40 oz to freedom (from babies)

Sam's Club is such a trap.

All those wicked, conniving sample grannies, luring the fat masses to their microwaves full of previously frozen MSG laced delicacies, cut into enticing chunks and served with a toothpick and a napkin.

"Oh deary, these are so easy to make! And so cheap and delicious and there are 157 in a box and they keep for years and are so good and wonderful for parties like football parties or just everyday snacking and dinner time and every time and they are right here next to me where you can grab one and take it right now."

It sure is hard not to put a 34 lb bag of meat balls in your dump truck sized cart while you are chewing up 3 of them, and the withered old crone in the hair net is boring into your soul via one cataract glazed eye. Accusing you for even THINKING about eating her sample meat balls and not taking home a bag. To feed all the orphans in the county. For weeks.

I made the mistake of sampling a cinnamon covered jumbo pretzel. I was mesmerized as the old woman explained to me just how easy these pretzels were to prepare, how there was even enough cinnamon sugar in the box to generously coat all pretzels located therein. That 1 minute of nuking would bring me all manner of instant pretzelly deliciousness.

I sort of didn't really WANT to buy TWENTY jumbo pretzels. But I felt obligated, as I had just consumed 2 of her samples. They are terribly persuasive, these crones. I guess I just assume that if they fail to sell a certain quota of whatever item they are sampling, they are probably taken into a back room and beaten with a broom handle. No WAY are these old women that stoked about frozen meatballs. No freaking way. So that in mind, I decided to do the altruistic thing, and buy the big assed box of jumbo pretzels, and save this woman a brutal caning. 21" TV sized box in the cart, off I went.

As I was awaiting checkout, a rather tall, mostly overweight woman was checking out ahead of me. She had 8 or 10 mismatched items in the dump truck. She asked the cashier for a 40 oz beverage glass. As she finished swiping her card, he apparently didn't proffer the cup in a satisfyingly speedy enough manner, since she thrust out her pudgy arm and said, "Can I get my cup please? I need to hurry, I left my baby in the car."

Huh, I thought.

She then shuffled over to the soda machines to fill her cup with liquid sugary poison, and then had to wander about in search of a lid. As I watched this unfold, I thought "perhaps if your BABY is waiting in the car, you should consider passing on the 1000 calorie beverage. Maybe even if there is no baby. Just sayin'." Drink acquired and lid placed, she then scurried for the exit, and on to her (quite possibly shivering) baby.

Someone should probably take that thing away from her. The baby, I mean. Like the state, before someone ELSE takes it away from her while she is in the Walmarts buying a brick of cheese.


Love note

dear lingering sickeness
as much as i enojoy yaling her at 259 fading away on a nyquil overdaose
id sure lik e it if you would laet me get on with my noermal life already
leav me alone pleaese
love fishh


Infestation nation

Somehow while fruit flies were, from what I understand, the plague of the universe this summer, my house managed to largely avoid this infestation. Despite our best efforts to incur the wrath of every fruit fly in Utah Valley through ever present rotting refuse moldering in the sink, and an ever bag-less and therefore horribly mucked up garbage can, covered with the most impressive conglomeration of crusted, vile putrescence ever collected in a college dwelling, our house was pretty much always insect free.

Even my mothers immaculate lair was veritably pillaged by a fruit fly horde near the end of the summer. Which also happened to coincide with my sisters back yard wedding reception. God bless the brave hearts of the poor women who stood for 2 hours attempting to stave off the pestilence that was constantly swirling above the creme puffs, watermelon, and brownie spread with basically futile back and forth swatting motions. They did their best.

As of a week or 2 ago, when mother nature began to mercilessly strap our asses with the frozen whip of Utah's "fall," we suddenly had the first hints of an infestation. I thought we were in the clear, since it had bloody SNOWED. Didn't really suspect fruit flies to have the hearty disposition to be able to persevere through the first snow. But suddenly there they were; they almost had seemed to spontaneously arise from a couple of rotting bananas that one inconsiderate roommate or another had left to fester upon a shelf behind a grocery bag. It was like an insectual second coming; this resurrection of tiny flying creatures shouldn't have been possible. It had been too cold.

Luckily, the infestation was short lived, and within a day or 2 they were gone, once the offending bananas had been disposed of, and the perpetrating roommate had been lynched. However, a remnant of a remnant of these vile flies survived, and have take up residence in my bathroom. Why my bathroom, of all places, I can not understand. There isn't any fruit in there. I don't typically bathe and consume fruit simultaneously. And the bathroom has been kept relatively clean. Some days, I will slay what I think must surely be the last fruit fly in existence. Countless carcasses have I washed down the drain, after having been crushed between the wall and a toothpaste tube, smashed between my 2 hands, or snatched from the air by the speed of my hand; all to no avail. Every day there are new flies. I am beginning to wonder if my resurrection theory is perhaps plausible. Perhaps there is a fruit fly necromancer living down my sink drain, trying to thwart my ability to feel like I'm not living in squalor. Because one never quite feels like they are living in squalid conditions, like when one is surrounded by a whirlwind of fruit flies while brushing one's teeth.

I don't know what to do. I fear that they are here to stay for the winter. Perhaps I have overlooked one benefit to the forthcoming winter misery; there is no way these flies will be able to survive in a house where I can see my breath. A boy can hope.


Not sure why i never used this

Said the awkward guy in charge of warming up the pasta at the pizza buffet to the cute girl who was previously manning the cash register: "Yeah, I just got home from my mission, so I'm still tryin' to figure things out. I'll probably get a PHD in something."

"Oh. Well, it was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too."

THANK you.