Operation Basement Storm 3

Day 59

I am zen. I am zen. I am zen.
It's all good.
Whatev'

See? I am super cool. And it doesn't bother me in the slightest that two walls are in completely the wrong place. That's okay. I'm zen. I am so zen that I don't even care how they do it, just that they do it. Properly would be crazy awesome.

Every time our contractor comes upstairs and says, "We have an issue," I smile beatifically. I put a maniacally cheerful smile on my face and say, a little too brightly, "Well, let's go solve it!". He gives me a worried look because my eyes are slightly glazed over from my incredibly blissed-out state of zen. He most likely assumes otherwise. And I'm quite sure that's why walls sometimes go in the wrong places: he's told his crew that I am unpredictable and they should just get in and out as fast as possible. And don't make eye-contact.

And with a house as old as this, one would expect issues. I've come to learn that for every grimace or beard-scratch, it will be another thousand dollars.

Gmail is Freaking Me Out

So I sit down for the first time today and get ready to have a quick Gmail chat with Husband. I guiltily tuck into a Draft Root Beer (too much sugar but sooooo good) and the first sponsored links I see on my Gmail page are

BARIATRIC SURGERY


SPECIAL K CHALLENGE

and
KASHI: Cereal Nutritional Value.

And I say, "Come ON Gmail! It's just a root beer! One. Give me a break!"

And then I realize, I am a profoundly disturbed individual.

Exhibit A:
I am talking to my laptop

Exhibit B
I am assuming that it is sentient

Exhibit C
I am so paranoid that I think it's sentient and mean-spirited.

And this is why I am absolutely insane.

Unexpected Item in Bagging Area

All the big chains are doing it. And it seemed like a good idea at the time. But in reality, it's a colossal pain in the ass.

The self-check-out. Isn't that what you do when passing a reflective surface and can't resist the urge to check your bad self out?

Why a self-check-out? What do cashiers do? I did the shopping - you do the checking out. It's always worked that way. Do you want me to go and make some cookies in the bakery too? Or grab some carts from the parking lot?

You start. A mellow female voice asks you, "Have you scanned your club card?"

Okay, here you go.

"Begin scanning items."

Wee. I can do this nooooo problem.

"Unexpected item in bagging area."

What? I didn't put anything in the bagging area! 'PLEASE REMOVE ITEM.'

There's nothing TO remove. What are you talking about? PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.

Okay. Fine. I'll wait. Tap tap tap....here comes assistance. The friendly lady with the weird eyebrows and the apron comes over to scan her card and all is well.

Until. UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA.

What? What do you mean it's 'unexpected'? You just scanned this! You know it's a head of lettuce. You just TOLD me it cost me ONE. FORTYNINE. I heard you say it all 'technical' like.

PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.

Okay. I will wait. Again.

Friendly lady with apron comes over again. We go through the entire process again.

And again. This happens nine times. I'm not kidding. Nine. This was quickly turning into unhappy hour. The line-up behind me was growing.

I start talking to the Self Checkout. I start asking it rhetorical questions. "Item removed from your douche-bagging area! C'mon! WORK with me!"

This system is quickly becoming the world's most expensive punching-bag.

After nine visits from the increasingly less-friendly cashier, I am finally done. I owe the machine $100.23. BECAUSE BILL EXCEEDS ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, CUSTOMER ID REQUIRED. PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.

I can't feel my legs.

Self-checkout could also be a euphemism for suicide.

Next Time: air travel

I've just had an AWESOME vacation to the place I wanted most to see in the world: Paris, France.

Sacre bleu, it was fantastic. I actually saw dudes on bicycles wearing suits and berets and carrying baguettes. I would not make that up. I make a lot of shit up, but that's not one of them.

There's much to chronicle, but for now, I keep chanting to myself: Make a List. All the things I wish I'd done differently. Please chime in. I, for one, am like Mr. T from the A Team who had to be tranquilized every time he went on a plane. I can totally relate to that, and I wouldn't refuse an offer of anesthetic on the rocks.

Stupidest Thing I Took To Europe:
-Ceramic hair straightener (just go with the flow)
-Jewelry (never wore)
-Too. Many. Clothes.
-Too. Many. Shoes.

Best Thing I Took To Europe:
-Gravol
-Military jacket
-Flat shoes
-Reversible dress
-Camera

Next time I'm on a plane, I hope to remember this:
-order a vegan meal in advance:
"Chicken or beef?""Chicken or beef?""Chicken or beef?""Chicken or beef?" Neither, thanks. Because I forgot to order a special meal in enough time, I had to make do. One kind attendant said, "Honey, aren't you hungry?" When I explained that I was vegetarian and forgot to order a meal, she said, "I'll see if I can find you something in the back". She brought me a cheese-drenched pasta dish. I was so hungry I was almost tempted to eat it. But I know what happens if I do that and since I was sitting in a window seat and would have to leap over two people and fight my way to the toilet IMMEDIATELY, I didn't risk it.

I have a friend who, for the past several years, has been working his way through all the special diets you can order from on planes. Just because. He's gone from Kosher to Fruitarian and says it doesn't matter what you order, as long as you order. It's always fresher and you always get served first. Done.

-buy a bottle of Gatorade. Or five.
Okay, you can't pack it because they'll confiscate it. Husband is convinced this serves two purposes: the theatre of safety and being able to charge you seventeen dollars for a bottle of water. What I had forgotten is just how much moisture gets sucked out of your body on a plane. If I were a grape, I'd be a raisin a few hours later. Gatorade tastes like vomit, but it does rehydrate you. Possibly even better than water in this case. And get a seat near the loo.

-earplugs
This makes a HUGE difference. I didn't use them on the flight over and it's pretty hard to sleep with a jet engine running. They help. A lot. Especially if there are people chatting up a storm nearby.


-Gas-X
Changes in cabin pressure can make you gassy. If you're on a weird schedule, have been eating strange food and your system is out of whack, plane-travel can make you a time bomb. Sorry to whomever has to sit near me. I'll take some Gas-X next time. The ginger tea did NUTHIN'....


-lip balm
Grape to raisin again. What is WITH that? I was putting it on every 30 minutes!

Other Tips:
Travel with someone calm. (I don't recommend myself at all.)