December 7, 2009


“I’m going shopping.”

The IM message was simple enough. Since I am working the later shift this week, Earl and Jamie would be out grocery shopping when I got home from work. We would cook supper when they got home and we’d be stocked up on food for the week.

I busied myself about the house when I got home; I put the cars away for the impending snowstorm and I installed the markers along the driveway so I knew where the driveway was suppose to be when I had to find it after the bout with snow. I finished up outside and came in; I was folding laundry when I glanced out the window.

In came the Durango. It was trailed by a 55 gallon drum of kitty litter which was lashed to the car by the hitch originally designed to drag a camper across the state. Miles of rolled up paper towels hung out one window and crates of canned vegetables hung out another. There was a soon-to-be illuminated santa perched atop the vehicle. It was doing it’s best imitation of Imogene Coca in a rainstorm in Phoenix, Arizona.

My god he’d gone to BJ’s.

BJ’s Wholesale Club is much like Costco or Sam’s Club. While we don’t have the two latter chains in this area, we do have one BJ’s where lettuce is bought by the acre and pop is purchased by the vat.

As I propped open the door and worriedly looked for another vehicle, perhaps a rented U-Haul, loaded with other items, Earl came bounding in carrying three cases of various DelMonte vegetables stacked atop a gallon container of M&Ms.

“I spent $500!”

Sweet Jesus. We’d have to add a room onto the house to store all the stuff that needed to be hauled in from the Durango. We needed a new room, stat.

As I tried to keep the cat from being buried and a pathway cleared to the bathroom, stack after stack of “deals too good to be true” were brought into our kitchen that already has cracked tiles on the floor. I thought for sure the rest of the tiles would give way, though I secretly smiled because then all the stuff would make it to the basement on it’s own.

We have canned vegetables, a wide assortment of meats, pounds of pistachios, hectares of pop-tarts and barrels of barbecue sauce.

I officially decree that we are now ready for that big snowstorm.

60 Days.

311.365, originally uploaded by iMachias.

I have decided to stop trimming my beard for 60 days. To keep peace in the house and maintain an appreciable landing zone, my mustache will stay trimmed out of my mouth, but my beard is going woolly until 1. I go crazy or 2. February 7, 2010. The latter is only a date of consideration.

Consider yourself warned.