The good thing about being a not-religious person in the South is that Sunday mornings are great for getting stuff done.
I’d just finished snapping a photo of GROCERY CARTS when I heard my ding-dang name. Ding-dang it. Why everybody gotta catch me doing the weird stuff?
It was TinaDoris’s husband. I’d last seen him on New Year’s Eve.
“Hi! …I’m just, well. I’m just taking pictures of grocery carts,” I said to him, and by the way I’ve typed “grocery cars” every goddamn time today.
“See, it’s for my blog,” I continued, while Mr. TD looked fairly pained. “I was thinking about how no one is out on Sundays. Because of God.”
Mr. TD looked at his watch. Or, since he’s a millennial, he probably looked at his phone. “Well, it’s 12:16. They’ll all be out of church any minute. TinaDoris is in the car,” he said, desperately looking for an escape and using his wife to do so.
So as he went into the store like a normal person, I stampeded to the parking lot to see TinaDoris.
“I’m here getting stuff for meal prep,” I announced to TinaDoris, who is still unconscious.
“That’s so…adult of you,” she said, stunned, and I can’t tell you how many times my millennial friends have said this to me, with some shock, the four times a year I do something grown up.
My days at the beach last week turned me into a bit of a fat ass, and I am sick and tired of it, so this weekend I Googled “healthy meal plans” and found some recipes I liked and screenshot them and headed to the–well, first I had to head to Target for meal prep containers. Then I headed to the grocer, to see Mr. Hooper, and that is where I found TinaDoris and spouse and now we’re back where we were in this riveting story.
I got chicken and $700 white balsamic vinegar and all sorts of other things I never get, such as olive oil.
I also got new deodorant. I am riveted by all the dumb-ass scents Secret is coming up with, and I try to buy a different scent every time, and this is what has replaced sex in my life.
This grocery store excursion–which apparently I’m going to get a whole blog post out of and I hope this blog isn’t replacing sex for you because you just had bad sex. But anyway, this grocery store excursion was not at my Ghetto Lion but back in my old, normal neighborhood.
Recently I was headed to the movies in my old ‘hood. I left my house, where rap music was screaming out of the speakers of someone driving by, and I saw what looked like a drug deal on the next block, with my intricate knowledge of what drug deals look like, and anyway then I drove through my old ‘hood and there were people walking their dogs and reading on their porches and I got serious regretsies. This neigborhood better gentrify tout suite.
Anyway, I went to my old grocery store because I knew I’d need things like $700 white balsamic vinegar and figured Ghetto Lion would be all, You’ll get white distilled vinegar in a jug and you’ll like it.
The point is, for years now at my grocery store, fmr., I’ve wanted those Adirondack chairs they sell out front, but I never wanted to part with the $19.99 and besides, I didn’t know how to buy one when it was out front like that. But yesterday I asked at customer service, gave them that $19.99 and got me a chair.
Then I got to my car and said how da fuq Ima get this in there.
But I did it! I got it in there! Now we’re back to this blog being your sex.
While you were douching after our hot sex, I made chicken breasts (well. I COOKED them. God made them. A fact I’d know if I weren’t photographing carts on Sunday mornings.) and sweet potatoes and broccoli and lemon-garlic salmon and salad dressing made of olive oil, $700 white balsamic vinegar, honey and a little salt.
Then I put it in my new containers from the Target.
Who even am I, even?
After, I put everything away, although I did clean as I went, which is one priceless piece of info my friend Renee back in LA taught me. Clean as you go.
But there was still cleanup afterward, so I did that, and I fed the kitten (NOW EATING SOLID FOOD YAY!) and when everything was done, I took me some white grape juice into the yard and enjoyed my new chair.
As I headed back into the house, I felt so accomplished. I felt so adult. I felt so…
what’s that smell?
Why does it smell like Easter up in here?
The $700 bottle of white balsamic vinegar had been too tall for the cupboard, so I’d laid it on its side, but apparently I hadn’t screwed it tight enough (shut up), and it had dripped in the cupboard, down the microwave, and into a puddle on the stove.
Then I didn’t have to ask who even am I anymore, because there I was.