Proof is in the Crackers
I’m not even going to try and front… this month has sucked. I wasn’t going to talk about it but it’s gotten to the point where I probably have to talk about it, if for no other reason than to get word out and possibly someone has a contact here in Phoenix Fucking Arizona.
I got laid off. Again. It’s incredibly embarrassing, and I haven’t been very public about it at all. Part of me knows the economy sucks and part of me thinks it’s me and I make really poor decisions.
I say that because every time I’m faced with a job search, I usually have at least 2 or more offers. I had been lucky in that respect but the luck seems to stop at the actual offers and then my dumbassery kicks in when it comes to decision time. There’s just no other explanation.
I have become that zombie woman that I always try to avoid becoming, that I know is lurking under the surface. The one that always feels braced for something bad to happen. But, she’s here now (um, 3rd person. Lovely!) I feel beat down by life and I’m at a loss to even know where to pick up the pieces.
It’s not a huge help that R has finally deployed (I say finally because it was inevitable), or that I’m PMS’ing. ha. That damn Aunt Flo, she’s ALWAYS on time. Kind of like BILLS.
Anyway, that’s all I’m going to say about it since I really can’t stand to dwell on either one more than I have to, it kinda sorta drives me crazy.
The teen and I went to the store the other day and I grew impatient waiting in a line that housed a checker so we went and got in line at the *gasp* self check-out. I hate self check-out for innumerable reasons I won’t delve into but just know this: Self check-out hates me. And the feeling is mutual.
At the end of the transaction, which took 4 times longer than if someone who ACTUALLY WORKED AT THE STORE rang me up, there was a flashing message on the monitor to check my receipt for an important message.
“What the fuck is that?”, I thought. “What could they possibly be annoying me with now??”
I look on the mile long receipt and printed on the bottom is a warning I MAY HAVE purchased food items that MAY contain salmonella. Big brother is watching with those frequent shopper cards, cards that R refuses to use with his own information as he doesn’t like anyone being privy to his shopping habits. Of course, being in the military and having Big Brother privy to EVERYTHING ELSE doesn’t seem to bother him.
I shove the receipt in my purse and apprise the kid of the situation. The kid says, “Oh hey, if I eat one, can I miss school tomorrow?”
My reply, “You’ll miss school FOREVER! Don’t even think about eating one!” M said he was joking but I’m not too sure about that. *tap chin* Not too sure at all…
I convince myself the warning is probably wrong the whole drive home. That the kid and I did not have in our household these innocuous looking cheese/peanut butter crackers that were, in fact, tainted. I just ate some for a late night snack a couple of days before! I mean, sure, I felt like shit the day after but that seems to be par for the course as of late… it couldn’t have been… nooooo!
I get home and one of my homie’s called… that reminds me of this song:
*bounce* *rock*
Where were we? Okay. So Ali and I were chatting away (she’s one of the few that knew about all of my drama) when I grabbed the crackers out of the pantry.
I’m steady talking and trying to match numbers and so far, nothing doing. Keep scrolling and the bottom line- bingo! We have a match!
I yell into the phone: “I’m jobless, R is deployed and now I have TAINTED FUCKING CRACKERS in my house! WILL IT EVER END?”
Ali paused to gauge my reaction, was I really melting down… over crackers? Were they the proverbial straw that broke this camel’s back?
I started laughing which was Ali’s cue to start laughing, too. We laughed for a good 5 minutes over those stupid tainted crackers and when the laughing finally subsided Ali breathed, “Girl, you are CRAZY!”
If only the lottery were this easy.