The Griefs Are on the Warpath...

The Politically Incorrect Bowl was the highlight of my day. The Chiefs hosting the Redskins. If you can ignore genocide and deal with it on an 'honor' basis, the Chiefs are less mocking in all.

Not that any of that matters as much as Allen getting three sacks, two forced fumble sand two foumble recoveries. Last time we had a D player do that kind of shit was when Derrick Thomas was alive.

The lowlight, you ask? Okay, you didn't ask, but so what?

Mo got up in the night, went through the garage security and was in the neighbor's back yard hosing things down in the dark. Thank Fortuna for Frau Lobster because I'd have been asleep after the kiddo walked across a state line or something.

I went shopping for shoes and groceries. The former would invoke Jewish sterotypes since I tried on seven 'clearnace' pairs at three stories bofore I gave up and shopped the merely discount.

I settled on a pair at half their 'retail' price' while making myself conspicuous to an unfortunate 18-year-old child who's been left in charge of an outlet that attracts guys like me: fussy about footwear and unable to adjust our price expectations past 1988.

Then the grocery store. I was on their blacklist because I'd bounced a check at a time when we'd changed phone numbers at least once. The whole abandonning our land line for cell phones, then getting pissed off at Verizon and getting a landline (with a different number, as it happens), made it tricky for the store to tell where to call. We're in the book, but no one looked there.

So anyway, this was months ago, and we took care of it. I gave an unreasonable amount of time where I'd get cash before going to the grocery store to be sure I didn't get another check refused. It sucks bad enough grocery shopping, worse to have a whole cart of bagged groceries and no way to pay.

The shift manager was actually pretty decent about it, offering to sort the fozen stuff into their freezer and put the rest in the cooler until Monday when things like Corporate Offices are open to take care of such hoo-haw.

I come home, groceriless (sp?), and find that Mo has gotten the Borax powder from the lockup and is using it as fairy dust in the kitchen. Sometimes I think her goal is to spend the rest of her life in 'time out.'