Wal-Mart, I Think I Can Finally Quit You

I think I have finally completely washed my hands of Wal-Mart. I have had a love/hate relationship with the store for quite some time now, primarily because of the other shoppers I encounter, but my visit there today may have cured me of wanting to go there again. Ever ever ever.

First of all, I understand the stereotypes that exist about Wal-Mart. The people who shop there are trashy, the merchandise is cheap blah blah blah. While I have seen some “unique” people there, I also shop there and so do a lot of people I know and I wouldn’t describe myself or them as “trashy.” There’s nothing wrong with loving a good bargain. And yes, some of their products are cheaply made but they also sell stuff I use all the time- cat food, makeup, shampoo, medicine- for cheaper than I could find it anywhere else. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like wasting money. I like saving it for important things, like wine and those crane machines with stuffed animals in them.

Don’t even bring up to me that they aren’t union. I’m not going there in this post.

Anyway, I have Fridays off and decided to take a quick trip to the local Wal-Mart for a very specific list of things: cat food, a dishwasher rinsing agent, mascara, conditioner and Dentabones for Joe. Should have been an easy task as everything I needed was on the same side of the store except the dishwasher stuff. As I was making my way over to the other side, I passed the women & juniors clothes. Most of those who know me are aware that when it comes to clothes, I do not discriminate. I am not a diva, I do not refuse to wear “off” brands and I LOVE finding great deals. I noticed that a sales clerk was putting clothes on racks with big signs marked “$1.”

One fucking dollar.

I immediately forgot about dishwashing supplies and veered off towards the racks. There were a few other shoppers rifling through them already so I decided to focus on the jeans. I HATE jeans. HATE HATE HATE them. I can never find any that fit me right regardless of where I shop and for me, spending money on them is painful and feels like a waste since chances are a pair that I try on and think is decent won’t fit me right once I get them home. So the idea of only shelling out $1 on jeans that I will probably never wear was much more appealing than spending $40 on a pair I will probably never wear.

I was sifting through a rack looking for my size when a woman stepped directly in front of me and starting pawing through the rack. I’m talking RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME as in we looked like we were doing a backwards hug. There was no way in hell she didn’t see me standing there. Baffled, I said, “Um, excuse me?”

She didn’t even pause from looking through the jeans as she casually said, “Sorry.”

I stood there flabbergasted and briefly fantasized about shoving her right into that rack of $1 jeans and sarcastically saying “Sorry!” back. However, I have never in my life been arrested and I was sort of hoping to keep it that way, so I moved over a little with my cart and started looking at some other jeans. That’s when she picked a pair of jeans up, looked at them and said, “Nope, too small” AND THREW THEM INTO MY CART ON TOP OF MY PURSE.

I could feel my blood pressure go through the roof and my hands started to shake. I was stunned and furious all at once and my body didn’t know how to compensate for the conflicting emotions of being shocked to the point of not being able to move yet pissed enough to punch someone’s face down into their neck. I finally got my wits about me and said, “Are you really that rude?? This is my cart!”

She ignored me. Other shoppers around me were too busy trying to find their own bargains to pay too much attention, although one lady looked at the rude woman and shook her head.

Rude Lady then proceeded to grab my cart. She actually put her hands on my cart and started to pull it away. She was so absorbed in her quest to find a pair of jeans that might actually fit her rather substantial ass that she didn’t even notice she was pulling the wrong cart- the same cart she had carelessly tossed the too-small jeans in because she didn’t want them.

By this time, the devil on my shoulder was jumping up and down waving his pitchfork and calling for rioting and bloodshed and anarchy and the angel was standing next to him wearing a cheerleading outfit. I yanked the cart back and said, “You’re taking my cart. What is wrong with you?” She didn’t even look at me as she said, “Oh, I’m grabbing the wrong cart” and turned to find her own cart (which was NOT hard to miss being that it was piled with clothes from the $1 racks.

I could not wrap my head around the fact that this woman had cut directly in front of me, thrown clothes she didn’t want in my cart and then tried to take the cart all in about a minute’s time without even looking me in the eye and genuinely apologizing or possibly considering that she was being horribly rude. I knew if I didn’t leave I would explode. Or implode, depending on what the sudden adrenaline rush made me do. I loudly said, “This is not even worth it. Don’t get in her way, ladies. She’ll just push you.” Another shopper patted me on the back and glared at the woman, who was acting completely oblivious. Apparently the sale had driven her into  some sort of trancelike state where the sole objective was to load her cart with as many $1 items as possible with no regard for anyone around her.

Below is a picture of the offender. I had hoped to get a frontal view of her so that she saw me take the picture, but she was moving at rapid vulture speed to get at the deals so I was only able to capture her backside, which I suppose is OK since that’s where her head was obviously inserted.


I got my rinsing agent and made my way to the checkouts, all two of them that were open (another thing I hate about Wal-Mart). They were backed up and I really, really needed to get out of there so I went back to the other side of the store where the U-Scans are. I ended up in line behind the woman who had patted me on the back. She had a lot of stuff in her cart and I think maybe she was scared of me because she said, “Um, I might take a long time. There’s a line right there that would be faster.” I thanked her and as I navigated over to the shorter line a middle-aged woman who had tanned herself into a piece of leather and was wearing a skirt that was very inappropriate for her age and size cut me off and got in front of me.

I took a deep breath and held my tongue since she only had two items. However, apparently she had never used a U-Scan before, because once she had tediously scanned her items she stood there with her chin in her hand and stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity. I very deliberately sighed and opened the Dr. Pepper I had grabbed before I got in line and took a long swig. She ignored me and continued to stare at the screen. A clerk finally came over to assist her with the difficult task of finding the button labeled “Cash.” It took her an additional minute to find the slot where the money goes. In the meantime, the woman who had directed me over to the “shorter” line was leaving with her bags and trying not to make eye contact with me.

Once it was my turn, I managed to scan all my items and pay in under a minute. Then I got the hell out of there. I really need to learn where more stores are around here because I am genuinely concerned that I may assault someone next time I go to Wal-Mart. I have a hard time dealing with openly rude people. Maybe it’s my own character flaw but I just don’t think people should go through life being an asshole without someone calling them out on it. Unfortunately, being the “hero” is what gets us normal people shanked by the crazies in this day and age, so I’m thinking finding a new store to love is the better option.


Leaving Las Vegas… I Mean Lambert Drive

So I am in the middle of packing and sweating and packing some more. Packing for the big move, the one I have been waiting for and whining about for a month. My husband and I have been married for three weeks and living apart and I have cried through a good deal of it.

So, the night before he comes with the big truck to move me into my beautiful new home I was walking through my kitchen to throw something in a box and my dog Joe was just standing in the the dining room staring at me. I stopped and stared at him. And in that moment, just now, I got teary-eyed for a different reason.

Everything I know is about to change.

Yes, I’m ready.

Yes, I totally adore my husband and am elated to finally be moving in with him.

However, if you have ever been “single” and then transitioned into living with another person, be it a roommmate or significant other, you know that no matter how much you looked forward to the moment of moving, when it arrives there’s a small part of you that is afraid. Afraid of change and afraid of missing what was.

My dog staring at me reminded me that after tonight, we won’t snuggle in bed and fall asleep together. There’s a “No Dogs in Bed” policy at the new home, Dave’s rule. He’s not a dog hater, he loves Joe. It’s just been a known fact since we met that he frowns on dogs in the marital bed. And I guess that’s a good thing, because for future reference I frown upon children in the marital bed. Totally against co-sleeping. Yep, I said it.

Joe will get a cushy new bed. He will adjust and be OK because his mother will still give him TONS of love and affection. And the occasional nap together in the bed in the spare room.

I also know this is my last night on Lambert Drive. Not everyone knows what this little street has come to mean to me. I have met some of the best, most crazy friends I will ever have here. I have toilet-papered a neighbor’s house. I have, with my partner in crime, stolen a neighbor’s life-sized Brutus and defiled it with Michigan flair. I have, with my OTHER partner in crime, decorated a lawn for every denominational holiday, just to cheer the other friend up. My friends on Lambert Drive (who are older than me, by the way) have broken into my house via the front window “to borrow a pitcher” and then proceeded to get me drunk off my ass while we laughed about nothing and everything.

This street was the beginning and end of The Desperate Housewives Club. I’m not going to forget a single moment of the fun I had here because even though I was an “adult” and supposed to act as such, I had more fun here than I ever did at a bar in my early twenties. I tear up thinking of leaving Laura and Alysia. I hope they understand what they mean to me.

This is getting too sentimental. I apologize to those who are used to me being a quick-witted, sharp-tounged bitch. As I wait for my friend Brittanie (another veteran of the shenanigans on Lambert Drive, although not a resident) to come have one last toast with me in this house, I know that what lies ahead is going to be amazing. I found my Prince Charming and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. The man is awesome and he makes my heart flutter. But a girl can still fear the unknown and miss her friends and for those girls who have created so many memories of this place with me… I love you all. Things aren’t going to be that different, I’ll just be a little further away.

Brit, we will be that much closer to Lush.

And Laura… we’ll just have to have wine sleepovers.

Alysia- if I don’t find you peeking in my new windows one day, I will be very disappointed.


A Former Desperate Housewife of Lambert Drive

P.S. Next blog will be funny, I promise. Once Dave and I move in, we will have plenty of hilarious stories. Honest 🙂

Buried Alive

When I think of the worst ways to die certain things come to mind: falling from a tall building, drowning, and being caught in a fire.  But worst of all is definitely being buried alive.  You would be helpless to do anything.  All you could do is lay there and think about all the people you will miss, the happy moments you’ll never experience again, and all the mistakes you made along the way.  The wait would be horrible, but the hopelessness would trump that!

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Messy Girl

My first contribution to this blog is, unfortunately, not about Nerf guns. My last (drunken) attempt to make a video of me attacking Dave with a Nerf gun didn’t really go as I planned so I don’t have any good Nerf stories at the moment. Still have the video, but somehow I don’t think he will find it as funny as I do (I watch it a lot, heh).

In the midst of all the incredible joy and excitement of getting engaged and planning our wedding and house shopping is one cold, hard fact that I have not forgotten: soon I will be living with Dave. Like, full time. Not a bad thing, not in the least. I will love being able to hang out with him regularly, make dinner together, fall asleep next to each other- the good stuff.

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Why Nerf Wars?

So right off the bat people are going to ask us about the title “Nerf Wars: A Love Story” and what it all means.  Amanda and I have both been through a lot of crappy relationships.  I think it is safe to say some of them weren’t so pretty when it came down to arguments.  I bet everyone can relate to that.  We’ve seen holes get put through walls/doors, remote controls go flying across the room, and a plethora of 4 letter words that would make a sailor blush.  None of these are very constructive because let’s face it, you don’t want to break shit, and words mean nothing when 30 minutes later you’re saying I love you!  So we take things to a completely different level…

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