Who Knew the Dollar Store Rocked So Hard?

Like you, I always drove by the Dollar Store thinking that it was the ghetto of the discount chains. I always thought that it probably smelled funny, and specialized in off brand perfumes and toys that would snap within 10 minutes of opening. Well, all of those assumptions are correct, but, they have tons of killer deals there also.

The candles burn quicker, but are pretty cheap, the detergent isn't the usual rip off like at Kroger, and I found a nice set of hair clippers for $10. Medicine, generic but somewhat effective.

So, if you don't mind being the only customer with private health insurance, I say give the Dollar Store a go.

Every Morning

Every morning I go through the same routine. I get ready like you do, and leave the apartment around 6:20am-6:30am. From there I always go straight to the gas station down the street. On my way in I pass the 6-8 kids waiting for the bus. On my way out, they are always gone, like they have been abducted while I was inside.

I am the only person that goes to this store that does not buy cigarettes. I always buy the same things. I pick up the Fudge Round, put it down, pick up the Snack Cakes, and put them back. I choose the Oatmeal Cream Pie, every day. Then I go to the pop cooler. I look at the Red Bull, look at the Mountain Dew Amped, open the cooler, and pick a Diet Mountain Dew, every day. Sure, it crosses my mind to buy a Orange Mountain Dew, but those don't come in diet there, so, it's always regular.

Also, everyday, I always seem to get in this impromptu mini footrace with some hick to get to the counter. We don't bust out into a sprint or anything. But we both know what's happening. It means more to him to win than me, so I let him have his little victory.

I saw a guy with an awesome freaking mullet and mustache this morning. I wished I had my digital camera, but it is broken right now. He drove off in a Grand Prix with three shades of primer on it.

The Indian guy at the counter has gotten to know me. The lottery scratch offs do very well there, but I don't bother with them. My Cream Pie and Mountain Dew cost $1.37. He rings it up before I can set my things down. I usually have exact change.

Then I'm off to work. As long as the stupid train isn't going by.

Where's My Stuff?

Stuff of mine that has disappeared since getting a roomate:

-Large green bath towel

-Favorite hat

-Leftover "Rattlesnake Pasta" from Longhorn Steakhouse

-Kill Bill vol. 1 & 2

-Several bottles of shower gel


Stuff that hasn't disappeared, but could any day:

-Pet turtle

-Aqua Teen Hunger Force box set

-The chips and salsa I bought last night


Stuff that is probably safe:

-Any of my books

-Tweezers

-Scented candles

2 Quick Things

I saw a sign today on the way to work. It was orange and said:

CAUTION:
RAISED MANHOLES

It made me laugh a little. I want to steal that sign.

Also, I think that Aqua Di Gio is becoming the next Drakkar.
Go for the Armania Mania.

Other Blogs

I just decided to check out a blog recommended on the home page. I thought that PuppetVision Blog was a cool sounding name for a blog. But it turns out that it really is a blog about puppet vision. How lame.

E-Check Purgatory

It all started when a deer decided to destroy my truck. I just saw a blur, and then airbag dust. It was a 5 point buck, the deputy told me, and I decided to take his word for it. So, I had to buy another truck, and this meant I had to go through E-Check.

E-Check, for lack of a better term, is the state's way of "sticking it in, and breaking it off." It's to make sure that your car or truck isn't personally destroying the ozone layer. Oh, those semis, buses, and dump trucks you see, those are exempt, but the 2004 Civic your neighbor is driving, it needs E-Checked.

I went to the station expecting the worst. Surley, pseudomechanics lay in wait to take advantage of your car, sticking things into it's tailpipe, snooping around the undercarriage, then taking your $19.50. My previous trips to the station had left me somewhat bitter about taking my time and money.

So, I'm 5th in line. There are 6 bays for cars, but for some reason they are only using one. "Great," I think to myself. After a few minutes, I decide to turn my truck off, defying the sign that asks me to keep my engine running while waiting. It's my way of sticking it to the man, I decide. Then, something amazing happens, they open up 4 other bays. "Break time must be over," I reason.

I am approached by a younger guy that I assume hates his job and everyone that drives though it. But, I am caught off guard by his politeness. He's pretty friendly, and checks my truck into the computer. I offer up the title that I had to haurange the dealership out of a couple of days earlier, but he just says, "I gotcha, man," and opens up the waiting room.

In the waiting room, I check out the people and try to match them up with their cars. It's turns out to not be that hard, because everyone is staring their car down like it may burst into flames any second. I see a Mexican guy with a Suzuki Sidekick, a old guy with his venerable Buick, and a young couple with a Cavalier that has a seat cover that says "Princess" on it.

We all pace back and forth like nervous parents to be. There is a tense vibe to the room. I didn't think that some of these cars would run, let alone pass some test. My prediction comes true when the Suzuki fails. I overhear the lady trying to tell the poor Mexican guy to give the thing a tune up and try again later. He's not quite sure what she is saying, and I remember thinking that if I only knew the spanish word for "sparkplug" I could save the day. But, I don't, so I didn't.

He's replaced by a Rastafarian none to happy about this "scam." He starts talking to me, and I join him in his class warfare. He thought that E-Check had ended. I told him that Kentucky had stopped doing it, then piled on by telling him that the guys in Columbus that came up with this program don't even have to abide by it. I see the look of suprise, then anger on his face. He decides that someone must be getting rich off this thing.

Just as I see the Cavalier Princess drive off victorious, I notice my truck being driven to the rollers, then over them completely. Turns out, my truck didn't even have to be driven. The computer figured that it would pass anyway, so it went it right through. Kind of a hollow victory, I figure.

The whole thing from start to finish took 24 minutes. As I am getting ready to drive off, I hear the Rasta Guy's test results. "Congratulations, sir. It's a Stratus."

The Balloon

I was headed to the local Marsh grocery store to feed my Pac Man addiction when I happened across a balloon with a note attached to it.

I picked up the note and it read: "If found, call this number. Reward! Timmy" It was obviously a kids handwriting. But "Reward!" with an explanation point? This Timmy had to be serious. I figured anyone letting perfectly good helium balloons go must have some rich parents, so I brought the balloon and the attached note home with me.

I wondered how far the balloon had traveled. Whenever I had let go of a balloon it had soared into the stratosphere, gradually fading to a speck, and then gone. Just like the dozen or so kites I had lost because of a half assed knot I had tied onto the spool in my rush to get it into the air. Now I would know just how far a balloon can travel on it's own. Surely this Timmy was from several counties away.

My mom had me convinced that this Timmy was going to be my new best friend. We could become "pen pals", whatever that meant. As I dialed, I just thought of the reward. Money? Baseball cards? Balloons?

A lady answered. After she got Tim to the phone I told him that my name was Craig and that I had his balloon. He asked me where I found it. I told him near Marsh, and asked him where he had let it go. He said that his family had just enjoyed dinner at Ponderosa, and on the way out he released the balloon with the note. He did this about 20 feet from where I found it. We both agreed that the balloon had not gotten very far. I reminded him that there was still this little matter of a reward. Timmy told me that he wrote that on there just so that whoever found it would call him back, and that there was no reward.

After a pause, I hung up the phone on Timmy.

Enter As Often As You Like

The 12 girls in the orange cowboy hats were heckling me.

They were the "Gator Getters." Girls hired by the University of Florida to show recruits around. There I was, standing at midcourt with 10,000 people staring at me, being heckled by girls in orange cowboy hats. I finally turned to look at them.. Turns out they weren't heckling me, they were shouting advice to me. Little did they realize, they were in for a special suprise. I had been practicing all week, and I didn't need their advice. The horn sounded, and I took off.

While in college, I worked in the bowels of the basketball stadium. The official name was the Stephen F. O'Connell Center. Everyone called it the O'Dome. I was chained to a desk at the entrance of the weightroom checking student ID's. Every once in a while they freed us so we could rack weights and go on 10 minute breaks. One day while walking around on my break, I was lured upstairs by the smell of nacho cheese. They were getting ready for a basketball game that night. That's when I spotted the pile of entry forms stacked next to the drawing box. I looked both ways, and grabbed about 200 of them.

At halftime of all the home basketball games they drew a name of a student. If this student could make a layup, a free throw, a three pointer, and a half court shot all in 30 seconds, getting their own rebounds, they could walk away with $10,000. Mostly, they walked off the court to a chorus of boos. I saw people even miss the layup. I booed them myself. I was now filling out about 200 entry forms to get my shot.

All week I had been practicing the routine at the basketball court behind my apartment. My hand ached from filling out the forms, but the next game was coming up, and I wanted to be ready. My roomate came snooping around to see why I had taken a sudden interest in basketball. After hearing my plot, he agreed to come to the game for support.

I wore sweatpants, basketball shoes and a t-shirt to the big game. Auburn was coming to town, and I was ready. I stuffed 4 boxes with 50 or so entries, found my seat and waited. They call the name with about 5 minutes to go in the half. As the time got close, I started getting nervous. Really nervous. Finally, the big moment, I look at my roomate, they call my name.

I couldn't feel my legs as I walked down to the court. My heart was racing. What had I done now. I showed the girl my student ID and waited. I looked up at the scoreboard. We were losing. I asked the girl if I could hold on to the ball. She said, "No, that's not allowed." I said "I'm not allowed to hold the ball?" She said "Nope," without looking away from the game.

Standing at half court, I noticed that the line was much further from the basket than the line at my apartment. The "Dazzlers" were bouncing around me, performing their halftime show. The horn sounded, and I took off running. What was the advice the Gator Getters had? Don't dribble. I tucked the ball under my arm as I ran towards the hoop. I heard them give a little cheer.

The layup nearly rimmed out, but dropped through. I heard a smattering of applause. I ran to the free throw line, let it go and it went in. I heard a little more applause. I knew as soon as I let go of the three point shot I knew it was going in. As I picked the ball up and ran towards the half court line, I saw 13 seconds on the clock. I could really hear the crowd now. I took a deep breath, backed up and made a running shot. As soon as I let it go I could tell it was heading left. It had the distance, and must have looked better from the stands, because I could hear a collective "Oooh!" from the crowd when it missed. They gave me an honest ovation, and I heard "Sign him up!" several times.

The stingy girl with the ball was now my friend. She ran up to me and patted me on the back and told me how exciting it was. Then she handed me Pizza Hut gift certificates and a voucher for any pair of Reebok shoes I wanted, unless they were the new "Pumps" that had just come out. All that for making the other shots.

I know this is long. I know you don't believe me. I tried to get a tape of the finest athletic moment of my life to prove that this really did happen. The sports info guy said he had half of it on tape, and to pick it up next week. When I stopped by, he regretted to inform me that the camcorder had been stolen at the Mississippi State game, and it had my tape in it.