Sleep is such a waste of time, that's why I don't anymore.



February is here and oh what joy it brings. For some of us it signals a time of remembrance for the struggles of African slaves and their descendents here stateside (because simply helping build this country into what it is, for FREE isn’t enough of an accomplishment) and for others it brings the one day a year we can be reminded blatantly of just how lonely we all are. And for those of us who fall into both of these categories (why’re you lookin’ at me?), thank the lord it’s only 29* days long. Ironically enough the 29th of February is the only other day besides my own birthday I’d like to have been born on. My astrological sign suits me well but only having a true Birthday quadrennially would be awesome.

So today was my first day of work. Not a bad gig. I show up around 8. Pull out the bleachers Wait for the teams and refs to show up, then sit back and wait for the games to end. Pretty, straightforward stuff. The only things to worry about are the parents…Boy oh boy the parents. These parents come out for their third and fifth grade student’s basketball games and act like they’re at the Final Four. Now to be clear I don’t think there’s ever a time that parents should be negatively vocal except for High school Varsity playoffs games...Playoffs only. And only then, when the safety of their children is at stake. Before that age is too young, and after that age is too old. So saying they act like it’s the Final Four doesn’t mean I condone parents of actual Final Four Attendees berating the officiating crew but it does show that the parents I work with take things a tad too seriously.

I left around noon to take a lunch break and being that Oregon never lets too much urban development happen at once (I can almost hear the city planner saying, “we’ve gotta be careful, this might start looking like the 21st century if we ain’t careful) I drove a good distance along what appeared to be an Alpaca farm before I happened upon a grocery store. Now I know the Superbowl is tomorrow and I realize most patrons of a grocery store on the Superbowl eve are there for the sales but while I was standing staring at the rack of Hostess cupcakes I heard this, “Hey man are you looking for the wings that are on sale?”

Now anyone who knows me knows I’m polite to a fault publicly, but you also know then that in my head I’m quite hotheaded. Anger consumes me and at this moment my reply was short but not terse or rude. Simply, “No, I’m not.” To which he replied, “Ok well if you were here they are.” He motioned to the butchers ice counter fully stocked with cuts of meat and yes, a bowl of fully bathed buffalo style chicken wings. (what shortage?) Now this month is black history month as I’ve stated and with that being said people in my position do tend to be on a high alert. Our spidey-sense towards all that is borderline offensive is peaked almost subconsciously. So I stand there wondering how on earth this man decided that me staring at some damn Little Debbies meant I was really looking for hot wings. But unlike many of my outwardly hotheaded brethren, I decided this was just a keen attempt at salesmanship. Yet and still the moment replayed in my head instantly about 5 times. And each time I asked myself was he really trying to sell me these on sale wings, perhaps they weren’t selling quite as well as hoped, perhaps he thought it was a good deal and wanted to clue me in. Either way my only goal was just to assure myself there was some reason he looked at me and decided I wanted wings without asking, and that his reason was a palatable one, because at first glance it didn’t seem likely this was the case.

I wandered off however, as I have often been known to do, and continued to search out what I was truly in search of…the fried chicken.

I’m kidding. I was actually looking for something to eat for lunch but since I’m cutting out as much refined sugar as possible this year in an attempt to eat healthier, the eye level stack of tasty cakes stopped me dead in stride and perhaps it was that sugar lusting stupor that kept me from being fully engulfed in anger. No matter, because I found the lunchables and the string cheese and I was off before I had time to give it a second thought. I realize I just alluded to a whole other issue which can best be described as latent anti-oppressive anger, but my thoughts on that won’t appear here anytime soon. Suffice it to say this is so minor, I was over it by the time I saw the lunchables next aisle over.

I have to give a shout out to the moms and dads who have the “front butt” as it were. I hope and pray we find a way to fight obesity in America. These folks get props though, bringing their children to be physically active while they sit by and cheer. Maybe it’s too late for mom and dad but getting their kids up and around is a noble cause. Also I’d be remiss not to shout out all the MILF’s who swung by today. Your stares made me uncomfortable but it’s good to know I was able to brighten your rainy Oregon day and if I were not contractually bound to provide this service to your children perhaps we could be friends of a less than platonic nature?

Shouts to all my pregnant women who have men that don’t open doors for them. WTMF!?! “Where they do that at?”-I'd elaborate but all I'll say is MULTIPLE pregnant women opened their own damn doors today with hubby right behind her. Jerks.

Extra Double Secret probation Shouts to my people at Yoplait. I had a damn Cinna’Bun flavored, thick and creamy style, yogurt for lunch. It had 100 calories and ZERO fat. FTMFW!

If you’re still reading I would like to say that, yes I do realize, I’ve used “Ain’t” and “quadrennial” in the same post…and for that I apologize. The grammar here today has been atrocious. For your trouble, if you end your comment with apology accepted, I’ll send you a secret video link to the most Inspirational Video EVER.

WTMF= What the mutha’fuck?

FTMFW= For the mutha’fuckin Win!

MILF= Very nice lady.

2 comments:

  1. Hey man...dont you play for them Harlem Globetrotters?

    ReplyDelete