The Chronicles Of Jessica

Ever heard of a grill? Not the thing on the front of the car that bats fly into and get stuck in, and not the one you use for burgers and dogs; this grill is apparently all the rage with the kids - and has been for a while - and I just found out about it today.

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A grill is a kind of bling for the teeth. Apparently dentists are trying to discourage the practice because it's damaging to the enamel. But I hear there is a guy RIGHT HERE IN STAUNTON who has an amazing grill which actually spells out the letters of his name across his top teeth. This is something I might consider myself, but "J-E-S-S-I-C-A" is a little long for the purpose. I wouldn't want people peering off into the sides of my gums trying to see the J and the A. My flossing habits won't bear up under that level of scrutiny.

I've got a little score to settle with someone around here, readers, and it isn't gonna be pretty for them if I ever figure out who the hell they are. See, a couple of weeks ago I came out in the morning to head to work and found that someone had sideswiped my car in the middle of the night, apparently in a car that wasn't exactly right off the lot, because little rusted bolts and pieces of metal from it were spread out all over the pavement.

Well, what can you do? I was bummed out, of course, but seeing as there were no eyewitnesses, there wasn't much to do but shine it on. Until I came out last Thursday to find that I had been sideswiped AGAIN, and this time a little more vigorously than the first time. Now the whole passenger side of the car looks like I got a little too friendly with a brick wall and all because I had the temerity to park it in front of my house. Cripes.

I was watching this old rerun of Dick Cavett where he was interviewing Bette Davis and she was just so elegant and bizarre and old school Hollywood, I just got such a kick out of it. She was out there, man, I freakin' love Bette Davis. I bet her car never got sideswiped by a drunk redneck. And even if it did, I bet you she would have tracked him down and given him the crazy big eye until he fell to the ground and begged for mercy.

Other things that are chapping my ass this week include:

1. A veritable infestation of crickets in our apartment. Ew. And I love Paul, and he knows about taking out the garbage and lifting heavy things, but he never got the memo that the man has to kill the bug. I have to wonder if feminism has really served me in this particular instance.

2. There is nothing on tv worth watching, ever, at all, but if we ever even want to watch the news we have to pay for cable, which costs $50 a month. For nothing. Well not nothing, but I don't think you could call 'Saved by the Bell' reruns and a reality show about the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders substantive.

And 3, I can't find anyone to sell me any fucking spinnach. What is the problem? They found the source of the e coli, the scare is over, we all know to wash it well before we eat it, now it's buyer beware, okay?! If I want to risk food poisoning that is my right as a consumer. I'm looking to drop a few pounds anyway.

I picked up this gig that I've been doing for a few Saturdays now, giving out cosmetic samples to customers at this store. I'm thinking that I maybe shouldn't say the name of the store in case there would be some legal ramifications, but let's just say it's one of those reeeeeeeally big stores where you can pick up up a 10-pack of Fleet enemas and a gallon jug of vegetable oil for under $20.

It isn't a bad way to make some extra money, but this past Saturday was just - off, somehow. I always get stationed in this one area of the store that I've christened "Sample Alley" because there are always five or six ladies handing out samples of something. They all work for this company that does special demonstrations of whatever product the store is hocking heavily on a particular week; granola bars, soy chips, this foul-looking glucosamine drink in a can called "Joint Juice." Being that all of these are food products, the ladies are forced to don hairnets, which I assume is in deference to some sort of state law. Myself, I've never believed in employment that requires hairnets. I wore one for the brief period of time that I worked in the school dining hall preparing turkey plates, but that was an emergency. I was turning 21 and needed to buy beer.

Anyway the lady working next to me on Sample Alley, her name is Violet, was giving out free pumps of Purell instant hand sanitizer. This woman is 70 years old, has arthritis in both arms, and she has to stand on a concrete floor all day getting people to buy instant hand sanitizer. She would only be allowed to sit on a stool behind her cart if she brought a doctor's note saying that it was bad for her to be on her feet for that period of time. WTF? It exhausts the hell out of me and I'm only 22! (Shut up.)

So that put me off. I didn't think Violet should have to do this sort of work at her age, and that got me started thinking about social security and the plight of the elderly and that sort of thing. Then I saw this dude with one of those happy face t-shirts with a bullet hole in the forehead of the happy face. Everyone has the right to express themselves but that shirt is just...mean. And to top all of this off, I got accosted by a Republican.

I didn't know he was a Republican at first, in fact, he seemed like a very nice guy. All right, it's possible to be a nice guy and a republican but for some reason this man rubbed me totally the wrong way. He came up to me while his wife was browsing nearby and was asking me about the cosmetics company and what sort of work I do, blah di blah. Sometimes people like to shoot the breeze while they're in the store, and I have no problem with this. In fact, I am an expert breeze-shooter. This is where Paul and I differ completely and probably one of the reasons we are going to make such a freakin' awesome married couple: he is completely loath to talk to people he doesn't know, and I like it. It's interesting to me, I always think I might learn something that I didn't know before. For example, did you know that a pig's orgasm can last up to thirty minutes? (Learned that at an airport bar in Cincinnati.) So I think this balance will come in handy at cocktail parties and such.

Anyway, back to the right wing lunatic. So he's chatting with me, and he's a pretty sharp guy so I end up chatting with him for several minutes, when we get to discussing the fact that I'm moving to DC next year and that my husband-to-be is attending the political management program at George Washington University. And he wants to know what Paul's "leanings" are. So like a fucking idiot, I tell him. And suddenly, me and my pinko-commie fiancee are like the sworn enemies of this man. It's like we're the Hatfields, he's McCoy. His whole face changed; he morphed from like soft congenial grandpa guy into hard ass Antonin Scalia guy. First he asks me why my boyfriend thinks he is entitled to all my money. This stumped me at first because Paul really does think he is entitled to all my money. THEN I realized that he was talking about liberals. Of course! How could I have forgotten? Liberals want everyone's money so we can give it to Al Qaeda, or spend it on marijuana. (Or have Martin Sheen invest it for us.) Then he wants to know if my boyfriend has ever been in the military, because apparently you're not allowed to have an opinion on the war in Iraq unless you've been in the service. I didn't think it was a good idea to ask him how he would go about paying for this insanely expensive war without the benefit of the taxes that he had just spend five minutes blaming on the liberals. "We have to fight them there or we'll end up fighting them here!" What was he talking about? I doubt a terrorist could qualify for a membership, even if they did live in Harrisonburg, Virginia.

Eventually his wife came and dragged him away because she had checked out all of her items and paid and everything and he was still yakking my ear off. I really felt like it was a fairly awkward position for me because he was a customer, and I was therefore prohibited from being able to tell him anything that I really think. But this is the internet and I can say anything I want to here! Butt sex! See?!? Oh, the sweet taste of freedom.

Anyway, it was a depressing encounter. Not as depressing as election night 2004, when I realized that fully half of the country had not been paying very close attention for the prior four years, but a bummer nonetheless. I really do not understand the vitriol with which this man felt he had to push his views on me, for one thing, but it also amazes me when people get the red-ass like that about things like the fact that I'm against the war in Iraq. What difference does it make that I'm against the war in Iraq? Does it look like it's going to be ending any time soon? You've already won that round, sir. Nor will you have to be affronted by those conniving homosexuals with their disgusting bonds of marriage. Consider that a job well done.

"He was chatty, wasn't he?" said Violet, when the man had finally called a halt to the diatribe.

"Yeah," I said. "He wanted to talk about politics and George Bush and I'm just not into that."

"Me neither," said Violet. And, after a pause, "I mean I voted for him but only because my husband told me to."

That's when my head exploded.