I'm Psychotic... I Mean, Psychic!

Sometimes I do things without knowing why, only to find out later that it was a manifestation of my somewhat hazy psychic abilities. I'm like Miss Cleo without the fake Jamaican accent and the lawsuit.

Take this weekend, for example. I had a sudden urge Friday night to go Krogering, even though I didn't really need anything. Yeah, I was running close on cat food, and I was out of French Vanilla Creme coffee, but there was no urgent reason for me to brave the grocery aisles. But, out of boredom, I laced up my boots and headed out.

45 minutes later, I had a cartful of things that I didn't necessarily need at the moment, but would by no means go to waste. Eventually I would need that new bottle of conditioner. Buying the giant bottle of salsa would save me a trip in the future. And the beer was on sale, right?

However, I don't know why I ended up with all of the faux meat products. I am far from being a vegetarian, but Roger Mexico got me addicted to Morningstar Farms "chicken" nuggets and patties when he lived here. And I figured if I liked those products, then perhaps the buffalo wings would be tasty as well. And the tomato and basil burgers. And the prime griller veggie burgers. Suddenly my cart was full of little green boxes of soy-based products. I decided to save the breakfast patties and not dogs for my next shopping excursion.

(Despite this foray into meat substitutes, I draw the line at Gardenburgers, though. Tried 'em, thought they were icky. I do not want to see corn and rice in my burger patties. And fake bacon looks scary, too. )

After leaving the grocery, I decided to stop at Blockbuster to rent a video. Inexplicably, I wound up renting six tapes. Oh well. I didn't have any plans for the next few days, so I figured I'd have plenty of time to watch them. (Quickie reviews thus far: Startup.com was great, but sad and disheartening. Ghost World was very good but I was unsatisfied with the ending due to my dislike of the main character and the choices she made in her life, and Unbreakable was good until the surprise climax with no follow up. Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back is by no means an award winner, but it's good stupid fun with tons of in-jokes. Series 7: The Contenders is brilliant in a mean spirited kind of way, but not for all tastes. A parody of a reality show where people actually kill each other shouldn't be funny, but it is. They managed to work in every cliche you've ever seen on Survivor/The Real World/etc., from the sharply edited "meet the character" segments to the flashback montages with the cheesy pop ballad accompaniment. I've haven't watched Hedwig and the Angry Inch yet, but will do so tomorrow.)

I spent Saturday with Zappagirl, doing a driving/walking tour of the city for her cousin's Flat Stanley project. It's amazing how many things I learned about the city from the tourbook, despite having lived here my entire life. It was fun playing tourist for a day, and I highly recommend the experience.

Afterwards we headed back to her house to grill steaks. (I figured it was a balance to my Morningstar Farms spending spree.) While the steaks were marinating, we roasted Marshmallow Peeps over the coals. Yummy.

One of my headlights had burned out on my car, so I had stopped at Wal Mart to buy replacement bulbs. While I was puching my car's make and model into the little computer that tells you what bulbs will fit, some guy asked me if I needed help. Now I'm not a Feminist with a Capital F (more like a feminist with a lowercase f), but it irritated me. I am fully capable of typing in "Toyota" and the proper year and model and matching up the information with the correct package. I politely refused his help, determined to replace the burned-out bulb without the assistance of a Y chromosome.

So after the rotisserie style Peeps, Zappagirl and I cracked open my car owner's manual and began to take apart my car. After reading the wrong set of instructions (my car had two different options on headlights, one that could be changed from the back and one that required disassembling the grill), we retraced our steps and successfully replaced both bulbs. Feeling rather superior, we emitted a few Tim Allen-esque manly grunts, cracked open a couple of beers, and finished grilling up the slab o' dead cow. We were unable to complete the macho facade, however, when we realized we had no packages to adjust and started flipping through the Coldwater Creek catalog from the daily mail.

I was supposed to meet my mother the next afternoon to see South Pacific at the Aronoff Center, so I headed back to my apartment around noon, still feeling rather proud of myself for handling a minor car crisis without calling my dad for help. That's when the knocking sound started coming from the engine.

Knock knock knock. Knock knock knock. Knock knock KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK BAM!!!

I pulled into the emergency lane of the expressway, and got out of the car immediately. (I've previously had a car die on the side of the road and burst into flames, so I'm a little paranoid.) I called my mother to let her know that it looked like I wasn't going to make it to the show, and she and my father set off to retrieve me and my car. I texted Zappagirl to let her know what happened, and she jumped into her car to join me on the side of the road for moral support. In addition, five cars pulled over to see if I needed help. There are still some nice people out there, folks.

So after much roadside chain-smoking and a tow to the mechanic's, I find myself without a car and stuck in my apartment. (The mechanic hasn't looked at it yet, but my father has theorized that I blew a head gasket.) Thankfully, I don't have much to do this week. Take Kismet to the vet to have her stitches removed. Go to my writer's group meeting. Wait to hear results on the prospective job. (They're calling my references, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.)

So I guess it was a good thing that I rented all of those movies and stocked up on groceries, huh? Maybe Rosencrantz was right - I am her psychic friend. I suppose if the job opportunity falls through, I could just break out one of my packs of tarot cards and start charging everyone $3.95 a minute for a glimpse of their future.

On second thought, maybe not. I don't foresee that as a wise move.