Where are you Batman?

Saturday night I found myself wishing there really were masked heroes cruising the streets to protect us. My boyfriend and I went to Wal-Mart on Saturday night about 10 PM to get groceries. We normally go on Sunday, but I wanted to get it over with, so we went after going to watch Meet the Spartans (which was pretty funny, by the way). We went to the self checkout because I like to bag my own groceries. As we were checking out, I realized we forgot marinara sauce, so I sent my boyfriend back to get it. We had agreed to split the groceries, so I proceeded with my portion. I finished with the stuff I was going to buy, and he still wasn't back. A man was waiting in line behind me, and I noticed he only had a few items, so I let him go, and I waited. I called my boyfriend, and he was still looking. When he finally got back (still with no marinara--just like a man), the man in front of me was still checking out. That's when it hit me. He was buying an item that cost less than a dollar--a cookie, a candy bar, etc--and getting $100 cash back, which is the max. He had at least a half dozen items in his hand. His friend was at another self checkout doing the same thing. Now, I may be deliriously paranoid, but I just can't fathom doing that if that is your debit card. If you needed money, you'd go to an ATM. And who needs a grand at 10 PM on Saturday night anyway? Drug dealers, maybe? So, I went to find a manager. The guy I got was not a manager, and he told me there was nothing they could do. I asked if they could at least ID the guys and make sure the cards they were using were theirs, and he said that, because it was at the self checkout, no, they couldn't. I was appalled. We left to go outside, and I started to cry. I know it sounds stupid, but I felt so damn worthless. If that were your debit card, wouldn't you want someone to do something?! I saw a security guard outside, and I approached him. He, too, said there was nothing he could do. I saw the two men leaving the store, so I basically trotted away from the security guard so as not to bring attention to the fact that I was reckless eyeballing as my beau would say. And then they started coming toward us. I almost shit my pants. I pulled out my gun and tried to nonchalantly put my groceries in the truck. I almost had a stroke when they walked past us and got in their car. Well, I say it was their car, but I highly doubt it was. It was a new car, and, no, I can't recall exactly what. It may have been a Corolla or a Passat, but it was definitely new--brand new, and it was not a black man's car. It was more like a grandma's car. I don't mean to sound racist at all, but I've never seen a black man in a car like that. Not to mention the fact that the tag was from Michigan. That shit was SO stolen! All of it! The debit cards, the car, everything. The clothes they had on were probably bought with stolen money! I was so mad I called 911 and gave them the tag number. They said they'd put out a lookout for the car, but I doubt anything ever came of it. I just sat there feeling so worthless and helpless. If that were my money, I'd want someone to do something. I know it sounds so stupid, but I just had this feeling. My mom says I have a great intuition about those things--that I should trust my gut. And, I just KNEW something was awry. Maybe I was wrong, and I probably didn't help anything, but I just knew I'd want someone to do it for me.

I Blame the Media

You gotta blame someone, and I blame the media. For what, you say? Well, for pretty much everything, but in this particular instance I mean the Illinois school shooting. I think the media fans and fuels the flames of pain and suffering. If the news didn't talk about it 24 hours a day 7 days a week for a month on every damn news channel and website, the shitheads who do this stuff wouldn't get off on it so much. It just gives the next guy ideas. They give you every minute detail, so George sitting at home can say, "Well, that was dumb. I'd do it like this..." And, thus, we have Illinois from Virginia Tech. And let me just say that guns DO NOT kill people. People kill people. If guns kill people, spoons made America obese, pencils misspell words, and cars make people drive drunk. I do not believe we should have our right to bear arms taken away, but I do think psychological problems should be included in background checks for weapons. However, if you outlaw guns, the only ones who will have guns are outlaws. Alas, I digress. I just think the media could do their part to remember those who were killed and injured without showing people getting shot up, blue/red lights flashing everywhere, and the obscene vulgarities that are the media vultures. I do give credit to the nutjobs of Columbine, though. They were pretty original. Before that, not much of America had ever heard of a school rampage. So, maybe I should blame the media and those guys. After all, if it weren't for them (the nutjobs and the media), others may never have come up with the idea and the balls to do it. At least those guys got what they wanted: the Columbine killers are legends. Everyone knows who they were.

Quack

So, I went to the chiropractor yesterday for the first time ever. I can't say I'm a new person already, but I definitely can tell a difference. I was blown away when he told me that one of my hips was 3/4 in off, and one of the bones in my neck was protruding 1 in. I was completely awed when he told me that my back problems were causing my insomnia. I hadn't told him I had insomnia, and it wasn't in my file anywhere. I actually made it through dinner at Chili's in one of those terribly uncomfortable seats without having to get up once or leave after eating and go wait in the car for my boyfriend to get the check. I can't remember the last time I made it through a date without experiencing excruciating back pain. I'm not trying to count my chickens (or ducks) before they hatch, but I really don't think chiropractors are the quacks most people make them out to be.

Like a 9 Volt Battery

This has been a really nice weekend. I have been in a rut lately. I miss my family, and I've just been so tired. But this weekend was lovely. I got my new scuba gear on Friday, and it fit perfectly and is awesome! Then my mom and stepdad came to see me yesterday and stayed overnight. Mom bought me a new bra and Travis bought me two more. I got the leopard print, the black, and the white. I really needed them because I broke two wires in the past couple of weeks, and the wire keeps coming out of another one. I got my car washed. And Travis and I gave each other our Valentine's gifts today. Yeah, we know, it's early, but we don't care. We knew what they were anyway. He got me a Tiffany bracelet that matches my necklace, and I got him an HP PDA. He's playing with it right now. I know most people want smartphones, but it's counterintuitive to have a phone attached to your calendar. How are you supposed to make appointments when you are on the phone? I'm not going to put someone on speaker in public. That's retarded. Anywho. It's been a really great weekend, and I feel a little bit recharged. I'm going to the chiropractor for the first time tomorrow, and I'm really looking forward to it. My back has been messed up for a long time now, and I'm hoping I can get a little relief. Cross your fingers for me.

Scale: 1 inch = 1 mile

Why is it that when you give someone an inch, they take a mile? My boss was out today for a corporate meeting. We don't normally have dress-down Fridays, so I took advantage of the situation. I decided to wear jeans to work since I knew no one of importance (i.e., clients) would be coming in the office. The UPS guy can just see me in jeans. So, I called the new administrative assistant to tell her to wear jeans if she wanted. She shows up in sweatpants. Are you kidding me? I try to be nice, and she completely takes it too far. It really pissed me off. I know it shouldn't matter to me since I'm not the boss, but I just thought that was really shitty.

But, but, but...

OK, so apparently no one wants to hear my version of the soapbox lecture. I hate that. I mean, when you live in metro-Atlanta, is there a day that goes by where you get to work or get home without some jerkface cutting you off or breaking his neck to beat you off the redlight so he can get in front of you and TURN? When you work in something like engineering, is there a day that goes by where someone, be it your client, your boss, your underling, your contractor, your whatever, has to piss and moan about something or crawl your case? How many days go by that there isn't some really good reason to get up on your soapbox? I don't have that many. I can't remember one since I moved here. Honestly. I'm rather saddened by that realization. I absolutely must move.

I am currently looking for a house or duplex to rent in Acworth or northern Kennesaw, but my lease isn't up until May. I need to get away from the mall area and all this development.

I don't understand development mentality all that well. I mean, I grew up a stone's throw from my grandparents, and the closest grocery store was 15 minutes away. In Kennesaw, you can drive 15 minutes and see 15 grocery stores. And that's not much of an exaggeration.

I miss home. I try not to miss home. I don't want to go home. But, my dad hasn't even been to see me once since my "house"-warming. (I live in an apartment, so it was sort of make-shift since it was my first place.) My mom has only been out here a few times. And, my grandmother, my guardian angel, isn't really in good enough health to come out here. I can only go home every six weeks or so because I always have something to do; and, honestly, it takes a lot out of me to go home. Everyone wants to see me, everyone wants to do something, everyone thinks they are the only person I know in the greater-Athens area. Boo.

I guess I just have a lot to get off my chest; so, unfortunately for those who don't want to hear it, I guess this will be mostly soapbox--for at least a while. But, I think we can learn about people from their soapbox issues. We wouldn't be so heated about something if it didn't mean so much to us. Passion is everything.

Blame it on that Girl

So, it begins. Bwahaha. Blame it all on Jennifer. It's all her fault. She made me do it. No, really, I give her all the credit. She inspired me to put some stuff down. As the title implies, I fully expect this to turn into a soapbox. I mean, I like to get up on my soap box as much as the next person. There might be a few times where I use it for more than just bitchin' and moanin', but don't come 'round here 'spectin' a bunch of sunshine and daisies. I'll leave it at that for now. No, I'm not that bad, but I guess you can decide for yourself tomorrow.