Apr 23, 2016

I Wonder ... #10

     You know, one wonders if being a self-employed freelancer with seemingly pliable working hours, seemingly portable work space and thus seemingly all the freedom in the world really is all roses and sunshine. But one gets their answer soon enough. I got mine yesterday, for example.
     Yesterday morning I decided to do a quick grocery store run before lunch since I'm a self-employed freelancer with pliable working hours (and thus all the freedom in the world, duh) so there really is no reason for me to wait until three or five p. m. to stand in lines and shove and squeeze with other working people — "I'll just go before noon and avoid the after-work crowd, get in, get out, a pit-stop really," I thought.
     Yeah right.
     I got to the store, grabbed a shopping basket, swiftly threw everything I needed in it and basically sprinted towards the cash-registers — a working woman truly has no time to waste, whether she's her own boss or not. But when I finally reached the home stretch already spotting the finish line (the exit), I came to a screeching halt: every retired grandma and twenty percent of retired grandpas living within a radius of a hundred and ten kilometers were there waiting in that one line. I almost clawed all the veins in my neck out.
     But as if all those seventy-five people in line before me weren't enough (there were actually six, but if sure felt like seventy-five), another grandma came wobbling by complaining to the mobile fossil before me how she already waited in line and only 'ran' (RAN!) to the fruit section to get some oranges she first forgot to take and now she lost her spot. And what did the nice old lady before me said to her? Well boohoo, granny, you snooze, you lose maybe? Of course she did, she said exactly that — in my own little fantasy land in my head. She even turned and high-fived me. But outside in the real world, one relic said to the other: "Of course, ma'am, go right ahead, the line really is long," and she let the bitch with the oranges cut in line. Fucking oranges.
     I'd say I was fuming, but I'd be lying: I very calmly and prudently plotted a murder or two. And just when I was wondering how bad spending a couple of years in prison could be anyway, the universe decided to rub it in a little and the lyrics of the song playing over the speakers permeated my blood-soaked thoughts just in time for me to hear Gwen Stefani singing: "If I could escape and recreate a place that's my own world ... I know I've been a real bad girl, I didn't mean for you to get hurt." I mean ... genius. I almost turned and high-fived the universe for never failing to crack me up.
     And so I started to sing along in my head and — quite frankly — enjoy the time spent queuing, what else was I to do. My mind thus slowly but surely wandered away from homicide-scheming and started wondering other stuff. Mostly asinine crap, of course, but still I wondered ...

What would people post on Instagram if we didn't sustain ourselves by eating food — let's say roasted veal tenderloin in lemon verbena sauce on a bed of baby carrots, broccoli rap, leek and violet potatoes (#foodporn, duh) — but with photosynthesis? #Photosynthesisporn?

Is being a gynecologist your dream job if you're a lesbian and a urologist if you're gay? Or is that just too much of a good thing?

How the fuck can Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay both be British?

Is a cactus just a hedgehog's lazy cousin?

What's the difference between cat food and dog food and why there even have to be two? Since both cats and dogs are carnivorous, it has to be just a marketing gimmick. Or would a dog suddenly start meowing if you fed him or her cat food?

Is a pheromone actually just a Pharaoh that moans?

If everyone jumped in the ocean, would it overflow?

Is broccoli just cauliflower that's nauseated?

Or is cauliflower just blanched broccoli that got really really scared?

If broccoli and cauliflower had a baby, would it be green or white? Or would it be green AND white? And what would it be called? Cauliccoli?

     Told you — asinine crap. But if this list of absurd bullshit made you wonder what's with my obsession with cauliflower and broccoli, you'll have to wait until next week when I'll share a broccoli related story because, man, do I have broccoli coming out of my ears ...
     As for those who are were wondering if freelancers really are swimming in rosebuds and sunshine, I hope you see who burst that bubble — a fucking grandma with her cane. 

     Thanks for stopping by and looking and reading (obviously) my mishmash jumble of pot-pourri-like craziness, it means the world to me. Therefore, you're welcome to pop by again next week to see what's new on the blog — I post once a week every week, most likely somewhere between Wednesdays and Sundays. But beware, I'm not signing and sealing that in blood so your best bet is to follow FPS via email (or Bloglovin, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook or Google+) to never miss an update. Or simply come by again sometimes!