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November 15, 1999

I Need Meds....STAT!

Argggggghhhh!   Ahhhhh....... <sputtering>

Grant me the serenity not to beat the crap outta the next person who....well....just grant me the serenity not to beat the crap out of just about everyone.  I need it.  

Okayyyyy.  Happy face.  See?  I'm smiling.

Can you believe the Smoking Man is Mulder's father?  Ack.  Yes, I am an X-phile.  Big ol' stupid X-File.  I missed the first episode of the season so if anyone has it on tape, please mail me a prepaid copy for no renumeration whatsoever. Thanks. Better yet, David??  If you happen to read this?  Send me a copy of the script.  I created a page for you!  I deserve it!  

I've had a cramp in my neck for a week now.  A seven day cramp.  What the heck is up with that?  I tried having the hubby rub it out for me today.  <insert token chortle here>  What is it with men and rubbing?  You would have thought he was drilling for oil.  I feel worse now after the rub than I did before.  So in an effort to rectify this, I have NEW PILLOWS! Wooo hoooo!  Life is good....I have something new.

Today is a day to gripe.  A day to complain.  And with that, I offer you this.

On my last trip to the grocery store, I made my way to the Express Lane check out with my handful of items and was thrilled to find myself behind yet another woman who still believes that if they are twenty of the same item, say twenty boxes of cereal, it still just counts as one.

"Pardon me. You know, you are really over the allotted item limit there."

With an attitude somewhat akin to a fire-breathing dragon she shoots back, "Buzz off."

At this point I am scanning the impulse rack for something to beat her with. Can she not see I have been shopping with four children? Can she not see that I am prone to violence based on this factor alone? I ponder impaling her eardrum with a fruit roll up. Perhaps I could take one of those small horoscope books and paper cut her to death. Then I can take the salt from my cart and rub it in her wounds.

"Honestly, now. This really is an express line. Why can't you just move to your proper checkout?"

She now requests of me something that, until this very moment, had been reserved for the sanctity of my marriage. Then she turns her back to me once more.

What is it with these people nowadays? It used to be that you could run a mile in your stocking feet and maybe, if you were lucky, bump into one asshole. Now it seems wherever you turn they are just waiting to get in your line, cut you off in traffic, or mentally push you to your highest level of insanity.

Easing myself past this big fat cow the size of a small jetliner, I reached into her cart and, much to her surprise, extracted a box of breakfast cereal.

"There are nineteen items in here," I pointed out. "That is ten over what you are able to have."

Shaking the box above my head, I squeezed it with both hands and the cardboard popped, showering us with wheat-flakes until we both looked like we had been participants in a Toast-Osty parade. Once done with that, I grabbed three loaves of bread in a deft strike and choked and strangled them until they resembled alcohol-shrunken livers.

"People like you make me really really angry!" I shouted, as I jumped up and down on a flank steak.

As I drop kicked her can of mandarin oranges over towards the bakery section, she shuttled her cart away as if fearing for her very life. As well she should have.



Unless otherwise specified, all material
Copyright 1999 by
Marijke Hildreth



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