Tag Archives: Target

The Rapture is Just Days Away. What to Wear?

19 May

Holy shit, you guys!  I totally almost forgot about the mother f-in Rapture (when some say believers will be taken to heaven and others will be left on earth for about five months of torment) this weekend!  I’m posting this a day early so you don’t make the same mistake.  You’re welcome.

I can’t blame my End of Days forgetfulness on work, finals, and alcohol, though. I blame Target.  They’ll probably start putting their Christmas stuff out tomorrow, but do you think they had their Dooms Day decorations out?!  No, they did not.  I’m sorry, but isn’t The Rapture just as important as Sweet Baby Jesus’s birthday?  I would think so.  Way to go, Target.  Just for that, I hope there’s no Target in heaven (I don’t mean that).

Also, I’m sorry, but I was originally told that Judgment Day would come on September 6, 1994 which was really annoying, because I planned a huge Heaven, Earth, Hell party back in ’94.   I didn’t appreciate going through the trouble of making sure I had all the music, food, booze, and drugs in order only to have everyone but the guest of honor show up.  It was embarrassing and it was rude.  So, you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t roll out the red carpet out for JC on Saturday. 

Finally, I understand that some people really do believe that Saturday is “the” day.  But, before you go and stock up on hundreds of cans of creamed corn and bottled water, I want you to really think about this.  

Please don’t send an email to your boss on Friday night asking him to kindly suck a fat one.  I’m just trying to save you that  “drank until that guy at the party looked more and more like Bradley Cooper, had sloppy drunk sex with him, passed out, and didn’t know where you were in the morning walk of shame feeling” when you wake up on Sunday and realize, “Shit.  I’m pretty sure I”m fired.” 

I don’t want anyone to panic, though.  I’m fairly confident we’ll all still be here come Monday morning.  At least, I hope so.  I have gift certificate for a spa appointment that expires on Tuesday, and I was really hoping to get a mani/pedi.

*Thanks to J for the title.


The Perfect Parking Spot?

10 Feb


This post in no way condones or promotes drug use.  It is a parable about how having too much fun as a teenager can cause you to experience flashbacks, pimp slaps, and paranoia as an adult.

I was driving around the Target parking lot for about thirty minutes last night looking for the closest parking spot available because the arctic Wisconsin weather has chilled me to the bone.  I’m cold from the minute I wake up until I go to bed dressed in flannel pajamas, a hooded sweatshirt and wool socks.  I don’t know if it’s because I’m getting older or what, but lately I feel like this cold is literally kicking my a&&.   Every time I step outside it’s like Mother Nature pimp slaps me across the face, puts me in a headlock, punches me in the gut and then kicks me when I’m down while calmly asking “Why do you make me hurt you? ”  Then, I spit out my teeth as blood spatters all over the white snow.  It’s very dramatic.

Anyway, I was driving around the parking lot when I had a major flashback.  Does this happen to you?  It happens to me… a lot.  I can be sitting at work, driving in my car, or just watching T.V., and all of a sudden I’m thinking about an incident from my past, and I relive it all in my head in a matter of seconds.  I usually end up hysterically cracking up, for what appears to be no reason.  I’m sure I  look nuts. 

Yesterday, I flashed back to a warm Spring day in 1993.  I was with my good friend, B, in her tiny a&& Nissan, and I was wearing the standard jeans, t-shirt, flannel, Birkenstocks, black velvet choker necklace combo I was so fond of back then:

B and I had just smoked, and of course, we decided to make ourselves a spaghetti dinner.  We made a shopping list that I’m pretty sure was two pages long, and headed to the store.  The store parking lot was packed that day, and we couldn’t find a spot.  No problem!  We just drove around singing along at the top of our lungs to The Indigo Girls, and laughed….a lot.  After what felt like an hour, but I’m sure was only a couple of minutes, I looked over at B and with a stone (sorry) cold face said to her, “We’ve been driving around for like an hour.  People are starting to notice”.   Also, I was positive there was an undercover cop in the red minivan in front of us. (Paranoia Level Orange.)

It was time to get serious about finding a parking spot.  With the car still running, we sat at the end of  a row facing the store entrance,  turned down the music and scanned the lot for an open spot.  Our paranoia level continued to rise.  Could the lot be completely full?  In the middle of the day? We were sure people were screeching into the lot and purposely cutting in front of us to take every parking spot we saw, and then giving us the finger when they got out.   THEY WERE OUT TO GET US!!! (Paranoia Level Red).

We were just about to give up and walk home  (We couldn’t drive ourselves, because of the undercover cop in the red minivan watching us, remember?) when we both saw the “perfect parking spot”!  It was glorious!  We were saved and we’d be able to make our spaghetti dinner.  I whispered words of encouragement as B inched her tiny car ever so slowly toward the spot near the front of the store, “There you go, B.  Nice and easy.  Don’t go too fast.  You’re doing great.  We’re almost there.”  She pulled into the spot like a pro, and I allowed myself to get excited about the spaghetti dinner, again.  B turned off the car, and we took a minute to laugh about what had just happened. 

Before I opened my door I said a quick prayer,  “Jesus, please let us get the spaghetti and get out of here as soon as possible.  I promise to never smoke again.  Amen.”  Then, I tried to open my door, but it was as though Jesus himself was standing outside of it because I couldn’t open it.  I tried three times before I looked over at B.  She looked like she had just seen a ghost.  “We gotta get the hell out of here.  NOW!”, she yelled.  And then, with a shock to the heart, and my stomach on the car floor, I realized what she was freaking out about. 

The “perfect parking spot” was actually the cart return, and B had just parked her tiny a&& Nissan in it!

I took this particular flashback to be a sign, and left my shopping for another day.  (Paranoia Level Yellow). 

P.S.  This post is very picture-heavy, isn’t it?