jennings rampage

Is it Monday yet?

I’m really mad at myself. My fortune cookie was clearly wrong, even before adding “in bed.” Hell, I didn’t even get it looked at.

Was not feeling it today, ducked out early. Stopped off at the Whole Foods (because really, I’ve had it with all these fucking partial foods) for a week’s groceries. Two pounds of chuck, a loaf of bread, some peanut butter, six or eight frozen burritos, a couple of frozen macaroni and cheese dinners, a couple boxes of penne, a couple jars of sauce. And a jar of black peppercorns — I finally remembered I was out.

The checkout girl was cute, they all are down there. I asked her if she could tell if I was an incredibly boring person as she individually scanned each of the six or eight different frozen burritos. She asked if I was trying to decide which kind I liked best. “No, I just like very small surprises.” There was a bit of the laugh-and-smile, and if you refer to your Field Guide To Jennings, you’ll see that I thought I was flirting. (Watch carefully and marvel at the awkwardness.) I’m not in the business of picking up cashiers, so it was no big deal when Monica bumped into me and cockblocked with talk of murky vegetable juice and Battlestar Galactica.

The ESPN campaign for Monday Night Football tells me that my job sucks and my friends are lame and no one understands and I have plenty to complain about and I’m justified in this ennui. If the Ravens don’t cover, I’ll have slightly more to complain about. Either way, just six more days until I do all of this again.