Sunday, January 16, 2011

My Soul to Keep

God I feel like shit today. Why is it, when I do something good in my life, like watch my friend's child, karma bites me in the ass? For two and a half days I have been feeling like shit with a double dose of shit. As you can tell my language in this blog isn't censored like normal. You want to know a secret though? I don't care. If you don't like my blog, then get the hell off of it.

Oh and FYI I'm on my rag, so I think I have every right not to be nice right now. See what I mean a double dose of shit?

So I got my sick ass out of bed long enough to go get some chicken soup from the grocery store. I figured while I was there, that I could get dog food also. These mutts have barely any left, and I don't want to be the one to live with them when they run out of food. Well usually when I get the twenty pound dog food from the store, I have my husband there with me to help. Not that I couldn't lift it on my own, just so someone was there to hold the cart still as the other person put it under the cart.

Seeing as how my husband was not there, I fussed for awhile, cussed up a storm and finally kicked that damn bag on to the bottom of the cart. I felt like I was proud of myself. Until I saw the guy who worked there, perfectly muscled. Apparently he was just watching me the whole entire time.

That's what you get for chivalry these days. Squat. I was so pissed off at him, when he walked by I told him to F off. Then when I get to the check out counter, I told the cashier that I had a twenty pound dog food bag on the bottom. Me being sick, and just humiliated, didn't want to put on another show for someone else.

She couldn't find her little check out gun, and so she called for help. Her being like ten pounds lighter than me, I could understand. If I had a difficult time getting the damn bag on the cart, she would have an even more difficult time trying to put it on the conveyor belt.

Well anyways, this scrawnier woman comes up, one hands the damned bag. She doesn't throw it on the conveyor belt, no that would be too good for her. She walks around the damned thing, checks it out herself, then puts it back underneath the cart. Then calls for a man to help me take my groceries to the car to unload them.

At that point, I was thinking to myself, why couldn't you do it bitch? You clearly showed all of us that we are wusses, why not take it further?

I hate that grocery store now. Not only are the men rude, but the women are show offs. Those people don't even know that not too long ago, I could've strapped five of those dog food bags on my shoulders, and walked up and down ladder wells (stair wells) that were always at a ninety degree angle, in a middle of storm, with the ship rocking and swaying, and you having to walk partially on the walls. I hate that they reminded me that I can't do that anymore. But did I show off? Okay maybe a little bit, but geesh not like that! I wouldn't smash my foot in their face over dog shit and laughed. Yes, thats how it felt like.

Anyways, just have the common courtesy to be humble. Obviously I was sick, I could barely speak, hacking up my lungs and snot dripping out my nose. But oh well, I guess most people don't notice the tiny details of someone else's life.

At least my husband is taking care of the baby as I sit miserably in my room dying a little bit inside as the minutes go ticking by. If I don't feel better by Tuesday, I am going to see a damned doctor. I hate seeing those people, specially military doctors, but it does feel like I'm dying. Hell the other night I dreamed that I was dying. Ugh, give me some tylenol and some whiskey, I should feel better after a couple of shots...

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