Lost in the Supermarket

That is the title of a great song by the Clash. Formed the year I was born they are fucking great. The song is a great example of early blue balls of the soul in popular culture. Like many great songs representative of their generation it was used in a popular children's movie, in this case Paramount's Over the Hedge.

I think I have too many options. There are so many fantastic offers of new and exciting things to do, to buy and to experience that I start thinking very generically. There is actually so much to do that I shut down and do the entertainment equivalent of grabbing a frozen pizza and getting the hell outta there.

It like a panicky little screech in my head (not the calm mellow voice I'm used to)
AHHHHITSFRIDAYAFTERWORKANDIMFUCKINGSTARVINGANDTHEREAREALLTHESE
PEOPLEHEREANDCRYINGKIDSNADITSHOTANDTHEREARESOMANYTHINGSANDALL
THEINGREDIENTSFORANYTHINGARE8AISLESAWAFROMEACHOTHERANDFUCKTHISSHIT
IHAVETOPEEWHATDOIGETWHATDOIGETWHYISMYCELLPHONERINGINGAHHHHHH
Like that. Its how all my grand plans for delicious homemade pizza with chicken or sun dried tomatoes turn into  McCain's Delicios.

I'm well aware I also do the same thing with men. I have a clear idea of what I want, how I want to improve on the ingredients this time for a better relationship soup. But no. I get cold. Or bored. Or sometimes a holiday comes around and I want a present, the liquor store has a sale and maybe I get just a little panicky so I grab whatever is cheap and easy.

The soup is inevitably temporarily satisfying but may cause headaches and spoils easily.

I still love men. I really do. A good man is a great friend. They bring out the fart jokes and Monty Python in women and its something a lot of us could use more of. Sometimes the good ones will punch the assholes for you and expect nothing  in return but a beer and for you to listen to the play by play over and over again as long as you know each other.

I do not love relationships. Really Honey, its not you its me. I'm selfish, lazy, sexually erratic, easily bored annoyed and frustrated. I don't like loud noises, menthol cigarette smoking, scarfs on men, and sudden movements. I do not like making plans but expect you to be available when I come up with one and indifferent when I cancel some. I prefer to not be touched very much while sober. Or for too long, like, ewww.

Since you asked, that you fall way short of my expectations too Mr. Eightminutesisnottoolong. Rides over when I say so Buddy. Also you spend too much time around me, its crowding. Don't stare at me too long its creepy. They way you make eye contact makes me nervous. And no, you can't sleep over, there wont be room for the dog and well, you breathe and I can feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest. It makes me want to Hulk.

Lets not forget the way you speak to me. With words. Then you expect a verbal reply. Its, too much.

If you were expecting me to carry on with what sort of simple yet soul enriching entertainments I planed on seeking out, I'm in the same mood as before. You're lucky there was even the faintest trace of track for my train of thought to follow. Its been one of those days and I'm not fighting it.