I finally have use of my DSL again, so I’m thrilled to be able to blog about all of the shit that’s been building up over the last 4 days.

First, Thanksgiving. Typically I cook Thanksgiving dinner. I make the whole shebang, and I invite my parents and whatever strays I can muster. This year, there were no takers. My parents weren’t in the mood, and I couldn’t find a stray if I tried. That meant that I had the day off for Thanksgiving for the first time in . . . well . . . forever.

I decided to take advantage of it by flopping on my couch for as many hours as possible. For me, that’s not many hours. I can’t sit still for too long, but I certainly tried.

I became hungry at lunchtime, so I meandered over to the grocery store — the one in my neighborhood that I detest — to get a few odds and ends. I was the only one in the store who wasn’t looking for turkey seasoning, milk, rolls, soda, turkey, cranberry sauce, cakes, etc. What was I buying? A couple of Lean Cuisines, frozen waffles, cat food (just because I wasn’t planning to have a turkey dinner didn’t mean that the cats shouldn’t indulge in canned turkey & giblets for kitties).

The holiday cheer ended when I reached the “Express Line.” Despite the sign that said “15 items or less,” the woman in front of me had no less than 35 items in her cart.

Now, let’s be clear. We’ve all been guilty of sneaking an extra item in here and there. A few times, I’ve had 17 items in the 15 or under lane. And you know what? I’ve felt guilty about it. Who was I to upset the system?

Well, apparently, Little Miss Full-Basket felt no remorse, or social responsibility, as she shamelessly unloaded her cart while those of us behind her in the queue stared at her and sighed dramatically as we held our handcarts containing 5 items.

And then I started to wonder why the cashier didn’t tell her that she had too many items. In fact, several Jewel employees walked by her, noticed her cart, and didn’t mention that she probably had three times the amount of items than she should have.

I just gave her my icy, dagger stare to the point where she stopped looking in my direction.

And let’s discuss the contents of her basket, shall we?

She had no less than 3 10-pound buckets of chitterlings. Not having been a pork eater for a minimum of 15 years, I’m certainly no chitterling expert. I do know a few things about them, however. 1) They stink to the high heavens, because 2) They’re pig intestines and need to be cleaned rigorously. 3) If cleaned properly, it should take hours, and probably makes a big-ass mess.

So, knowing what I know, and looking at my watch while standing in line, I estimated that if she planned to eat that nasty pig mess for Thanksgiving, she wouldn’t be eating dinner until about 2:00 am.

She had a whole bunch of other disgusting items in her cart that her roughly 9-year-old son unloaded as he smacked on a bag of not-yet-purchased Dorito’s.

When I finally made it to the cash register, I couldn’t resist making a sideways comment about the women in front of me and “her 97 items.” I didn’t get a response.

I returned to the comfort of my couch, and didn’t leave it for hours. I got up later to visit the parents, and ended up driving through White Castle during an extreme moment of hunger at about 10:00 (I figured if I didn’t indulge in the usual mac & cheese and 15 desserts, a deep friend chicken patty certainly wouldn’t kill me).

The next couple of days were uneventful. I tried to go shopping on Black Friday, but was majorly unimpressed with the sales.

Sunday was interesting. I took a friend out for dinner, and while we were out I received a call from a number that I didn’t recognize. And for the record, I’m a shady call answerer. If I have no idea of who it is, I refuse to answer the phone. This caller didn’t leave a message, but called back a second time, within 5 minutes.

I noted the persistence, and answered the call. It was a collect call from Cook County jail. It took me a second to figure out that it was a jail call, and when I did, I didn’t pay attention to the name of the caller, I just hung up the phone. Certainly none of MY friends would have ended up in the clink, right? Or would they? Hmmm . . .

Later on, I felt guilty. What if someone had gotten arrested for something stupid, and I abandoned them? So I set myself about calling the people who I felt would use me as the emergency call. It’s a small universe of people.

I made the first call, and my friend j. was safe and sound. No worries. No Cell Block B.

I made the second call, and that person was EXTREMELY put off that I would think that he was in jail. VERY irritated. He told me that it was fucked up that I immediately thought of him. I told him that I was just checking because I was concerned. He didn’t quite see it that way. I’m afraid that I won’t speak to him for a while.

Because of that reaction, I didn’t make the third and final call. Oh well. If it wasn’t a wrong number, that person needed to call his mother.