2003-03-03

According to the box of Thin Mints (an irony that is not lost on me) the girl comes first in Girl Scouts. Which is probably true. I�m sure that the boy comes first in Boy Scouts as well, but that�s more because of lack of experience than technique or anything.

Oops, sorry. That was a minion of hell coming to mark me for life.

So, yeah. I like the Girl Scout cookies. I had left the boxes in the office over the weekend, which was a good thing, as they would have all been eaten. It was still not a completely Scout free weekend where cookies are involved, as I picked up a box at the grocery store. The Somoans. Oh, but those are good. The roommate also brought home some shortbread ones.

It was a bad food weekend all around. I basically ate whatever and whenever I wanted, and did very little exercise. By very little, I put on some trendy workout wear (Adidas pull away track pant, Bridge to Bridge t-shirt, and a North Face liner, pulled together by a coordinating cap) and went to Starbucks where I blended with EVERY OTHER MALE. It was a bit strange. A perfect disguise at any trendy coffee shop in a city with a large urban population. I read the paper and then went home to change. Did some laundry. Read a little bit. Watched a movie. It was all that banal.

Yes, unfortunately, my life is that dull.

I went to Trader Joes on Saturday night, mainly to get out of the house. I wanted to get some Cashews and also they have really great soup mixes. While perusing the drink aisle, the stock boy commented on the music coming over the satellite, calling it the Worst of the 90�s (They were playing Annie Lenox�s noxious hit No More I Love You�s) His name was Mitch and was quite possibly the most stoned person I have ever seen functioning in public. At first it seemed strange to be discussing such former hits as Breakfast at Tiffany�s by Deep Blue Something or whether the Gin Blossom�s should have been a one hit wonder (and actually, I consider theme as such) while the intercom kept blaring Mitch, come up to the front please. I commented that they were calling for him. �Yeah, � he drolled, his pink eyes and vacant expression belying the knowledge of satellite piped music �They are always doing that�. He ambled off and I continued my shopping. When I got to the front I avoided his check out line, but he free�d up before the line I had chosen, and it just seemed strange to wait while he was just standing there, staring off into space (to Soul Asylum�s Runaway Train which I found oddly amusing) so I moved a checkout stand over and had him ring me up. We discussed how the store used to play hits that were on our local alternative station and once they played The Pixies even (They always play Here Comes your Man. It�s a good song, but they�ve had better) This led to a discussion of how the older Pixies stuff was so much better with it�s raw sound and how the albums released now are all remixed in the studio to sound polished and Pop like. Who knows where this conversation might have led, to what bonding experiences Mitch and I might have experienced but luckily an unpleasant lonely woman rapidly going to fat with a load of wine and Trader Joe frozen entr�e�s was impatiently waiting, allowing me to escape sans new best friend. I actually felt a bit sorry for her, alone on a sorry night with nothing better to do than buy groceries. Then the full weight of the irony of the situation came crashing down on me and I had to laugh. It was better than crying.

Sunday I didn�t leave the house until the afternoon, mainly to just get away from the roommate. I wandered about downtown, sipping a latt� and enjoying the beautiful weather.

And now I�m back at work doing my best to avoid the damn cookies.

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