(Note: I really hate the title I gave this post. Really. But I’m taking a break from filing taxes and I’m just…not in a good frame of mind.)

So I’ve determined that I really do enjoy grocery shopping. It’s nice. I get to spend money and not feel terribly guilty about it, which is always a plus. It gets me out of the house, which I often need a big incentive (like starving) to accomplish. I’m a homebody. But the grocery store is a place of peace for me.

However, there is one thing that can completely ruin a trip to the grocery store: a bad buggy. You know what I’m talking about. You roll the buggy at a normal clip and it sounds as if you are discharging an automatic firearm inside the store. Generally this is caused by gum stuck to the bottom of one of the wheels, or a “flat” wheel, or some other defect involving one (or more) of the wheels. In the grocery store I frequent, the entrance where the buggies are kept has a textured floor (I’m convinced they do this for the specific purpose of making it impossible to tell if you have a screwed up buggy) so I’m already inside the store before I realize I’ve obtained a crappy cart. Turning around is still an option, but with the luck I’ve had in this regard, the next buggy I pick up will probably be screwed up worse. So I just push forward.

Interestingly, it usually happens that I’m the only one of the sixty people crawling the store who happens to have picked up a machine-gun-buggy and I’m convinced people stare and make faces in my general direction for being so obnoxious. So I make efforts to lessen the noise. I lift the handle on the side of the defunct wheel so that the crashing noises are slightly dampened (but rarely silenced). This only works until I start to fill up the buggy with grocery items, then I try pushing down on the handle to see if that affects any change. Nope, only makes things significantly worse. People turn their heads to stare. I blush. And now it really is too late to switch buggies. Not to mention the fact that my entire experience is overwhelmed by the offensive noises emanating from my cart every time I push forward. I slow down.

BANG.
BANG.
BANG.

More like a handgun being fired now. Honestly if I had one handy, suicide wouldn’t be out of the question. Inevitably, I forget something and have to crash back through the store, avoiding nasty looks and jeers from my fellow shoppers. I arrange my hair in front of my face and duck my head. Realize this makes me look suspiciously like a disgruntled former employee toting a firearm and straighten back up.

I adopt a very apologetic expression on my trip back through the store and sigh in relief as I find a relatively short check-out line. Wonder idly if the noise of the buggy will be better or worse as I trek through the parking lot.

Find that it is crashingly worse on pavement but better in regard to distance travelled and lack of echo.

When I finally make it to the buggy disposal area nearest my car in the parking lot, I give the old piece of…junk… an overly enthusiastic shove and hope the resulting damage as it crashes into the cart in front of it is enough to retire the thing for good. Sadly, I realize I’ve probably only managed to further maim my own buggy and damage the one in front of it to boot. FML.

(Note: the FML is as much for the buggy-situation as it is for my current indebtedness to the effing federal government. Fair Tax, people!!!)

Today I did taxes. All the day long. Sure, I’ve been paying taxes since 1999 (ugh) and it’s never a surprise. And sure, I think I got more back from the good ole government than in recent years past. But good grief… why does it have to be so difficult? And complicated and painfully, painfully time consuming??

And in other news, I also spent some time this afternoon with my receipts since January. The picture isn’t nearly as grim as I’d imagined it to be, which is very fortunate. In fact it gave me a lot of hope. And some serious m0tivation. I know I can spend parts of my day more wisely than I do. I suppose it’s time to grow up and be responsible for my own time management, since there really isn’t anyone else to do it for me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m already a grown up and have been for awhile now. But I guess there have been some instances where I’ve not acted the most grown up I could act. Denial is ever so much fun. So much fun in fact, that I’m rather displeased I ever sat down to write this post. It was supposed to be a rant about how much the income tax stinks! Where did I go wrong?