Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Sister Golden Hair

I think it is finally time to accept what my mother has always suspected. I am a magnet for assholes. Not funny assholes mind you, just plain old assholes. If they were funny, I wouldn't mind so much. I would be surrounded by my peeps if that were the case. But alas, if there is an asshole withing 10 miles of me, they're gonna find me and attempt to fuck up my day. Thank goodness I tend to misplace my filter in these instances or they just might succeed.

Let me tell you about my Tuesday, or rather, my Monday since that's where it all started. Little Bug took a nap in our room on Monday. I didn't intend for it to happen, but she crashed hard and Hubby was at the gym and well, I know not to move a sleeping babe...especially if that babe is getting to big to carry when she's dead weight. I let her crash. Gave me a chance to catch up on some things....like a nap. Hubby came home from the gym and asked what that smell was. I thought about replying "Your upper lip" since he woke me, but I took a whiff and realized....Little Bug peed the bed. We ALWAYS make her use the potty before any sleepy time to prevent such occurrences, but since I suck at life, my mattress sucked up urine.

Hubby gave her a bath, I scrubbed the mattress and Little Green Machined it up, washed the sheets and then, hours later when we discovered there was still that smell, covered the whole mattress with carpet cleaner and decided to let it soak over night. We finally settled down for bed at about 1230 am, me taking the guest room bed and Hubby the couch. The guest bed is a full and he moves way too much for me to put up with sharing such a small space. I should have taken the couch. The guest bedroom is the hottest in the whole house. It gets sunlight all-day and it's upstairs so all the heat that rises seems to congregate there. Hubby was downstairs with the cool tile floor and right under an AC vent. I should have figured I got screwed in the deal when he all too willingly offered up the guest room.

I tossed and turned all night. At one point, I picked up my Kindle and tried to read some Jane Austen to knock me out, but that failed as I switched over to Fifty Shades of Grey. At about 0345 or 0400 Little Bug came into the room and said "I found you, can I sleep with you?" as she was wedging herself into the crook of my arm. Little sleep was had by moi.

The rest of the morning was a blur of laundry, dishes, playing Avengers with Little Bug and eagerly awaiting her nap. It came and I realized I had to make a Walmart run. Anyone who has been to any Walmart EVER can attest that the aforementioned run is less than pleasant, but coupled with lack of sleep and a bad hair day, it can be disastrous. I'm not saying I was lookin' for a fight, but I was ready for one.

I get there and snag a primo second from the front parking spot. I giddily park, pop the trunk, grab my awesome Eco cart bag, and head inside. I started in produce and made my way through the store snagging what I needed and was making pretty good time. By the time I hit the bread isle, I had everything I needed and decided to squeeze in a quick look to the hair accessory isle. I needed hair elastics and while our Neighborhood Market NEVER seems to stock the blond colored ones, I was feeling pretty lucky. As I rounded the corner of the isle, I spotted them and almost let out and excited shriek. I composed myself and walked toward them...and toward two rather large women in bright purple and hot pink scrubs that said trainee for some fly-by-night technical college. The one in the purple was Hispanic with her black hair scrunched with too much hair gel to create only a slight curve in the strands. I think she was trying for curls, maybe waves, but it looked like someone splooged in it and she didn't wash it. Add her staggering height (5'11" if she was a foot), the sharpied-on eyebrows, butt-crack lip-liner, and a cart that contained chips, soda, and Hostess cakes (more than one box) and that completes Pendeja numero uno. Oh, and size 4XL at a minimum on those scrubs. Pendeja numero dos wore the hot pink scrubs (3XL...she was the hot friend I guess) and was barely 5'3". Her hair was just as black as Numero Uno and in this weird side pony that only young girls or a 1980's Jazzercizer can pull off. I mean literally on the side of her head, ABOVE her ear. Her face was equally as chola as the first ones, she stood next to the end of the cart and right in front of the hair elastics.

So I did what any person does when facing two hungry hippos, I waited patiently for them to move. When an agonizing two minutes of listening to them agonize over what brand of bobby pin was better and how they should have purchased smaller scrubs since theirs were so loose (they weren't), I said excuse me and tried to reach in for the hair elastics. As my hand is clearly headed for the blond color bands, Numero Dos snatches up the bands and says to her heifer friend "Oh, it's cause I needed some hair ties too." As they were the ONLY blond colored bands, I was aghast at the irony of a raven haired woman wanting blond bands when there was a plethora of black ones. Determined to not have my otherwise uneventful shopping excursion ruined, I cleared my throat and putting on my best polite voice asked "Excuse me, do you think maybe I could get those? You know, since I am a blond and they are blond?" She stared at me blankly and I continued "There's just so many darker bands and only the one blond one, so...." I trailed off because my gaze became fixated on Numero Uno's large fist that became suddenly clenched and butt-crack lips that became pursed. Numero Dos simply said "I like these cause they show in my hair" and waddled away, leaving the bobby-pins untouched, mind you.

Cunt. That's what I thought, though I was almost tempted to utter it aloud. My self-preservation instinct kicked in and it stayed a thought. I straightened up and headed to the checkout nearest me and was pleasantly surprised that only one woman was in line. If I couldn't get the Holy Grail of hair elastics, I would at least be out of the store quickly. Unfortunately, Numero Uno and Dos must have had seen the line as well and attempted to run (more like toddle) towards the checkout. As my thighs rubbing together does not slow me down, I swiftly swooped into the line a good 15 feet ahead of them. I did a victory dance in my head and let out a barely audible "Bam!" The lady in front swiped her card and the cashier told her that it didn't read and he would have to swipe it. Numero Uno snickered and said "Fucking gringa got her card declined." I ignore her and wait as the cashier swipes the card on his side and it goes through with no issues. I smirked and said to no one in particular "Fucking gringa's card works just fine."

The cashier started swiping my items and sees my Eco-AWESOME bag and asks if he can just set the items on top of the bagging area or if I would like him to bag them. I say "Oh thank you, but I can bag them myself. On top of that is fine." He says your welcome and slows his scanning to allow me to organize everything. I turn my back to the Gorillas and as I am placing the items in the bag, I feel this looming presence over me. I turn to almost run straight into Numero Dos, all up in my personal space. If she had a dick (which I am not sure she didn't), I would have been pressing sexual assault charges. I say "Excuse you" and she barely moves a few inches whilst rolling her eyes at me. I swipe my card, momentarily forgetting that the cashier had said it wasn't reading and I apologize for my absentmindedness. He says "No problem" and as he swipes my card on his side, he asks if it will be credit or debit. I say debit and start to put in my pin, but stop short of the first digit as Numero Dos is breathing on me.

Me: Excuse me, but where I come from, there is such a thing as manners and personal space. You have no manners and you are violating my personal space, so could you kindly step the fuck off? (I may or may not have channelled my girl S and added some southern sweetness to it)
Dos: Beetch, I'm from here. I'm an American. Phssh.
Me: Oh honey, I didn't question your immigration status, just your upbringing.

I think the cashier would have high-fived me if I had stuck my hand out. Shit, I would have high-fived myself if I stuck my hand out. I pushed in my pin, accepted a smile and my receipt from the cashier, and coolly put on my Ray Bans. As I swung my super sleek Coach bag over my shoulder, I couldn't help but cherish the Rhino jaws now firmly on the floor. I walked out of the store towards my car and in my mind, I was Salma Hayek walking away from that explosion in Desperado. I was Matthew McConaughey's Wooderson parting the doors of the Emporium Pool Hall. I was the title sequence of Reservoir Dogs. Nailed it bitches. My high from the asshole pwn-age was so high, I chose to ignore the fact that my exit from the parking lot was delayed by the Safari Animals taking years to walk past my car.

I'm debating whether or not to tell you about T-Ball practice and the asshole dads that Coach Tiffany had to incur. My compulsive need to paint a vivid portrait of today's events has led to a rather long blog post. Ugh, I can't be a cock-tease but that'd be at least another 1,000 words, so just know, should the Diablos (our team) parent's ever choose to start a street gang, don't run up on us motha fuckas.

I know Time Warp Tuesday got the most (and only) votes, but I was inspired and who am I to look a gift horse, or Rhino, in the mouth? See you all Thursday.


1 comments:

Shannon {ava_caitlyn} said...

I am digging your use of the word "Plethora". I love that word. LOL!! What a couple of witches.

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