Free Form Angries

iris
Originally uploaded by mygothlaundry

It was all I could do not to shoot everyone at the supermarket last night. This is why gun control laws are so helpful in the maintenance of an orderly and regulated society: if I had had a gun in my purse, there'd be like fifty people dead. And I'd be happy. Shrieking with laughter, spouting biblical verses in long dead desert languages, shaking like an epileptic at a rave happy, but, yeah, happy. Or some kind of form of happy that is unknown to me now but no doubt better than any of the varieties of happy I currently have access to. The kind of happy where you're really getting along well with your god and the voices in your head are cooing approval. Sometimes I think I could use more of that kind of happy. If it takes shooting up the West Asheville Ingles, well, I'm down with that.

Yeah, I'm a bitch. Honestly, though, it was insanely crowded and there's no snow on the horizon, so WTF? There were the usual Haywood Road Ingles Players performing their Supermarket Blues routine, from the shrieking small children to the pregnant teenagers to the WIC check ladies to the entire giant Neptunian family of hugely fat women with incredibly beautiful shiny hair to the yuppie chicks buying cheap wine and expensive meat to the perfect West Asheville ecologically aware young family with the bazillion dollar stroller and the perfect clothes to the hippies with dreadlocks bigger than they are and a big papaya, all in line, all impatient and everything set to the tune of beep, beep, bing, bing and the Cranberries, always the Cranberries, in the background on the Muzak. And leeks, which you can only get organic since they're fancy, are SIX DOLLARS: no leeks for me ever again. RIP my leek based diet. Ah well.

Sometimes I can handle this shit and even enjoy it and sometimes, like last night, it wears on me. The cashier was pretty and dumb as a post; the bag boy was even dumber: the cashier was trying to pick him up and he didn't quite seem to be getting it. That was mildly entertaining even though I am evil and all I could think was, look, the two of you are just not the sharpest knives in the shed, kids, so for gods' sake, don't breed with each other. Find someone with a more than 2 digit IQ to have a kid with. After all, the smart guys end up with the stupid girls anyway, just like the tall guys go for the short chicks and the tall, theoretically smart women end up alone with multiple dogs and homicidal tendencies at the supermarket.

Argh. Yes, I'm feeling sorry for myself. Could you tell? Could ya? I'm a little hair trigger right now. And I feel old and ugly and impossible, unlovable, invisible and I kind of think I should go buy some old lady clothes and start schlumping around town with an enormous pocketbook (got that one already) and a small curly haired dog on a rhinestone leash, muttering to myself. So, where do you buy old lady clothes, anyway? Stein Mart? What do old ladies wear these days? Sweat suits? Nothing is getting me into a sweat suit but I could maybe see a big flowery housedress. Might as well.