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Grocery Holy Grail

We went grocery shopping at 6 a.m. on a weekday, and it blew my mind, people.

Rather than deciding between the meagre remaining cartons of lemon and vanilla yogurt, we found Stonyfield Farm Organic Lowfat Raspberry yogurt. I didn’t even know this existed. I wanted to pour it in aisle and roll around in it.

Don’t even ask what happened when we got to the Ben and Jerry’s.

Coming Home

Thus far, I’ve spent 32 waking hours in a car in the last seven days. Apologies for the lack of posts, I thought the place where we were staying had Internet access, but I was not correct. I am an utter failure at the NaBloPoMo experiment.

Yesterday, we stopped for a van that had slid off the road into a ditch in Nevada. There were three adults and a two-year-old girl in the van. None of them spoke English, and none of them had warm clothes. I stumbled along in halting Spanish, and figured out that two of the adults (the ones with the baby) were deaf and possibly mute. I briefly wondered how we managed to end up in a David Lynch movie.

We took those two and the kid to a dubious bar/grocery called Water Hole #1, and explained the situation to a weathered, unhappy bartender. “What am I supposed to do with them?” he asked. We told him we’d return to tell the other guy where they were, and he’d pick them up.

We bought them some food and drinks, and wrote down what was happening in Spanish so they’d know. As we left, one of the drunk patrons was ambling toward the counter with a variety box of travel-sized cereals for the little girl.

Right now we’re in a hotel in Reno, preparing for the rest of the drive home. First, we’ll need to get chains. And about 16 magazines. And at least three tubes of chapstick.

Tomorrow I’ll return to our regularly scheduled programming. I’m in karmic debt for six posts. Fortunately, I’ve got some time on my hands.

Gift Guides

I just finished a couple of gift guides for Mighty Goods. Check out the Covet Gift Guide for luxury gifts, and the Holiday Gift Guide for unique, mid-range presents.

I apologize for mentioning holiday shopping before we’ve even cleared Thanksgiving. I hope you’ll forgive me the indiscretion, as early guides make it possible for you to pour a glass of wine, order all of your presents without fear of rush fees or shipping delays, and use the hours of shopping time you’ve saved to pour yourself a few more glasses of wine.

A Serious Expression

-So I told him to grow up, and he was like, “I don’t plan to.”
-Whoa. You have to take him at his word there.
-Don’t I know it.
– I’ve never understood guys who say shit like that out loud, like it’s some badge of honor. “I don’t ever want to grow up. I’m still exploring my childlike wonder.”
-It’s like, “Later, virgin.”

Joke Club

I have a joke up over at Josh A. Cagan’s Joke Club (scroll down until you see my photo). Mr. Cagan is an official NaBloPoMo participant, which means a solid month of hilarious posts from the Cagan household. Go read them.

Here’s, the joke he didn’t use:

Kevin Federline reportedly wrote a nasty message to his ex-wife Britney Spears on the shower door of his dressing room at the House of Blues in Chicago. The message was scrawled in permanent marker, which begs the question, where did he get opposable thumbs?

The Labor Party

I’m one of those women who strongly considered adopting because I was so afraid of labor. A month or two after I got pregnant, I had a two-week period of complete freak out and sent this note to a girlfriend:

“Last night I had a mini breakdown and decided that I definitely do not want to push a baby out my vagina. I want even less to have major abdominal surgery. I do not want to feed another human being with my boobs. Also, I will not be pushing a baby out of my vagina. I cannot imagine what my boobs are going to look like after this, let alone my ass. I have never felt less sexy. Also, my vagina is very small. I do want to be a parent, but don’t really want to be a mom. Also, I will not be pushing a baby out of my vagina. No.”

I was irrationally, but seriously, trying to think of other ways to get the baby out of my body. Intense meditation? Osmosis? Teleportation device? How ’bout it, science?

Anyway, I’m OK now. The panic eventually subsided as I made a conscious decision to stop playing Worst Case Scenario. I refused to read anything having to do with labor and related complications, and began screaming, “Only happy stories, please! Only happy stories, please!” when mothers tried to share their graphic labor survival stories.

This was unfortunately necessary, because when you’re pregnant, conversation in a group of women goes like this:

Me: I’m freaking out about labor.

Susie: Don’t worry, you’ll be fine! Just fine! God, I hated being pregnant, though. I was on seven months of bed rest vomiting into a pan.

Lisa: Really? (Pulls air in through teeth.) Yeah, I threw up every single day. Twice. And, hello? Jacob was 11 pounds. I was in labor for 46 hours. They really should have given me a C-section, I was pretty ripped up afterwards.

Gina: And then you’re just praying that you’ll never have to poop again because the thought is so terrifying. My first bowel movement was practically as painful as giving birth. I was so afraid the stitches would pop right out!

Cut to me keening and desperately trying to place my head between my knees, despite the watermelon sized belly impeding my ability to do so.

Susie: Oh, honey! I’m sure you’ll be fine.

Lisa: You’ll be fiiiine. You’re going natural, aren’t you?

Gina: Oh, yeah. You have to go natural.