random thoughts and thoroughbred selections

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

D-Fense

West Michigan has a chain of Wal-Mart Lite stores called �Meijer� (pronounced My-err), and they recently opened a �salon� inside from the �Great Clips� franchise.

Despite my best efforts on Saturday to give myself a haircut, I found I still needed to pay someone to clean up my head. I figured Great Clips would be the cheapest haircut in town. Hell, they�re in a grocery store.

For $12 I got a clean-up cut from the ugliest hot girl I�ve ever seen.

She had terrible hair, which I thought should have precluded her from touching anyone else�s head on principle. Thankfully, she was just re-buzzing my scalp and squaring off my neckline. Impossible to mess up (unless you�re me and trying to do it yourself) or give that trailer-park touch. She had braces, but just on top, with aqua blue rubber bands around the metal tooth girders. She had absolutely no ass and I think she borrowed her arms from the corpse of Karen Carpenter.

But oh-my-god-can-I-look-down-your-blouse-again? Please? Holy shit, for a skinny girl like that to be packing solid D�s was just impressive. Mind you, she was so fuggly that had she auditioned for a strip club they would have sent her out in a bottomless burka. If I were taking her on a date, it would have to be a Saints football game so the paper bag on her head wouldn�t be out of place. As a matter of fact, if I were to sleep with the girl I think I�d have to try that asphyxiation fetish thing, because plastic shopping bags could only help.

But none of that really mattered because from her shoulders down to her navel she was perfect. Dead on perfect. And she actually smelled good enough that I kicked around the �would I?� question in my head for about thirty seconds.

That it took twenty nine seconds to confirm my initial �no� was a testament to the D cup. I wouldn�t have asked her out, but I�d have tipped her another $10 to lift her shirt up like it was Mardi Gras. Would have been well worth the cash.

So, on the way out of the store I realized I needed to hit an ATM. For some inexplicable and unexplained reason the ATMs at the two local branches of my bank don�t accept my card. Their ATMs do everywhere else, but just not in the city in which I live. Again, no explanation.

I had my card ready to pop in, but then realized that I was going to pay $2.50 in fees to get money I could get from my debit card if I bought anything in the checkout line. So I grabbed a cup for a frozen coke and waited in the self-checkout line behind the two people currently checking out to buy an $.89 drink to avoid a $2.50 fee.

And I waited. And waited.

The guy at the first terminal had rang everything in, hadn�t bagged it, and was trying to pay in cash. Of course the dollar bill reader wasn�t taking his bills on the first try. $16.86 was his total, and he put a $5 bill in from his wallet. It spit it out. He put that bill back in his wallet, took another $5 out, and tried again. Rejected. He put that bill back, took another out, and that time it took. But the next didn�t.

How many fives does this guy have?

He repeated this for the singles he was using to get from $15 to $17, and when it all finally went through, then he gingerly bagged his groceries.

I wanted to Kerrigan him.

The guy in the other lane was buying wine in the box, and besides the ID check, he challenged the bored cashier on the price at which it rang up, and demanded a price check.

Ugh.

When I finally got through, I got $50 back � entirely in fives � and the frozen coke machine was broken, which is something I suppose I would have learned had I went through a much quicker moving traditional checkout line.

Ugh again.

And then I bought stamps this morning from a self-serve machine at the post office and got $3 in change back in Sacagawea dollars.

Terrific.

Reminds me of a little story. On the FX network they used to have this morning show that I sometimes watched in college. Tom Bergeron of �Hollywood Squares� fame was the host. Anyway, they had a segment where they did an �Antiques Roadshow� sort of thing with collectibles. This guy brings in a framed $2 bill and was talking about how this $2 bill was a present from his grandfather or something, and he had kept it all these years and was excited now because (I guess) $2 bills are out of production and he wanted to know what it was worth.

The collectibles guy just deadpanned back, �I�d say that�s worth about two dollars.�

Good stuff.

So Super Bowl Weekend is coming up, and since my Lions have never made the big game, I don�t have many memories at all that center around the big day.

Except one.

A few years ago, before the ex and I were married, we went out to her uncle�s ritzy apartment building where they always threw a lavishly catered private party in the residents-and-guests only bar. Not only did I end up winning something like $200 on my squares, but the ex got hammered, twisted her ankle badly, threw a whole bunch of vicodin on top of the Jack Daniels, and then basically goaded me into this bizarre role playing scenario when we got home. Had we videotaped it, the only shop that would have carried the footage would have been the one Nic Cage visited in 8MM. She was so drunk/high off of the booze and meds that I would bet she wouldn�t and couldn�t possibly remember how weird she asked me to get. I actually feel just a little bit dirty just thinking about it. I think I was about half a step away from putting on a codpiece, a bowler hat, and calling a few of my droogs over to help me out.

You know I only bring that up because I�m fairly certain she stops by here periodically. She�s knocked up again (which is more fun to say about your ex-wife than �she�s pregnant with her third child from her husband of a few years�), so if she reads the above, I�m sure she�ll be annoyed or wistful. I�m not sure which. It�s not like sleeping with me has ever left anyone feeling �wistful� in the end, so I�m going to figure on the former. �Annoyed,� yes. �Bored,� sure. �Unfulfilled,� absolutely. �Wistful?� Probably not.

By the way, ex-wife of mine, please do stay out of the comments widget. �Plausible deniability� is what I�m able to use to put the blinders on and pretend like you�re not actually stopping by. I�m really not that dumb though.

I only play dumb on TV.

[>>]posted at 1:40 PM by BG - click to email
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