"Well, I think I'll have a Coke, then."

Just before the new year, I wrote a long email to a friend in which I described the way my quarter-life/late 20's crisis was playing out. I felt it made the email a bit too long, so I deleted it all before sending with a statement saying I was going to write a blog about it instead. As you can see, I've still not done that. And today I'm not going to. I'll get to it at some point I'm sure....

It has come to my attention that I need either a bigger fridge, or a seperate fridge that is used exclusively for beverages. I don't know why I must (MUST!) have the selection of drinks that I do. And I'm not talking about alcoholic drinks; no well-stocked bar with every spirit I could imagine so I can make you any drink you imagine, no. Though that would be super-neat, so feel free to contribute... I'm talking just regular old drinks. It's completely unnecessary. I live by myself. No one every comes over and hangs out. I don't have parties. But shit, if someone did come over? Damn, I got something for you to drink. I guess I just can't commit to having the choice of only one soda, one juice, and water and milk. Today, for example, I went to the grocery store. And left with a carton of milk, three different 12-packs of soda, two different containers of juice, a package of juice boxes, coffee beans, Ovaltine mix, a 12-pack of beer, and a 6-pack of ginger ale. This is now added to the left-over cans of a different fourth soda, 2 other containers of juice, a container of egg nog, and a pitcher of water. WTF?

Speaking of beverages... lately there have been a higher number of people at my place of work carrying around soda bottles. But instead of soda, they are filled with Essence of Oral Neoplasia. Absolutely disgusting. I can't believe there are still that many people- young people at that- who chew tobacco. I just don't see where someone would think, "Damn, brah. Smoking cigarettes makes dudes look like pussies. But when those bitches see me comin', with my big bulge and that little bit of chunky brown liquid trickling from the corner of my mouth, you know they all be creamin' their panties!". I mean, really. Who doesn't want to make out with that? Hell, he might even share his wad.

Something else that's become more common at work is something totally small and stupid, yet each time it happens I have a moment of freak-out and then really want to bathe in something corrosive. I'm not sure if it stems from a lack of mathematical prowess or from sheer laziness, but I really wish it would stop. And this is going to make me sound like one of those OCD germophobes who has to use exactly 0.47 ml of pink liquid handsoap squirted into the left palm between the love line and the life line just below the ring finger knuckle when they wash their hands 46 times a day. (on a side note... I wonder how those people do with the public sinks that have the push-down faucets... you know, the ones that only give you 7 seconds of water before you have to push it again?) Anyway. What bothers me is when these dirty old man contractor/construction types come up and pay with cash, hand you the bills, then dig through their pockets for change, usually while saying something stupid about how the cashier should take them out to dinner. But then instead of looking at their change and giving you the proper coins, they hold out a dirty old man construction type hand filled with coins (mostly pennies), random screws, chunks of lint, tokens from something-or-other, wads of paper, old pieces of candy, and god knows what else. And then stare at you. Until you realize that they are expecting you to dig through it all for the correct change. Ugh. Half the time I don't even want to touch your money. The last thing I want to do is go feeling up your hand to find a nickel. It grosses me out. And makes me want to set my hands on fire.

I really like salt and vinegar chips. So much so that I just ate almost half a bag while writing this.

Another thing. Monster Jam. Fuck yeah. I think I shall go again another time.