price check aisle love

"price check aisle love".

it sounds like the unofficial name television stations give their sappy teeny bopper sitcoms. like, "a heart-y party". but hey, i can't be held responsible. i've never watched dawson's creek. and my previous viewership of "saved by the bell" can surely be attributed to the hot pieces of pre-fame teenage ass that frequented the show. both before and after tiffany amber thiesen was the star.

all corny-ness aside, i'm well driven into the depths of a quarter life crisis. it is now official. i'm on buproprion. its for smoking cessation as well as mild depression. i can't decide which i'm using it for though. if i was depressed wouldn't i want something stronger? wouldn't i desire a drug that tampered with my mind making me smile all the time instead of despising humanity? if i was addicted to cigarettes, why not just get the patch? or the gum? or that tampon looking device that you can inhale smokeless nicotine with? i'm not entirely sure. i never finish answering these questions in my head. i can only take notice to the fact that i'm not smoking. and that i'm having a quarter life crisis.

somewhat recently, i separated myself from a girl. she was a cold, heartless, selfish, disrespecting, manipulative cunt. that much i can be sure of. all of her artifacts have left my room and my life, but some reminiscent shadows still appear in a distorted fashion amid my thoughts.

i stopped smoking pot also. but by no choice of my own. increased airport and highway security restricts the flow of illegal plants. a fact which only presented itself to me recently. so i'm in a transitional state now. because there's no more pot, when i sleep, i actually dream. dreams were traded a while ago for the high, but now they're back. but i have nothing to dream about. there is a sad song by the beta band called "squares". its about a guy who lays amid flowers but can only dream of squares. miles and miles of squares incessantly infest his dreams. and nothing else. i feel very similar. i don't dream the impossible. i dream what i can, and maybe on my bestest of best day, achieve. and on this day, it is the cashier girl on lane 3 of the local A&P.

after my painful breakup from the evil demoness i will just call J.P. for now, i spent some time with a co-worker named jess. she is basically what i would be if i was a hot blonde with smarts. so you know, we get along. pretty well, i might add. i guess because there is no sexual tension. she impresses upon me knowledge that i would not think of ordinarily. for instance, she lives at her own place. she has a car, and a good job. her tomato sauce has one of those rough cut brown labels on it that probably came from a fancy organic store. and her throw pillows match the curtains. she told me that she would never date a guy who had less then her. maybe that?s why there is no sexual tension.

i live with two older people. i basically keep to myself and they keep to their self. we share the same last name. jess would never date a guy who lives with his parents. That?s not being superficial. it can't be. she might also only date a guy who drives a nice car. i can't judge her. what is the difference between me wanting a nice looking girl, and her wanting a guy with a nice looking house?

so my standards became much more clear to me. crystal clear. if i'm ever going to get a pretty girl, she's going to have to be one sad motherfucker. not done with school, maybe not even in school, and possible working at a crap-ass job. like a super-market.

since i stopped smoking, i eat a lot more. i eat copious amounts of everything in sight, and thusly i frequent the local A&P often. whenever i see something especially mouth watering on television, i will run to the store and buy the ingredients needed to make a reasonable facsimile. in the last week i successfully accomplished: a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant, a crock pot of beef stew with dumplings, and one bad ass, rip your innards from here to mexico, ninety-nine alarm chili.

a fellow co-worker brought in his so-called "chili" one day last week. since my entire workplace knows of my post-smoker, newly functioning taste buds, i often get samples of food. don't ask why, it just happens. after i tasted this "chili", i suggested that it might be appropriate for the diphtheria ward of a children?s hospital. it was not, per se, "hot", and i let my co-worker know this fact.

i know hot. i know hot well. i know eating a habañero pepper straight up. i know chewing it like a horse in front of amazed on-lookers just to thoroughly exemplify my true showmanship. a buddy of mine has a hot sauce. in large letters on the side of the bottle it reads: "one drop is all it takes". he informed me that the last time he made chili, he put three drops in. he had to throw out the batch. too hot. i placed three drops on a tortilla and ate it like it was beef wellington. savoring each bite. my esophagus closed up, and most of my gastro-enterogical system tried to kick it back out. but i held on, and save some hiccups and sweat beads on my brow, i looked pretty cool.

often times i try to picture the perfect girl for me. i don't know if she'll like chili. i don't know if she smokes pot. and i don't know what she'll look like. but i got a pretty good guess of how she'll talk. it'll be just like me. she'll be a pretty, more feminine, less lanky, version of me with a cunning wit that matches my own. maybe with even a little more wise-ass to keep me on my toes. sometimes i will spot a girl in a crowd. we'll never meet, but in my head, i will think of what i wish she would say if we did. sort of like a fantasy conversation. just so i know ahead of time, that if i hear the words i was wanting her to say, she would be for me. we will be sitting out on a dock somewhere. the water will be sprawled out in front of us, adding to the background noise of the night insects. a sprinkling of lights reflection will dance on the water. a gentle cool breeze will toss aside the temporary warmth. i'll pull her close and whisper in her ear: "i love you". without hesitation for thought, on the end of my "you", her "i" will be whispered back to me. she'll say: "i love you-keleles". I'll pull her tighter and yell in her face: "i'll push you in bitch!" and our smiles will light up the sky.

i arrived at A&P with a plastic beer mug full of change. the stupid coin-star machine changed its rate from 5% to 8%, but i was willing to suck it up because i didn't want to break a twenty. after the coin-star filtered out 3 paperclips, a dutch guilder, and a key to god knows what, i had 18 dollars and 36 cents. i purchased a pound of 75% lean ground beef, 7 green jalapeno peppers, one cubanero, a red onion, a bottle of mexican style chili pepper, a packet of ole creole chili mix(because i didn't feel like buying separate cumin), one bottle of XXXtra hot habañero hot sauce, a can of garlic tomato paste, a can of goya red beans, and a can of tomato chili sauce. i couldn't find one of those hand baskets, and i was too far in the store to walk out with my hands full of chili supplies to get a shopping cart, so i grabbed an extra large dual compartment doggie food/water bowl. i figured i would just ditch the bowl somewhere near the checkout area. so i walked to the checkout area holding the doggie bowl to my chest, its dual dishes filled to the brim with chili supplies, and the fresh peppers dangling in the plastic bag from in between my fingers.

i don't know if i had ten items. and i didn't feel like counting. i have never used the express lane purely for the reason of a more expeditious shopping experience. i choose my lane based on looks. the looks of the cashier girl to be exact. which is why i never shop late at night. the pickings are real slim after 9. during the week too, for that matter. i go prime time. 10:30 am saturday morning on the dot. That?s when nearly every lane is occupied, and i can have my pick. do i feel like a red head? ooh! an asian in lane 8. exotic.

i remember once i went to the busiest lane with the cutest girl holding only a pack of double a batteries(for a previously purchased nose hair trimmer), and some breath mints. i only came for the batteries, but the packaging on the breath mints exclaimed: "they'll knock your socks off", so i snatched them from the impulse shopping shelf on the right side of the checkout counter. i didn't think i would look stupid. i just wanted the cute girl checking me out. i was going to use my debit card so she could see how i sign my name, and also for the added effect of my perceived financial security. i feel that a debit card is somehow better then a platinum or even titanium credit card. because it represents actual money, not just the expectation of money. unfortunately my bank at the time, "boiling springs" had a rather un-masculine logo for the front of the debit card. it was like 3/4's of a rainbow running into the banks name. but basically, it was a big flashy gay rainbow. suddenly i wished i used my "students-choice" credit card. i really didn't want to look stupid. when i approached the lane there were, maybe 20 items on the conveyor belt. i thought, hmmm... 20 items, a small price to pay for a pretty young lass. however, what i misjudged was the amount of time it would take the girl and the woman whose 2 shopping cart full of groceries she had just rang up, to pack said groceries into paper bags. five and then ten minutes passed. my awkwardness was beginning to fill the lane with a forever burgeoning stank of uncomfortableness. there was little chance i could salvage myself. quickly i had to think of something. why was i waiting so long? did i not care about the passage of time? did i no longer feel the pressure of my kneecaps locking up and stagnant blood pooling atop my locked joints?

MUST. MAINTAIN. COMPOSURE.

i had to think of something to say. this girl would almost definitely mock me for standing for nearly 20 minutes in the busiest lane just to purchase batteries and some mints. but finally, it was my turn. my gay rainbow card was ready and in hand. nearly dripping with sweat from my hands. i must look like a mess now. the girl looked at me and said: "you know, you could have gone in the express lane". i mumbled something about not having time to count how many items i had. i fumbled with the pen and wrote off the receipt onto the counter my name. ada... ada-something indistinguishable. and then i left, a broken shell of the man who entered the store just a half hour ago.

so surely, picking a lane based on looks does have its pitfalls. i lead a dangerous lifestyle, i admit it. there is a lot at stake, but i put it all on the line every time i enter a food mart. but today was different. in hand was a dog bowl stacked with hardcore fuck-your-shit-up chili supplies. and I could do no wrong. i approached lane 3 like i had done it a dozen times before, i unloaded my items from the doggie bowl and then, not so nonchalantly, swung the bowl one handed to under the conveyer belt counter where the hand-baskets usually go. without batting an eye.

the girl was cute, that much i knew. a bit young, but cute. her shoulders were thin, and her shirt draped off them like a blanket hanging on a wooden fence. her eyes had black eyeliner. and she looked like she did not care. about anything.

what would she say? what would i say? she seemed as if she may not have noticed my little dog bowl shenanigans. she was coy. maybe she did notice but was awful good at hiding it. if i was her, i'd say something like: "you must really hate your dog." but this would make no sense, since i already relieved myself of the bowl. i suddenly realized that there was really not anything that cool that could be said about chili. i mean sure, you could make some comment about not wanting to be in the same room with a person who just ate a huge bowl of chili, but hey, that?s amateurish. i was defeated. nothing could be said that would make me respect this girl. but maybe... and this is a big maybe, she would say something along the lines of: "you must like chili, huh?" with a smile. i could accept that. kinda sociable, and she was cute. maybe it wasn't a total loss.

she rang up must stuff not saying a word. i handed her cash, to show that i didn't trust the financial institutions in these times of economic turmoil. she handed me my change, 2 dollars and 23 cents. before our eyes had a chance to meet she spoke up.

she said: "let me guess, you're baking a cake."

and i was in love again.