Do I have a sign on my back?

Do I really look like someone who wants to talk to you? I couldn’t possibly appear that friendly! Don’t bother me in the store — I’m busy shopping, trying not to go broke. Trying not to be robbed. Trying not to waste too much time. I want to focus on what I’m doing and I don’t want to talk!

And I don’t like to talk — to people — anywhere! I’m not a chit-chatty person. EVER!!!

You look like nice enough — why can’t you talk to that other lady, over there? Why is it that everyone selects me to talk to?

I was in  TARGET yesterday, trying to find a few items that were supposed to be on sale. I was not planning to mosey and dawdle. I wanted to find the things and go home.

There were plenty of other people in the store. WHY did three of you talk to me? Are you two women and one man who have nothing else to do or are so lonely that you’ll talk to anyone at all, even someone who won’t talk back? Why ME?? There were other people you could have snagged for your confab.

I was frowning viciously, so it couldn’t have been my kind and welcoming face.

There must be  a sign on my back that says “Talk to me!”

Bah!

Snowball versus Gun: Who wins? NO ONE!

Everybody’s got guns. Everybody ELSE has a gun, anyway. They must, since so many people are being shot. Here’s the latest: NONSENSE that will ruin a boy’s life and scar his family forever.

Put a lid on it, mister. Nobody asked you.

I was behind a large young woman in Acme today, as she put her order onto the conveyor belt. She was very large and also very pretty. And well dressed; dressed up, I guess, looking like she was on her way home from somewhere fancy. Her order was nearly a basketful of convenience food, pastries and crackers and candies. No produce, no grains, no foods that need to be prepared, other than microwaved briefly. The man behind me, who will turn up here later, for other annoyances, was also large. Not as large, but large. I would need to be tripled to form a me-verison of him and maybe quadrupled to make a me-version of her.

He was also dressed very well, looking spiffy and fine.

Anyway, the guy started muttering to himself, about how stupid she was. I couldn’t help looking at him; I know i was being dopey, should have ignored him. But I looked. And he said out loud to me, “Look at that. She’ll never lose weight. Stupid!”

I immediately looked into his basket: it was half full, of fruits and vegetables, and lean meats; no candies and snacks. He saw me and smiled, proud of his choices, I guess.

Still, who was he to talk about her? OK, maybe he USED TO BE larger and has been losing weight. Maybe.

But who asked him? I didn’t. She didn’t. None of the Acme personnel did.

He looked at my order, which I was putting on the conveyor belt by then. “You shouldn’t have those.” He pointed to 2 boxes of Cheez-its that were on sale, because they’re going to be discontinued. I happen to LOVE them, so I’m stocking up, cheaply. I just stared at him. I was tempted to call him stupid. Nosey. Rude. Mean spirited.

But I’m not him, so I didn’t,

I said it later, in the car, when I thought about the lady ahead of me. Had she heard him? I hope not. Whatever her choices are, they’re hers. Yapping about them in the checkout lane at Acme isn’t going to do anything useful.

Get Your Fingers Off My Soul!

I’m weary to the bone of smug people, of arrogant people, of you’re-going-to-Hell-and-I’m-not-people. I’m not weary of religion. I’m a mixed bag myself. I can live with that. I can DIE with that.

DO YOU HEAR ME, you proselytizing zealots?

No, it’s the people of ANY religion who claim that their way is THE way, and who won’t tolerate anything diverse. And who deride the choices others have made.

I try to ignore them. I really do. And I’m tired of that too. I’m tired to the point of exhaustion, of hiding who and what I am, fearing the itchy fingers that are waiting to grab my “soul.”

That’s what I’m sick and tired of. Any remedy? Nope.

Because it’s the way of things now. As long as we have a few precious freedoms left, there will be people who will exhaust us and piss us off.

Ungracious People Can Bite Me, or Something Like That

I like to give to people. Share. You know? Things, and time, and happiness, and patience. When I can. And there are people who will not/cannot say they are happy to have something or accept things with grace. Maybe I’m using “grace” incorrectly here; I don’t know. I don’t care.

The thing is, there are people who are NEVER pleased and happy with life and the gifts and sharing and good things that come their way. These are the people that people like ME seem drawn to, seem destined to try to please. I’m always running into them, and doing all I can to get a response, a smile, and drop of joy. NEVER. It never happens.

They are the black holes of humanity, these people. They aren’t evil – they don’t destroy — they just swallow the kindness and compassion and happiness into them and then it disappears. Forever. They are ALWAYS downtrodden and dismal, in their own eyes. The victims of the world.

And they $%@^ing wear me out.

Screw them. No more gifts to them, not even patience and kind words.

Black hole, meet your equal.

Why Would You Keep a Lid on This?

Opening packaging materials these days is not always easy. That’s because many people are thieves and scoundrels, and manufacturers are trying to thwart them. If you’ve tried to open one of those intractable hard plastic tombs that enclose toys and power cords and batteries, you know what I mean.

Food is another area where we are being kept from our objectives. Mine was drinking some juice yesterday. I bought a bottle of Apple and Eve Juice. It’s a good product line; I like it a lot. But every time I try to open one of the bottles, I’m THWARTED!! THWARTED, I say!

My hands are big and strong and nimble. I’m not physically-challenged. I’m also smart enough to know which direction to turn the lid. But the lid will not turn. NEVER.

Do you hear me, Apple and Eve? Nev-AH!!!!!

I try smacking it and twisting it while it’s under cold water. I try those rubbery gripper thingies.

The only way I can open the bottles is with the underside of the throw rug by the front door. Indeed.
Yesterday I did that. The lid turned. Dandy. But the bottle was very full, and since I was kneeling on the floor, holding the throw rug and the bottle, when I turned the lid – scrooooch – and it finally opened, juice came out. On the rug backing and on the floor and on me.

&#$^.

Please!! Stop making packages unnecessarily hard to open.