Ten Pounds

I went to Walmart and bought one of those digital scales so I could weigh myself, get depressed, then eat my weight in ice cream. (Yes, I can spell "counter-intuitive" just fine, thank you.)

Truth be told, I think the scale might be defective. I've been staring at the picture on the box, and there seems to be a discrepancy. The digital display in the picture doesn't match the one on my scale at all.

I need to quit buying cheap shit at Walmart.

I need to quit going there ever.

The last time I went there, I was accosted by the seventy-year-old, one-armed door greeter. I defended myself by shoving him backward and telling him if he touched me again, he was going to draw back a bloody stump. (That's probably how he lost that other arm to begin with. Some people just don't learn.)

side note: I felt like an idiot later, pushing a helpless, little, old man around, but seriously, he needs to keeps his hand off me.

Did you know that Walmart doesn't sell tiramisu? They don't even sell everything to make tiramisu. I had to go to the liquor store and spend twenty bucks on coffee liqueur. (and also vodka, because, let's face it, there's going to be some Kahlua left over, so we might as well make bulldogs, right?)

 Every time I go to the liquor store (and it really doesn't matter which one) I see somebody I know. Every time! It's  awesome how they giggle and snort when I try to convince them I'm just making a cake.

(They know me too well.)