Thursday, May 10, 2007

Mission Critical

I have a personal problem. I’m a picky bitch. No, that is not the problem, not for me anyway. See; I’m what I call a put up or shut up kinda person. I know what I like, I know what I want, and I do not generally settle for anything other than what I want.

There are a lot of things that I prefer. I am quite ding dang opinionated about what I want, and why I want it. I buy the local skim milk in the recycled paper cartons for lots of reasons. I only like skim milk, and screw you if you think it is disgusting blue water you uncultured fucks. It supports the local economy as well as actual people and cows I have met. It is good for the environment. The containers are better than plastic because they block light and therefor retain the nutritional benefits of the milk. I think Han Solo is way hotter than Luke Skywalker and will forever harbor a grudge against anyone who disagrees. I like paper AND plastic, and I do not feel this is in contradiction to my concerns about the environment, and will gladly tell any tree hugging hippie mother fucker to suck it if they try to convince me to give up this habit. As a rule I would rather stay home and watch reruns of shows I like than go on a date just because somebody asked me. I love the following programs. Law and Order in all its incarnations. The West Wing. X-Files. My new obsession Angel. By the way, I am so bummed, I watched some stuff I recorded in the thick of tax season, and Wesley dies in the end! Oh, my poor broken heart. Rest in peace Wesley, you genius studmuffin British prude. Any James Bond movie. Any Discovery channel documentary, especially about elephants, I love elephants. Jimmy Hendrix, Eric Clapton and Carlos Santana are good guitar players and I will listen to their music until I die. Most of the alleged music that is coming out these days is over engineered, appeal to the lowest common dominator, more representative of marketing aptitude than musical talent, unmitigated crap.

Speaking of crap, as it were, I also like only one kind of toilet paper. It is the Kirkland brand embossed bath tissue sold at Costco warehouse stores. This is where my personal problem comes in. You see, I have three rolls left, and am no longer able to finagle a free business customer membership, and as much as I love the toilet paper, I refuse to pay for warehouse club membership just so I can have it. So I am picky and cheap. Or, as I prefer, discerning and prudent. Now I do have some options, I could suck up to any one of a number of friends to take me to Costco as their guest so I can procure the object of my desire. However, since I have thus far maintained I have no bodily functions, the potential ridicule is too much for me to bear. I could just go buy some other kind. But that is heresy. I cannot abandon my blessed favorite. I looked all my life for the toilet tissue of my dreams. It is of a texture that is comfortable. It does not scratch my delicate lady parts, nor does it disintegrate into useless lint half way through the job at hand. Further, it is excellent for many uses such as the blending of eye liner, the only make up I regularly wear, and the blotting of my allergy eye drops before I apply the liner. I use it to clean up Mon Petite Amour and Girly Kitty when they themselves have a potty problem. It is excellent for wiping off the sink after I get too happy with the splashing of water on my face. Not to mention being an excellent stand in for tissues when I am all stuffy and sick and run out of tissues in the middle of the night and do not want to go out in the DARK, ALONE, to go to the 24 hour store to get more tissues. I am at a loss, I do not know what to do, except seriously cut back my fluid intake, until I am able to find a solution to this problem.

No comments: