Holy Mary Mother of the Market Basket

I headed to the Basket a little before 11:30 today, after having a bit of a frenetic morning in which I sat on my fanny, then dug through a pile of papers for checks to send to the bank, stamps, and Christmas cards. Also I cleaned the kitchen a little, and tried not to beat myself up too much for letting the ADD get the better of me.

Unfortunately I forgot we were getting a foot of snow tomorrow. But nobody else in Somerville did, because they were all at the grocery store! Good God almighty. I ended up waiting in an endless line of cars in the parking lot for, I don't know, five to ten minutes? And this is a tiny, tiny parking lot. Then some lady unloads her groceries into her minivan and it's right next to me and I think, great! And I put on my blinker.

Then someone coming in the other direction stopped and made like she was going to take the spot, well after I had staked it. So I rolled my window down and stinkeyed her into next Tuesday. She left. But then the minivan lady just sat in her car. WTF!

It was at this point that I took some deep breaths and decided that I needed groceries, I was going to get groceries, and I was going to have to just suck it up. I drove around the lot a little more, and found a space. Then I made my way through the madding crowds, waited in a looooooooooooonnnnnnggggggggg line, and did my best to be courteous. I smiled at people. I gave the Salvation Army bell ringer a 20 because that's all I had in my wallet.

When I got home, well, I still felt like I needed a cigarette, but I didn't hate myself. And that, folks, is the power of Jesus.

Why thank you, elderly man in the Somerville Market Basket, for brightening a dreary day

I needed groceries and a challenge and so off to the Somerville Market Basket I went. It was at about the right level of craziness for an early Saturday evening, and as I was checking out the broccoli crowns an elderly gentleman to my right leaned in and said "You know, these are great for keeping your hair from falling out and stopping it from going gray."

Naturally what little hair he had was nearly white. I told him it looked like the broccoli was working. Then he said to me "Oh, I used to eat salads but they take so much work. Now I just eat a little of this, plus some turnips and cut up carrots. It's wonderful. Of course you can't convince anyone under the age of 30 of this...except for you."

Pooped

I am wicked tired. I'm even too tired to find a funner way to say I've been burning the candle at both ends. Yesterday I was up at 7:30, went to the gym, did my catsitting duties, picked up a prescription refill, waxed (yee-ouch and it was a new DIY brazilian wax kit -- who in God's name would choose to do that at home without some Demerol and a ball gag is beyond me. I just did the inner thighs), met a dear friend and had a picnic on Cambridge Commons and a moment of grace unlike anything I've experienced in more than 10 years. Which is quite significant. And which I want to recognize now but write about later.

Then I met another friend downtown for shopping, only it turns out I have 18 dollars in the bank and I need to get cat food and another prescription and groceries and, ah, fuck me. I took some money out of my savings account, which I didn't want to do, but I wanted to ask for it from somebody else less. I do still feel like I'm on the right path and I am working so g-d hard and I trust that it's all going to be OK because I am going to make it OK.

Anyhoo, got home from shopping late as they are busing on part of the T and then went to Market Basket which at 8 on a Saturday night is perhaps only 75 percent as full of batshit crazy people as usual. But I got some nice blueberries! Then I came home and talked to OSB and made a big chicken sandwich and watched Thank You For Smoking, which was a fine flick. And then I went bed. To arise today at 7:45, get the paper, run, do laundry, do the dishes, change the catbox, wish happy father's day to PP who commented on the fact that it was his broke child calling and then when I said he was a great dad he said "great. they can put that on my headstone."

Then it was back to feed the cat again, put the laundry on the fire escape to dry, get ready for book club, pick the dry laundry out of the bushes after it blew off the fire escape, try to pick up at least one part of my apartment so it isn't all a dump, which makes me nutty, and worry worry worry about going to Martha's Vineyard for this conference on Thursday.

Oh and I put my air conditioners in. And had a wee pity party after I couldn't get the one in my bedroom to turn on. First it was the plug. Then it was the plastic knob, which broke last year but I taped it but no longer did it work. So then I was on to plastic knob number two. It fucking broke. Then I tried one of my heater knobs. Didn't work. I was hot, dirty, and pissed. Went to the basement and got a clothespin. It didn't work. Went to the dollar store and bought needle nose pliers (which, M-f'er, were MORE than a dollar). They didn't work either. Gave up. Went to book club. Ate lots of meat.

And now I'm home. Thank Christ and God and Our Lady of Guadelupe, I was able to turn on the A/C in the bedroom. Despite all my bitching I'm really A-OK and feeling fine. I'm quite excited by the freelance work that's come my way and I'm pondering a change and really feeling that I'm in a good space and headed towards a better one.

So peace out to you all and to the Dads, (like you, sir loins, whose daughter is lucky to have you.)
and you, PP, who doesn't read my blog, but who I admire and love tremendously and am so proud of and so grateful for, Happy Father's Day.

(and now I realize I did not make the same tribute to Mcmumsy on her special day. So the above is ditto for her. Plus extra kudos for enduring natural labor to phoot my ass out into the world.)

The Agony and The Ecstasy...

...of the Market Basket.

So stupid me went to the Basket at one of the busiest times possible -- early on a Sunday afternoon. What can I say? I needed groceries, and I was out late last night at a holiday party, and so my day got started late.

Anyhoo. I mentally prepared myself while driving there...don't get mad...don't get mad...I repeated to myself over and over. And then I was patiently waiting FOR A WHILE for a parking spot and someone stole it from me, right in front of me.

Unbelievable.

I got out of my car and yelled at her. Not a crazy yell, just a "Hey, that wasn't nice" holler. She ignored me. So I called her a bitch. What can I say? Then I got in my car and waited for yet another spot.

I of course felt like an ass for turning nasty, even if it was just for a minute but then when I came out of the Market Basket, I helped an older Greek lady back her car into a parking spot and she was just so happy. "What a beautiful day!" she proclaimed, after smiling and thanking me.

Racy

Sigggggggggggggggh

I'm doing a little deep breathing after spending 3 hours in the hipster coffee shop doing editorial work for the Indian firm (where the person managing me is a VERY freaked out and depressed man who will eventually get a post all his own but whose very presence makes my heart go faster and it is not because I find him attractive) and drinking a GIANT cup of iced coffee, after which I discovered that my car was leaking some sort of smelly fluid from beneath the front passenger side, after which I went to Market Basket and despite it being Saturday night of a holiday weekend, it was an absolute fucking madhouse.

I could feel my brain going all a-googly while I was in line. This was after deftly navigating a parking lot filled with immigrants and angry taxi drivers, twisting my car this way and that and backing up in odd spaces to find a place to park my leaky jalopy, and after navigating aisles crammed with people and after trying to remember my grocery list, which I'd left in the car.

Now I'm cooking dinner -- fettucine with roasted red bell peppers (from a jar), shrimp (frozen), capers (jar again), garlic (from the farmers market) and baby spinach (prewashed) with lemon and romano cheese. Along with working today, I went to the gym and did the aforementioned grocery shopping. Tomorrow is yoga, clean, work, toga party (being thrown by a really nifty woman I met at the party of another nifty woman). I've got to go Google instructions for making a toga out of a bedsheet now.

Oh, and take more deep breaths.

Siggggh.

Have I mentioned lately that I'm lonely?

Flavor Flav

For lunch today I finally tried the ramen noodles given to me by L. They are her favorite and she cannot keep them in the house because as soon as they come in the house they disappear. I am here to tell you they will soon be disappearing from my house as well. Because these are the best ramen noodles that I have ever eaten. They come with three flavor packets! I know, I know--amazing, isn't it?

One is the usual mixture of salt, msg, salt, sodium, and dried up pieces of onion, and salt. The second is chili powder. The third contains a paste which is made of lemon grass, chili, shallot, bergamot leaf, and galingale, among other things. You boil up some water, dump the noodles and the flavor packet contents and water into a bowl, wait three minutes, and you're in heaven.

You're also 53% on your way to getting your daily sodium intake. I think actually my heart rate may be quickening from it at the moment.

After lunch I turned the basil I braved Market Basket at 11 am on a Sunday morning to buy (gave one beeyotch who stole my parking space the finger, bought the NYTimes, but read ABC Soaps in Depth in line--Patch and Kayla are returning to Days! I embarrasingly named one of my Cabbage Patch dolls Kayla, which tells you the last time they were on the air and also that I am an idiot) into some fresh pesto for dinner later. The only issue I consistenly have with the pesto is that I forget just how pungent freshly ground garlic is. I am invariably bitch-slapped by its lily-white manicured hand in each bite of pesto I eat. I do not mind this at all, but the general public might not like the way it makes me smell.

Anyhoo. L is running 5 miles in the gym and then we're meeting on Charles Street to go sit in the park and people-watch. Girlfriend needs her sunshine. Then it's back home to meditate, clean the apartment, write (hopefully) and prepare for the week ahead.

Sartorially Challenged

McMumsy is hosting a luncheon soon for my brother’s fiancées family. Said family is old New England, lovely and refined I am sure (I have not met them but little brother’s fiancée is lovely and refined) and there’s even an elderly grandma for my elderly grandma to spend time with. Trouble is, my elderly grandma is not big on wearing fancy clothes. Or bras, for that matter. We’ve all tried (well, I’ve sort of tried), for years, to get her to change her polyester-pants and pilled-stained-inherited-from-her-dead-friend-Josephine-blouse-wearing ways but she is one stubborn woman who dresses in whatever the hell she wants. Which is often an ancient outfit with a certain joie de bag lady feel.

But you can’t bring a bag lady to meet the in-laws. So a-shopping we will go. It should be an interesting trip. I’ve tended to be the one who feeds her addiction for inappropriateness, taking her on combo Goodwill/Market Basket shopping trips where I agree with her on what a bargain the horrible pants are/hold the bag open while she drops the jelly doughnuts in. I think this might partly be why I am her favorite. (It might also be because I once removed an engorged tick from her breast, but that’s a story for, well, that’s a story for never, now, isn't it.)

Anyhoo, if anyone has any suggestions for where to shop for a nearly 90 year old woman, I’d love to hear them. Because I feel like the upper end for Talbot’s is your sixties. After that, where do you go?

tweet tweet tweet twitter tweet

That would be the sound of the wee birdies circling my head today as I waited in line at the Market Basket, still feeling sickly, and utterly absorbed in the latest issue of US Weekly. Who did wear that black Balenciaga best? Ashlee Simpson? Or Demi Moore? Oh, let me take a closer look. Hmmmmmm...

I look up from my reverie and realize that the cashier at the next register has been trying to get my attention for awhile now. She's just opened up and I get to be next in line. She's smiling nicely and so are some other customers. I am sure they are all thinking "Look at the dingbat with the pink cheeks and the blonde pigtails. It must be fun to be so oblivious."

It is.

I love head colds.

It's a three-pot night...

...on the McPolack stove. I am making shrimp in a lemon/parsley/garlic/butter/olive oil sauce with tortellini, and a side of steamed broccoli. I braved the Market Basket again today, where parsley was just 89 cents for enough to garnish the plates of an army and where I was hit upon by a man wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day who was walking a very muscular pit bull. The exchange went something like this:

1. McP *watching pit bull and thinking "gee, that is a very large pit bull. I hope that guy isn't breeding him to fight other dogs."*

2. Pit bull owner, in Spanish accent: "I like whales." Said in as dirty a manner as such a phrase can be said, and it's dirtier than you think. Was in reference to the whale on my license plate.

3. McP "That's fabulous!"

4. PBO: "Thank you. I know."

5. McP *gets in her car*

6. PBO *saunters away walking ginormous pit bull while waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatching McP get in her bitchin' Honda.*

I was wearing my new Wonderbra, which I got for only 7.99 at Marshall's. I got a lot of looks in the produce department, too. We can all figure out what the joke is there.

Why McPolack and Whole Foods shouldn't mix

1. Because, at least in the Arlington one, the parking lot turns her into an uberbitch.
2. Because she spent, today, 75 American dollars, basically on lunch.

Okay, so I got some fancy cheeses and good bread and crackers and salad and nursing mother tea for a visit to my friend OSB and her new baby, which will take place this Saturday. I also bought some 11 dollar a pound blue something or other coffee because it was roasted this morning and smelled so good (and it was harvested by the fascinating people of Batak) and somehow I spent nine dollars at the salad bar, nine dollars that will be passing through my digestive tract within the hour.

But the bakery man double-wrapped the bread and let me know how to keep it fresh until Saturday (freeze it, then partially defrost and heat in the oven for a few minutes at 375) and the nine dollar salad is going to be dee-licious and, dagnabbit, OSB has bought me innumerable lunches over the years I've known her and I really ought to buy out the whole store, just for her.

Next week, it's back to the Market Basket with me. But for now, I am looking forward to lunch!

God Do I Love The Market Basket

Did a grocery shopping run to the Somerville Market Basket this morning. It's always busy and I have yet to go on a weekend, when I am sure it is an absolute disaster. There's sawdust all over the floor and a whole aisle of Goya brand food and stuff from Brazil and a league of nations walking through the aisles. I had a nice conversation with an elderly gentleman in the checkout line about the pharmaceutical industry. He's always calling his representative to give his opinion. His wife is on two kinds of nasal sprays and one of them costs 150 dollars alone. He was impressed by all the vegetables I was buying.

My family has a long and proud history with the Basket. I remember going in with my Grandpa after he'd had his stroke. The only words he re-learned were Jesus Christ Almighty, Fuck You, and No. He wanted to buy a big jar of pickled pigs' feet so he pointed at them and grunted. Then he gave me a whiskery smile when I grabbed them for him. I also remember him eating oatmeal rather sloppily. He was kind of a bastard, but that's a story for another day.

I also used to take my Babcia shopping there once a week when I lived with her. She'd zoom around with her grocery cart buying all sorts of crap, like Coffee Nips and jelly doughnuts. She would actually rub her hands together in glee in front of the dougnut case. I used to lose her in the store with some frequency, because it was filled to the brim with stooped-over white-haired ladies pushing carts.

Dr. Moo worked at the Basket in high school as a cashier and my brother was a grocery boy. Lots of girls from the store used to call my brother, as he was a particularly handsome grocery boy. When they called and my father answered the phone he'd say to my brother "It's another Market Basket ho." The Basket is also famous for chasing down shoplifters. At my home store, in Londonderry, NH, blue-jacketed grocery boys used to fly down from the office, leap over the dairy cases, and chase them out the door to tackle them in the parking lot.

But the best part about the Basket by far is that you can get a whole lotta groceries including a big bag of frozen shrimp, yummy organic cookies and a bunch of double-a's for your battery-eating Walkman for only 67 dollars.