hate to break it to me, but ... i am pretty damn not-rich. when it comes to not being rich, i got it made in the shade. all those years of struggle and fingers to the bone have finally not paid off. it's true. made sure of it before i left the house this morning, to get some groceries. went online to my checking account (used to be wamu but now it's chase, which doesn't really mean anything to me, other than a buncha my branches closed), made sure i'd have enough to get those groceries. i do have enough, but ... you know ... barely, basically. hafta be real careful bout what i buy here at the supermarket, can't just pick up whatever i want. which lands me squarely in the bracket not of the rich, but of the not-rich.

a man who was less not-rich than me would have a pair of sneakers that're fully soled and not ... uh ... partially soled, like mine. yeah, it's because i'm so successfully not-rich that my feet are soaking wet cause i couldn't quite jump all the way over that puddle in the parking lot on the way inside. now i have the joy of cold wet clammy feet. whereas that man over there? that man in the jacket there? with the scarf in the line? his feet are dry.

a man less not-rich also would not know the simple pleasures of triscuits that are in truth store brand "woven wheat crackers." or of store brand "chocolate" chip cookies that no one would ever confuse with chips ahoy. that less not-rich man will have gone soft and lazy on shake n bake and san pellegrino and charmin, unlike not-rich me, who has kept his flinty edge, thanks to store brand "chik'n coating" and "fizzy" water and toilet "paper." when said same less not-rich man has people over, he thinks those people are his friends, but he can't be sure, cause what if they're just hangers-on, sycophant-ing him for his shake n bake. me, i KNOW who my friends are, cause i give them store brand "chik'n coating." and if they're still talking to me in the morning, i know they're true blue.

so yeah, i got all that not-rich stuff in my basket.

and you see all those less not-rich people over there? those people who are way less-poor than me? well, they're over there in the FRESH PRODUCE section, looking over all the melons. oh to have their problems for a day, you know? you know what i mean when i say that bout their problems? how i kinda am being facetious but not really? 'which melon looks ripest to you, honey, this one or this one or this one.' 'you can't tell less you thump it with your finger so best start thumping with your finger.' 'oh, i don't feel like thumping any melon with my finger so why don't we just take a chance, honey, we never take CHANCES anymore.'

it would be nice to just chuck melons in a cart and not hafta worry bout if they're ripe or if i'll be able to eat 'em in time. be nice to know what to do with a nice melon other than cut it into little balls or chunks. i'd like to buy a buncha melons and just play around with 'em. see what happens and not hafta worry bout what if i make something that's gross so i just wasted a couple bucks on a melon that no one will eat.

ah. see? see what i'm doing? i'm doing it again. moaning and griping and mountain-out-of-a-molehill-ing my problems again. glooming and dooming again. where's the silver lining in the cloud of being not-rich. where's the positive spin on having barely enough money to buy groceries which will last through the weekend.

(by the way, just so we're clear, none of this has anything to do with glen coming in last night with his lovely wife. nor does it have anything to do with jimmy ALSO coming in, with his fetching current squeeze in tow. no, nothing whatsoever to do with them sitting at the bar planning all their fun activities for the next ten days, and has everything to do with them taking off on a cruise first thing tomorrow morning, saturday, the four of them, one of those cruises where they go to a buncha different islands in ten days. me, i'm stuck holding down the fort, which in and of itself isn't so ... i ... ah, come on, it's a buncha CARIBBEAN islands but what are glen and jimmy most geeked about? the possibility they'll be able to drive golfballs into the ocean from the back deck of the damn ship, just like they do on the t.v. commercials.) 

well ... uh ... well, silver lining ... uh ... well, positive spin ...

well, okay, one of the good things about being very incredibly beyond my wildest dreams not-rich is i am well-acquainted with the clearance racks here at the local neighborhood grocery store. today i am looking at dry roasted peanuts that yes, okay, sure, fine, okay, are SLIGHTLY past their sell by date. but ... you know ... it's only a month past and those sell by dates are prolly pretty arbitrary, doncha think? i mean, what IS a sell by date, anyway? it's just a date determined by some ... government agency, and all that ever is is bureaucracy, right? buncha red tape so how reliable can the numbers be, the dates. i mean, we all know how bumblefucky the government can be. we all have our stories about that, right?

and it's just peanuts, anyway, how bad can they go, right? when was the last time someone got hurt from eating a peanut. and at these prices? a buck for a sixteen ounce thing of dry roasted wasabi peanuts? i'd be stupid not to. or rich. and since clearly i am neither stupid NOR rich, i don't have much of a choice other than to get these goddamn peanuts and call three handfuls of them a lunch. today's lunch and then tomorrow's too. sunday's lunch is taken care of cause i'll be at work and can just have nando make me something there. like a steak. with a baked potato and sauteed vegetables. (please god let me live til sunday. let me not die from eating peanuts i shouldn't have bought in the first place.)

and ... oh, what have we here? what's this? what might THIS be? valentine's candy seventy five percent off? wow. thank you very much. yes. into the basket you go, valentines butterfingers. i'll save you for later. as a gift, a peace offering, when i have done something stupid to land me in the doghouse. yep. like when i permanently stain her precious couch again and i'm getting the riot act read to me, i will whip you out, valentines butterfingers and my bacon will be saved.

yes, you too, candy hearts with messages on them, i noticed you too, don't think i'm overlooking you, cause i'm not. sure, you don't taste of anything other than sweet, and there's an odd chalky thing happening after i eat too many of you, but you're only thirty-five cents so i'll be calling you a weird snack later on. when my sweet tooth kicks in and i realize that all the cookies in the house have been previously eaten by someone who most likely will turn out to have been me. i will mourn my lack of cookies not one bit, because i will have you, candy hearts with messages.

hey. what's that. a beef stick that's clearly been dented and damaged? well, it's not ... well, it's not ... well ... uh ... it hasn't been THAT dented, the damage isn't THAT great. just a little dinged is all. let's just look it over for any ... signs of puncture to the shrink-wrap ... nope. none. doesn't seem to be any. the integrity of the package has not been compromised, so 'hello, beef stick. nice to meet you, my name's (the squirrel).'

oh. wait. it's not a beef stick. it's a turkey stick. shit. i hate those. they taste funny. chemical-smokehouse. and the taste stays with you all afternoon. oh well. it's only a buck fifty, so ... i'll just hafta eat something i don't like. (because being not-rich means you hafta eat things you don't wanna. like turkey stick or a plate of beans or that can you found at the back of your cupboard but it has no label so you don't know what it is til you open it.)

speaking of something i don't like, PRINGLES! but not the american kind, the MEXICAN kind. yeah, mexican pringles. nacho cheese. no wonder these bad boys are on the clearance rack that's just next to the swinging doors that take you out to the store room. i don't like pringles very much. HOWEVER, the snack supply back home is dangerously low, and man cannot snack by peanuts alone, so ... just take two or three of these here ... canisters ... wish there were some mexican sour cream and onion, though. or mexican barbecue. or mexican plain old original salted.

boy. this basket sure is getting full and heavy. hurts my arm just holding the thing. right at the shoulder, getting stiff. that's a good sign. that means i'm getting VALUE, i'm getting BANG for my BUCK. i'll have choices to choose from when i sit down on my couch to watch a buncha television tonight.

ah, and there's ANOTHER thing. either netflix is getting sloppy/lazy or my mailman decided to mess with me cause i was sposed to have three nextflixes in my box but instead just got a gas bill and a mattress sale flyer. so now i gotta watch one of my dvds that i've seen a million times, like ... oh ... i dunno ... alien or casablanca or roadhouse or ...

or i could watch pbs but it'll prolly just be some bill moyers thing, some thing that goes way over my head cayse he's so way smarter than me and i won't understand a word of it but i'll nod and chortle like i do. like that one time i watched his thing with joseph campbell, when they were breaking down myths. no CLUE what they were talking bout but then i went to that party and had to act like i did, cause everyone sure did love it, sure did learn ever so much.

wait. i think friday night lights is on. good. i like friday night lights. it doesn't make me feel stupid. it's just about football. texas HIGH school football. not a whole lotta thought involved there.