I haven’t really been consistent in keeping up with this blog and for the 16 people that read it, all apologies. I have said before that if I didn’t have anything interesting to say, better to say nothing. I also realize that I talk about my ever-raging hormones, a lot. As a matter of fact, I have been told by some that I talk about them too much. By some, I mean my girl. She is convinced that my whole life, or at least the 10 years she has known me, has been ruled by peri menopause. She would be absolutely correct. This week, the crazy bus, run by Aunt Flo went so rouge that I found myself atoning for my sins in the cat food aisle of Wal-Marts. Let us start with Monday.
I have been working extra and trying to keep up with my bills and trying to pay off my huge credit card debt. I have to pay for private school for my girl and I am trying to get the applications and financial aid filled out. It is a long process and I have been physically worn out. Monday, 3b tells me he is going somewhere. Where was not important. My reaction to it was a downward spiral of absolute insanity. Keep in mind; he just said he was going somewhere. It wasn’t a big deal. I went so far over the edge that Capri told me to up my meds and knock it off. Then I got sick, really sick. I broke into a cold sweat, chills and fever. I went home sick and tried to calm down. I was freezing and hot at the same time and I am not sure what triggered what. I would like to thank Capri and one of many blessed blondes for talking me off the ledge. I spent all of Tuesday freezing and sweating on the couch until I believe the crazy demon left me. I am now left with a cough and sore throat but (sounds crazy) I actually feel better. Whatever that was that made me go crazy on 3b is gone and as always he is busting my chops constantly. Being a good Catholic girl, I feel guilty for giving him a hard time over nothing so I offer to do some grocery shopping for him today. It is so true that you pay for your sins in one way or another.
I get to the Wal-Marts. I see the blow-up Santa in the outhouse. My faith in humanity is squelched once again. Really, is a shitting Santa necessary? So I take a video of that and try to decode 3b’s serial killer handwriting. He gave me a very specific list. I begin with conditioner. 3b loves his hair. It is thick and shiny and man lovely!!! I have him going to one of the best barbers in the state and they have a beautiful hair romance. I totally approve! So he just wants a store brand conditioner. I deep breathe and look on every shelf for a cheap conditioner. Does he want full volume? Extra moisture? Clean scalp? No buildup? Does he want a three in one? I didn’t make that up. It sounds like porn. I text 3b:
Me: Would you use a three in one?
3b: What the fuck is that?
3b: Just regular conditioner
It still makes me giggle! So, I get him what I think he needs like I should have done in the first place. I also supersize all the cleaning products he tells me to get because, in the long run, I am a better shopper. If you are not going to buy the giant size of any product in preparation for the zombie apocalypse that is, with the new administration, inevitable, why bother? Now I have to go where I haven’t been before: the cat aisle. I never had a cat. I had a roommate and an ex-husband that had cats and I just basically stayed out of their way. I find it difficult to warm up to something that believes it is better than me. That goes for people too. Let me tell you something, you want to be better than me, have fucking at it. You have set your goals sadly low. Anyways, there I am with his weird list and no clue as to what I am supposed to get. When we go shopping together, this is usually where I intentionally ditch him and look at the “As Seen On TV “products. Again, I digress. So I know that the texture his “boys” like is pate. I know this because the last time I had to feed them I opened the can, looked at the wet food and threw up. I threw up. I made me sick. When I was done being sick I slid the can toward the cats and said, “May the best pussy win.” I am looking and looking and I don’t see any pate.
Me: I don’t see any pate. Only Tasty Treasures Chunks.
3b: Fine! Get it!
Me: Idiot! I am stuck in the cat aisle with old lonely women in Santa sweaters. Doing the best I can!
3b: My people.
I try to figure out the rest of the endless cat item portion of this shopping list and I get to the kitty litter. I find it but it is on the top shelf. I can see this morning ending with me going to the ER with a kitty litter to the face injury. Since my face is all I have left, I ask for assistance. I find a nice lady on a ladder who I ask for help. She tells me that she is pregnant (which I didn’t notice) and doesn’t know how much help she will be. I tell her that I need Cat’s Pride on the top shelf and she turns me around and points to eye level hands me the damn Cat’s Pride. They keep the extras on the top. The shelf behind me was full of the stuff. I feel at this point that I have paid for my sins of Monday a couple of times over.
I want to end this by addressing a woman I will call Tito. Tito told 3b that he and I had NO idea what love was based on an insane conversation we were having about me letting him off the hook if he wanted to bang Jennifer Aniston. I mean, come on, Jennifer Aniston. I want to tell her to shut the fuck up. I want to tell her that I love this man so much that I would go cat food shopping for him to make up for making him feel bad. I want to tell this righteous bitch that everyone is different and what is good for some is not good for others. I want to tell her to mind her own business. 3b and I manage to work out our shit because, basically we are both morons that have found each other. We have the same moron values and the same moronic sense of humor. Something she needs to get. That and a 20lb container of Cat’s Pride to the head.