kind of animal it really is and what happened to it.”  Let’s watch!

I flipped to it.  I watched.  I processed. I was fooled.

Boy, was I fooled.  This couldn’t be more than a one time silly show just for fun, peppered into a lineup of educational programming, right?


Finding Bigfoot is not only an entire series, it has four effing seasons filled with footage of four lunatics that spend their waking lives trying to find Chewbacca in the flesh.

Did the execs at Animal Planet hold a board meeting thinking this was appropriate for their network?  Did some big shot producer think there wasn’t enough buzz surrounding Bigfoot, and that this show is exactly what people needed to regain interest?  Apparently so, because sadly this train wreck of a program is wildly popular.

From what I gather, a couple of self-proclaimed Bigfoot experts go around interviewing backwoods rednecks that obviously just want to get paid for being on TV.  Every last one of these hillbillies say they believe for certain that Bigfoot lives in their neck of the woods.   Easily convinced, the crew believes every word and decides to set up a base in the middle of nowhere, where they proceed to shout arbitrary Bigfoot-friendly calls into the woods in hopes of luring the beast from its habitat.  For never actually seeing or hearing Bigfoot, they sure seem to think they know exactly how to make contact with it.

“I think I hear something.   It’s calling out to us.”

“I’ll call back to it (makes random Cookie-Monster sound).”

“Crap, I saw a tree branch move.  We must have scared it off.”

Well guys, while the dog howling in the distance, and the squirrel rustling the leaves on the ground are damn convincing evidence of Bigfoot, he’s not out there.  Ever. I imagine this show could go on until the end of time (which HAS to be sooner than later with “educational” shows such as this littering the television) without these idiots finding anything.

But people will continue to watch, hooked on every gut-wrenching moment, in hopes of a few dudes just as qualified to find the Easter Bunny (which I still say is real, no matter what mom says) getting that groundbreaking blurry footage of a human sized fur covered beast moseying about the wilderness.



The Neo Scoccer Mom

I’d like to start by saying that I have no inherent problem with Soccer Moms.  Your kids need you.  Your kids’ friends need you. Your kids’ friends’ parents need you.  Hell, your husbands need you.  This is not about your importance to society.  This is about your $40,000 GINORMOUS DUMP TRUCK SIZED ARMORED SUVs that you insist on terribly driving through neighborhoods everywhere.

OK, they’re not armored, but still.

Soccer Moms used to drive minivans.



It was the perfect vehicle for toting around your rug rats and their greasy friends.  They had plenty of seating, were fairly compact, and didn’t require a stepladder to climb into. They were practical.

Nowadays, any sense of practicality has been thrown out the window.  If your car payment is damn near what a second mortgage would cost, it’s not practical! Especially when your dirty kids and their even dirtier friends are going to slime the whole thing up within a few rides.  The more I think about it, the aforementioned dump truck is actually very practical.  They’d hold tons of kids (literally), are dirty anyway, and make for an easy drop-off.

It’s nothing more than Mrs. Jones trying to one-up Mrs. Jones through a ridiculous and expensive game of Top That.

OK, now for my REAL complaint.  Soccer Mom’s can’t drive these behemoths in the slightest!  8 year olds on go-kart tracks are better drivers.

The two parking spaces. The two lanes at once, The “screw everyone else, I’m backing out” attitude.  Can we put a back-up beeper on these things just to at least make it a little embarrassing?

End of Rant.

I can’t imagine anyone will read this…

…but I guess I have to start somewhere.  I’m new to the blog scene, and there is a 99% chance that 100% of the world’s population won’t see this, but something deep within me feels the need to catalog my endless supply of complaints with, well, just about everything.

Try not to take my posts too seriously.  I know I won’t.  Who am I even talking to right now? I’m the only person that even knows about this “blog” anyway.

This brings me to a quick thought.  I’d like to thank myself ahead of time for being such a loyal reader of mine. I might even follow myself on Facebook and Twitter. Heck,  if I can double my following within the next calendar year, I’d consider this endeavor a wild success.

Welp, I guess it’s time to start the grumpfest.  Enjoy! (or strongly dislike, whatever)

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