Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Ice, old ladies... and goulash
Oy, mother Mary. I tell ya, there's something wacky 'bout this whole 'weather' thing. Let me tell you...
Last night when I got off work, I thought "Hmmm... maybe I better get thee to a pettery and purchase some kibble afore the poog gnaws off his own left foot." (It wasn't as bad as all that; little bastard'd been eatin' steak for three days). But the snow. Geesh... the SNOW. Wasn't all that bad, but on top of 1/4" of ice, well, it was a tad tweachewous.
Now, I love going to the pet store. It's an old family-owned business. I don't have a problem giving them money for non-living things. Wouldn't buy a pet there to save my life. This does not stop me from hanging out and sticking my hands into the various cages to be bitten and gnawed upon by the Schnoodles, Min Pins and assorted terriers. Doesn't stop me from having staredowns with the budgies. And then there's the time squandered in the 'treat' aisle. Gus loves his little bully sticks (dehydrated bull dicks from what I understand), greenies, and pretty much whatever I bring home (like those weird 'bone slices' filled with 'meat' that smell like plastic Gus butt).
Anyway, I digress. Fact is, it was a shitty night and I spent waaaaay too much time in the pet store. By the time I came out, it was time to scrape all the damn ice off my windshield again. Sitting in the car, waiting ever-so patiently for it to warm up, I decide it's a damn good idea to pop on over to Hy-Vee for a few things.
This is where my brain stopped functioning. And my 'do or die' attitude started kicking in. Less than 10 seconds inside the too-slow-to-open automatic doors, I was barraged with blue-haired octogenarians powering overflowing carts. Heck, I just went in for a quart of Roberts 2% and a loaf of bread. But as is my normal grocery circuit, I had to start in the produce aisle and work my way to the frozen food section... even though everything I needed was in Aisle 8 or at the end of it.
Of course, I had. to. stop. by the brussel sprouts. Love 'em. While debating whether or not I should get some (after all, when am I going to make such a feast that I'd have brussel sprouts?), I overheard a man tell his little kid, "Sorry, honey, but they're OUT of bananas." Sure 'nuff. 'They' were out of a LOT of things. I got the last quart of MY milk. There were no green peppers, so I had to get red one. All the canned goods were picked over and out of place and *dammit* I just HAD to have that last can of kidney beans.
After this, I looked inside my little basket and realized that I had the ghostly makings of goulash. Had to continue on that bent. But can I just say how daunting this task was, especially now that I needed stuff? **Get outta my way, old lady.** These brittle little people were going OUT of their way to blindside me to get to get that last baggy of dried porcinis. Did they even know what they were? Did they have any idea that MY frikkin' bones are just as brittle as theirs? Geesh.
In the end, I got out of there with my bread, my milk, and the makings for goulash which I made tonight in the most haphazard of ways. It was damn good. So I think all the new bruises I'm sporting were frikkin' worth it.
Who dat snappin' back? |
Last night when I got off work, I thought "Hmmm... maybe I better get thee to a pettery and purchase some kibble afore the poog gnaws off his own left foot." (It wasn't as bad as all that; little bastard'd been eatin' steak for three days). But the snow. Geesh... the SNOW. Wasn't all that bad, but on top of 1/4" of ice, well, it was a tad tweachewous.
Now, I love going to the pet store. It's an old family-owned business. I don't have a problem giving them money for non-living things. Wouldn't buy a pet there to save my life. This does not stop me from hanging out and sticking my hands into the various cages to be bitten and gnawed upon by the Schnoodles, Min Pins and assorted terriers. Doesn't stop me from having staredowns with the budgies. And then there's the time squandered in the 'treat' aisle. Gus loves his little bully sticks (dehydrated bull dicks from what I understand), greenies, and pretty much whatever I bring home (like those weird 'bone slices' filled with 'meat' that smell like plastic Gus butt).
Anyway, I digress. Fact is, it was a shitty night and I spent waaaaay too much time in the pet store. By the time I came out, it was time to scrape all the damn ice off my windshield again. Sitting in the car, waiting ever-so patiently for it to warm up, I decide it's a damn good idea to pop on over to Hy-Vee for a few things.
This is where my brain stopped functioning. And my 'do or die' attitude started kicking in. Less than 10 seconds inside the too-slow-to-open automatic doors, I was barraged with blue-haired octogenarians powering overflowing carts. Heck, I just went in for a quart of Roberts 2% and a loaf of bread. But as is my normal grocery circuit, I had to start in the produce aisle and work my way to the frozen food section... even though everything I needed was in Aisle 8 or at the end of it.
Of course, I had. to. stop. by the brussel sprouts. Love 'em. While debating whether or not I should get some (after all, when am I going to make such a feast that I'd have brussel sprouts?), I overheard a man tell his little kid, "Sorry, honey, but they're OUT of bananas." Sure 'nuff. 'They' were out of a LOT of things. I got the last quart of MY milk. There were no green peppers, so I had to get red one. All the canned goods were picked over and out of place and *dammit* I just HAD to have that last can of kidney beans.
After this, I looked inside my little basket and realized that I had the ghostly makings of goulash. Had to continue on that bent. But can I just say how daunting this task was, especially now that I needed stuff? **Get outta my way, old lady.** These brittle little people were going OUT of their way to blindside me to get to get that last baggy of dried porcinis. Did they even know what they were? Did they have any idea that MY frikkin' bones are just as brittle as theirs? Geesh.
In the end, I got out of there with my bread, my milk, and the makings for goulash which I made tonight in the most haphazard of ways. It was damn good. So I think all the new bruises I'm sporting were frikkin' worth it.
