Changing Butter

I never look at the page on Blogger when you first go in there to start a new post, but I am wondering if they have yet come up with a device that you could, say, imbed in your shoulder or thigh that allows you to compose a blog post while you are in the middle of the bedlam. That would really help me out. Yesterday was a fairly lazy day, which I needed after a rough week, but when I did finally make it out the door to do some half-hearted errands, the world around me crashed in upon me with all manor of blog-worthy irritants. And now, Sunday morning and half way through my "coffee" (I put that in quotes because it seems I cannot drink regular plain old coffee anymore so I drink chai tea), I can barely remember what it was that irritated me so.

Except do you ever have one of those mornings/days where you just cannot seem to operate the moving vehicle beneath you? The other day I was just battling it - accelerating before a stop light, attention wandering and missing turns, completely unable to keep the car between the lines, scoping out the dark skies to see if perhaps it was a full moon and I am some sort of crazy-werewolf-type person who is affected by that kind of thing, which certainly wasn't helping my driving.

Today's top news, by the way, is all about icy roads, and I thought I might remind you that it is March 30th, in Portland. It has been colder than shit and frankly, I'm a little bit pissed off about it. Last week it snowed just about every day from Wednesday. I mean, not sticking snow, but snow. And hail, and completely blue clear skies, and driving rain. It's Armageddon. It's the only explanation I have.

So I'm at the Fred Meyer yesterday, working through a list that I had composed from home and then inexplicably followed to the letter (I write lists all the time, but I generally either forget them on the kitchen counter or leave them in my purse and do not consult them while shopping which makes me forget half the stuff on them), when I discovered that the Fred Meyer stopped carrying my butter (I say "butter" but really I mean margarine-style spread. God only knows what it really is). The problem with my butter (I'm just gonna keep calling it that and you guys can keep referring to my explanation of what my butter really is) (it's just easier to type "butter") is that I have been using the same brand for let's say 4 years, taking into consideration that this butter was not available in Cancun, but every time (and I am completely serious) I need butter and go to the supermarket I can't remember the name of it. Or even what it looks like. So when I get to the butter section I have to sit there and say (sometimes out loud), "Was it Country Crock? Brummel and Brown? Canola Harvest? Hmmm. Promise. It was Promise. I'll get the Promise. Or is it Country Crock?" About 50 percent of the time I would choose the wrong one but then wouldn't realize it until I finally found myself spreading it on my toast and ripping the shit out of my Dave's Killer Rockin' Rye. Or, you know, when I get it home and realize it doesn't match the one that's in my refrigerator (who waits until there is ABSOLUTELY NO BUTTER LEFT to go get more?). My POINT is, yesterday I actually WROTE DOWN THE BRAND that I buy (it's Canola Harvest, just in case the suspense was killing you), only to get to the Fred Meyer and find that it is no longer available there.

So I bought Country Crock.

Now you know.

But it's the little things like that that make me shudder on errand-day. That and the fact that mid-afternoon at the Fred Meyer is bring-your-offspring-to-the-market hour, and this only applies to those families for whom discipline is a non-event in the home. I had the same three Indian kids running at me in five different aisles, and this should be surprising since I didn't do the aisle-to-aisle thing this time, I just went to the aisles where the stuff I needed was. But sure enough, turn a corner and here are these three screaming Indian kids, running right at me. I had to do some fancy last-minute maneuvers several times to avoid a squatting child, a father-daughter team that just decided NOW was the right time to just stop in the middle of everything, and of course every time those three little Indian kids came barrelling out from no where. I guess I like the 9am supermarket scene. I have learned to live with old people and their motorized carts. The purring sound seems to sooth me.

So that's pretty much it, I guess. Today Barbie and I will run to the mall (she needs mascara - something I buy at the Fred Meyer, but that's Barbie), on a Sunday, and AFTER church hours. It's an adventure in the making.

If only I had that blogger device already imbedded in my thigh, I might be able to share it with you.