10 items or less

So I’m at the 10 items or less aisle at Publix. First, this isn’t a rant about 11 items, though those people are assholes and should be slapped anyway. The purpose of the 10 items or less line is for speed, to move quickly out of the store. I had a deli sandwich, fried chicken, a small box of papas rellenas, bananas, and a bag of chips with money ready in my hand. It’s after work and I am bringing dinner home.

Once I get a good look at the lady in front of me, I immediately get the feeling I’m in trouble, but already have time vested in this line. Off the bat, she wants to use some coupons, but she doesn’t have them. She tells the cashier teen-age chick she needs the flyer. The girl lazily sloths over to another cashier, finds one and returns. Then a coupon ripping frenzy and a coupon qualifying item discussion takes place. People behind me begin to leave the line. Finally, after like 15 minutes including a coupon scanning hassle, all is rung up and the cashier announces the total to the lady. The lady looks for her wallet or whatever for a good 60-90 seconds, a lifetime in this scenario. I guess initially she thought the shit was free, because having to pay seemed to hit her like a big fucking surprise. Then, for her next trick she takes out her checkbook and asks the cashier for pen. I almost collapse then and there, holding on to the counter. The cashier then requested the lady’s driver’s license, which took the lady another minute of searching her bag, only after she wrote out the check in a deliberate casual manner. Another couple of minutes pass with the teenager chick writing on the check and wrestling the check into the check slider thing. Finally it seems the transaction is done. For the cherry on top, the lady holds up line to balance her checkbook before she moves on with the bagboy. No tip for that bagboy. By the look on his face he knew it also.

It is clear that this lady is a rude sub-human beast that has no manners or consideration for any other person on earth. She is a cunt and a pig, No one can argue this these cold hard facts. Regardless, it is not her fault that this happened. It is the fault of Publix. If you have a 10 items or less line, it should also be a no check line since the purpose of the line is to get you out of the store quickly and efficiently and paying by check is slooow. Now a person like that vile lady would probably get on the line anyway, but at least have the policy in place and a sign. I would have recommended this to Publix, but there was no manager around, I was hungry, in a hurry, and the cashier could give two shits about shit and does have a pretty bad acne problem to worry about. Later my kids mentioned that the chicken was a bit cold and my wife asked what took me so long. To finish my supermarket lament, I bring you The Clash....

Awesome, awesome beer commercial

I think I'm funny

So during the holidays this past month I had to go out to dinner with some of my wife's highschool friends. Decent enough people but we very rarely see them so my wife wants me to be 'normal' for one night.(Needless to say defining normal is a post unto itself, maybe some other time) For the most part, she does not trust me(no surprise, huh?) in mixed company. For me to be trusted, I need to be within her eyesight, sober, and not speaking. If those requirements are met, her special little hatred for me greatly lessens.

Meatloaf said that two outta three ain't bad, so I will go with that: definetly within her eyesight, only two drinks(when I say two, I mean two times that she witnessed me order & finish a drink, regardless of how many I did or did not have, her count should be at two) which makes me sober, but I surely had to speak. So two for three has me in decent shape, and because of this I can honestly say that things went as smooth as I can hope. Her friends are mixed company so I have more of a buffer zone........but my friends are more like family so she tends to break out the claws a little more in front of them. But tonight it was her friends, combine that with 'two outta three' and things did go as good as I can hope. Remember, don't think I get laid or anything after dinner and drinks, but like I said, things went as good as I can hope.

So let's get back to me speaking, which gets me to why 'I think I'm funny'. So the guys are sitting on one side of the table which gave me a little more freedom--pretty cool. To my right sits down a very nice guy(much nicer than me I am sure), but I do not see much in common. For starters, he ordered a diet coke. A diet coke? "Be sure not to trip on your skirt as you get into the car." Here we are at one of these fancy type Hibachi places looking to unwind and you order a diet coke?? But that doesn't make him a bad guy, who knows the guy may be a recovering alcoholic or even worse, maybe his wife hates him.....or maybe something I can not even think of. Let me hit the next typical guy topic, sports. I know my four major sports, conversation will not be a problem. He tells me he does not follow any sport...oofa! No booze, no sports.....things are getting rough. I know, music is always the answer, right? Wrong. He claims he works 80 hours a week and has no time for music. What the fuck am I gonna do!? He then asks about my 9 month old son since he has a 7 month old. It did not even cross my mind to use my son for mixed company chit chat....way to go junior! So we exchange baby stories and I learn that he is a great guy and a good father. Not that I will invite him over to drink beer and watch the AFC Championship, but a good guy nonetheless.

So he asks me, "What do you think about being a father? Do you like it?"

I reply, "Like it, I love being a father, ever since my son was born I finally have someone in the house who likes me!"

I think I'm funny.

Cup of Doom

Now Christmas has passed and as I begin the new year, it’s time to take stock of the season’s gifts. Overall not a bad holiday season, we got a Wii for the kids, I got a few sweaters and gift cards, and my wife is happy with her new Wii fit with all accompany accruements. And then there’s this. This is a Ceremonial Chilean Mate Tea Cup with Silver Straw.

Mind you, there's no reason in the world you should know this, but I know this because my wife happens to be Chilean-Italian. So my mother-in-law was visiting us from San Fran and amongst her gifts she included this little stocking stuffer for my wife. According to my wife and her mother, in Chile the people in the Andes use this to drink Mate tea. It’s sort of a cultural icon to Chileans. Fair enough, I’m a pretty educated guy, and I like to think of myself as pretty cultured. I love my wife and usually her tastes home decor and household items are impeccable, but this is going to be a problem.

I mean look at this thing. It’s a hollowed out fruit carcass with some brass ornamentation and some chromed tin straw, not to mention that phallic nose thing. I can understand some guy in the Andes 20,000 feet above sea level having to drink out of this thing, but we live in the middle of NJ suburb. My kitchen is cluttered enough with cereal boxes, tea kettles, espresso machine, and sugar bowls without a goddamned Mate cup with a hard on sitting in the middle of my kitchen counter.

Simply put, I hate the fucking thing. It doesn’t fit into anything else in the kitchen, my wife is never going to actually use the stupid thing since she only drinks Celestial Seasonings and Earl Gray teas. But now this monstrosity is in my way all the time. It's on the kitchen counter by the espresso machine when I try to make myself my morning coffee, it's in the pantry in the way of my kids’ morning cereal, then it’s just offensively sitting there by the sugar bowl staring at me with that penis nose thing. It's friggin everywhere mocking me.

So now I'm faced a few choices:

1 ) I could openly address with my wife. I could innocently ask, “Honey, we aren’t gonna actually keep this thing, right?” But I know how that’s going to end. My wife will call me an uncouth philistine, explain to me how it’s a relic from the old country that represents her cultural roots, and insist it stays. I could then use my husbandly veto power and insist it go, but all that would lead to is my wife bringing up a long list of things that I own that she hates. She’d make me give up at least three of these items for her one Mate Cup. This is not a good prospect. Also, this option is particularly problematic because it shows my hand on how I feel about this thing and as you will see, severely limits my next few options.

2) I could Hoffa it. That is, as I’ve done with numerous items over my 15 years of marriage, I could quietly dispose of said item without a word. It might take her about a week or two before she notices it gone. I would deny all knowledge of its disappearance and simply claim it’s misplaced, and move on. Out of sight, out of mind. If anyone is shocked at reading such drastic tactics, please understand that my wife is incapable of throwing anything out. Items either have some yet unforeseen material value ("It's gonna be an antique!") or emotional value("the first thing I got from so and so"). So I've learned that openly contesting the worth of an item is grim; my wife will also argue it's worth keeping. Over all, this is not a bad option, though I might feel a tinge of guilt at throwing out something my wife supposedly cares about. Stupid guilt.

3) Or I could break it. Yes, you read right. Not break it as in shatter it in some dramatic fashion. A subtle crack would do, the kind of thing that could happen in the day to day activities of a busy kitchen. “Uh-oh, honey, I think this thing cracked….” She’d surely yell a bit and call me an irresponsible klutz for breaking it, but chances are she thinks that about me anyway. But there’s always the chance that she’d see through my ploy or because she now knows it’s broken she’d actually order a replacement. Not good.

So here we are…decisions, decisions. Stay tuned.

End of the Holidays

The holidays have past. Another year is upon me. The holidays were pretty much the usual spend-a-credit-a-thon this year. I went to parties where I don’t know a bunch of the people and seem to always end up near some person I just met a few hours before. Seems an awkward time to meet someone, “Hello there, I’m Joe Knucklehead and work at the cheese factory, oh and by the way Merry Christmas”. “Hey, Bob Fuckface, the cement salesman, happy fucking new year”. Sheesh.

There was an added monkey wrench this holiday season with my dryer and the Best Buy repair team, but I will leave that sordid tale for another day. For now, let’s just say that Mr. Brad Anderson, CEO of Best Buy, knows me and my dryer works.

One thing, with teenagers, the Christmas lists do get easy. Here is the whole list: 1.CASH. No beating around the bush for my offspring. My wife is a bit more complicated, as it’s a mix of cash, gifts, obedience, and yet another thin slice of my soul. Not too bad. I did receive a few nice gifts from the wife and kids that I paid or will pay for. Hey, it’s the thought that counts.

I did have a few days off work during the holidays and still have a couple before I go back, and as they say a bad day doing pretty much anything else besides work is still better than a good day at work. Then it’s back to the cubicle and business trips where I must serve and plan for the interest of others in exchange for monetary payments until the corporate gods decide that I have become too old and/or too expensive. Now, the “current economic conditions…” announcements and e-mails now add to the long list of weekly bullshit of synergy, products, and budget planning. One of these days that Vietnam Vet/NRA supporter a few cubicles away is going to snap and shoot half the people in the place. I told him to let me know and I’ll call in sick that day. He said he would. There is this guy in my office who keeps saying “happy new year” to people on the phone until the end of January. I even tell him it’s annoying as shit, but he thinks I’m joking. Hopefully Vietnam guy takes him out on rampage day.

That’s all the time I have for now, since I’m the automated taxi and cash dispenser, I have to go pick up my 14 year old daughter at the roller rink and have some skinny 14 year old boy with pimples attempt to direct some feeble and nervous greeting towards me as my daughter gets in the car. I am the Robotman.

My Wife Hates Me....

....really she does. I know to some that may sound insane, but to others it may ring so true. And let me be clear: I do not hate my wife......it's just that she hates me. Actually, I find her ability to exist day to day with me quite amazing.

I know I am incapable of co-existing with someone I hate, but she gets it done. I marvel at her perseverance. Think about it, do you think you could live your life, day in & day out with someone you hate? I didn't think so. She is sort of masochist or something.

Could it be that some of the fault is mine? I guess so.......but most of the time I do not even know what will get her angry. One time she got fucking furious with me because the inside of the garbage bag got tomato sauce on it. Mind you, the garbage is bag is inside one of those kitchen garbage cans(see pic, right). I did not get a drop of sauce on the actual can---I am talking about the bag that goes inside! I was fucking cleaning of a plate of spaghetti! I challenge you to keep your garbage clean. How the hell was I supposed to guess that tomato sauce touching the inner wall of a garbage bag was the wrong thing to do?

Like I said, and I did not stutter, my wife hates me........really she does.

Happy Holidays from Robotman

See you all Jan 1st. Happy Holidays to all and please no one (The Sugarking) get a DUI/DWI. I'm good to go as my son now has his drivers permit. Hopefully he doesn't get wasted also, but that's a whole other thing...

Well anyway, be safe and here is a DWI holiday classic for your Xmas Eve enjoyment.

Launch Date will be January 1, 2009

My Wife Hates Me will launch on January 1, 2009. My team & I will let you know about all that is difficult in all of our lives and relationships. Until then, enjoy this clip of one of the greatest ranters of our time, George Carlin, talk about "stuff".