So my original plan was to offer a long, lingering, life altering, moist, soulful, clothing optional, kiss to the person who helped push my diaryland Bravenet counter over the 20,000 hits mark. In the last week or so I kept watching and watching it. 18,781. 19,136. I don’t really get that many hits on my diary, so it was kind of a meandering process.
And then, of course, the insecure side of me kicked in thinking, gee, if I offer something like that (the kiss thing), someone who doesn’t want to kiss me, might stop reading for a couple of days and I’ll get stuck at 19,997 and I’ll get all nervous and jittery, and wonder why nobody is reading me and then I’ll think that everyone hates me and go into a deep suicidal depression and have to be talked down off some incredibly high window ledge and taken to the local mental hospital where they’ll pump me full of drugs and strap me down with restraints (well, that part might be fun) and then I’ll have to have electroshock therapy and walk around like Jack Nicholson in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” with my tongue hanging out sideways, tripping over people, thinking they’re piles of laundry that I have to do for my mother, and wondering why everyone looks like James Garner.
That’s why I didn’t do the kiss offer.
But I don’t scare easily, so my next kiss-witty contest is as follows: “If it’s Saturday and you are breathing and you aren’t a cadaver, you get to kiss witty”. All applicants will be considered. Except Republicans. Ummm...on second thought...ummmm. Ok, Republicans can apply too.
Man, talk about desperation. witty, you really need to get a life.
And talking about life, I nearly lost mine tonight. It was so freakin’ scary. My mom’s car is still on the fritz, and so I am being responsible for getting her to the bank and to the store and attempting to jump start the car. Yikes. Thank God I read my owner’s manual on that one. She was ready to just clamp all the battery cables on the all battery nobby thingies and have me start my car. And then she said something very fortuitous.
“I hope we doesn’t blow up your car.”
Fruck. Me too. I had thought she knew which cable to connect to which nobbie, but she didn’t. She was just relying on her 76 year old memory. So I got out my owner’s manual and read up on how to jump start a car. And we had it all wrong. As in sparks could have flown and we could have blown up her car, which would probably be a good thing since its a piece of shit, and my car, which would be a bad thing, because its the only thing of value I own.
So we finally got all the cables situated in the right configuration, turned on both of our cars in the correct order, and nothing. Her car is dead, as in bury the bastard and get something newer.
But that actually wasn’t the part where I nearly lost my life. It was later when we went to the grocery store. We had just gotten there. My mom has been stuck in her apartment the whole week, and was without bread and milk and was now acting all sad-like by saying “Oh, I just one or two things to tide me over”. I, of course, had to yell at her, by saying, “Look, get everything that you need now, because I may not be able to come and get you in two days when you realize you don’t have enough groceries for the weekend.”
Yeah it was the sad mother smackdown. Yay me.
Suddenly though, we heard this announcement over the grocery store loudspeaker. “For the next ten minutes only, in our bakery department, we will be selling SIX artery clogging, ass-widening, sugary, greasy, heart attacking producing donuts for...ONE DOLLAR!!!! Six donuts...one dollar! Get them now”
And I think the entire northeast corner of the building tilted downwards, as all the future heart attack victims, chubbies, weight watchers cheaters, kids, borderline diabetics and sugar addicts rushed to the bakery. My mom had been yacking during the announcement, but when she heard of the riches to be had, she moved about as fast as I’ve seen her move in about 5 years.
And she’s a heart patient. With high cholesterol. A walking time bomb. And she had just had a huge cheeseburger with bacon at Denney’s. And yet, she’ll delicately refuse butter because of its fat content.
But donuts. Hoo boy! Donuts. As in, hey, they’re only donuts. I guess she forgets that they are almost solid sugar and fat. As in that stuff that has sent you to the hospital like 12 times for heart catherizations and bypass surgery. But she looks at heart catherizations more like a yearly Roto-rootering than a warning of impending death.
Anyways, she wanted to know if I wanted to go in halfies on the donut thing. Maybe take 3 of the 6 donuts. Unfortunately I like donuts too. Like way too much. Like I own part of the Hostess Cup Cake division, by being their #1 customer. Of course, I also walk 15 miles a week and haven’t had a heart attack...yet. But donuts...Chunks of solid fat dipped in sugar. Sure, count me in. Sugar now, heart attack later. Carpe diem.
But it was an absolutely feeding frenzy when we got to the bakery. A frenzy I say! The donuts are kept in a 6 foot wide bakery case and there were probably 12-15 people, all pressed up against the glass doors, grabbing at the fatty goods like rabid hyenas. Not much talking was going on, just a lot of heavy breathing and grunting. I tried to push my way into the frey, but I don’t like close intimate contact with strangers (its a phobia), so I sent in my mom.
I immediately noticed she was grabbing at donuts without a “donut tissue” and me being a germ-a-phobe, yelled out a warning. “Use a tissue, use a tissue.” Of course, in this crowd, who the hell cared, but I really didn’t want anyone touching my peanut-coated donut without proper protection, since I’m already nursing a slight cold as it is.
I was really amused though, at the sight of everyone struggling to get what amounted to about 150 donuts, so I started to do a play-by-play off to the side.
“And they’re off. The healthy donuts with 500 grams of fat are on the top shelf and the not so healthy donuts with 1800 grams of fat are on the remaining 6 shelves. I see that my mother is gaining on that bear claw. No wait! I think she dropped it. No, I think the other guy grabbed it. No, she’s got it. I think there’s a fight breaking out...”
I told one woman next to me I was afraid to get a donut because I might lose a limb. She laughed.
So we finally ended up with our 6 donuts. I got 2 peanut-coated donuts and one headlight, and I think my mom got three bearclaws. So yay us. I just hope she has the name of her cardiologist handy.
0 comments so far << | >>
upsy, downsy, upsy, splat! - 2010-05-22
April sours bring May flowers? - 2010-05-01
when finding a head in the recycling bin is the highlight of your month - 2010-03-28
fifty two chances to be awesome...ok maybe - 2010-02-20
its sorta like "Grease" except there's no musical numbers and I'm really old - 2010-02-05