grocery shopping

i hate grocery shopping.  you know, the planning, the driving around, the excuses, the time commitment, the letdown, and the eventual leftover baggage.  it's really a big ordeal for me.

first, there's the list-making.  you have to determine what you need and what you want.  or you can just go in cold: you'll know what you want when you get there.  some of us only think ahead for the week-- short-term fixes--while some can plan ahead for years.  then there's the temptations once you're shopping, what looks (and sometimes smells) appealing but you know it's not good for you.  food like that usually goes straight to your hips.  or just leaves you with a tummy ache and heartburn.

then, you have decide where to go.  somewhere large that's well-stocked but the quality is questionable?  perhaps a smaller, local market where you have to wear the right clothes and are judged by what you leave with?  or maybe just a quick drop-by wherever is convenient?  sometimes you just never know.  or maybe you're the type that shops with a friend to make the trip more exciting.  i prefer the solo excurisions, personally.

if you're like me, the excuses soon start piling up though.  often, i decide to make the effort tomorrow.  afterall, i can't starve the rest of my life.  but, the day wears me down, i decide i'm too tired, i'm not in the right mindset to deal with people and options, so i decide to go another time.  that's when you start making bad choices: you start grab-buying, anything sounds good enough, and sooner than later you start resenting grocery shopping even more.

eventually, you'll make it to the grocery store with list in hand (or head) and you begin.  maybe you start at the produce section-- full of fresh choices and implied expiration dates.  healthy carrots? no. refreshing cucumbers? no. tall celery? sure.  so there you are, eyeing the celery.  the newest stock is presented in the front; the older, been-around-a-while celery is moved to the back to either expire or be selected later by more forgiving eyes.  maybe you look for a slim package, light-weight but all you really need.  or maybe you prefer stockier stems.  but, be careful which one you choose.  i mean, you can walk around with celery for a while, give it a good squeeze before deciding it's not really right for you.  you might release it where it doesn't quite fit in (perhaps the scattered bulk foods, or the domestic cake-decorating aisle) or your good heart will let it down gently and place it back in its home--unspoiled and hopeful for another chance to be a shopper's desire.  and despite the cruelty, you can leave it at the checkout stand, just seconds away from true commitment before your credit card seals the deal.  however, it's just cruel to take it home and then bring it back-- it may never resell, since other shoppers will prefer new products in case yours has been "damaged."

there are times i return home from grocery shopping with seemingly nothing for all my efforts.  other times, i end up with way more than i expected.  sometimes everything was just perfect and you don't have to go grocery shopping for a while; sometimes you  have to make room; sometimes you forgot something really important.  i am often frustrated.  i envy other shoppers for their efficiency and ability to find exactly what they're looking for.  i am often discouraged, leave the grocery store grumpy and unsatisfied to head home and bask in what little i have from past experiences (leftover tidbits or remnants from a fancy appetizer).  i wonder what other people think of grocery shopping, how often and when they find time and energy.  perhaps this is why i rarely go, prefering instead the short and sporadic attempts at nutrition and sustenance.

i hate grocery shopping.

aren't there better things to do instead?

aaaaand cue lightbulb

Andrea: "the question I hate the most is 'why are you single?' because it's really the question of 'so what's wrong with you?' "

friend:

you're single because guys are like, "heeeeey."






and one girl is like, "ohmigosh someone is talking to me!!!! we are gonna get married!"






and then the bitches are like, "playa, get the fuck out."






but you, you're just like, "whatever....






....I'm gonna go take a picture of myself on my iPhone now."






so that's why.

the goods: inside the box

last week, a customer at work called to chat with the pharmacist. before I could pass the phone off in time, she asked me, "is this the Andrea I know?" which is quite strange considering I have no idea who she knows and doesn't know-- I mean, really. she followed up by saying, "are you Asian? oh, i'm sorry I said that. I hate calling people that. it puts you in a box."

then she proceeded to ask me if my family in japan is ok. I mean, totally not a racially-charged question.

today, the pharmacist walked by, handed me a slip of paper that printed after a patient's prescription, and said, "look! an Asian in a box!" way to go, corporate world advertising!









so it DOES happen. there ya go.

AFHV, you got me.

do you ever feel like your life is one consecutive punchline after another?  seriously, if this is candid camera, you can stop taping now. over. waving white flag. done.

some recent tidbits of conversation, for your amusement always.

the "andrea actually IS a banana-- yellow on the outside, white on the inside" confirmation:
customer: are you japanese?
me: no....
customer: what is your background?
me: [struggles] korean.
customer: my daughter-in-law is japanese. but she's full-blown japanese. raised there and everything.
me:oh, that is very cool! [smiles through pain]
customer: you were raised here. i can tell. [winks]
me: [resists temptation to gag]
customer: you are the best possible combination.
me: oh. have a nice day!


the "let's force andrea into an identity crisis" moment, as if finding out i'm no longer a virgo wasn't bad enough:
customer: [looks at my name tag] YOU ARE NOT ANDREA.
me: ummm.... my name is andrea.
customer: I KNOW WHO ANDREA IS AND YOU ARE NOT ANDREA.
me: ummm... my name is andrea too. there is another andrea who works here, but my name is andrea too.
customer: oooooh. ok.


the "ohmigosh, you're right!" lightbulb moment:
my brother: you need to get a boyfriend so you can boss him around and make him drive you everywhere.


the "this is why i should use self-checkout... screw coupons" realization:
me: [proffers employee rewards card to checker]
checker: do you work for [insert company name here]?
me: i do.
checker: what do you do?
me: i'm a pharmacy tech.
checker: that's so amazing! that's so awesome! wow!
me: it's really not that glamorous. really.
checker: oh, but you do such important work.
me: [feeling very uncomfortable with the unsolicited patronizing of selling drugs] it's really not...
checker: i'm so happy for you! that is just so great. you have a great job.
me: [smiles and goes home to cry in shower]


the "hell yes, my job IS great" moment:
me: has he used this medication before? [gestures to mother's small child]
mom: no, he hasn't taken many drugs.
kid: i don't take drugs.
mom: well, yes, this is a drug. it's not illegal though.
kid: I DON'T TAKE DRUGS.
mom: yes, yes, this is a drug.
kid: what.... no.... [facial expression of horror/disappointment/shock ensues]


the "seriously, how does your skull not just give way to the massive empty space where your brain should be?" moment:
me: just print your name and phone number here. [hands over receipt for refund]
customer: anywhere?
me: on the lines here [points with pen to clearly marked lines "customer name" and "phone number"]
customer: just print my name?
me: yes. and phone number.
customer: and phone number?
me: yes.
customer: what do i do?
me: it's ok... just print your name and phone number.
customer: sign my name? where do i sign?
me: PRINT your name, please.
customer: i'll just sign.
me: ok.
customer: and my phone number?
me: [finds happy place]




hoping your days are filled with endless amusement, although perhaps in the form of actual amusement-- like disneyland, wonder-filled biking adventures, or good ol' fashioned TV.

fleeting

right now, I am enjoying my Christmas tree.






right now, I know my career must involve creativity and using my hands. last night's Christmas card-making gusto gave me the biggest sense of accomplishment in a great while.






right now, the scale says I weigh the same yet I feel like a gooey chub ball. so please excuse my self-portrait of just my face... self-esteem is low these days.






right now, I should focus on this message:






right now, I appreciate my dry and corny sense of humor because I will never be bored.






right now, my insides feel kind of like this:






right now, I love tumblr. it's the last thing I look at before bed, one of the first things I see when I wake up, and I find myself sitting on the pot long for longer than usual just scrolling and tapping and saving images.














right now, I am thankful my apartment's landlord keeps our stairs and parking lot relatively ice free. you know one of my greatest fears is falling backwards down a flight of stairs, right?






right now, I think broccoli would be more popular if it would just taste like bacon.






right now, I can't stop listening to Taylor Swift's "speak now" album. it's like the booze-free, more fiddle-ish version of pink!'s "funhouse" album. you should YouTube tay's acoustic version of "haunted."






right now, I'm still depressed after finishing season 2 of joss whedon's "dollhouse" tv series. so amazing. so many "WHAT THE EFF JUST HAPPENED?!!!" moments. I suppose watching all 12 episodes in a row only contributed to the feeling of being sucked into yet another canceled tv show's world. sigh.







right now, I don't know how to separate complicated from simple, realizable from abstraction, motivation from desperation.

but, like always, I'll ride it out. thanks for reading.

like a prism

about a week ago, a customer paid for her prescription with a credit card that had an image of her daughter and her standing in front of a large mountain.  she told me that her capital one card let her choose her own background picture-- and i added "had to choose from a golf ball, forest, or flower" to the long list of reasons why i despise US bank.

and then, i dreamed at length of which image i would choose for my not-going-to-happen bank card that-- according to capital one's website-- would be "unique" like me.  "unique" is such a quaint way to describe me.  i prefer "special," if you must know.

maybe i would pick a classic, cute background design to show my artsy side.

or maybe something to show my angsty/emo side:

or maybe something to show my resclusive but still loves comic strips side:

or something to remind me of my favorite place on earth (besides my bed), patrick's point:

or maybe something to show my soft spot for pandas, especially little fuzzy baby waby pandas:

wow, i can't forget britney from my all-time favorite photo shoot:

what about you, reader? what image would you choose?

new: being nice

I grew up striving for excellence--in a practical way. I tried to dress nicely, develop my talents (music, writing, ranting), and make people around me proud of what I did. I quickly learned that the majority of society does not think this way, which is probably why I have been called a nerd and a bitch more times than "celebrity"
and "sex tape" have been said together.

perhaps my appreciation for excellence and my own neurotic tendency to decline compliments/unwarranted niceness explain why I rarely compliment others. perhaps I tire of dealing with rude people all day. perhaps I don't really believe people perpetuate positivity-- like my extra efforts would mean nothing and cause nothing. anyhow, today I set a goal to deliver 25 genuine compliments. it went a little something like this:

FAIL.

but I tried. really.

actually my day started out with a "hey, buddy!" from my coworker who is always friendly. then the first customer I rang up today said, "you have a beautiful conplexion. it doesn't even look real." guess she didn't notice my age spots. my mom, after enduring my pathetic complaints, asserted, "they are not age spots! they are...freckles you get when you get older." so... basically age spots. see, I told you I negate all compliments.

back to how I tried. I told a lady her name is pretty, another that he smelled nice, and another that they were great for being patient. I told an old man that his glasses made him look stately and sophisticated. I commented on a nail polish color, a necklace, and a purse.

so I tried.

then as I was typing a prescription for a woman's antidepressants, her husband asked me, "what's your last name?"

dude, really?

"ha, well why do you ask?"

"oh, my friend's sister works here. thought it might be you?"

doubtful my brother knows where I work, so I said, "well... it's probably not me."

"is your last name chu?"

my whole life has been filled with "heeey! are you related to the chongs who live in Minnesota?" and "what does moo gu gai pan stand for?" so this question did not phase me.

"no," I replied simply.

"well you look like a chu."

well, you, fatty white boy, look like a dumbass racist. why don't you ask me why I'm not tending a rice field in my silken kimono to buy fish for my kid sister who had her left leg blown off in a land mine? I mean, let's be logical here.

"oh. well. I'm not."

then I remembered I was supposed to be nice. so I smiled politely. and I said, "your kid is cute." it was hanging limply in its backpack on mom, a steady drool drip about to hit countertop. but cute. in a smelly baby thats leaking bodily fluids kind of way.

I said I tried.

summer day 88

I checked in on my little brother today (my parents are out of town) and thought we were going to ride our bikes to happy hour at smoky mountain. found him playing halo and could not be wrenched away from the tv screen. so I went alone. not surprising, all things considered.





yes, this is real--my mom feels compelled to remind my brother to close the freezer door.

at least I got some fresh garden onions out of my trip.





even though I washed my hands 3 times, I can still smell onion. I better stop smelling my fingers though. people might get the wrong impression.

summer day 38

samples from http://www.a1supplements.com where I bought my protein powder. so this is supposed to be appealing? sorry to all you ripped freaks out there.

summer day 15

it's warm enough for me to work on my tan and eat lunch at the same time. I mean, this is gorgeous scenery, isn't it?

may appreciate my love for french fries even more.

starting july 1,2011, hawaii will become the first state to outlaw the consumption of shark fin, according to a yahoo news article entitled, "no more eating shark fin in hawaii after new law" that was posted on yahoo's website approximately 2 hours ago.

the article states that shark fin harvesting has brought the species to near extinction. nearly 89 millions sharks are killed in international waters each year-- AP writer audrey mcavoy claims some fins are lopped off and the carcasses are just dumped in the ocean to rot. the article stresses that both chinese food culture and hawaiian culture include shark fin as a status symbol for those who can afford it ($17 for a cup of shark fin soup) and who ascribe to the worship of ancestral gods and legends. the article highlights both the popularity of shark fin but simultaneously its draw to the elite--"in hong kong, high end [chinese] restaurants can charge $1,000 for premium shark fin" (par. 9)--and chinese food culture loyals. even though the article reports that shark is rather flavorless, the sauces and preparation make the dish enjoyable. shark fin may prevent cancer and may provide other good nutritional benefits, which is one reason why the illegalization of shark fin upsets some people.

i was attracted to the plight of shark fin eaters because i too am an enjoyer of food. i love french fries, gummy worms, and many other empty calorie choices. the thought of a worldwide potato shortage sends me into immediate panic. what would i do without my golden sticks of comfort? like shark fin, french fries provide some nutritional benefit since they are made from vegetables; they are full of fiber and contain no cholesterol. but i understand that i may not be the only enjoyer of this product and could possibly contribute to the cause of its overproduction. as if the ban itself wouldn't be terrible enough, the government would meddle and intervene and establish a law to restrict the sale and consumption of this food item and distract important law makers from more pressing issues at hand-- like instigating world wars and approve low-life lazy hypocrites for medicaid.

enjoy your shark fin, rich people. as if there is no other food item on your ritzy menu that could reasonably satisfy your palate. and swim freely, little sharks, in the depths of the oceans doing whatever it is that you do that deserves protection under the united states government. don't feel guilty for depriving the patrons of kirin restaurant of their "'indulgent activity'"-- i'm sure they will find some other animal to nom on.

meanwhile, i cling tightly to my deep-fried potato wedges; whatever would i do without them.

may find prince that'll-do

Modeled after Jana's Facebook status:

Prince: hey.

Me: hey.

Prince: I am educated, witty, and enjoying doing x, y, and z. I would love to hang out with you but I also want my own space and me-time in our relationship.

Me: awesome. I too am educated, very sarcastic, and silly. Will you be goofy with me?

Prince: absolutely. And I really want to travel and live life so I hope you're not baby-hungry.

Me: no way! I want to see new places with someone I love and create memories. A little mischeif-making is always fun...

Prince: I love that you have a full-time job with benefits and 401k, because I do too!

Me: I love that you have your own place just like me.

Prince: I hope you don't mind that I'm a little mysterious...not the psycho kind. I would never call you a stupid bitch or tell to your friends and family to go fuck themselves and I would never leave you...no matter how mad I get. I would never flake on you just because. My life is an open book; I've made mistakes that I've learned from, and I would never hide anything from you that you need to know.

Me: I can be kind of morbid.

Prince: me too! I call it being "realistic" and recognizing that life totally blows sometimes.

Me: wow.

Prince: oh and I think you are pretty.

Me: totes.

Prince: let's go on a picnic and talk and play--and at the end of the day, I will hold you until you fall asleep. I will be your best friend and you will never again be alone.

....WHY IS THIS SO FRICKIN HARD?!!!!

may be clever like a fox.

have you heard?

"transformers 3" will be fox-less. how will they ever find another hot brunette to purse her lips, zip up a leather jacket, wear fake eyelashes in the middle of a frickin' desert, and crawl all over shia?

oh no, megan!

i have no idea how they will find someone else to work with michael bay-- since he " 'wants to be like Hitler on his sets'" and is " 'hopelessly awkward'"-- and find a "suitable replacement" for a girl who starred opposite lindsay lohan in "confessions of a teenage drama queen" in her only film prior to transformers. let's hope the "'quieter films'" you dream of don't land you back on "hope & faith." oh wait, that TV show was canceled.
at the end of the day, megan, you're still hot. i wish you the best of luck.
...and really really really hope bay chooses olivia wilde next!

dear thinkers of the year 2009:

*thanks to patrick for this link on facebook.

i got mad skillz yo

the skills section on my resume is blank. after pouting myself into oblivion, i decided that i do-- indeed-- have skills. not only are they enviable, but they've all been developed by board games. here's a quick brag list:

game: monopoly
skill: selecting a formidable yet fun game piece as i strategically purchase real estate with hard-earned cash. no one wants to be wrongfully represented; just ask 18th century americans.

game: boggle
skill: seeking unique (yet viable) answers using a perceptive and analytical mind. not only are my answers reasonable but they often receive "oh yes, why didn't i see that?" which clearly shows i can acquire intellectual praise.

game: scrabble
skill: working with what i've been given as best as i can (and when i can't, i can tactfully persuade others using altered precedent to establish that "azule" is absolutely a word- you know it as the uncommon synonym for cerulean and other elite crayon colors from elementary school).

game: stratego
skill: using deductive reasoning and skillful assumptions to assert my position over others.

game: pictionary
skill: effective communication in the form of simplicity-- especially when working with a useless team of complete morons who repeat "boat! boat! boat! ship? boat! boat! boat!" when i'm clearly drawing a baby carriage.

game: scattergories
skill: producing fast responses while working under the obnoxious buzzing deadline. my creative thinking earns me extra points above the ordinary-thinking minions.

game: risk
skill: world domination. enough said.

game: cranium
skill: exemplifying a well-rounded education, including working knowledge of standard lexicons and word puzzles, nonstandard trivia, good-smelling purple clay, and cheesy hollywood tunes.

game: sorry
skill: demonstrating motivation to reach the top while still exercising humility and respect for others with a totally insincere apology for screwing over another player.

game: blokus
skill: utilizing spatial relations and foresight to diplomatically foil an opponent while still maintaining pleasant small-talk and friendly relations beyond the task at hand.

game: apples to apples
skill: knowing when to play it safe ("funny" + "jim carrey") and when to risk it ("sexy" + "beer bellies") by reading and researching individual preferences and then tailoring my responses to what will ultimately result in success.

there's no way anyone could turn me down.

breaking up with bro-dy

it's a well-known fact that brody jenner is dreamy: dark hair, long eyelashes, tan, rich, and "cool."

however, it's also a well-known fact that brody is, indeed, somewhat of an asshole. he hangs out with the hollywood elite (he's step-sister IS kim kardashian), has been nicknamed the Prince of Malibu (strike one), and routinely makes out with the so-cal blondes like haylie duff, nicole richie (pre-harlow, of course), kristen cavallari and lauren conrad. actually, his douchebag treatment of LC on season 3 of "the hills" put my celebrity crush on tenuous ground. strike two. don't mess with lauren.



strike three for brody all started with a harmless perusal of MTV's website to search for a TV show to watch online. (i don't have cable.) in the bottom right-hand corner, a picture of a bright orange and yellow sunset popped up with the show's title "BROMANCE" in silver block letters beneath it.

seriously????, i thought. so lame.

but then i looked closer at the black and white face centered as the "sun" in the sunset. perfect jawline. dark, mischevious eyes.

brody. jenner.

i clicked on the list of episodes. titles like "little jeans, big hearts" and "bro-athon" and "broast!" flooded my page. i suppressed the desire to gag.

it gets worse: MTV describes the show as an exploitation of an epidemic in hollywood, the "bromance" between two guys. the show's premise relies on the popular notion that Brody is "looking for that one special guy to join his elite entourage." the reality TV show sought out "regular joes" to become "bros vying for the chance of a liftime" who participate in a series of challenges, hang time (including sky-diving in las vegas, hanging out with playboy playmates, etc.), and eliminations. all of this boils down to the crucial moment when brody finds "true bromance" with his "true bro."

needless to say, things just aren't going to work out between brody and me. call it "irreconcilable differences."

i'm not in denial... i just refuse to listen to your truth.

i graduate in approximately 9 days. in 9 days, i could drive across the country. in 9 days, i could listen to "brighter discontent" by the submarines over 3,103 times. in 9 days, i will be unemployed.

my impending poverty makes me question my recent purchases that could have provided 6 months of groceries, like the above betsey johnson dress. add the ed hardy watch and you're approaching 8. add the nina shoes and you're at 10. add my diamond necklace and you're at 2.5 years. all for one outfit. (i'll insert here that the black shrug was only $6 on clearance at vanity!) the occassion that calls for such extravagance: the 4th annual english majors association banquet.

nevermind that the theme of said banquet was "the great depression." boxes of baking soda, mac and cheese, and canned corn were the centerpieces. a brown, worn boot accepted donations.

two of my friends' fathers have been laid off in the past week. another friend works 2 jobs and complains about the whiny "masters holders" that work at starbucks with her. the career center rep from BSU bemoans the sudden dearth of off-campus job postings.

i'd like to think that even albertson's needs someone to arrange the red, shiny apples just right. or some lazy CEO needs a girl to staple his revised budget reports and proposed productivity increases. or bath and body works needs an "elf" in a green apron to offer product scents and squirts of lotion.

leave me to my denial. let me bask in the glory of unfulfilled expectations. it's nothing that i'm not used to.

like a broken record

sometimes i don't think i should be allowed to speak. i know i'm an english major and all, but i seriously lack effective oral communication skills. i've compiled a series of examples to illustrate my main point/thesis:

example A: "two wrongs do not make a right"
i often repeat the same word to achieve a certain emphasis. . . which really only draws attention to my lack of vocabulary, i.e. "sure sure", "like like", "really really", and so on.

example B: "read between the lines"
as a poet, i refrain from asking direct questions without considering that my audience may not fully receive my intentions properly, i.e. "can i help you?" really means "i want to help you. please tell me what to do. and when you deny me, i'm going to get kinda mad because i'm assuming that you just dont want me around and you think i can't help you."

example C: "x to the infinite power"
i say "ok" a lot-- especially at the end of a phone conversation. and i even say it when i don't really mean it (which means this example could fit into the small space between two overlapping circles-- like if A and B were really a venn diagram!). here are some specific scenarios:

the break-up OK:
"we just want different things."
"ok."
"it doesn't mean that i don't think you're a cool chick."
"ok."
"or that you're not beautiful."
"ok."
"i'm just not ready for a relationship right now."
"ok."
"ok?"
"ok."
"good. see you never."
"ok."

the best friend phone call OK:
"don't be depressed, andrea."
"ok."
"have a good day."
"ok."
"i'll talk to you later."
"ok."
"thanks for hanging out."
"ok."
"you'll be ok."
"ok."
"rove you."
"ok."

the i'm-getting-talked-into-something OK:

"trust me that this will all work out."

"ok."

"it will be fun."

"ok."

"i promise."

"ok."

"are we ok?"

"ok."

"i'm about to commit mass genocide on your face."
"ok."
"and then make it look like an accident."
"ok."
"this won't hurt a bit."
"ok."

sometimes i don't think i should be allowed to speak.

ah, the end of the semester (i call it "cheating death").

You would think by now that I would have planned for the end of the semester cram, late-night paper writing (oh, don't EVEN bring up my pseudo-prospectus disaster!), and preparing for graduate-level presentations the week before dead week. But no. Here I sit in the nice new building at BSU, the Interactive Learning Center, in a room that I reserved for student conferences (you know, to seem more teacherly and to seem like I have connections in high places that hook me up with a sweet breakout room. . .), and weirdly stroking the shiny, silky, fragrant-- in a bookish sort of way-- cover of the new LCRE Moby-Dick.

I thought I'd share the most brilliant opening of a book. Ever. Even though I complain about my coursework, I am still tragically in love with Herman Melville's writing. I also thought I'd share the REAL first line of Moby-Dick (none of that "Call me Ishmael" pishposh):

"Etymology"
(Supplied by a late consumptive Usher to a grammar school.)

The pale Usher-- threadbare in coat, heart, body, and brain; I see him now. He was ever dusting his old lexicons and grammars, with a queer hankerchief, mockingly embellished with all the gay flags of all the known nations of the world. He loved to dust his old grammars; it somehow mildly reminded him of his mortality.

Ah. Dearest Usher: I, too, know mortality. . . especially when my laptop loses a wireless internet connection repeatedly and my cell phone battery dies after less than the stated battery life on the box. Ah, being threadbare.