Peapod: Delivering Groceries To One Crazy Cat Lady At A Time

I got my first delivery of groceries from Peapod on Friday night. Yep, that’s right I had my milk and eggs and Lean Cusines brought directly to my door and I never put a measly toe inside the grocery store. Ain’t country is grand? God bless Capitalism. Anyway, the motivation behind this luxury was basically I hate hauling 20 pound bags of kitty litter up the Big Gigantor Hill with my wee shopping cart. I prefer my cardio to occur in a climate controlled gym with a US Weekly, decent eye candy and sporty shoes, thank you very much. So, I ordered kitty litter, along with every other big, bulky, or heavy item I could think of. Toilet paper, two jumbo jugs of laundry detergent, paper towels, multiple bags of cat food, that sort of thing. Yeah, and did I mention that I actually ordered ten bags of kitty litter? Ten. Bags. Of. Kitty. Litter. My thought process at the time was that with any luck, I won’t have to haul kitty litter up the Big Stinkin’ Hill until the first snow.

 

So, the delivery guys showed up in their scheduled time slot, all my items on a dolly, including my litter. They began to unload my groceries and as they dumped the bags of assorted items in my hallway it quickly became obvious they were looking around. It was the worst case of Trying-To-Check-Things-Out-Subtly-But-Failing-Miserably that I’ve ever encountered. I’m a single girl living alone, it was a Friday night, and I began to get a little antsy. Were they going to rob me of my meager, but still prized, possessions or were they secretly judging me for being home on a Friday night? Either option wasn’t really making me too happy. Finally after about five minutes, one of the delivery guys asks shyly, “Um, miss, where are all your cats?” I give him a funny look and reply, “Um, hiding?” He pauses for a moment, plucks up some more courage, and asks, “So, how many do you have?” At this point, I’m not sure where this is going, but I don’t think I’m going to like it. “Two,” I reply. Delivery Guy’s face clears and he sighs, “I thought you were going to have, like, a dozen or something.  I mean ten bags of kitty litter and all.” His buddy chimes in and says, “Yeah, we thought you were going to be the, like, some smelly, crazy cat lady.” I was mortified. Let’s be clear: I am NOT a crazy cat lady. It’ll take me about 40 more years and another ten cats before I even become even remotely eligible.

 

I am never going to order that much litter again.

So you’ve had a bad day…

At the Place of Lawyerly Things, there are some days that by 9:45, I just really want a Diet Coke and a cookie. This is one of those special mornings. But I’m trying to be a bit healthier, so I decided to forgo the desired comfort food in favor of some celery sticks with peanut butter and a glass of milk. It’s now 10:26. I am going for the Diet Coke. If I’m lucky, I might hold out a few minutes longer on the cookie front.

Look what I just bought

Kick booty bunny slippers qualify as shoes, right? Especially if they have ears you can position and tails?

My Secret Internal Geek Is Pumped

Oh, I am so excited by this video. Legos AND Star Wars! What more could a girl want on a rainy day? Except for some Lego Indiana Jones. Or Lego Monty Python! Score! Ohhhh! And Legos singing about Beer. Hilarious. With a capital H. This Lego Harry Potter thing is OK. I’m sure somebody somewhere thinks it is funny but I’m not it. Maybe it’s British Humor I am not attuned to? Anyway, the person who did a Lego Thriller had a bit too much time on their hands. Or maybe they just had a strange Michael Jackson infatuation. Either way, the Legos don’t moon dance. But they do pretty groovy moves considering their legs can’t bend. But the Lego Bohemian Rhapsody rocked! Especially when they killed a man! And the Lego they have play John Travolta in Grease’s Summer Lovin’ cracked me up. But I am easily amused. Clearly. If I did an entire post about Lego videos I found on YouTube.

Atonement. Yeah, I didn’t like it.

 

The thing about being in a book club is you have to actually read the book. Usually, that’s not a problem. But this month, it all seems a little too high school English class for me. I’ve read a third of the book and it is still stupid. There is no other word to describe it. So, I’ll say it again. The book is stttupppid. How did people enjoy this thing, let alone read it? Were they collectively smoking crack? For about two seconds last night, I even thought about shelling out $10 to see the movie tonight. But I don’t want to waste $10.

The Metro Lady Loses It

It’s 5:30 and everybody wants to go home. The Metro is a wee bit crowded since a train somewhere on the line has gone kaput and this is the first train in FOREEEVVVEEERR, and FOREEEVVVEEERR is especially long right now because it’s prime commute hour(s). A friend once told me that in China there is a subway employee and their sole job is to push more people into the crowded subway cars. Metro never needs that employee, since DC commuters seem to do just fine themselves. Today’s case in point:

 

The Metro Woman Announcer Lady: (on the loud speaker) People, stand away from the doors! (as she dings the little bell and flashes the lights and uses all of her other Metro Stand Away From the Door Tricks)

People on Metro: (engage in Universal Code of Metro Silence)

The Metro Woman Announcer Lady: STAND AWAY FROM THE DOORS PEOPLE!

People on Metro: (keep packing ‘em in, still in silence)

The Metro Woman Announcer Lady: If the doors go flying open because you people are shoving in, and leaning on them, it’s not my fault. But I can tell  you know, you’ll all go popping out like popcorn and then some of you will die on the rails. Not my idea of a good time filling out all those forms. If it’s yours, then fine by me. It’s your life. Pop out like popcorn for all I care. Lean against the doors and you will DIE. But if you value your life and don’t want to be Metro Popcorn, GET AWAY FROM THE DOORS, PEOPLE! WE HAVE MORE TH AN ONE TRAIN. GET AWAY FROM THE *&(#&^#(*$^(#*&(*&*&&*&#G@%^%&^ (to indicate a very long cuss word) DOORS!

People on Metro: (look at each other out of the corners of their eyes. Silence remains. Still leaning on the doors)

One Person near the back of the car: (breaks Universal Code of Metro Silence and engages in a nervous giggle)

One Person in my car, who gets the Daring Soul Award, pushes the emergency intercom: If I go flying out, tell my wife I love her.

Everybody in my car: (Laughter)

The Metro Woman Announcer Lady: That’s not funny people.

People on Metro: (once again engage once more in Universal Code of Metro Silence)

 

Oh but it is.

For Phil

 

 

My friend Phil is always looking to kill some time at work. Or at least he was until recently, when work became a tad bit busier. Regardless, here’s something to kill some time on the company dime, dedicated to Phil, my Number One Loyal Reader…

Random pictures from CNN. Phil, this one is good for 26.7 seconds of killing time. Or more, if you click really slowly.

How to Dance or something. Lessons, Phil.

Gotta watch this one for a few seconds. Phil could set this up in real life. He’s nifty like that.

Overheard in the Office. I wish I worked at some of these places. Maybe Phil works at one?

I could spend hours on Boing Boing. I bet Phil will too.

Sunday

Horrible day.

1. Around what I assume is noon on Sunday, I turn on computer and see that computer says it is actually 2:00. Who am I to argue with Steve Jobs’ version of time? It appears I have forgotten which way clocks were supposed to go last night.

2. Crap.

3. In horror, realize I have a Big Date at 3:00. Eek!

4. Haul booty around apartment, frantically getting ready for date. Must catch 2:30 Metro if I am going to make it to Big Date. No time to pick out a Really Cute Outfit. Instead, I settle for a Moderately Cute Outfit.

5. Grab makeup to put on while riding the Metro and make it to the train with seconds to spare.

6. Thank All That is Divine that I wore comfortable shoes so I could sprint between the closing Metro doors and still make it onto the Metro with all my limbs.

7. Arrive at Place of Date at 2:45. Look at me go. And the Questionably Smelly Guy riding my Metro car even told me I looked pretty. All set for date.

8. It’s 3:30 and no date. Double check time with hostess at restaurant to make sure Steve Jobs’ time is actually Real People Time. It is. But get The Look of Utter Pity from the hostess. It’s clear I am being stood up despite my efforts to play it Cool Like Ice.

9. Wait until 4:15 just in case Date Boy messed up Daylight Savings as well.

10. By now I have realized that my phone is mysteriously dead. Perhaps Date Boy has called and I can’t receive his message? Moment of hope!

11. Hostess is uber understanding of my situation. I assume that in the past other women have stood around her Hostess Stand with desperate looks. She must also see me giving death glares to my phone. In a moment of Girl Solidarity, she offers to let me use the restaurant phone to check my messages. Nothing from Date Boy. Grr. Hostess becomes Angry At Men on my behalf. Also, it is clear she still pities me.

12. Must get out of Date Place. I have long ago surpassed the time I could leave Date Place with dignity still intact.

13. On the way home, I decide to forgo previously planned stop at Whole Paycheck. Groceries have been bumped down the priority list. Who needs food when I just want to go home and wallow in shame?

14. Get off Metro and slowly walk up long, gigantor hill until at last I reach my apartment building. Seems to be a metaphor for my dating life. Or something.

15. Put on comfy pants and t-shirt, plug in phone to recharge, go to get bottle of wine. No wine. Meant to pick up a few bottles at grocery store (see #10 above). Ugh.

16. Cats look at me with pity and begin to purr in non-judgy, loving manner. How do they know?

17. Locate vodka. Nice substitute for wine.

18. Go check phone. Not recharging. Crud. It appears I need to get a phone that was made this century. Plan stop to Verizon store tomorrow before work.

19. After praising the makers of Absolute, I realize my friend won’t be able to come over later tonight because have no way to contact her. So much for that plan. So much for my social life. More vodka!

20. Decide that I need something to help soak up Wine Substitute. Otherwise, work might be a wee bit painful tomorrow.

21. Locate Emergency Stash of Skittles.

22. Skittles are stale. And it’s a new bag. Darn Skittles!

23. Decide to eat at them anyway.

24. Odd crunching sound.

25. With horror, I realize that something is not right in my mouth.

26. Go to bathroom and smile in mirror. Uh oh! I look like a hick. Well, more than usual anyway. I’ve chipped my front tooth on the stale Skittles. Mantra: Don’t cry. This can be fixed. They are only your front teeth. Don’t cry…

27. The universe hates me.

28. Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks? To better assess Mouth Situation, I try to get up on the bathroom counter.

29. Hear ripping sound.

30. It appears I have ruined my favorite Comfy Pants struggling to get better vantage point.

31. Enough is enough. It’s time to call it a day.

32. Grab DVD to watch in bed. After all, it’s only 5:49.

33. Start watching appropriately sappy and not in the least big realistic but still strangely comforting Teen Drama.

34. Funky grinding sound 4 or 5 minutes into first episode.

35. After 45 minutes of trying everything (i.e. hitting the machine, cursing, jiggling wires, unplugging it, wondering why the red wire still connects to nothing), it appears that my DVD player is broken. Or at least broken beyond my tech skills.

36. Go to bed for real this time.

37. Begin to cry heart out.

38. Damn it. I am out of tissue.