Tuesday, August 29, 2006

The Uneventful becomes Eventful

What I like about blogging is that it pretty much eliminates the banality from my life. Or else maybe it highlights what a dork I am, I'm not sure.

To clarify, today was a pretty mundane Tuesday. I got up, went to aerobics, took the boys to Best Buy, Lion's Choice and WalMart, got home and came in, just now, to the 'puter room to write about it.

But in the world of Blogdom, I can write about all the silly little things that went through my mind at various points in the day where I couldn't say them out loud without looking like a freak. I file these moments away, in my mental Rolodex, for blogging purposes. I intentionally pay closer attention to details in my everyday life so that I can paint vivid pictures for whomever happens upon this silly little blog. I'm always tuned in, in case something blogworthy happens. My life is so much less boring (to me, anyway) since I started blogging about it for the amusement of others.

This morning at aerobics, when I finally resigned myself to the fact that no matter how hard I try, my forehead just will NOT touch my knee, what movie line do you think kept running through my head?

"You're out of shape, Al. I'll kick your arse."

Weird Science.

Then I went to pick the boys up from the Amazon babysitter, who is about six feet tall and has long curly brown hair and a big poodly poof of bangs that are strangely parted to one side. She also looks like she swallowed a beach ball. She's not pregnant. And every time I walk by the room, she's sitting spread eagle in a rocking chair, overseeing the children's shenanigans. I try not to meet her gaze, as I think I've noticed a lazy-eye kinda situation. And she talks like she's got a mouth full of marbles.

Next, we went and picked up the long-awaited DVD compilation of Season Three of Arrested Development at Best Buy. I can't even wait for R to get home so we can tear into that. I've been in such withdrawal.

Hmmm... oh yeah, next we went to Lion's Choice. I didn't really want to get out of the car, as I was fresh out of aerobics class and smelling like a wet dog wearing a sweater made of attic-stored estate sale acrylic, but the boys really wanted to go inside to eat. So we did.

Every time I try to do something nice or give the kids a special treat, within about 5 minutes, I wish I hadn't. The boys began fighting about where we should sit. Pie wanted to sit in the tall chairs by the window. T wanted to sit in a booth. Usually, what happens when they can't agree is that MOM figures out a solution in which NEITHER of them gets what he wants.

We sat at a table away from the windows. Then Pie refused to eat. Fine, I said, don't eat. He pouted and whined while T and I ate, and I ignored him. Eventually he ate, but I had to warn him that Mommy will not take them out to lunch again if this is how he is going to behave.

I then looked down at my tray and saw something I never imagined I'd encounter in my lifetime. Something that will almost certainly ensure that I will never eat another French Fry again. Could such a thing exist in this universe? I mean, I love french fries. Seriously, just a quick glance at my ass will prove it.

Kids, there was a hair on my french fry.
And not just any kind of hair.
One of those short and curly ones.

I should have complained, I know, but I just could not bring myself to walk to the counter and explain to the cashier dude, in front of all of the other customers, that I had just found a f*ckin PUBE in my fries. For some reason, I didn't think he'd believe me. I was afraid I'd start laughing and then he'd think I was a sick enough psycho that I'd have put it there myself just to get a free bag of fries.

Ok, for the record, I'm frugal - but NOT to the point where I'd nonchalantly stick my hand down my stretchy pants to my landing strip, pluck out a couple and stealthily sprinkle them on my plate in order to avoid paying for my meal.

Plus, I didn't exactly feel like explaining to the boys why I was leaving the two of them at the table to get back in the line and give the fries back ("Why, Mommy? What's wrong with them? What's a Pubic Hair???" Isn't THAT all I effin need...).

I threw them away, and tried to get the visual out of my head so I wouldn't puke. I am extremely confident that I will never eat another french fry.

Hey, wanna know why I'll never eat another Krispy Kreme Donut as long as I live? It's not as nasty a story. I went inside one time (note to self: stick to the drive-thru) and I walked right by the machine that glazes the donuts and I got so grossed out, I went in the bathroom and threw up. I haven't eaten one since.

Next, as if I hadn't been violated enough for one day, I went to WalMart. I found a bra in my size and figured I'd buy myself another day without having to do laundry (a little gift from me to me).

I should point out that I'm not the girl who can wear the lil bitty bras that come in cute styles and colors. No, I'm a DD (which I hope is the ONLY thing I have in common with Jessica Simpson), so I have to buy these big ol' contraptions that you can tote a gallon of milk in (ok, not really) that come in Black, White, Beige, and, if you're lucky, Pink.

Now, it's a bit difficult to be discreet when buying a gigantic bra with 4 hooks across the back, even under the best of circumstances. Cashier Ray announces to me (and everyone in the line) that he can't find the bar code on this bra. Only he pronounced it "Brahr".

So Ray the cashier (who's about 70 if he's a day and looks like he could be Cliff Claven's Dad) starts poking and twisting and totally having a relationship with my bra, searching for the bar code. Flipping it over, flipping it back, holding it up. Dude. It's right here on the tag, I showed him.

Here. Jeez. Freaky bra-fondler. Ugh.

I'm pretty sure I heard snickering as I walked away, mortified.

Now, don't Amazon Babysitter, Pube Fry and Ray the WalMart Bra Fondler make my day sound a lot more interesting than "Aerobics, Best Buy, Lunch and WalMart"?

It's the miracle of blogging.

14 comments:

Bezzie said...

I'm getting a little asthmatic about Pube Fry. This is why I have to take valium before I do laundry in the communal washers.

And ooo...The Man had a lazy eye. I know exactly what you're talking about--to make contact or not?

Poops said...

I worked with Adam Lazyeye.

"LOOK AT ME! WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME! I'M OVER HERE!!!"

I found a pube in my carrot cake once. Sadly, it takes more than a pube to keep me away from carrot cake. I'm not sure a finger is enough to keep me away from carrot cake.

Imagine, though, if you hadn't seen the offending pube and had pulled it out of your mouth. "Hmm, what's this?"

Would you have puked on the table?

Are you puking now?

Dan said...

That was just old man Ray's way of getting his kicks. In his mind when you put on the brahr that he fondled, he will feel like he tached you. Since you were buying it to postpone laundry another day I assume you went home and wore it with out warshing it. If so Ray got what he wanted.

Penny Karma said...

Excellent point - how ironic is it that, in trying to put off laundry one more day, I'm going to wind up washing the Ray-Fondled bra before I wear it?

Or maybe I'll just spray it down with Simple Green.

No matter what I do, it's gonna take a significant amount of time for me to wash the memory of Ray's torrid affair with my industrial-strength undergarment from my subconscious.

Jennifer said...

EWwww.... Just ewww.... blech...

Cheryl said...

Now see, I had the opposite reaction to the icing machine in Krispy Kreme -- there is a certain person that I would like to lay on the machine and get glazed, just so I could lick it off... hmm....


(and I thought I was the only one who bought underwear to delay laundry)

Penny Karma said...

By the way, you're all welcome to use the word "Rayfondled" in your everyday lives to describe something indescribably icky.

No need to thank me.

OldLadyPenPal said...

i shall be the brave one and address the Deep Fried Pube issue. it is entirely possibly that it was, in fact, an eye brow or an ear hair. JungleJim can get some pretty gnarly ones brewin'. And you KNOW how restaurants love to hire geriatrics for the fry machine. i'd like to think that someone's head is shedding, rather than think someone's walking around naked, or that someone's scratching a nasty case of crabs, back there on the line.

and i am SO JEALOUS that you have season 3 already. JJ ordered it from Amazon (which was sweet) and now we have to wait.

why have i typed so much?

turtlegirl76 said...

Yeah. I don't think it was a pube. I think the person cooking it may have had that type of hair on their head. There is a whole continent that a certain faction of people originate from with this type of hair. Don't squick yourself out too much.

Penny Karma said...

Actually, I had an open view of the kitchen and didn't see anyone, of any ethnicity, with that kind of short curly hair on their head.

Seriously, I wouldn't have written about it at all if I'd had any doubt. For exactly the reasons that you're pointing out.

Bob said...

Oh, but just think of all the redirected traffic you're gonna get at your blog with search words like Amazon Babysitter, Pube Fry and Ray the WalMart Bra Fondler. You'll make the 100 Grand mark yet!

Ali said...

"Hey Freaky-Bra-Fondler Dude" should be sung to one of those Budweiser commercials. You know the one I'm talking about, right?

OldLadyPenPal said...

And let's also sing "Mr. Pube Hair in the deep fryy-yyy-yer!"

i may never eat out again.

Penny Karma said...

That is the biggest double entendre I've seen in a long time.