Saturday, December 17, 2005

The Wintertime Blahs

Warning: The definition of Blah is to feel bad. However, it starts with a b, so ,Jenn uses her blah feelings as a reason to bitch. Not that she actually needs one. Long ass bitch session to follow.

The cartoon is called Invader Zim. Maybe I have the alien flu or somthing. Whatever it is, I feel like ick. I have a fever, I'm congested, coughing, sniffling, sneezing, etc. I sound like the before person on a Nyquil commercial! Gah! *coughs* I wonder if this puter can catch this virus? *spritzes with the Lysol, just in case* Pause.. *coughs up kidney from the spraying of the Lysol*

Anyhoo, I got an xray. Well, I was told in not so many words to go away and take my plague ridden ass far far from them all. Yes, I was lynched. However, I had to go grocery shopping, there was no food in my house(according to my hubby the hawg) But, he'd decided that seein how I am the sweetest of all wives (haaaa! snort.. *coughs*) he wanted to take me out to eat. *blink* I am sick, I can taste nothing at all, therefore, being Rednecks of the Cajun persuasion we decide on Mexican. This is based on the premise that hot ass food will kill any and all germs, open up your pores and allow the ill humors to be leeched from you body. Ok, so, that aint how Meemaw put it, but you get my drift.

So, here we are, in an area eatery. When asked smoking or non, I reply, smoking. Oh, shut the hell up! I am sick, yes, I am! I don't want to hear how bad ciggies are for me. I can tell you this, you tellin me how bad they are for me is much more hazardous to YOUR health. So, chill out, smoke a ciggie, it will help ya relax, honest. Well, they lead us to the back forty, otherwise known as the smoking section. I sit down and immediately realize its about 40 degrees in this damn place. I ask if we can move, promising that I will not light up my damn cancer stick until I reach the confines of my vehicle. The only other two patrons laugh and say sarcastically. "Too damn cold for ya huh hon?" *cocks brow* Their lips are blue whilst pursed round their Marlboro 100's. Fortunately before I get a chance to answer, we are moved...


To the flippin Leper section!! It isn't cold, but its quiet, too quiet. I'm quite sure this is the part of the restaurant where someone was hanged or shot or some eerie business. I'm eating my chips and salsa wondering if I'm next. The tv is tuned to the National Geo. Channel, too, another ominous sign? Yeah, the animal documentary is on, there is a big ass huge snake eatin some equally big ass huge bird. Do they think they can kill the appetite of not one but two master gourmands? Well, think again, darling. I'm scarfin the salsa n chips, and I make the comment to the hubby, "This stuff aint even hot today, mmph." All proud of the fact that I've not gulped down half my Diet coke.

He gasps out an answer and I look up to see sweat on his brow and his eyes are bugged out. Immediately I think OMG Zombie's done et Bill's legs. Preparing to launch myself out of the booth.

What? Honey, I don't have to run faster than the zombies, I just gotta run faster than YOUR ass if they are after us. Then I see him pointing at the salsa. "Yes.. it is hot. You are insane." He finally gets out. I happily shrug and pretty much drink my salsa. (erm, for future reference, don't do this dumbass shit. just cause you can't taste it, don't mean you won't FEEL it later on in the evening.) So, with large brass boobs, I am the great Redneck spicy food champeen, I continue to be a dumbass.

Then, they bring the cheese (ooh slurp drool yes) and we eat and yumm yumm yumm. Then the food. I have fajitas w/shrimp, chicken and beef combo. I aint a pig, its called carry out, I am a future meal planner. So, we eat, and share off each others plates, etc. Then this kid comes running in and out and in and out yelling at some freaking old barn door at the end of the booths, screamin about a scary lady (oh shit! freakin scary? wah? *shrugs* I have salsa, I will dash it in her eyes and run like hell. It burns! It burns! I imagine so, cow, JALAPENOS!! YEHAW!)

Since, they've pissed me off, they aint getting a tip. I am a good tipper, I was a cook and a waitress and I know how that shit is. But they've shit in their financial nest if they think they're getting their 15% from this pissed off chicky that was froze out of the smoking lodge.

Then, it hits. The tummy cramp to end all tummy cramps. I haven't even eaten a third of the fajitas.

Dear Lord in heaven, Habanaro is not thy name, Thy Kingdom come, on earth as it is in pepper chili head heaven.

GAH! Suddenly I recall a salient fact. I haven't eaten since the night before. And that was a simple bowl of hot an sour soup (sensing a theme?) I have no coating on my poor abused stomach, I mean, I'm the lil girl that ate longhorns at my daddy's knee. I have a jar of jalapenos stockpiled in case of emergencies. Salsa is good on black eye peas, mm and a multitude of other things. Pepper sauce is on every table for as far as the eye can see. This aint Cajun Country yall, it's more Hot Sauce in the City.

So, I wince. Hubby freaks and goes to pay the bill while I pile my leftovers into a handy dandy container for private consumption. (near my toilie is the operative term here) He comes back with a frown on his face.

He waits til we're in the car to inform me that we were grossly overcharged. Hubby is nonconfrontational. I am too, usually. However, if he's learned nothing else in our 8 years of marriage, it's this: A sick Jenn will hurt you. She will cut you all the while smiling maniacally and giggling an insane clown giggle that is akin to nails screaming down a chalkboard.

I get a fever and I am pretty much out of my gourd. I go a bit off, get rabid, I lose my volume control and shit happens. Think Tequila and lots of it. I'm drunk, in other words. I don't drink, at all, alcohol interferes with some meds I take so, I am a tee totaler. However, you can be fever drunk, don't think ya can't.


Then, he stupidly takes me into the Walmart. Please note, this place and I have shared a long and varied history littered with, if not bodies, then words, foot stomps, purposeful product misplacement (on both our parts. Yeah, I am just petty enough to stick can goods into the men's shoes.) and bitching, ranting, and raving about crap from the temp in the store (too hot) My theory is that it's next door to a hellmouth, that's why its so damn hot there, hence the name of HellMART! *scary echo here* Bloody concubines of the devil go sashaying down the aisle in their satanic red vests. You think they are there to help. Well think again, oh innocent Hellmart Virgin. Ye shall be sacrificed to the gods of commerce on an alter that has tasted the blood of millions. The term squeezing blood from a turnip comes to mind, and YOU just fell off the turnip truck baby!

I tell you this in all honesty: I love kids (long as I aint gotta deal w/em for long periods of time) I like old peeps (long as I aint gotta deal w/em for long periods of time) I love people, well, you get my drift. However, don't bring your ADD, Hyperass/badass/loudass/freakozoid chaps up in the damn store and let them run around like chickens with their heads cut off. I can't see them if they are short, they are apt to be run over 'accidentally' by my shopping cart. Aw.

And if you are old, don't get in that damned chair and canoodle around the Walmart like a Sunday driving twit with all the time in the world. Your asses are retired, I have a job, I'm jealous in the first place. Plus you're draining all the Medicare I pay in by living your life of leisure.. that's two strikes. I will take your old geriatric ass out, get the hell outta my way!

If your ass is larger than 2 ft wide, place it either to the left or the right of the aisle. Do NOT put it out in the center so I can't get around it. I will take your ass out! I have can goods, they are potential weapons of mass destruction. The mass bein your ass when I shove these green beans right on up there! *growls*

Then there was Books A Million. Book Nazi has the flu! HAAAA! *shakes ass at her* *coughs*

Nobody died, this time. There is always next time though.. in the JennZone. Yeah, that music is scary, but then again, so am I!

1 comment:

Karen said...

Somehow that rant was even crazier in writing than when I heard it over the mic. Damn. Don't mess with the Jenn, Sick or otherwise.