Current Mysteries of the Universe

- Why Red Baron singles pizzas are so good.

- Why my neighbors across the street need to loudly listen to the same Temptations song every afternoon.

- Why I'm not making beaucoup bucks just sitting around my house.

- Why the rest of the planet doesn't carry Cheerwine in stores.

- Why people don't use turn signals and get angry when other drivers fail to acknowledge their turn.

- Why things at the Smithsonian Gift Shops cost as much as my first car. (Really, Smithsonian? Because I'm pretty sure that's just colored paper...)

- Why policemen around here seem to have Turrets when activating their sirens.

- Why construction projects take longer to complete than insects processing our compost.

- Why mosquitoes always bite on your ankle bone/knuckle/forehead.

- The purpose of short-sleeved sweaters.

Why I Hate Grocery Shopping Reason #852

Let me reiterate why I loathe trips to the grocery store. Because people won' leave me 'lone! I swear, I went to Harris Teeter today, totally relaxed on my way over, anticipating a leisurely stroll through the aisles and a strict adherence to the post-it sized list in my pocket. Procuring items for my mini-buggy (I witnessed a Target employee in NC hollering to his coworker to "Go get the buggy train!" Thank you, Southern folks. I knew I wasn't the only one) was painless and almost pleasant but then I arrived at the check-out and realized my VIC card was on the keychain still hanging by my front door. Blast.

I tried both phone numbers, knowing neither would work as I tend to provide as little personal information as possible. Then I was sent to customer service, then I was sent back to the first cashier who was already ringing up other people, then I was abrasively asked by another cashier if she could ring me up at which point I felt the need to explain my lack of VIC card again to which she responded by haranguing me into signing up for another one despite my reluctance to do so. Ugh. I assented with as much grudginess as I could muster. THEN she wanted to me to put my email on the form for the eVIC account so I could get special offers. "No thanks," I said. She gave me a sidelong glance. "You don't want to get special coupons?" Unbelievable. Just take no for an answer. "Nah, that's ok," I replied. Her next words dripped with disapproval - "Mmmmm, ok." We did, however, survive the checkout process with a fake laugh or two and an "ooh, girlfriend" from her and then I was on my merry stressed out way.

Or so I thought. I was barely to the buggy corral when ANOTHER employee clear over by the door called out "HELLO!" I said hi and avoided eye contact as I parked my cart. She kept talking. "Do you have an eVIC account?" "Uhm, no ma'am I don't." "Well do you have a VIC card?" "Yes, yes I do." "Would you like to sign up for an eVIC account today?" "No, that's ok." She looked at me like I'd just grown another head. "But you'd get savings!!" Oh. My. Word. I had officially reached the point where I wanted to drop all of my bags on the ground and yell "Would you people PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE! Can't a girl go grocery shopping in peace? I don't want your stupid email offers, I just want to go home!"

I huffed back to my house with my three bags and was so miffed I went ahead and cooked my $3.99 on clearance pizza, an item who's simplicity in preparation I was hoping to save for another night. Grumble grumble grumble. Where are my grocery shopping minions when I need them?

I Was Baarn Here...

(If ya'll'd read the following with a Suthern aksent, I'd be much obliged)

I swear, driving back into Greenwood, SC was like using a time machine. I've been back lots of times since high school, but for some reason, this time ghosts kept on coming out of the trees. Driving my pickup down Hwy 25, I passed my friend Jamie's old house where she used to live with her parents. They had had horses in the yard and last time I was there, her first wedding dress was hanging on the back of her closet door, never to be worn because her fiancé broke it off. She's married to somebody else now. He is too.

Riding down the stretch of 254 to my neighborhood, I remembered when a policeman ticketed my friend Jeremy for going 60 in a 45. He'd been on his way to see me. I had just laughed at him when he got to my house. He wasn't a boy used to breaking the rules and I wasn't a girl used to holding someone's affections as tightly and as unknowingly as I held his.

Then there was the Dixie, Greenwood's favorite greasy spoon. Walking in and picking up the menu conjured up my friend Derek right beside me saying, "Put that down. Whaddyou mean, comin' to the Dixie and pickin' up the menu?" As if we ever ordered anything besides a Dixie Cheese half and half and a cherry Dr. Pepper. Which I felt obliged to repeat in the present, just as if Derek were sitting on the adjacent stool giving me that look of good ole boy disdain while he chewed on a toothpick.

It's weird how spaces can have that affect on you. This town, that isn't so small anymore, is littered with my memories from end to end and even a little farther if you count that one New Year's Eve when we drove out to Saluda to smash Welche's Sparkling Grape Juice bottles on the pavement behind Adam's dad's fireworks' stand. I'd never live here again. I'm pretty sure I'd poke my eyeballs out in boredom. But this wasn't a bad place to grow up. And even when the ghosts bring with them a heavy dose of melancholic nostalgia, it's still a pretty nice place to visit ever once in a while.