Those wacky supermodels. Gisele Bundchen raised some eyebrows yesterday when on a chat show she confessed that her �favorite thing to do in the world� is to pop pimples.
I had long suspected that I was supermodel material, so it’s nice to have it confirmed.
(And Justin Timberl@ke needs a smack upside his head. You’re better off without him, Britney!)
Fred was petting Fancypants last night, and I noticed that every time he touched Fancypants’ tail or back leg, Fancypants hissed.
Could I have used Fancypants’ name any more often in that sentence?
Worried, Fred called the vet’s office, and they told him to come right over. He boxed up Fancypants, and they left.
It turned out that Fancypants had a pretty high temperature, and so the vet’s conjecture was that Fancypants had gotten into a fight with another cat, got bitten, and the bite got infected. He popped Fancypants with a steroid/ antibiotic shot, and gave Fred antibiotics to give once a day. This morning, Fancypants is back to his usual fancy self.
We’re currently giving Miz Poo antibiotics once a day as well, because the vet doesn’t want her lip to get infected before it’s completely healed.
I’m thinking it’s about time to just have Fred’s paychecks made out directly to the vet.
Speaking of the cats, I came out of my bedroom this morning to see Spanky laying at the top of the stairs. I spoke to him, which got him excited and happy. He rolled over onto his back, and as I watched, he rolled down the top two steps before stopping himself. When I went to see if he was okay, he looked at me as thought I’d personally tossed him down the steps, and ran off.
I have officially fucking HAD IT with Wal-Mart. They are now removed from the top of my preferred list and added to the bottom of my “If you absolutely canNOT get it anywhere else, including online” list.
I went there this morning to buy a new food processor. Over the past few months, after Fred’s mother gave us her recipe for coleslaw, we’ve been having it once a week or so. Fred not only likes the taste of it, but really likes the fact that there’s always enough left over for two or three more lunches. The food processor we already have is very small, and I have to stop several times to empty the container of cabbage and red onion when I’m shredding it. I decided I needed a bigger one, and since I needed to drive in that direction for cat food (only Kroger’s carries the large bags of cat food that we buy), I decided to stop by Wal-Mart.
I looked all OVER the fucking place for the food processors. Were they with the mixers and coffee makers, as one employee guessed? No. Were they with the George Foreman machines and blenders as another employee suggested (after I told her that no, they were not with the mixers, try again)? No. Where were they? Where could they possibly be?
With the Christmas stuff, of course, between the wrapping paper and the bows. Silly me. How could I not have known that?
There was exactly one choice when it came to food processors, and luckily it was the size and price I needed. I put it in my cart and then spent the next ten minutes dodging all the pallets of crap the Wal-Mart employees had left in each and every aisle on my way to check out.
After spending another ten minutes in line, trying to figure out what the cashier was saying to me (she was a mumbler), I hauled my purchases out to the car and headed home.
Once home, with probably a little more excitement than the situation warranted, I put the food processor together. It was big, did I mention? Made by the reputable Black & Decker and not some fly-by-night crappy company.
The fucker didn’t work.
Now, I KNOW that you are looking at me skeptically, reader. I know that you are thinking to yourself what Fred said out loud to me, “Did you put it together right? Did you read the instructions?”, and yes. Yes, I fucking put it together right, and I read the fucking instructions. One of the things you don’t know about me, because I’ve never had occasion to mention it before, is that I’m good at putting things together, and I always have been. I am also not ashamed to read the instructions if I have problems putting things together, but I rarely need the instructions. This time, I put the fucker together, pressed the fucking button, and it did not (fucking) work. It didn’t even TRY to work. So I pulled out the instructions and followed them step-by-step – it not surprising me that I’d had it put together correctly in the first place – and again it did not work. I unplugged it from whence it was plugged, and tried another plug, and another and another, and nothing would make the motherfucker work.
So, Wal-Mart, fuck your employees, who couldn’t give a shit whether I can find what I need to find, fuck your sloppy, crap-strewn aisles, fuck your never-where-it’s-supposed-to-be stuff, fuck your miles-long lines and your cashier who can’t speak up so I can hear them, fuck your constant selling me stuff that doesn’t work because this is NOT the first or second or fifth time this has happened, and FUCK YOU.
You are NOT the only fucking game in town, and though you have stuff that Target does not have, at least they take pride in making their store look halfway decent, their employees don’t look at you as if you’d shit directly in the middle of the aisle when you ask where a particular item might be, and they’re FRIENDLY when they answer questions, even if they don’t know the answer to that particular question.
I’m going to return the fucking piece-of-shit food processor I bought from you (and when the customer service lady gives me the “Did you put it together right? Did you read the instructions?” look, I will slap her silly), and then I’m going to haul my ass to Target and buy one that fucking works.
So there. Fuckers.]]>