Super Sneaky Lard-O-Matic

As much as I don't like offending other people, I find that just being me tends to do it sometimes. As I alluded to in "When Food Attacks," I don't diet. Beyond my base objections to it, I have a billion allergies and food intolerances and a disease that made me starve for 6 years as a result, so I'm not interested in denying myself food by choice. In general, I tell people this once and they leave me alone, but sometimes, strangers like to be helpful, noticing that I am what people consider 'OMG SO FAT!' and assume that I am obviously dieting and need their helpful advice, which I don't. I've learned from this that it really freaks people out when you respond to secret special diet information with, "Oh, thanks, no, I don't diet." It's this scandalous moment when I could have just as easily said, "Oh, no thank you, do you have grandchildren? I would like to roast them and eat them while baying at the moon, naked."

I know that it is easier sometimes to just nod and wander away, but some people just won't leave it alone.

The diet conspiracy lady approached me several years ago in the frozen food aisle of a Publix Supermarket. I had to work the next day and didn't feel like making myself lunch and so I was looking at the huge selection of frozen entrees that were on sale. I stood there, slack jawed, looking at all the different varieties wondering if any of them were actually palatable. Crazy diet lady sidles up to me. 'Oh lord, she is gonna start talking to me,' I realize after I've made accidental eye contact with her.
"A lot of choices, huh?"
Fuck... fine, my fault for looking at her, "Sure are. Do you know if any of these actually taste good?"
"I mean, some of them are okay, I've been trying to drop those last 20 pounds so I know this one is pretty good, very low fat, but you don't want those, you want these," and she motions over to a freezer full of a popular diet company's dinners which happen to be 3 times more expensive than the ones I was looking at. I look over, smile and nod politely and try to steer my way back to the sale dinners. "These," she points to more low calorie meals, "you should NEVER get these."
"Oh," I say.
"Oh, yes, I heard, " she says, leaning in, "That they SNEAK calories into their food."
"Oh, I'm not worried about calories..."
"What!?" she sounds nervous.
"I, uh, I don't diet. I was just looking for something that was cheap and fairly tasty."
"Oh," she says. "Oh..." and she grabs her cart and scampers away, looking back at me like I just admitted I like licking kitten feet.

Which, with their forays into litter boxes, I totally am not into.

As much as it may be your urge, I am not interested (still) in debating the topic of dieting. At all. Still a humor blarg.  And "OMG SO FAT" is not an insult in my eyes so no need to try to reassure me.  I am quite content in my body, no matter what the size. That is all.

The Pepperoni Incident

I'm sorry, disgruntled deli worker, that I ruined your entire day and possibly your whole life by requesting that you, please, slice me 6 slices of pepperoni. And THEN 6 slices of provolone.  In my defense, I'm poor and can't afford to buy more pepperoni than I intend upon using when I have to purchase food for the rest of the month on a very small budget, and nobody here really wants a lot of pepperoni, it's for pepperoni bread- I'm being creative, and furthermore it is kinda, totally your job to slice stuff.

 If you had actually been busy, I would have been more likely not to be taken aback by the fact that you were sending out clear and unmistakable "I hate you and hope you die" rays, presumably because I made you take out a stick of meat for me that you would then have to re-wrap and put back after slicing off 60 cents worth of meat, so it doesn't even seem worth it, but again, it is what you were being paid to do, and I was polite, as I always am, because I know that working in a service job can totally suck when people are demanding assholes, so I make it a point to say please and thank you sincerely. And, to boot, there was NO ONE ELSE around.  There were hardly any customers at all in the whole store, so I guess my question is, WHY DO YOU HATE ME!?

Okay, maybe that is not fair. Maybe this was not actually about me.  Perhaps you had terrible news before work and your stabbing hatred rays were residual. Perhaps I reminded you of the stunningly gorgeous women named Jolene, who took your man even though you begged her not to.  Maybe pepperoni killed your cat. It seems feasible, but I just don't know. However, whatever the reason, I could tell you weren't happy, and I internalized it, and now I am unhappy too. It's probably a good thing I just have to write a blarg and I don't have to slice ridiculously small amounts of pepperoni for stupid jerkfaces, too.

House Stalking

Every once in a while, I become convinced that I am going to win the lottery so I begin detailed plans for investments and other extravagant purchases.

Part of that, recently, has been house hunting.  And hunting is precisely what I have been doing, because unless you live here in my city, you probably have no idea that the people who did the street planning in this town either had severe ADHD OR they were heavily intoxicated. Probably the latter since this is the wild west and cowboys are always drunk as hell on whiskey in westerns, right?

See, my town has a Cheese Drive*, a Cheese Lane, and 2 Cheese Avenues, and the address on the website just said "900 Cheese."

After three tries, I became convinced that expensive houses for sale in my town have some sort of cloaking device that makes them only visible to people who actually HAVE the money to even consider buying the house...

Today's hunt was made on account of a search for another house that I decided against (in my imaginary search for a house to buy). Even though the pictures of it were beautiful, and amazing, and perfectly the design I wanted, it was up a mountain, on a road that was at grade of approximately 30 degrees.  It was hard enough getting my car to agree to go up the street when the roads were clear, but I would have had to refrain from leave my house for 8 months out of the year when snow was on the ground, so my car didn't slide down the super steep hill, killing myself (and a lovely neighborhood full of frolicking children and rich folk who like jogging up ridiculously steep roads) in a spectacular fiery crash, because that is what happens when you slide down an ice covered incline, right?

But, actually, I couldn't find that house.  I found where it SHOULD be, but it wasn't really there, as far as I could see.

I did find the house today, on the fourth try.  On the second Cheese Avenue, that I didn't know existed, that was about 8 blocks away from the normal Cheese Avenue, down a one way street...

For the record, I do not waste any relator's time being shown the insides of houses I want to "imaginary buy", I just stalk the houses, driving by, looking at them longingly while playing Journey songs for them on my car stereo.

*The name of the street has been changed in case I really do win the lottery and buy said house, though living on Cheese Ave. would be pretty boss.

Mr. Zombie Goes Shopping

To celebrate my continuing illness but unfortunate need to leave the house for such silliness as food, soap, and medication, I give you a fun filled shopping trip featuring Mr. Zombie:

It is only appropriate that Mr. Zombie should visit our local Walmart Super Center.  He should blend right in.

Welcome to ZombieMart!

Let's see, what's on the shopping list for today...

Ahh, imagine that.

Well, let's get shopping...

Brainz, brainz, brainz...

That's right, Mr. Zombie, let's find some brains.

Brainz?

No, not brains.

BRAINZ?

Not this time, Mr. Zombie, keep looking...

BRAINZ!?

Close enough, Mr. Zombie, close enough!