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5:53 a.m. - 2002-01-09

IS IT ASKING TOO MUCH TO REPLACE GROCERY CASHIERS WITH ROBOTS?

I don't have much time.

Which is good, because I don't have much to say.

At 4:45 this morning, as the boy wailed and wailed which is his crazy little way of saying "I'm ready to get up and PLAY now, dammit!" I laid there in bed thinking "What do I have to write about in the diary today?"

The answer was ...nothing.

So I laid there some more until Susie got up with the baby and I fell back asleep for about 45 minutes.


I stopped by the grocery store on the way home from work last night.

I was buying the usual stuff ... turkey bacon, fat free yogurt, fruit, veggies...etc.

Lil' Miss Check Out Girl thought maybe she and I could bond over my grub choices.

I had 20 little yogurt containers. She was scanning each of them before she finally said "My sister eats these every day for breakfast. I hate it."

Now. There's really not a whole lot to say at that point. I like the yogurt. I'll admit, it's an acquired taste. But it sure beats eating dog shit on a stick.

"It's not bad, really," I finally blurted out.

"I hate the texture," she continued. "It just feels so nasty in my mouth."

Obviously she's never blown a mule.

"Well," I drawled. "The cherry cheesecake flavor is really good."

"I hate cheesecake," Lil' Miss Positive said. "Except for that cheesecake that's all chocolate. All the way through."

Ummmmm...that's called "Chocolate Cake" you insipid moron.

I had made the mistake of buying ground turkey for the first time last night. Most of these recipes I've been reading have recommended using ground turkey. That was one of the food items that I was hesitant about giving a whirl, but it was marked down, looked okay and since I was making spaghetti last night, I thought I'd give it a try.

She rang up the ground turkey and then the turkey bacon (which I love).

"Boy, you sure like turkey, don't you," she said. "Turkey bacon, ground turkey..."

"It's good for you," I said, eyeing this 18 year-old's slim figure. She looked like the type that could eat half a cow and not gain an ounce. She had obviously never had to struggle with her weight and wouldn't know the first thing about nutrition.

"I need to start eating healthy," she proclaimed in a statement that could have stayed safely tucked away inside her bleached blonde brain and nobody would have suffered in the least from its absence in the conversation.

"Well, I was forced into eating healthy," I said in a really, really bored tone of voice.

"Really?" the girl said. "Was this your wife or your doctor or yourself or what?"

I really wanted to say "My boyfriend Bruce" just to see her face.

But I decided to just blurt out the truth.

"I was diagnosed with diabetes about four months ago," I said. "If I don't get healthy, I'll die."

She looked at me like I was contagious. Like when I handed her the cash for the groceries, my diabetes would spread to her and she'd have to begin eating healthy and lose 40 lbs off her 100 pound frame.

"Wow," she said. "That sucks."

"Not really," I said. "I needed to get in shape anyway and this gives me the incentive to do it."

She took a quick visual inventory of my purchases and said "I didn't even notice all the healthy food you've bought."

Well of course not, dear. You're too busy racking your brain and trying to remember what comes after "D" in the alphabet to notice just what the hell's going on around you.

I paid for my groceries, put them in the cart and began to walk away.

"Good luck!" she said all chirpy and shit.

"Yeah, thanks," I said. "You too."

...Meaning "Good luck" in finally memorizing the alphabet.


So I tried the ground turkey in the spaghetti sauce. It wasn't too bad. I have never really liked turkey though and the thought of eating ground turkey kinda turns my stomach.

I could taste the turkey flavor. I thought I had thrown enough herbs and spices into the sauce where it would overpower the turkey flavor and taste more like I was eating straight basil and garlic. But the taste was there.

I ate it all. So I shouldn't really complain.

Susie liked it. So much so that she went back to the grocery store after dinner to buy up whatever ground turkey was left in the store. According to her, the store marks down all its meat on Tuesday night because they get new meat on Wednesday or some crap like that. I dunno. I wasn't paying attention to her wack-assed meat theories.

She came home with two packages and said the rest had already been bought up.

She didn't mention Chatty Cathy the Cashier. Which is probably good because my side of the story was boring enough without having to go into her side as well.


I'm really fighting the urge to put on Madonna's "Dress You Up" and grinding my pelvis seductively.

I find myself fighting this urge more and more lately.


I talked to Drunk-Assed Jamie yesterday, who longtime readers of this site may remember from my newspaper days.

He has a baby girl a few months younger than Andrew. We were talking about our kids and he was telling me (reluctantly) that his daughter's MUCH fatter than he thought she'd be before she was born.

Apparently she can't even crawl yet because her belly drags the ground. He said she looks like a fish out of water, just kinda flopping miserably around on the floor.

He told me to be looking to an invitation to an appreciation party for Roxie, the paper's former society writer, whose stories I had edited for the last several years.

Roxie quit the newspaper soon after I did. Apparently she's in very poor health. I knew she had a couple of different types of cancer, but she's a very proud woman and doesn't like to mention her illnesses.

Plus, she was suffering from some sort of dementia toward the end of my employment at the paper. Either that or I really AM her dead brother George, because that's what she called me all the time.

I had decided that I would come to the Appreciation Party to formally say goodbye to her, since the theme for the party is "Hurry Up And Die Already".

But I have a meeting at church at the same time which I kinda have to attend since it's a meeting for the Deacons of the church, of which I am one.

Maybe I'll send a video of me to the party and really freak Roxie out.

"Roxie...it's me ... your dead brother George. Heaven's pretty neat, lotsa angels and clouds. I try to stay out of God's path because he's a righteous man and doesn't have time for my crap. Looking forward to seeing you again next month. There's a "No Alcohol" policy up here, so drink up while you can. HURRY UP AND DIE ALREADY!!!"

I think she'd appreciate that. That is ... if she's not jabbing away at her ears with a bread knife and thinking it's a phone.


I've gotta get moving. This is much more than I planned on giving you.

You lucky bastards.

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