Stop Smoking

My neighbor’s visiting dog is pooping in my yard with his apparent blessing, the logic I’m sure being that *I* have a dog and don’t clean up after her in my own yard, but what he fails to grasp is that there is a significant difference between a) your own dog’s poop, I don’t know why, but there is; and b) Sunny is TINY and her poops are wee little things that get washed away with the first rainstorm, whereas Isaac’s poops are meatloaves of epic proportions that leave me gagging and heaving and Sunny gobbling them up like Scooby Snacks. I’d also like to point out that on the rare occasion Sunny has pooped in their yard — or say, right in the middle of their flower bed — I waltz over there and make a giant, bear-scaring show of the fact that I HAVE A BAG and I am PICKING UP THE POOP RIGHT NOW, OH WHO’S A BAD GIRL WHO POOPED IN THE PEONIES? WHO?

Anyway. Speaking of neighbors, I terrified my other neighbor today when she told me she was on day two of quitting smoking by attempting to sympathize with the story of MY second day off the cigarettes. Which, now that I’ve written that down sounds like the most self-centered thing ever, like I was all, OH BACK TO ME LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT ME. When really, she asked for my experience specifically, it’s not like I just launched off, but … oh never mind. What I did was almost worse anyway.

Longtime readers may remember this (I believe I wrote about this two years ago-ish, but am too lazy and besides, am getting old and repeat myself), but long story short, I informed the clerk at Stop n Shop in Brookline that her failure to give me the sale price on a six-pack of Diet Coke was the equivalent of being raped. Yes, raped. I believe my exact words were that this was being “fucked up the ass by the man”, complete with hand gestures in the general vicinity of my violated, raped ass. It was the one and only time that Adam left me anywhere, but oh, he did, and I don’t blame him. He tried to stop me, I continued to use the words “ass raped” until he calmly walked out the door and walked home. Did that stop me? No no. I continued to demand that the manager give me my fifty cents off and oh yes, I continued to say that this shit was worse than a PRISON ASS RAPING and yes, again, I continued to point to the invisible dick with the words “STOP ‘N SHOP” going in and out of my anal region.

I never did get my sale price on the Diet Coke, by the way, and I didn’t realize that I had done anything wrong until I got home, such was my extreme insanity. And there is only one other story — the worst thing I’ve ever done, hands down, and I don’t have the courage to tell you that yet — that makes me cringe as much as this one, because is there anything worse than someone throwing a fit and swearing in a public place? Over a SALE ITEM, no less? Reminds me of my recent flight to New York where a man was pissed that his JetBlue TV didn’t work and he UNLEASHED on the flight attendant about the price of his ticket and how he deserved a working TV for the $10 he paid for his exit row seat (best $10 ever. Really) and the whole time I just wanted to die, because God man, SHUT UP. MOVE SEATS. HERE, TAKE MY TV. But then I thought, maybe he’s quitting smoking. I understand this. At least he didn’t say ass-rape.

I’m surprised no one shot me. Frankly, I’d like to shoot myself just recounting that story.

Ah, nicotine. Horrid stuff to get off, really. Also, the second I said the words “ass raped” I realized that my neighbor was contemplating how to ram something in MY ass to get me to shutthefuckupalreadyjesusquittingsmokingsucksthanksforremindingmebeeyotch.

So I took all of your advice re: working from home and took a nice chunk of the afternoon — a lunch hour, if you will — to walk to the grocery store/co-op for some creme brulee (dude, if I walk there, I earned it, and who says creme brulee isn’t an acceptable lunch?) and would you believe they didn’t have any creme brulee? No? Well apparently I didn’t believe it either, for my reaction was not, “Oh, okay!” but instead was, “Well, what exactly does that MEAN?” as though there were some sort of secret stash of creme brulee for people who really really needed it. This resulted in the clerk thinking I was being bitchy, and a sort of nasty “Who’s On First” convo ensued as I tried to explain myself, because God, that’s not what I meant, I just couldn’t communicate at ALL.

I meant were they out for NOW, or would they NEVER HAVE ANY AGAIN? We never did clarify, and now they think I’m asshole mean creme brulee lady, especially because I consoled myself with creme brulee-flavored ice cream (Ben & Jerry’s) which is SO not the same thing, as I’m more about the creme than the brulee, and would you believe the ice cream masters the brulee, but not the creme? What the HELL, Ben & Jerry’s?

Good lord, I’m really making myself look AWESOME here, aren’t I? I yell at store clerks when they don’t kowtow to my demands! I DEMAND PERFECTION FROM MY GROCERY EXPERIENCE.

(I don’t really. Like, at all. Usually I’m the person who asks for a turkey sandwich, ends up with salami and somehow thinks it’s my fault because I didn’t ENUNCIATE properly, I swear.)

At any rate, I hope you have a great weekend. Mine is only slightly deflated by the fact that I missed our town Fourth of July fireworks celebration because for reasons unknown, they took place TONIGHT. A FULL WEEK BEFORE THE ACTUAL HOLIDAY. Who does that? WHO DOES THAT, VERMONT? HOW COULD YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS? My neighbors are equally mystified.

I LOVE small-town holiday events, despite the fact that I hate fireworks. Love. This love has only been slightly diminished by the fact that one fine Fourth, my old town in Massachusetts had feel-around fireworks, thanks to an aggressive wind, which involved several ignited blankets and some painful shrapnel that actually left bruises. (Second repeated story of the day! AM SO BORING.)

Again, ho! Have a great weekend. I’m getting me some creme brulee if it HURTS ME, Weight Watchers be damned. Although did I tell you I’m down four of the seven pounds I’d wanted to lose? HA HA, and I’m gunning for creme brulee. I’m so smart. Way to undo that progress, Jonna.

*Dar Williams

33 comments June 26th, 2008