And It Only Gets Worse

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After standing in line for an HOUR at the cell phone shop, I was told that they could not fix my phone since there was liquid damage, as evidenced by the gravy corroded charging jack and the gravy droplets dripping along my liquid crystal display. Now, mind you, before I took it in there for the inevitable wait of an hour with people who are trying to force you into a early death, I had carefully checked the liquid damage indicator sticker located on the back of my phone. It was untouched. A sweet little virgin sticker. How lovely! This means they should replace it post haste!

So. There I waited in line, with a gentleman twice my age who was trying to impress me by informing me he spends his summers at the beach while maintaining his businesses via is blackberry and a nagging woman who wore camouflaged shorts and talked for an HOUR about how her husband loathes his cell phone. So, together the gentleman and the lady quarreled about turning cell phones off as opposed to simply not answering. And then they had to discuss the "old days" before there were cell phones. And before TV, how they sat around and listened to the radio! Oh! The good old days!

An. Hour.

An hour of living torture to simply be told that I have to call my insurance company.


On my way out, a bevy of mexicans swarmed me and informed me I was a "fiiiiiiiiine and pretty damn good looking broad".

Now. Please bear in mind what I had just been through. The trauma of the hour was far more than my little mind could bear, I snapped. I turned to the mexicans and informed them:

"I appreciate the compliment, however disgustingly intentioned it was. But. Unless you are referring to the width of my girth, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from referring to me as a "broad"." And with that, I turned on my little heel and trotted out the door.

I think I will retreat into my office with a large bottle of Jack. There is already an open can of Coke on my desk.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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