C. C. Payne - Where the Bluegrass Grows: July 2010

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Were You at WalMart Last Night?

Were you, by chance, at WalMart last night? Because I was, and it seemed to me that everybody else in the world was there, too. Of course, we were all there for the same reason: to buy school supplies. But since I hate all shopping and put it off as long as possible – until my family is forced to live on tap water and mustard sandwiches made with burger buns – I also needed groceries.

My daughter and I arrived at WalMart around 8:30PM. By 10:00PM, we had two carts full of stuff, and I began sending my husband cranky, I’ve-been-shopping-at-WalMart text messages, while he was out fishing with a buddy.

Here are the exact text messages that were exchanged:

Me (10:07PM): Okay, I can’t find two of the things on our list, but I’m leaving WalMart without them because if I have to stay here any longer, I’m going to start ripping out handfuls of my own hair.

Hubby (10:08PM): Ok. (Smart answer, no?)

Me (10:09PM): It’s like Black Friday here. I just got in line to pay. BEHIND ELEVEN OTHER PEOPLE! ELEVEN!!!

Hubby (10:09PM): LOL

Me (10:20PM): The very mature – old – man behind me, who is thirteenth in line, has begun complaining LOUDLY that WalMart should have benches for people waiting to pay. Everyone can hear him. No one is looking at him. We don’t want to encourage him, I think.

Hubby (10:21PM): LOL

Me (10:31PM): Hey, do you think it might be Pajama Day at WalMart? I’m pretty sure the ladies in front of us are wearing pajamas. Pretty sure as in POSITIVE.

Hubby (10:32PM): Send pictures. (Apparently, my husband assumes that we are in line behind the Victoria’s Secret models, who have come straight to WalMart from their VS pajama shoot.)

(10:32PM): My daughter snaps a quick pic of the woman in front of us, who is wearing hot-pink pajamas, covered in hearts, and sends it to my husband.

Hubby (10:33PM): Don’t send anymore pictures.

Me (10:47PM): Our daughter just sat down on the floor! In WalMart!!! Apparently I completely failed in my attempt at explaining The Theory of Germs to her. Repeatedly. Don’t worry: I’m not making a scene. Yet.

Hubby (10:48PM): Deep breaths.

Me (10:52PM): Your daughter, who is now covered in WalMart germs, just touched me! I’m trying not to freak out. Do you think WalMart sells Hazmat suits?

Hubby (10:54PM): My daughter? She’s MY daughter now?

Me (10:55PM): We - YOUR daughter and I - are now eleventh in line because the pajama-people in front of us abandoned their cart and walked out chanting, “Kro-gers! Kro-gers! Kro-gers!”

Hubby (10:56PM): LOL

Me (10:57PM): The WalMart workers are now walking around handing out free cookies and cupcakes from the bakery. They are saying things like, “Take as many as you want.” This is bad. This is very, very bad.

Hubby (10:58PM): You’re right. Leave your cart and run for the nearest exit. Please take my daughter with you.

Me (11:02PM): I just learned that all the computers are down, and WalMart doesn’t have a plan B. I suggested adding machines and calculators from the electronics department. They looked at me like I was an alien – and I’m not even wearing my Hazmat suit!

Hubby (11:04PM): Abort mission. Leave your cart where it is and get out.

Me (11:05PM): No way am I leaving my cartS! That would mean I would have to come back, and I plan never to come back here as long as I live. IF I live.

Hubby (11:05PM): LEAVE THE CARTS.

Me (11:06PM): I can't. YOUR daughter got thirsty - it's probably all the germs sucking the juices out of her - and I let her get a soda out of the cooler in the check out area. She drank it, and we haven't paid for it. I have to stay and pay.

Hubby (11:06PM): Augh.

Me (11:20PM): Honey, if I don’t make it out, I just want you to know that I’ve had a good life and I love you.

Hubby (11:21PM): Sniff. Sniff.

The computers came back up in the moments that followed – hallelujah! – and I was never in my life happier to hear the sound of barcodes being scanned. Everyone in WalMart clapped and cheered and threw their arms around one another. Really. No kidding. There was actual clapping and cheering.

My daughter and I arrived home safely, with food and school supplies, around 12:40AM. My husband generously unloaded the car and put the groceries away, while I sat in a corner hugging and rocking myself. (I have mentioned that writers aren’t exactly known for their mental health, have I not?)

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Random Thought Thursday

Guess what, friends? It’s Random Thought Thursday! (What? That is totally a thing. Because it’s my blog and I’m making it a thing. Today. It’s called Artistic License, people. Take some for yourself. Really. Go ahead. I don’t mind. What? It’s Saturday? Well, I’m calling it Thursday. Artistic License, I tell you. Stop being so difficult!) Okay, ready? Random thoughts, here we go:

1.) How did “cool beans” become a saying? For those of you who have never heard this saying, it usually goes something like this, “So we’re all set here? (Nod.) Cool beans.” What in the world could’ve caused the creator of this saying to say “cool beans”? Was this a camp fire situation? Were the baked beans too hot? Had someone’s mouth been horribly burned and permanently mangled while trying to eat beans? Were beans a major safety concern, followed by…say, s’mores?

Since I’m not a campy kind of girl, I reject “cool beans” as a saying. I’m creating my own saying. It’s “cool peppers”, as in “So we’re all set here? (Nod.) Cool peppers!” Isn’t that SO much cooler than “cool beans”? I know. Feel free to use it. Go forth into the world and spread the coolness, my friends!

2.) How do all little boys know how to make such great sound effects with their mouths? Think about it. All little boys know how to mimic the sounds of hand-to-hand combat, gunfire, explosions, and car crashes perfectly. Do their fathers teach them this? Or are boys born with these skills? Also, does Steven Spielberg know about this? Because if I’m Steven Spielberg, I’m saving a bunch of money by hiring all little boys for the special effect sounds in my movies. (You’re welcome, Steven Spielberg.)

3.) Why do you think my daughter gets so excited when I’m about to exercise? She’s all like, “You’re going to do your exercise DVD now? Wait! I gotta get some potato chips! Don’t start without me!” Then, she sits on the couch, eating potato chips and laughing, like she’s watching the funniest show ever. Except I’m the show. And I’m not finding the exercise funny, or even fun. I’m not even smiling, not even a little bit. (I distrust people who smile while they exercise. I’m pretty sure they aren’t real people. I’m pretty sure that “people” who smile while they exercise are really alien life forms, masquerading as happy exercise people, so that they can lure us all into a life of…well…exercise – how awful!)

So there you go! Happy Random Thought Thursday! Saturday. Whatev.

Monday, July 5, 2010

I Highly Recommend Oars

Over the Fourth of July weekend, my family and I hopped in our boat and headed up to a nearby marina for dinner on the lake. It was nice. UNTIL we started home. Our engine sputtered and coughed like it was dying a painful death, and then…it died. So, there we were floating in the channel, in the deepest lake in Kentucky, and the sun was going down – fast.

Now I don’t mind telling you that my husband, Mark, and I have an ongoing difference of opinion about oars, and whether or not we need them on our boat. I think we do. He thinks we don’t. His position is simple: We have two motors and two batteries onboard, so why in the world would we ever need oars?

I’ll tell you why: Because when the big engine dies, we use up one battery just trying to restart it. The other motor, which is connected to the other battery, is smaller and less powerful, and while it will carry us for a time, often, it won’t get us all the way home. Which leaves us with no motors and no battery power whatsoever. Then we’re stuck floating on the water, in the dark of night, with other boaters whizzing by, unable to see us because our navigation lights are also dependent on the batteries we’ve used up. (Need I tell you that this has happened before?)

So, there we were, during the lake's busiest weekend of the year, floating on the water, in the dark, with no oars. AGAIN. Other boaters – the ones with really good eyesight – spotted us, motored over and offered to help. But would my husband allow anyone to help us? No he would not. Why not? Hmmmm…apparently allowing other boaters to help you is like allowing someone to give you directions. It just doesn’t happen in Guy World. It’s completely unacceptable behavior. (Which is ANOTHER reason we need oars!!!!)

I do not live in Guy World. I live in Girl World – also known as REALITY. My daughter lives in Girl World, too. Which is why during our three hour ordeal on the water, my daughter and I made up our own lyrics to the tune of that song “Hello Muddah, hello Faddah, here I am at Camp Grenada…” Our song went like this:

Hello Muddah, hello Faddah,
Here I am stuck in the water,
The motor’s shot, no oars to row home,
And Mark won’t let us call for help via his cell phone.

People ask what they can do,
But Mark tells them, “We don’t need you.
I can fix this, please believe me,”
And we’re thinking, No, don’t go, please stay, retrieve me.

We are hungry and getting colder,
We are thirsty and much older.
It’s very dark here, out on a limb,
I wonder if our pride will warm us while we swim!

For the record, Mark did somehow manage to fix our engine in the dark, and we had just enough battery power left to get it started, and get home. But even so, this Christmas, I will be buying oars! Oars for everyone!

P.S. My neighbor told me that if she sang a song like that while she and her husband were having engine trouble on the water, her husband would toss her out of the boat. So I’d just like to point out that to Mark’s credit, he didn’t toss anyone out of the boat. I’m sure he thought about it, but thankfully, the man has a great sense of humor and eventually, he laughed despite himself. (It was probably my daughter who saved me: Mark probably realized that watching your dad toss your mom out of the boat and into the lake, in the dark of night, with other boaters racing around, might be just a teensy bit traumatizing – some realities are recognized even in Guy World, but only some.)