YES I want you to bag my fucking groceries!

The hippy-ass food coop. There are so many things I love and HATE about shopping there. The limited hours. The narrow aisles filled with snot-nosed kids and stoned, oblivious slowpokes standing in the middle of everything you want to get at.

I especially hate it when the cashiers don't even move a muscle to bag your groceries. Happened to me today on my horrifying second trip there (one trip a week is too much, two trips in one day? NIGHTMARE) to get the cilantro and coffee I forgot. At the end of our little exchange, the cashier looked at me and feebly ASKED, "do you want me to bag your groceries for you?"

YES. YES I FUCKING WANT YOU TO BAG MY FUCKING GROCERIES. I wouldn't be standing here if I didn't. I want you to bag my groceries just like I want a farmer to grow my vegetables and a butcher to kill the cows I eat. The only way I would want to bag my groceries myself is if THE GROCERIES WERE FREE. But as long as I'm paying for them and you're a cashier and ostensibly have some experience at packing shit properly into those floppy fucking reusable bags, then I fucking want you to finish your fucking job.

I know I'm being crazy about this. I know that it would make just as much sense to me to be the kind of person who realizes customers who pack their own groceries are just helping the line be more efficient and not treating the hired help like slaves. I guess. I mean, I think it's great that some people are into packing their own groceries. Good for them! That's so nice and maybe preferable to them than just standing around while someone else does the work. NOT FOR ME THOUGH.

I *did* my work when I tortured myself SELECTING all of the groceries and PAYING for them. I guess what really pisses me off is getting the message that I'm somehow being unreasonable or lazy or something for thinking that self-bagging should be the exception, not the rule. If I didn't run over to the end of the counter to pack my fucking groceries then clearly you should DEFAULT to what SHOULD be the STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURE of bagging my motherfucking groceries! Don't ask me just to make me feel bad. Don't ask me if I *want* you to do it *for me* like you're doing me a fucking favor. You're not. That's part of your fucking job. Yes, I know the word "co-op" is part of the store's name, but you are still getting paid. It's not a fucking volunteer position.

Granola cunt in line behind me got all agitated and grim upon witnessing my lazy-ass refusing to bag my own shit. She shoved past me like I was holding her up so she could grab a paper bag and show me how it's done. Listen, bitch; I brought a REUSABLE bag instead of using PAPER so stick your little lesson straight up your ass. My reusable bag trumps your pushy helping hands.

Fuh-huh-HUCKING hate that shit!!

Dryer Sheets

It's bad enough having to walk down the PERFUME aisle (laundry detergents, fabric softeners, etc.) at the grocery store -- a fucking migraine waiting to happen, but at least you can kind of avoid that aisle with a little planning.

What you CAN'T avoid are the people in your neighborhood who use those products, especially scented dryer sheets, and are equipped with blowholes in the sides of their houses to disseminate the cloying aroma of their laundry drying so it can be smelled as far away as three blocks.

Woe is me with my office window facing our idiot neighbor's garage where her washer and dryer are located. I can't open my window to get REAL fresh air; I have trademarked APRIL fresh air foisted upon me like a toxic gas.

That shit should be against the law. It's a fucking health hazard for a lot of people with allergies, migraines, asthma, chemical sensitivities, etc.

I don't mind when I can smell the smoke from their marijuana, just please don't make me smell that ghastly laundry perfume, mkay? NASTY.

UNsubscribe!

Somewhere along the line I got signed up to a healthy-eating newsletter. I mean, I definitely signed myself up for it, I think because they had good recipes. No complaints there, I just got tired of my inbox having five emails from them (that I never felt like reading) every week and decided to get off the list.

When I finally found the teeny-tiny link to unsubscribe and clicked on it, it took me to a long-ass list of a billion newsletters, each with their own radio buttons to either subscribe or unsubscribe. I had to SEARCH to find the one newsletter I was subscribed to so I could unsubscribe.

Of course, it could've been worse, but still -- really shitty/not-simple, and this annoys me because it's always us pornographers who get the bad rap with this shit, yet mainstream/non-adult gets away with it constantly. Fucking people, wasting their time, high-pressure bullshit.

Deaf Fuckers & Their Dogs

After an agonizingly long, snowy (for Western Washington) winter, we had our second day of spring today. Yes, this is only the second beautiful, sunny day we have had. Tonight it's lovely and the frogs are croaking. I'd love to hear them and enjoy the silence. Maybe open a window for some fresh air.

EXCEPT EVEN WITH THE WINDOWS CLOSED, SOME FUCKER'S BARKING DOG IS INTRUDING ON THE PLEASANTNESS OF THE EVENING. For a fucking hour or so. What the fuck is wrong with these shitholes who let their dogs yap ceaselessly? I'm seriously about ready to get in my car and find the source, pull up to their house and lay on the horn until someone comes out. And just keep laying on it, staring at them, and BARKING madly at them out my window.

Get the picture you inconsiderate festering fuckheads?

DVD Cases

How the film industry makes up for money they lose to piracy: by making their discs impossible to extract from their cases and super-breakable. I know! Let's get people to buy their favorite movies and television shows at least TWICE! How? By impaling each one on little plastic rosebuds with kung-fu grip strength. When they enthusiastically try to remove them, they bend, crack and/or break! AWESOME!

Fuckers.

Ding Dongs & Better Desserts

My birthday was on Tuesday so I've allowed myself a few disgusting treats, namely chocolate susans (those white cookies from Safeway with turd-swirls of chocolate frosting on top) and a box of Hostess ding dongs. Oh, and some Russian Caravan tea sweetened with sugar (I normally try to steer clear of caffeine and, lately, simple sugars).

Aside from the normal guilt (and discomfort up-to/including migraines) I get from eating total crap, I feel horrid about buying SHITTY desserts. I mean, if I'm going to splurge I really would prefer to get really high-quality desserts. There are a number of good bakeries in town, two of which SOMETIMES have Pain au chocolat. The problem is they only have it in the morning, are closed before dinnertime, AND MY WILLPOWER IS AT ITS LOWEST WHILE MY DESIRE IS AT ITS PEAK AT NIGHT.

Pastries and warm bread and chocolate aren't things I want to schedule in advance into the loathsome morning (not that I don't enjoy eating those things in the morning, I just don't *crave* them then / am thoroughly capable of resisting them at a time of day when swallowing food sometimes makes me want to vomit). I want doughy, gooey, sweet, melty and chewy deliciousness AT NIGHT. When I'm in bed with my girlfriend watching overwrought BBC dramas. When it's dark out with no light to distract me from the flavors in my mouth. When I'm setting the stage for my favorite part of the day: the time when I SLEEP.

Sigh. Food is the *only* thing that makes me wish we lived in Manhattan. Seriously.

Hairy Socks

Screech!

Nothing sucks harder than discovering AFTER you've donned socks AND shoes that there's a long hair inside your sock. And it's wrapping around your toes like a tight strand of twine, or simply wedged in your toe cleavage and sharply cutting into your tender flesh each time you take a motherfucking STEP.

Pain and irritation (and anything I have to BEND OVER to remedy) are things I bitch about often.