It’s official, I’m a crazy magnet. Either that or I’m a breathing example of the old adage- the road to hell is paved with good intentions. So this afternoon I decided to run into Pathmark to grab some ground beef so I can make my all time fave Friday night dish- tacos. I’m thinking, not only is cooking my food healthier than eating out, it’s a also good way to save money. Besides, it’s only one item, I should be in, out and on my way in ten minutes top. Right? Yeah, right.
Depite the fact that I sped through the fruit/ veggie section and grabbed my ground beef in a single swoop, I headed smack into a check out line 5 FOLKS DEEP. And all I can think is, ‘It’s 3.30 in the afternoon. Doesn’t anybody on 145th Street have a damn job???’ Since there was nothing I could do short of shoplift, I take a deep breath, turn on my Ipod and try to relax. Thirty minutes later (yes, as in 3-0), I’m just within striking distance- one person away. AND THEN this broad in front of me who’s been acting like she doesn’t hear her own baby crying it’s lungs out for the past half an hour pulls a bag of MIXED grapes out of her cart!!! I almost fainted. Who in the world doesn’t know that you have to separate the grapes by color and seed? It’s 2008 people, COME ON. but wait on it- then ‘ole girl starts to ARGUE with the checkout chick. Talkin’ about she always mixes her grape and how she wants to speak with a manger. At this point it has now been FORTY-FIVE minutess of waiting. I started to have visions of snatching the bag of grapes and smacking her and the snotty nose baby upside the head with it.
Omigod, all this for a pack of beef? And as I’m sure you can guess- I dont even want the stoopid tacos anymore.
Umm, but what I DIDN’T sign on for? The freaking home office drama!!! I mean don’t get me wrong, I love my little home in the hood. I may not have a doorman, but hey, I got boys at the door for protection and Billy my friendly crackhead in the lobby to sign for my packages. I mean, who needs an ADT security system when my neighbor Gladys lives with her front door open minding EVERYBODY’s business? As long as there’s enough square footage for Drama to lay around and fart without me smelling it; I’m fine. Except for one tiny issue….
Why does my apartment ceiling leak AT LEAST once a month????? If it’s not the bathroom, its the kitchen. if it’s not the kitchen it’s the living room… good f’ing grief. I KNOW the management company must tire of me calling up and cussing them out like hooker on the point. I KNOW the folks upstairs hate the sound of me incessently ringing their doorbell like I’m po-po making a bust at all hours of the night. It’s freaking ridiculous. My poor super has carpel tunnel from constantly replastering/ painting my ceilings.
SO instead of getting ready to go to my girl’s Super Bowl party, I’m sitting here listening to the pitter patter of the water hitting the bucket in the kitchen. And I’m really starting to consider calling that annoying realtor chick who insisted living in a newly renovated 350 sq. ft apartment next to a FIREHOUSE was a ‘total bargain.’