November 4, 2005 at 11:24 pm (Rant Goodness, Your Psychic Fiend)

…you're NOT seeing Ask Your Psychic Fiend yet.

1. The little hosemaster is pissing me off again–stoopid ho wanted General Tso's Chicken, so I gamble on City Wok (think South Park), only to come up all bars with a great dose of the good shit…only for her to take half a dozen chopstickfuls and decide the body's too FUCKING tired to eat it! Stoopid ho.

The fact that the rest of this post shows WHY the body was too tired to eat it is completely beside the point.

So, here's how this day went:

Since the last time Honey and I, uh, played checkers (please remember that my brother reads this blog and I have little desire to blind him again, so you may assume that "playing fucking checkers" is NOT what we were doing) my back's been acting like I took a kidney punch from Mike Tyson, who followed up with a clothesline. This has not been good, but I woke up feeling halfway decent this morning, so I decided to do the errands I couldn't do yesterday.

Bad idea. There were multitudes of asshat fucktarded short-bus-riding dildofaces running around SE Michigan today. I must admit here that I was one of them, much to my dismay and fury.

Do not email me and say I didn't warn your ass.

Don't put it in the fucking comments either (Yes, Ian and VG, I'm talking to YOU).

Stop #1's the bank–the one that called me to tell me about an unauthorized charge to my debit card resulting in over $80 in fees! Nice, huh? Well, I managed to get there without getting hit by any of the dorkdrivers, only to find out that I would have to cancel the card and get a new one. I know how they got the number and I also know they kept it when they shouldn't have. Fucking magazine subscriptions. Well, I have a temp card until my new one arrives. Nice, but the half hour it cost me sucked.

Meanwhile the back I thought was appeased with heaping helpings of my balm was awakening, and wasn't happy about it. Mikey T was back and I still had shit to do. So, I ignore it and keep driving–off to the grocery store.

I get there and promptly show why I belonged in the dipshit category today–asked one of the folks that works with my fiance where he was. The nice lady looked at me, smiled that gentle smile one uses when talking to the mentally challenged, and tells me he's at his usual store, which apparently wasn't the one I was standing in. Busted–I know pain makes me drifty but I didn't realize how much until then. So I blushed, apologized, played it off like I really seriously thought he was working another store today, and got my stuff and headed for the checkout.

Things went well until I realized three things:

1. I'd forgotten the Mountain Dew that was 50% of the reason I chose to deal with a Meijer's on a Friday. Just spaced it since my back was complaining about me not taking an electric cart. I thought about explaining to it that there weren't any misbegotten sonofawhore carts because fatter people than me already had them, but I'd already shown once today that I should have taken the short bus.

2. It does not take two cashiers to operate a register, no matter how many keys and buttons they use. Turns out the fucking computer crashed, locked the system, cash drawer and long-assed line completely up. Of course it had to happen when I was NEXT in line.

3. As I was removing all my shit from the conveyor belt, it dawned on me that I'd also forgotten the OTHER 50% of the reason I'd been in the store–H'sMa wanted mushrooms for tonight's stroganoff for dinner.

Shit. Shit. So, I went back past the nice lady that was dishing out 8 oz containers of ice cream (damned good ice cream too–I had the punkin) and took her up on the offer I'd passed on. Not so bad, but have you ever tried steering a bad shopping cart while eating from a bowl of rock-hard ice cream? I damned near took out an entire display of wine.

Anyhoo, I managed to get the mushrooms, snagged a couple other items that looked good, found a checkout lane with a functioning computer, then got the hell out of there before giving in to the urge to tell a woman that if her four children weren't afflicted with ADD, then I was the fucking Queen of America.

I almost made it out of the parking lot without muttering obscenities under my breath. Almost. I'd have done it too if the old lady waiting for my parking spot had allowed me enough motherfuckingdogdamned ROOM TO ACTUALLY PULL OUT OF IT! Fucking bitch had the nerve to look pissed and mouth things I couldn't read at me.

I've had enough–I know Brighton, MI sucks ass to drive in, but I had no choice. My bank is there and so is the storage facility where most of my worldly possessions live. I had to go pay the fee today, had to go CANCEL my FUCKING debit card, so I HAD to go to Land of the Delusionally Privileged Yuppie Scumpuppy, Brighton, MI.

I did show a flash of intellect–I plotted the trip to eliminate having to make a left hand turn into or out of You-Stash (not its real name–pseudonym substituted because I'd someday like to reclaim my shit in one piece). As I pull up to the office, I see this big, honkin', glaring sign saying "CLOSED." Oh, HELL no they are not! NO, they're NOT making me drive up there again after today!! See, these jackasses do NOT send bills or invoices, so there's no way for me to safely mail them anything. I don't trust people who don't bill for services–I prefer to stick my money directly in their hot little hands (via check) and get me a receipt, just in case of trouble.

I decide these folks are fucking Dog-damned well GOING to take my check–their sign says they're open 'til five, they're going to open the door for me if I have to put my foot thru it. The fact that I can't lift my leg more than six inches off the ground due to the incredible pain I'm now in has no bearing on my plan to insist on service. I don't fucking care if they've been shot in a double-suicide-homicide-genocide-whatevercide, they have my shit and I'm making SURE they're going to leave it right in the little storage cube I've been paying fucking rent on for the past six months.

Silly me–turns out that Pop (as in Mom and Pop operation) fergot to change the sign this mornin'. They're paid, I'm outta there…

…and right back into the war zone that is driving in SE MI.

Turns out the exit I need on 23 to get back to 96 and from there back home is closed. So is the road I used to live on, which would be the alternate route. Nice. Dumbfucks. I take 23 South instead of North, intending to hit Silver Lake Road and head home via the back roads. I say quiet prayers between trying to comfort my screaming back, hoping that all the kinderschnootzenvagendrivens (aka bleached-blonde dipshits driving minivans) have gone to fuck up someone else's wet dream and aren't in my area code anymore. I prayed I'd left them behind.

My prayers were not answered. Some stoopid bitch who must have gotten her license from a fucking CrackerJack box (I say this because it's obvious to me that she can't drive a straight line and that there's no way in Hell she passed a legitimate driver's exam) tailgated me all the way to South Lyon. For those not here (you blessed individuals) that's about 20 miles of twisty, turny, speedtrap-littered country road, with no passing zone, one lane each way, and no reprieve from Hell. She even made the turn onto 10 Mile with me, the miserable crack whore!

As I was making that turn (for those who do know the area, yeah, I missed a turn before that one and took the long way. Shut up–I already admitted that I should have stood in bed) I cancelled plans for the KFC run that'd been sounding like a good idea. I'd had enough of trying to deal with the roads and drivers. I saw the City Wok on the way home and thought that'd make a good substitute. YPF agreed, so I pulled in and got our General Tso's Chicken for me and some Almond Chicken for H'sMa.

And that brings us to the point where I shut YPF back up in the ash can, ate the fortune cookie without her, called it a day and headed for a big session of Kill-Maim-Dismember.

Three more things went wrong–I'll spare you the LotGD fiasco.

But I'm still pissed that there were no Dog-damned almonds in the Almond Chicken.

I'm also pissed that after all this, H'sMa decided to make Taco Bake tonight instead.


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