Thanks Wal-Mart, I Mean Marketside.

Dear Marketside:

I wanted to thank you for the lovely loaf of bread that my roommate bought. How did you know that we were trying to eat healthy?

I really just hate it when I get a loaf of bread and it's way too full of, well, bread. All those terrible carbs that I am forced to put on my sandwiches. I've been waiting for someone to take action and fix this problem for me.

Then you come along, Marketside. You come along with your wisdom and empathy towards our personal needs. How did you know that putting a large hole 3/4ths of the way through the loaf would help us lose weight and feel better about ourselves? You are the smartest, prettiest and simply by far the best company we have ever purchased from. I tell you what. I am a lifelong customer now.

Since we have become so close in the last hour, I'd like to bring something up.

I'm worried about you.

I know that there's a whole lot of hoo-ha in the copywrite/not-ripping-people-off department in this country. I'm worried that you might have stolen this idea from one of the millions of clever 'Ten Tips To Lose Weight Fast' articles I've seen all over MSN.com.

Since we're friends and I don't want you to get in trouble, I thought I should bring this to your attention. I don't want some blogger or small time magazine journalist out there suing you. They might obtain rights to your company and begin making whole loaves of bread again.

We can't have that.

Anyway, thanks again for being so considerate of the low-carb needs out there. You really are the best.

Love and kisses,
(XOXOXOXO)

Kara and Shmishelle

Attention Customers? Please Send SRS Assistance to Aisle 1

Two Halloweens ago I dressed up as Mother Earth. I wore green clothing and tights, and put green glittery make-up all over my arms and face (and chest. Gotta take care of the cleavage). I even got that colored spray, sprayed my hair green and put millions of bobby pins and fake twigs and leaves in the now-green-rock that used to be my hair (it washed right out, thank God).

I looked pretty damn good.

Until the bars closed and I walked to my car (I wasn't the one driving).

I'm not quite sure what had happened except that I think I can blame a good majority on some homemade minty shots earlier in the evening.

I just fell over.

On my face.

I didn't even have scratches on my hands, so I'm pretty sure I didn't try to catch myself at all. Well, mostly I caught myself with my chin and my nose. As I was trying to figure out what I had just done, I heard a girl shout out:

Oh my God, he just pushed her down! Do you want us to call the cops? We should call the cops!

Since I'm pretty sure that the guy with me had not pushed me down, mostly because he looked worried and was helping me up, I slurred back:

Nmo, ish oke. I frelt bo meshelf.
(No, it's okay. I fell by myself.)

They didn't call the cops so I think they understood me.

Or the guy got us out of there before his ass went to jail.

My face was pretty bad the next day. There were scratches all over, especially by my nose and chin, and a particularly bad one on my forehead. The thing that I have never been able to live down is that my face became progressively worse over the next month. I ended up with two black eyes that took a month to peak, and longer to go away. Not only that but I had to deal with the acne that came along with putting pounds of make-up over these bruises. Thank God for dim lighting at restaurants.

Everytime I would go out in public I would get those, you should really break up with your abusive boyfriend looks.

The thing is, no one did anything about it. Meaning they never actually said anything to me except for those who knew me well and had heard the story. And those people just wanted to make fun of me and tell me what an idiot I was (am).

Moral of this story? Don't expect the Wal-Mart cashier to help you if your significant other is beating you.

If Stealing An Apple, You Might As Well Steal the Caramel Too

I went to Wal-Mart yesterday because I wanted Avatar. It is a great movie. Watch it.

I went there with my sister and my mom's credit card in my wallet because she wanted me to purchase it on Blue-Ray for her. Apparently no one has it right now because they are about to re-release it on a three disc set. My life was momentarily ruined and I had to sit there and listen to my sister try to talk to my mom on the phone about what else to get.

Side-note: I. Hate. Wal-Mart.

After sitting there for what felt like an eternity in care-bear heaven (my personal hell) We finally made our way to the check-out line. The woman checking us out obviously did not feel like her life was up to par, because she was a Biatch. She rang up the four movies we were buying, and handed my sister the bag. I had my card in my wallet next to my mom's, and they look very similar except for the fact that mine has no money on it. I swiped the card once; it was denied. I swiped it again after telling her to put back all the movies but one; it was denied. I looked in my wallet, blushed, fumbled around while trying to switch the cards out, and told her to ring up all of the movies again. She did. I paid. I signed.

At this point she looked at me and asked if this was my card.

Me: "No, it's my mom's."

Evil Lady: "You need to have your mom's I.D. to be able to use it."

Me: "I don't even have my I.D. I've never had a problem with using this before."

Evil Lady: "Well it won't accept the signature unless you have the person's I.D."

Me (staring at the screen, confused): "It says right here that it accepted the signature."

At this point she huffily called over a manager. He came over and she explained the situation to him. He asked if the merchandise had already been paid for, and she scoffed and gestured towards the receipt that was laying, with the card, on top of the movies that she had demanded back from my sister.

He informed her that there was nothing they could do, and looked like he didn't give a shit anyway about the situation. He cocked an eyebrow in her direction, handed me the card, and lazily said, "I guess next time just have your mom call or something," shrugged his shoulders, and walked off.

The checkout lady then put our movies into a tiny bag, and asked my sister for the larger, more convenient bag back. My sister said she could just put the miniature bag in the normal one, but the woman insisted, saying "I can just use it for another customer!"

What I got out of this, aside from the already-known-fact that Wal-Mart is a horrible void in space and time, is that if I ever choose to steal someones credit card, I need to make sure that I steal their identification as well so that it will be legal.