super whatever

04-24-00

All John has to say about the West Side Story Gap ads:

It must suck to be that trumpet player. Every time he sees a Gap ad on TV (which is every FUCKing time he turns on the TV,) he has to hear that fatass frack in "Cool". Then he thinks, "God, they HAD to use the take where I fracked."

John left for TDY today, not coming back till Saturday. I got off work around 11, came home, made a few employment-type phone calls (no luck) and worked out. Then I went to Becky and Anna's to feed the cats-and-pigs. Went to a bar and drank too much beer, then went to the new Super WalMart and impulse-shopped.

The WalMart was a bit disappointing, but I knew it would be. Traditional WalMart stores are like K-Mart, or any other discount department store. Super WalMart is supposedly the born-again WalMart, the second time around, the Big One, 32 Flavors And Then Some version of WalMart. Basically, they added a full grocery store. Seems like a big deal, and everyone in town has been jizzing ever since the word got out that our WalMart was going "Super". To me it's nothing. In Michigan we have what's called Meijer Thrifty Acres, big department store with big grocery section, and we've had it for 20 years. I thought maybe Super WalMart would be different, but I was wrong. Ah well. WalMart's prices seemed to be a little lower, but I can't really say because they're still having grand opening sales.

All the Easter stuff is on clearance. The store opened five days ago and already there are big carts of clearance shit all over the front aisle. That's WalMart for you.

I had another bone to pick with WalMart—I got dissed on the job opportunity I applied for last week. I know, it's WalMart and everything. The new store has a "band instruments" department, really a contracted space that's filled by a private company. I faxed my resume on a Friday, and they called me on Monday. I returned their call about four minutes after they left a message (I was in the shower) and nobody picked up the phone. For two days. I tried off and on, and when they finally answered on WEDNESDAY, the guy told me they'd hired some high school kids, but I should apply anyway because they have a high turnover. Great. Thanks.

So I feel free to say that it was WalMart where I was applying, and where I have no intention of working. Incidentally, when I first called the company on that Friday, the woman who answered the phone said, "Oh, great, we'll be interviewing down there in marijuana—I mean, Warner Robins—on Monday!" No kidding. She actually said "marijuana." She also said that the store would carry: "You know, flutes...and guitars, and stuff...."

Today I just happened to walk past the band instrument cubbyhole in Super Walmart. Not even my three-pint buzz could take away the humor in a row of ten guitars and a rack of cheap drumsticks. Ha ha HA ha ha. "So glad I don't work HERE," I was thinking, "and boy, do I have to piss!"

Karmically, the nearest women's room was closed for cleaning. I sprint-walked to the back of the store with a couple of elderly ladies in pink plaid, who were oddly spry for their age. WalMart, the Southern fountain of youth.

I wandered the aisles of WalMart, fondly remembering the good old days of shopping drunk. (There was this one time, back in college, when my friends Eric and Erin and I went to Meijer Thrifty Acres in the middle of the night and bought these three items: Stoned Wheat Thins, Baked Tostitos, and Heavenly Hash ice cream.) I came outta WalMart with a CD rack for the computer desk, a bag of Almond Joy bites, one laminated placemat featuring a map of the US, and a bottle of sparkly-green iridescent nail polish. Now I have green fingernails and a tummyache, and I'm wondering what I was thinking with those other two things.

Other things I accomplished today: ordered contacts on the phone (gotta do something, since my script sunglasses are gone,) made an appointment for a pelvic exam (woo hoo, look for an entry on May 16th, everybody!) and worked out. Did I already mention that? It was insane. The only regular exercise I've had in a while is tennis. I walk or run every now and then, and I work out sporadically, but mostly I've been doing the tennis thing.

There are people out there (I could call them, collectively, by the completely random name Schmecky) who don't think tennis is a good workout. I've noticed lately that my scrubs bag out in places where they used to be snug. I stepped on the scale yesterday and found that I've lost several pounds, and I can assure y'all that I have not been eating well at all. With the financial things we have going on, and with my recent re-conversion to semi-vegetarianism, I've been eating a lot of crap and shit.

Not only crap, but also shit!

Anyway, I thought the gains from tennis were minimal, caused by my previous extreme out-of-shape-ness, until I hopped on the cross-trainer today and went to town. I was the shit on the cross-trainer. The last time I got on a cross-trainer, I went for, like, three minutes and I huffed like a hippo. Today I wanted to keep going after the beepy thing signaled I was done. I had balls left over to kick my own ass on the ab machines. And then I went and filled in all that new space in my scrubs with pale ale.

So there, Schmecky. When am I gonna see your "running is the only way to lose weight" ass on the court?