{ 01 11 2009 }

Frozen Dinners With a Double Serving of Snark

Today is one of those oh-so-fun days when my self-confidence is swimming at -3000 feet. When I went to the grocery store this afternoon (a stupid idea from the beginning, I mean what kind of cranky bitch goes and voluntarily surrounds herself with hundreds of people who regardless of age or disability walk . . . so . . . slooowwwwww . . . I . . . want . . . to . . . push . . . them . . . out . . . of . . . the . . . way . . . with . . . my . . . shopping . . . cart. Yes, nailed her! Fifty points and a self-high-five for The Vix!

Okay, that actually cheered me up a little.

I have always been proud of not being one of those obnoxious single-girl woe-is-me pieces of crap that clogs the blogosphere and takes up valuable space on the New Arrivals table at Borders bookstore, but today I am CRANKY and if I had a wiener I would totally whip it out and go piss on my upstairs neighbor’s car right now WHO HAS TAKEN UP SMOKING AND THROWING THEIR BUTTS ONTO MY DOORSTEP WHERE MY DOGS TRY TO EAT THEM but I don’t so I can’t so instead it’s still light outside and I’m stuffing my face with onion pita chips (wow what offensive breath–not that it matters, because hey, it’s not like I’m not smooching on anybody!) and drinking a bottle of wine.

There are definitely days like today when I do not feel like a BAMF (which stands for BadAss MotherFucker, one of my favorite acronyms), but feel about as awesome as the bird who once flew into my classroom window so hard that he left a SPLAT! mark on the glass that remained there for two years. His carcass stayed on the grass for at least a month before I assume one of the giant squirrels finally dragged him away.

Sometimes I have no self-confidence for the usual girl reasons, and then sometimes the oddest situations take me from a bad mood into an awful one.

Originally I hadn’t planned to go to the grocery store at all because I really hate crowds of slow-moving people who must have a cult agreement that they will all shop together every Sunday and move no more than eight footsteps a minute, but I was feeling down and three hours of writing in my journal earlier in that day only made me feel worse instead of better. I decided to go to the grocery store to buy myself some “I don’t suck” flowers and a bag of dog food. Once I was there, I figured I might as well do my shopping for the week and thereby work on executing my 2009 resolution to be nicer to people.

As you may have detected from the introductory paragraph, it may take me a while to get that resolution down. I think I’ll have a better chance with my resolution to find an agent.

Part of the reason I hate grocery shopping on weekends is because that’s when all the families come out. Families who have a ten-foot radius of children darting about like cockroaches, throwing bell peppers at each other and asking in what is definitely NOT an indoor voice, “Why is that lady so fat?”

These families represent all that I am not. Carts full of fresh produce, whole-wheat pasta, organic tomato sauce, freshly squeezed orange juice, and fruit sherbet. What happened to the good ol’ days of stuffing the kiddos full of chicken nuggets and Lunchables? I ate plenty of that as a child and I turned out just freaking fine.

I do not belong among the weekend shoppers and their well-balanced meals. My affiliation is closer to the late-night circuit of college students and young single professionals whose carts contain three cartons of Diet Coke, Hot Pockets, and duct tape.

Even the twentysomething couples show more care in their grocery selection than I do: frozen vegetables, raw chicken, bagged salad, wine that doesn’t come from the “Economy” section, a pair of toothbrushes, ice cream (that both the boyfriend and girlfriend will share while gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes and the cat meows “My Endless Love”), and Valentine’s Day decorations.

Valentine’s Day. I loathe Valentine’s Day. I loathe it so much it will get its own special rant once it’s actually February.

Then there’s me. I stood in the check-out line with the following: two containers of pre-cut fruit (I am very busy and important, after all), five frozen dinners, coffee, Oreo’s, milk, granola (guilt from buying only one, not two containers of pre-cut fruit as I previously stated), six boxes of steam-in-a-bag vegetables (and they come smothered in butter! BRILLIANT!), dog food, onion pita chips (which are two-thirds gone as I type this), pink roses (I decided to upgrade to the “I AM SO AWESOME I COULD JUST SHIT” thirteen dollar roses), a bottle of cheap red wine, an economy bottle of white wine, and a scented candle to cover the smell of dog pee.

Oh, and my Christmas tree is still up. Well the tree itself is up, but all its branches have been becoming noticeably droopier over the last few weeks. I think it’s sad about the break-up. I know, tree. Me too. What do you say we go lay face-down in bed and try to remember what feeling confident felt like? I’ll bring the big bottle of wine, you get the self-esteem. I’ll snuggle, but only if you promise to caress me with the non-needle side of your branches.

I may be a little drunk right now. By the way. A toast to the memory of awesomeness!

Posted by Over Educated Nympho on Sunday, January 11th, 2009, at 6:49 pm, and filed under sober as an SOB, singledom, chortles.

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