Thing one:

I went shopping alone yesterday, as it was Tate’s attempt to make up for falling asleep on the couch on my birthday. My mopey, feeling sorry for myself mood wasn’t helped by seeing all of these horrible clothes stores are selling! What is WITH all the boxy shirts with square necks and the maternity-esque shirts and TUBE dresses! And Old Navy! Those clothes were the worst! Maybe I’m too old for shopping there. Is this what kids (feel free to substitute the word “whippersnappers” here) these days are wearing?

Hello.  My name is Jennifer and I just turned 80.

Thing two:
 
Whenever I leave a store, I have a fear of setting off the alarm and being accused of shoplifting.  Never in my life have I (purposely) shoplifted and partly it’s because I’m afraid I’d set off an alarm and be CAUGHT.  As I get closer to the exit, I feel myself tensing, imagining the alarm sounding as I leave, STOP THIEF!  STOP THIEF! and thinking about the embarrassment WHEN the alarm is SURE to sound.  I skirt quickly across the threshold holding my breath, only exhaling once I’m free and clear and RELIEVED that I dodged the bullet THAT time.

Thing three:
 

Cake.  Lovingly crafted by Tate and Carson while I was gone shopping.

The mopey and feeling sorry for myself mood is gone.  Cake, even a day late, has a way of making everything better.  There there, now.  It’s all better.

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The other night at Bunco, several women were talking about French Lick, Indiana.  (Prior to this conversation they were talking about the security of their wireless Internet and keeping is protected against the eyes of PRYING neighbors.  Oops.  Thank goodness I don’t live in THAT neighborhood.) 

And we’re back from that brief tangent. 

One of the women asked me if I’d ever been to French Lick.  I shrugged and coyly said that I’d never heard of it.  “Oh?  You’ve never heard of it,” she questioned.  “Well it’s a blah, blah, blah, blah, blah place…”  I wasn’t really listening to the last part because I was thinking to myself, “Is it weird that I don’t know about French Lick, Indiana?  And I hope they don’t find out that I steal my Internet connection.”

The thing is, though, is that maybe I have heard of it.  I mean, I’ve HEARD of Hartford, Connecticut and El Paso, Texas and Istanbul, but they don’t have any special meaning for me.  The next day at lunch I asked Tate if he’d ever heard of French Lick, Indiana.  I whispered it quietly across the table of the semi-crowded restaurant because I sensed that NOT knowing about this place was like standing up and shouting “I HATE NOTRE DAME, PURDUE, AND the HOOSIERS.”  (I don’t, by the way.)

Tate gave me a most exasperated sigh and shook his head.  “It’s where Larry Bird was born.”  [imagine that he was looking at me like, YOU NUMBNUT] “French Lick, Indiana?,” he said as if repeating the words French Lick, Indiana would now somehow magically make it all click in my brain.

“Why would I care about where Larry Bird was born?”  I asked truly wondering why in fact I WOULD care about a 1980’s Boston Celtics, short-shorts wearing basketball player.

“It matters.  We live in Indiana now, Jennifer.  Basketball MATTERS,”  Tate explained.  And that was the end of the discussion.  At least for he and I anyway.  Now I’d like to include all of you in on the talks.

I have since googled French Lick, Indiana and learned that it is a resort area, but it’s also “known” (I use the term verrrrry loosely) for being Larry Bird’s birthplace .  However, I’m still befuddled.  Is it weird that I don’t know much, okay ANYTHING, about French Lick, Indiana?  Did everyone except me take a class titled, “The Low Down On French Lick…Everything You Must Know to Have a Fulfilled Life?” 

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(It’s possible I should change the name of this blog to Jennifer’s Meijer Ramblings Or Jennifer is a DORK and Can’t Believe You Keep Reading.)

As proud as I could be, I stood back and admired my work.  Strategically planned and carefully implemented, I watched my groceries on the conveyor belt as they patiently awaited their turn to be scanned by the Meijer cashier.  Large items like diapers and soda were placed on the belt first.  The can goods, boxed items, and jars were lovingly segregated.  Fresh fruits and veggies were placed far, far away from the germy raw meats.  Bread, tortillas, greeting cards, and eggs were the final products, placed at the back so they’d be less likely to be crushed.

It was truly a work of art, fit for display in the Louvre.

I was pleased with my organizational abilities and looked forward to going home and putting each item in it’s place, knowing that it would be easy since it was already separated for easy unloading.  The satisfaction I felt at my accomplishment made me feel all warm and snugly inside.

Imagine my horror, though, as the cashier began bagging my groceries all willy nilly.   My carefully crafted work of art was suddenly dismantled at the hands of this maniac cashier.   Why was she putting carrots in with one box of elbow macaroni, 2 jars of baby food and a can of pinto beans???  I audibly gasped when she put my bread upright next to the rice cereal, soy sauce, and one (of two) 1/2 gallons of milk.  My eyes grew wider and wider and my heart raced with each bag she filled.  And filled she did.

She somehow fit $172 worth of groceries into FIVE plastic grocery bags.  I was certain that the bag filled with one package of size two Pampers, a jar of Apricot jelly, one can of artichoke hearts, four jars of baby food, rolled oats, flour, Swiffer floor wipes, and the other milk would bust.  (Somehow it didn’t, but I don’t know HOW.  It defied the laws of physics.)  What should have taken five minutes, took double that as the cashier undid my handiwork, picking and choosing items to fill the bags.

I didn’t say anything to the cashier.  I just sheepishly thanked her as she gave me my receipt and 746 Meijer coupons.  Walking away, I tried to regain my composure as I headed for the automatic doors.  Shell shocked and exhausted from the ordeal I drove home, replaying the horror over and over in my mind.  Why didn’t I say something?  What was I afraid of?  Could Meijer and I still be best friends or were things cooling for us?

First the car carts and now the pillaging cashier.  Oh, Meijer?  Why?  WHY? What have I done?

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Shh, hi, I’m stealing again.  Despite your reassurance that it’s all fine and dandy for me to be a thief, every time I get online, my palms sweat, heart races, I jump at every sound certain that the KGB, FBI, and gestapo have all arrived at my new house to take me down.  I picture my neighbors tsk-tsking me as I’m taken away in cuffs in the back of an unmarked cruiser.  If I do get arrested all of YOU are paying for my legal defense.  JUST SO YOU KNOW.

But Interwebs, I just can’t quit you.

Remember Chester?  Well his clothes and shoes all arrived safely (thank goodness).  Chester was nowhere to be found, though.  Rest in peace Chester.  Rest in peace.  Amen.

While unpacking, Tate and I found some boxes that made us giggle…
 

REEF? It couldn’t be?! Could it????

Yes! Yes! It is!!
There’s my reef! Oh how I missed you, reef!

Then there was this box…

Oops. I guess I shouldn’t have let the movers pack my POT plants (and art plants.)  I’m so relieved my POT plants survived the move.   Gee I hope I don’t get in trouble for those POT plants.  I don’t want to get in anymore trouble with the Feds than I already am.

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Oh I’m sorry, am I talking about Meijer too much?

What can I say?  I love Meijer.

My favorite aisle in Meijer is the International food aisle.  Going down this aisle makes me realize how little culture I possess.  Last night when I went grocery shopping, I went on a covert mission with my camera to take some pictures of a few things I’ve never heard of.  I apologize for the poor quality of some of the pictures, but I was really nervous taking pictures and was certain that I’d get banned from Meijer for taking the pictures, which obviously would be HORRIBLE.  Who me?  Irrational much? 

Anglophile Football Fanatic? Mrs. Chicken?  I found this in the British section.   Help me understand. Please. What IS this stuff??

All I know is that Tate better never come home with a (can of) spotted d1ck. *ahem*

Salad and cream DO NOT belong together. Yuck.  I think I just PIMMALed (puked in my mouth a little.)  (Thanks Sarah, In the Trenches for that little phrase!)

Um, Dana?? Why??? What is WITH all the CREAM??

This is one kind of Ovaltine even I HAVEN’T heard of. Anyone else heard of it?

***********************
I’d like to leave you with a story of true romance this Valentine’s Day. Oh, right, Happy Valentine’s Day everyone (the 2nd most overrated holiday.)  (By the way, I’m not bitter, just realistic.)

Last night at Meijer, I saw a gentleman walking toward me with a bouquet of roses and something tucked under his arm. I thought to myself how sweet it was that he was getting flowers for his wife. He smiled sheepishly at me as we passed. When I saw what he was carrying under his arm, I understood why.

Maxi pads. The BIG OL’ JUMBO kind of maxi pads.

A man buying roses and maxi pads. Now that, my friends, is LOVE.

Alright everyone together now….”Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

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Rather than allowing Carson to watch yet another hour of television, I decided to turn on the radio.  I scanned the dial, attempting to find a station suitable for tender, young ears.  Oh how I miss Radio Disney on cable.  I can’t believe I just typed that.

I finally found the oldies station-or so I assumed.  The first few songs we heard were what I consider to be oldies, like a song from the Supremes and some other not-so-new sounding songs.  The radio announcer came on and said the call numbers, “Oldies 93.4, New Town!”

It was official, I’d indeed found the oldies station.

But then, the next song played was that duet between George Michael and Aretha Franklin from the 80’s.  Do you remember that song?  I Knew You Were Waiting For Me?

“Huh?”  I thought to myself.  That didn’t really seem like an oldies song.  I checked the radio thinking that maybe Carson somehow changed the channel, but he hadn’t and I was confused.  80’s?  Oldies??

They played a few more traditional oldies then suddenly I heard Karma Chameleon by Culture Club.  What????  Then Mr. Roboto by Styx.  Um, no??  Then Come Undone by Duran Duran.  That song came out in the 90’s dammit!!!

And then “Oldies” 93.4 played the kicker.

Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi.

I’m writing a letter to the station DEMANDING a retraction!  The INDIGNITY!  Bon Jovi IS NOT an oldies band.  I cannot accept this!  I’m not old enough for one of my all time favorite songs to be played on an OLDIES station.

*weeps*

*weeps some more when I realize I could have listened to appropriate radio stations online and avoided this heartache*

*applies wrinkle cream*

What are your all-time favorite songs that are surely being played on some oldies station?

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Because nothing says “I’m gettin’ laid on Valentine’s Day” like body-odor scented burgers.

Blech.

***********

Speaking of Valentine’s Day and White Castle (which is wrong on SO.  MANY.  LEVELS), Tate and I had a little disagreement about this.   Tate is certain that EVERYONE knows that White Castle has this Valentine’s Day “celebration,”  you know, like it’s common knowledge.  It certainly isn’t part of my common knowledge, nor do I think that it is part of most people’s common knowledge.  My theory was that maybe since I (thankfully) didn’t grow up in a town with Whities , I hadn’t heard of it. 

But I hated to concede to TATE.

Luckily, his sister, who not surprisingly grew up in the same city, didn’t know about this ridiculousness known as a date to White Castle for Valentine’s Day.  So HA!  Well, maybe not HA! since it blew my proximity to a White Castle theory out of the water.  But!!  It did add a person to my never heard of this very bad idea camp.

So far, Tate 1,  Jennifer 2.

Helpa girl out, wouldya?  You’re in my camp, RIGHT?

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