I feel a little bad because I have several new followers for some reason and this is a really lame, sort of atypical post for me. Alas, my one die hard fan needs me to post something or her weekend, and possibly her entire life, will be ruined (I’m sure she says that to all the boys).
It’s not so much that it’s a terrible post, but I feel a little as though I’ve stolen from another blogger, Ben, over at Ben’s Bitter Blog. He’s bitter about stuff in much the same way that I am, but he’s less angry and funnier about stuff that makes him bitter. Read his blog, you’ll enjoy his bitterness (haha, gross?).
Ben, I hope my bitter sounding post makes you bitter enough that you write a post about other people being bitter like you. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not, but if you ever need a bitter guest poster, I’m clearly your man!
I worked 15 hours yesterday and just managed to get to the grocery store before it closed at midnight. There’s only one person checking people out at that time and of course there was some idiot there buying bottles of liquor. There’s always some idiot there when it’s almost midnight on Friday trying to buy bottles of liquor.
She was not ugly in the face and had a fantastic rack on her chest. I’m sorry wife, but you’d have said the same thing. Normally, a person who is a woman and not ugly in the face with a fantastic rack on her chest can do very, very little to tick me off.
This young lady, however, was being a totally unreasonable bitch (I almost said cunt I was so pissed at her, but cunt is a vulgar, disgusting word and I’ll reserve cunt for the truly evil women characters I may write about so as to not unreasonably subject my great readers to such an awful word as cunt is). This bitch couldn’t figure out how much her liquor was supposed to cost and argued with the clerk about it for a good four minutes. Then she went back twice, not once, but twice, to replace the bottle with what she thought she had grabbed originally.
Then, after a good 10 minutes, when they finally get dingbat rung up. she’s 92 cents short! HOLY CHRIST!!!
“Here, I’ll give you a fucking dollar!” I told chesty. The guy in front of me and right behind her in line said he would too. She simply put her hand in the air as if to say talk to this, boys, and stormed out of the store. She said that she’d get the change from her car because she could pay for her own damn food!
“Vodka isn’t a food, slut!” My new line standing in pal said! I was thinking it and he said it; high five, sir!
I assumed that she wouldn’t be back, and the clerk must have agreed because she finally voided the transaction and rang us two fine men up.
As I was leaving though, Bitchy McTwofinejugs did storm back in all huffy as though it’s everyone else’s fault that she doesn’t own a debit or credit card and didn’t have enough cash to cover her liquor purchase.
Anyway, she rubbed me the wrong way late last night and my morning didn’t get much better.
I spent the better part of what was a pretty nice Saturday morning with my face in front of the computer, which wouldn’t be so dull if I didn’t spend the better part of Monday through Friday at work with my face in front of the computer.
I wish I could say that I was busily typing up a blog post that was going to knock your socks off, but as you can tell, that didn’t happen.
I was researching new gas grills because the Charbroil I’m using now may or may not be killing us with all the rust that I assume food absorbs when it’s cooked directly on rusty metal grates.
The food still tastes delicious, but the kids have taken to salivating a la Pavlov’s dogs whenever they’re near anything rusty like their own playground equipment or random flag poles around town.
They have enough problems in life without having to resist their urges to lick the rusty underside of my 11 year old car because it tastes a little like daddy’s grilled pork steaks. The neighbors are very judgmental.
Speaking of neighbors, I noticed Todd and Margo left to go run while I was sitting at the computer this morning, thus making me feel bitter about my own lack of enthusiasm for exercise. They had their water bottles in hand, so I assume that meant a long, long run. Good for them, I thought, while grabbing myself some red hot chips from the pantry.
I mentioned pork steaks above. Many of you don’t know what a pork steak is, do you? That’s a shame.
I think it’s a fairly regional to the St. Louis area thing, much like toasted raviolis.
Do yourself a favor. Google it, make your butcher cut you some, season them, grill them, pour Maull’s bbq sauce on them, pour beer into the sauce and let it soak in the sauce on the grill for a few hours while you get shitfaced on Busch Beer.
It must be Maull’s sauce and it should be Busch Beer, but Bud, Natural Light or Bud Light will do. You must get shitfaced to the point that you curse at a neighbor or relative about something ridiculous, like the time your cousin threw the dodge ball at you way too fuckin’ hard in gym class 34 years ago. You hate him for that because somehow, he ruined your life!
If you nearly get into a fistfight with your cousin or some other relative over this, you did fine. If you get the cops called on you by your own kin, you were superb!
Either way, congrats, you’re an honorary South St. Louisan now!
That reminds me of a funny, well funny to the cops who tell it best, story. A guy was in his backyard cooking up pork steaks (it’s always pork steaks around here, trust me) while his upstairs neighbor was on his balcony drinking Busch Beer (it’s always Busch Beer around here, trust me).
Long story short, upstairs drunk was using a fishing pole to fish pork steaks off of his downstairs neighbor’s grill whenever downstairs drunk went inside to get another beer, piss, slap his gal around, or do whatever white trash folks do when they leave their grill open and unattended to go inside for a bit. Downstairs drunk finally figured it out and shot upstairs neighbor to death…lol!
It was a long time ago. Trust me, it’s funnier when you hear it told out loud.
Anyway, way off track from my bitter bitch session. I like to grill and I really want a nice new one. I had almost convinced myself that it’s not completely insane to spend $1000 on what’s essentially an outdoor oven when the wife started bitching from the kitchen about something or other.
Something or other turned out to be water leaking from the refrigerator somehow. It’s all over the floor and onto the cabinets alongside it.
Then I heard and remembered the washing machine. When turned on, the front loading Maytag washer that’s all of about 3 years old sounds like an F-15 taking off and flying laps around my mud room.
It shakes and rattles and dances for its 45 minute cleaning cycles while the dog and kids run in fear worried that the thing will somehow untether itself from the wall plug and kill them with its loudness.
It’s REALLY LOUD!
It’s a Maytag Washer by the way. 4000 series. If you ever get the chance to purchase one, I’d pass. It’s less than three years old, if I haven’t mentioned that. Other more dedicated to being pissy about it Maytag customers have actually made Youtube videos to express their complaints, but I’m too tired for such nonsense.
So I resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to continue cooking for the family on my rusting 10 year old gas grill (don’t worry friends and extended family, I use charcoal for you guys and that’s rust free eatin’) and started to look at appliances that I don’t want to have to buy anytime soon, but will have to against my will anyway.
Researching washers and refrigerators sucks ass. I’ll pick a couple that I like and proudly show them to my wife when she gets home.
She’ll find fault in my choices, pat me on the head for trying, and I’ll start it all over again using parameters that she’ll give me.
Somewhere else, a fat man is riding my old motorcycle on this nice day. He’s riding carefree down the highway thinking to himself “thank God that I bought this great motorcycle from that Don guy and don’t have to waste my time and money on a new washer and refrigerator.
I wasn’t before, but I’m suddenly bitter about him buying my motorcycle from me.
Bitter and maybe just a little bit angry.