Day 11, Monday: What He giveth, He just may taketh away

Once again I’ve slept in and missed breakfast. I drag my late, but slightly smaller, ass into work and realize that I’ve forgotten to bring a lunch. As I am neither a planner, nor a cook, my food regimen usually consists of anywhere from zero to seven square (possibly isosceles, often tater-tot* shaped) meals, couched between various snacks, many Diet Cokes, and whatever scraps I manage to snarfle off your plate before it gets to you. If one had the learning of a fancy psychology degree (which may also be useful in bartending) she might diagnose me with two or even three eating disorders. But Anorexia would totally not be one of them, and I am NOT about to go until after 6:00 without eating.

Upon request, my lovely husband is kind enough to pop in and bring me some black beans & rice, two cabbage leaves, & two blackberries.

Until now, I’ve pretty much kept my diet on the down-low around the Nail’s customers (Hereinafter referred to as “Clients,” so as not to waste my education.) I’m not ashamed, I just suspect they won’t understand. These suspicions are soon confirmed when, after explaining the basic premise of the 30/30 experiment, I am met with a universal “Why the hell would you want to do that?” A fair question, but I realize the answer is more easily articulated to, and understood by, a different crowd. (i.e. hippies) To the urban (semi) haute bourgeois that frequent my place of employment, the concept of voluntary self-denial is categorized not only as foreign, but as Anti-American heresy. †

I’ll take this opportunity to illustrate a very important fact, since I’m unsure of the extent to which I’ve described the Rusty Nail to the reader. With the exception of my own political leanings, the only thing at the Nail that could be accurately described as “liberal,” would be Big Daddy’s‡ enthusiastic use of salt and lard in the giant vats of collard greens, black eyed peas, and mac-n-cheese. Despite the Nail’s dive bar status, most of the clientele (I mean Clients) is made up of the fairly affluent uber-Right (good for tips, bad for open political discourse.) Whereas I am usually quick to voice my opinion, I keep a close check on my tongue when it comes to the Politiks.

Today, I forgo a defense of 30/30, opting instead to pour stronger drinks, in hopes that my Clients will either feel sorry for me and tip more, or accidentally leave a $100.

Adam, who still has the car, is late picking me up this evening. I wait. He gets later. I wait. He’s stuck in traffic, so I wander on over to CVS to take in today's array of pharmaceutical wares. After observing the patience with which I have endured my husband's tardiness, The Man Upstairs reveals his blessing to me. In the form of a silver shopping cart emblazoned with a hand-written "90% off" sign, He rewards me yet again with the bounty of clearance X-mas candy. Thirty cents later, and I'm the proud owner of a Russell Stover 4-pack of assorted truffles, and a marshmallow Santa. The chocolates go for $0.21, and the Santa $0.09. I’ve got $0.05 left.

I’ve wolfed down the Russell Stover chocolates before Adam finally arrives. Apparently, he “didn’t know what time [he] was supposed to be there.” Super lame excuse, but Lady Luck shines on both of us tonight. I've got a belly full of choco-goodness, and I’m in high spirits. Adam gets off scott free, blissfully aware that what, on another day, might have earned him a sarcasm laden lecture about how “6:30 is rather ambiguous," has been averted. There will be no mocking and faux-understanding. He doesn't even get an "I guess 6:30 is pretty vague, what with all the nuances and interpretations from person to person. I mean, which time zone are we talking about? Before or after Day Light Savings? You know Arizona doesn’t even participate in day light savings, right? The Native Americans didn’t even have watches.”

He seems genuinely sorry, and has a friend in town, so I decide to keep my high horse locked away in the stables tonight. Plus, I got chocolate out of it.

I don’t eat dinner. I’m full of chocolate. And even as the cocoa starts to wear off, I don’t let it get me down. Why? Because I’ve got a Marshmallow Santa in my purse. Like most every member of the marshmallow family, Marshmallow Santas have always owned a place in my heart and back fat. Just as the proverbial tiny tot with his eyes all aglow eagerly awaits the arrival of St. Nick and his bag of toys, I impatiently anticipate the early-November appearance of his confectionery likeness on gas station and drug store shelves.

I had scored the last Marshmallow Santa of the season!

It is with heavy heart that I tell the reader what next conspires. In what can only be perceived as a cosmic bitch-slap, and appropriately proportional discipline, karma gives me the sugary back hand for even thinking about bitching at Adam earlier. It appears that my judgement, clouded by haste and delusions of Marshmallow-Santa-finding-grandeur, has erred. For my Marshmallow Santa is not a Marshmallow Santa at all. My Marshmallow Santa is a Caramel Santa.

I one-up karma by I eating it anyways.

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* “Hey Napoleon, gimme some of your tots!”
† Was that a totally annoying sentence?
‡ I am continually delighted by the fact that the cook, who has run the kitchen for the past thirty years and absolutely hates me, goes by the title of “Big Daddy."

Day 10, Sunday: Forever, and ever, and ever, and ever. And ever.

As I choke down my brunch of green pea and spinach mush, I reach the realization that I have found the secret to eternal life. And eternal life sucks big.

The older I get, the more it seems the days quickly turn to weeks, and months become years. It is a decade since I graduated high school, but it feels like just yesterday I was crouched between cars, puffing away on my Newport cigarette hoping Oakie, the creepster campus police officer, wouldn’t catch me.

High school flew by, followed by undergrad and law school. Nights out at the clubs in Canada, sorority functions, pulling all-nighters to make up for skipped classes, they all passed without my even noticing. Now, its been almost two years since I finished school, and time has not slowed.

Until now. The past nine days have been an f-ing eternity, and twenty days from now might as well be twenty years. I wrestle from minute to minute with the mundane. Should I eat more green pea mush for dinner or bang my head against this concrete wall? (I reluctantly chose the green pea mush)

Perhaps I need to revive some of those excitements of childhood. Maybe I’ll steal a pack of cigarettes or smoke a joint in the Wal-Mart bathroom.

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For those readers who may be interested in eternal life without the burden of a restricted diet, I've included this coupon I found off the internet

And this one for the bread of life. In case you get hungry.

Day 9, Saturday: Supermarket Sweep

Adam has to go to the grocery today, and I’m totally on board. As a small child, my father taught me that Saturday is free sample day. He also taught me that there is no shame in visiting a particularly good sample table as many times as they'll let you. I may not be able to buy groceries, I can sure make the best of a grocery visit. I grab a falafel patty on the way out the door, in case the pickings are slim.

Just as I have been a lifelong liberal, so have I been a die-hard Kroger shopper. By default, Adam became a Kroger shopper when he assumed the bonds of matrimony. Sure, Kroger’s lighting and interior design isn’t as good as Publix, and they don’t offer nearly as much choice in organic produce as Whole Foods, (which is fine, since I’m way too poor to buy organic) but what they lack in aesthetics and/or variety they make up for in price. Its fine with me that they don’t have organic chai latte muesli, since I was going to buy store-brand raisin bran anyways.

A sweep of the entire grocery store reveals that the effects of a poor economy have spilled over into the free sample arena. Typically one will find at least a meat and cheese roll-up in the deli area, but no such luck. Today, Kroger has two samples: (1) Rachael Ray’s new line of dog food, and (2) fresh baked bread. As I’m not quite desperate enough to eat dog food, even if it is made by Rachael Ray (who, not satisfied with taking over every other market, has now moved to pet food as well), I stick with the fresh baked bread.


I had forgotten how good bread was, not having purchased any premade, or having the ambition or skill to make my own. Since there doesn’t appear to be anyone monitoring the bread sampling area, I return three additional times, slathering my slices with the butter offered in compliment to it. Overcome with a piggish euphoria, I tell Adam to pick me up next door at Publix. I’m going to check out their sample selection.


Almost as soon as one enters Publix, she is met by a woman (it is, as far as I can tell, invariably a woman) in a little booth . When you meet her, this smiling hair-netted woman will be working away over a crock-pot and a skillet, preparing some sort of meat and side dish combo. Along with a cocktail party sized plate of whatever she’s whipped up today, she’ll hand you a recipe card so that you know which Kraft or Tyson products to buy, should you wish to recreate what you just got for free.

Today I am treated to a Sun-Dried Tomato Artichoke Chicken With Arugula Macadamia Salad*

I don’t want to complain, since I really didn’t earn this food, but I will anyways. The food looks pretty, and the recipe might actually be good if made by the right person. It appears that my sample chef, although fairly attractive and extremely friendly, isn’t the best cook. The chicken is tough and the vegetables are mushy, and covered with a slimy film.

Disappointed, I head on over to the deli where I am delighted to find my favorite cheese, smoked gouda, is in mine for the taking. Things are looking up. I eye a turkey luch meat sample. A woman, possibly aware that I've spent the better part of the morning sample swiping, uses her cart to block my way in an uncalled-for attempt at vigilante justice. I push through and she is unable to prevent my access to the turkey lunch meat sample. In today's first example of instant karma I drop the damn piece of turkey on the floor almost immediately. With a smirk on her face, cart-lady prepares her new defense strategy. I don't have the energy to wrestle with her again, so I forego a replacement turkey.

Adam isn’t out front when I’m done. I consider going back for seconds but decide against it. As it turns out, Sun-Dried Tomato Artichoke Chicken With Arugula Macadamia Salad (SDTACWAMS) and I will meet again later today

Julie and I have a shopping date at Atlantic Station because Old Navy is having a “big sale.” Incidentally, the sale is bullshit, and, if you want my opinion, Old Navy has gotten a little too big for its britches. Considering the quality of the product, I think anything on “sale” at Old Navy should be under $20. But I digress- Not having found anything to our liking at Old Navy, we visit a few other stores and head out. As luck would have it, Matt asked Julie to stop and get him some Dr. Pepper while she was out, and Atlantic Station features none other than a Publix, which both sells Dr. Pepper AND offers SDTACWAMS samples. It's better this time. And Julie is nice enough to give me the macadamia nuts off her Macadamia Nut Salad. Score!

Back home, Adam and Matt are watching football, and I’m starting to come down off the SDTACWAMS. Suddenly, I’m struck with a brilliant idea. I should hit up a few of the other, more high-end grocery stores and see what kind of swag I can score there! A scavenger after my own heart, Julie graciously agrees to escort me on my adventure.

The smell of patchoulie drenched Yuppies parading as hippies permeates as we enter the clean and colorful world of Whole foods. All shapes and sizes of overpriced tropical flowers and organic produce flood the eye with a rainbow of unnaturally natural reds, greens, yellows, violets, and oranges. The unchecked, and unvaccinated children of parents who don’t believe in discipline run amok as they child-handle the posh fruits and vegetables that they’ll later reject, throwing them in their parents' faces, screaming for Chicken McNuggets. I forgive the Yippies their contrary ways, and not just because they're paying for all the free samples I’m about to dig in to. It’s actually kind of cute how the color in their face matches their tie-dyed shirts as they yell in the face of the produce workers, demanding to know why there isn’t any Blueberry Pom today.

Julie and I gorge ourselves on two types of oranges, apple cider, tilapia in a dill cream sauce, hummus, some sort of weird cheesy crab dip, carrots in two separate kinds of ginger miso dip, salmon salad, some fresh baked bread, pannatone, and some tortilla chips (they were all out of salsa.) We buy nothing since (1) we never intended to, and (2) even if we had intended to, we were full now.

Although apparently not enough to invoke immunity from instant karma, I offer to let Julie wait in the store while I get the car, since it‘s raining fairly hard, and she has charitably agreed to accompany me on the tour d’ samples. Unable to locate my bright blue vehicle, I walk up and down the rows, finally locating the car, but then having to dig around in my gigantor purse for the keys. Wet, but not deterred, we head on over to Trader Joe’s to “sample” the local fare.

Besides being known for its beloved “Two-buck Chuck,” Trader Joes, the K-Mart of organic foods markets, is as fun and happy as a chain supermarket can get. The employees all wear Hawiian shirts to match the tropical murals on the walls. With a surprisingly nice price to delicious ratio, Trader Joe’s only drawback is the somewhat limited selection. On sample day, however, TJ’s doesn’t fail me. Their only sample is a green curry meatball, but I eat four of them to make up for the lack of variety.

Today, I enter an all new level of grocer enlightenment. Up until this point, I had been all too blind to the fact that Kroger has been robbing me of the free samples I deserve. But I’ll probably keep shopping there, since I’m afraid of getting the measles, mumps, or rubella.†

Best in Show goes to whole foods for taste, diversity, presentation, and quality.

*http://www.publix.com/aprons/meals/AllRecipes/SimpleMeal.do?mealId=2968&mealGroupId=1000
†http://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/preview/mmwrhtml/mm57e222a1.htm