Gristedes Beef

If you were hoping for a post about the quality of beef products to be found at your local Gristedes you are in for a big disappointment. If you were hoping for a post about the quantity of things that bum you out about your local Gristedes you are in the right place.

Boo came to the city this weekend and I was hoping to surprise him with a six pack of Magic Hat’s new brew, Lucky Kat. I went to the ‘Stede on Monday and found the shelves fully stocked. Except that there was only 1 six pack of Lucky Kat. And it was missing a beer. No worries–for as many packs of # 9 and hI.P.A., they’re bound to have more Lucky Kat in the back. So I vow to return. Wednesday I venture back to the ‘Stede and am confronted with a distressing site. Still no Lucky Kat. But the shelves are getting low, so I anticipate a re-stock any day now. Friday and Boo is due to arrive in just a few hours. Once more I find myself in Gristedes and once more I find that Lucky Kat is still one bottle short of a six pack and I am still one six pack short of, well, a six pack. I inquire about the lack of brewsky and am bummed to find that no one seems to know the whereabouts of said missing beer. As I check out with what products I was able to find, I notice something that upsets me even more. In a cardboard box at the front of the store there are empty beer bottles. Not broken, simply empty–as though someone had, uh, sampled them. And what label do I see in that box, staring me in the face? Yes, that’s right. MY missing Lucky Kat. In a store that could apparently manage to only order one six pack of this brew yet another genius employee thought it would be wise to sample a beer out of that pack, rendering it unsellable (unless at a discounted rate, of course, and out of desperation).

As if this isn’t bad enough and as if I am not anti-’Stede enough, Boo and I head down in the morning, er, early afternoon, to purchase pancake mix and coffee. Armed with our caffeine we are in good spirits when we return to the apartment. And then my eye drifts to the expiration date on the coffee I am drinking. November 19, 2007. Well…sure, okay, it’s only 4 months old. That can’t be too terrible for me, can it?

At this point I am ready to give up on Gristedes. If it weren’t for the fact that they are right downstairs, I would completely abandon them. As appealing as that is, I am out of cookies n’ cream ice cream and I am experiencing serious sugar cravings so I am out of options (it’s raining, I’m not traipsing about for ice cream). So I suck it up and walk in, fully excited for my half gallon and then–

Disaster. Of all of the flavors available: Coffee, One Split Wonder-American Idol, Chocolate Fudge Chunk, and even a Tagalong themed flavor in honor of it being Girl Scout Cookie season; there was not a SINGLE tub of Cookies N’ Cream. Not in the Turkey Hill, not in the Ben N’Jerrys. Nowhere. I finally found one dinky little pint of unknown brand origins and was at least slightly less agitated. Until I took a second sweep of the Edy’s, just to make sure. That’s right. That stupid Gristedes has raised their prices. The once $6.99 frozen confection is now an appalling $7.49. They have raised their prices a whole 50 cents! And this up from the already atrocious original!

I can’t even drown my supermarket related sorrows in a cold beer, or a cold scoop for fear that my refilling options would be out of stock–or worse, that I won’t be able to afford the next price hike.

Adventures in homecomings and other signs that I (still) know everyone in the world

This past weekend was Easter and I, like many, ventured home for the weekend. That’s right, back to the Wild Wild Wex. Which is always reassuring in the fact that I know it will be a relaxing weekend with nothing much happening. I rarely see people when I’m home, both by choice and due to the fact that a number of people bolted and just never came home. But that tricky little Wexford is always full of surprises.

The first person I ran into was a high school and college peer and we encountered one another at church. Pleasantries exchanged, my mom and I went to pick up dinner. That’s when I bumped into my second blast from the past. At this point I’d seen more people in the course of 2 hours then I’d seen in my last 2 trips home, but I’m a big fan of both the guys I ran into and so they were both pleasant surprises.

Sunday rolled around and I headed off to the airport, but this time I was prepared. Oh yes, I was fully anticipating running into someone I went to school with (as most of the graduates of both of my alma maters now reside in NYC), it was just a matter of who it would be. Sure enough, as I walked to the gate there was one of my old TV cronies from senior year. It’d been 4 years since we’d seen each other last so it was nice to catch up while we waited for the plane (and we flew USAIR so waiting was a certainty).

As I unlocked the door to my apartment I smiled to think about my weekend home. It’s always nice to run into people–especially when it’s been awhile since you’ve seen them. It’s fun to see how everyone has grown up and what they’re all up to. I was still thinking about this when I realized that I had absolutely nothing to eat for dinner. Damn. So I headed out the door to Gristedes. As I walked out of my apartment I was stopped cold on the sidewalk. A girl I’ve known since my freshman seminar class (and have seen sporadically for the rest of my time at PSU, including a month ago at THON) was walking out of Gristedes. Turns out we live in the same complex.

When I went to Penn State, I was told that for however big the school was, you could make it as small as you want. Turns out the same is true for New York (says the girl who ran into a preschool bud on the 6 train earlier this winter). It will never cease to amaze me. But, like I said, I know everyone in the world.

Easter, a time for bunnies to start laying eggs

With Easter only one week away I have had something on my mind. The concept of the “chocolate egg” at Easter has been baffling minds for as long as I can remember (and I’m pretty sure longer than that because let’s face it, I’m not that old). It always seems to be a topic of discussion. What, people ask, do eggs have to do with the Easter story? What, people ask, do bunnies have to do with Jesus dying on the cross?

Well, this year, I have yet another question to add to that list:

What made this bunny able to lay an egg?

*NOTE* I am a HUGE proponent of any and all chocolate-giving holidays and the Reese’s Chocolate Egg is probably the best confection ever invented.

How might one “chocolate” the rainbow?

I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but the people at Skittles have decided that a great new product would be chocolate Skittles. I’m not sure about any of you, but this idea is absolutely appalling to me. I mean, really completely disgusting and gross. I can’t get on board with the whole chewy chocolate in a candy shell concept. In fact, I am so far off board with that concept that I can’t even bring myself to taste them. That’s seriously just icky.

I first saw the chocolate Skittles about a month ago at a Duane Reade. I was pretty grossed out by them then but it didn’t occur to me to blog about my disgust until Skittles took this nasty new product in a creepy direction.

Has anybody else seen this? This guy is a pinata and he just got the shit kicked out of him by some guy hoping to get a few of these chewy little morsels. I’m not sure what is happening at the Skittles camp but between the gross new products and the frightening commercials, I am starting to rethink how much time I want to spend near the rainbow.

Oh, and just in case you’ve forgotten, here are some of the creepy gems from the past:

Hellooooo….I’m a caaaaaar

While catching up on my blog stats this morning, I saw an interesting search term that led someone to my page:

“East 95th st. car alarm”

Now I realize that there are more East 95th streets in the world than simply the one that I happen to live on, but mine does include a fairly obnoxious car alarm. (In addition to myriad siren noises, none of which follow standard siren “woop woop” procedure and one of which actually sounds remarkably like a woodpecker).

Ahhh…anyway, to the reader who searched “East 95th st. car alarm” and found this page, just know that I hear you (and the alarm) and I sympathize. I totally sympathize.

Head-On, I hate your commercial, but I love your product!

Brace yourselves reader: product plug in 5….4….3….2….1.

Head-On. I really do love the stuff. It’s one thing to carry Advil around with you all the time but if you don’t have water and you don’t want to dry swallow you don’t have a lot of options. But pulling Head-On out of my purse and glue-sticking the thing across my forehead is the easiest thing ever.

Don’t judge me for loving this. Headache queen that I am, all I can say is:

Head-On. Your commercial is annoying but your product is amazing.

One…two…really should have buckled my shoe

So I learned something yesterday. I learned that if you lose enough weight, even your feet will start to shrink. Want to know how I learned that? It’s a very good story.

While walking to the subway station I noticed that my feet kept popping out of my cute little flats. Weird considering that the last time I wore them they were just fine. Oh well, shouldn’t be a problem, right? Wrong. I hit the steps…and then…I HIT the steps.

Yup. Step one, step two, step thre–ass! Apparently if your shoes are a little too big you’ll wipe out going down steps. You’d think this would be embarrassing for me. Especially considering that I was wearing my bright yellow coat when I did it. And especially since by the time I finally made it to the bottom of the steps it was one of those “Downtown only” stations and I was going Uptown.

Yeah…okay, it kind of was a little embarrassing. But what’s better than a good falling on your ass story?

You’re welcome.

*Note, this is just one in series in the falling down stories of my life. Apparently, me and gravity…not such good friends.*

Adventures in air travel (part trois) and other signs that airport P.D.A. is a growing epidemic of grossness

It’s been awhile since I’ve flown. It’s been even longer since I’ve flown the CT-Pitt flight of summer. I’ve just recently returned from a stint at the homestead and suburbia is cheaper to get to via CT than NYC so I found myself in a familiar flight pattern.

The flights out were mostly uneventful. Less-than-full planes = aisles and windows only = me not having to sit next to people. Nice. Always a plus. The only weird sighting was a couple of indiscriminate relation (who happened to be traveling with a luggage abandoner which was a bit unnerving, to say the least). This creeper couple first caught my attention when Creepy Guy handed a bottle of water to Creepy Girl. Then he whispered something in her ear and she got very giddy and blushed a red to rival her hair. I wouldn’t have had a problem with this if I thought they were dating or married. But since they looked nearly identical, I was a bit befuddled. Did you two choose to marry people who looked like they were related to you? Worse, did you marry people who actually were related to you? Or worse still–are you NOT dating but ARE related and STILL flirting with each other? Are you a mother/son pair. Are you charming nephew with older aunt? Are you brother and sister? I can’t tell and I’m a little grossed out.

But that was it. And I guess these are the benefits of flying on a Tuesday. Fairly uneventful. Flying late-night on a Sunday, however, is a much different story. Everyone is scrambling to get the most out of their weekends and therefore all taking the last possible flight to get home.

God bless Southwest for restructuring their boarding procedures. I got to the gate for the Pittsburgh-Baltimore leg of my flight. The gate was so crowded (a full hour before flight time) that I had no choice but to sit on the floor. Ew. It was finally time to board and I took my position in line. The next thing I know, I hear yelling and a fist swings by my face. EXCUSE ME?! What could possibly be happening that this stupid old man near me felt compelled to nearly sock my jaw? Oh, that’s right. A basketball game. Upset about a missed shot, the old man nearly took his rage out on my face. Okay dude, really not cool, but if you behave yourself for the rest of your time in line, I won’t have to tell TSA on you.

Well of course I’m not lucky enough to stand near people who have an idea of how to behave in public. Sir Slugs-A-Lot started talking to his wife. No issue yet–you guys are married, I won’t insist on your being silent while traveling. Then I hear this:

Sir Slugs: You know why I wear my hat like this?

Madame Slugs: To hide your gray hair (chuckles at her own “humor”).

Sir: No, so I can kiss you better.

*insert sloppy kissing noises*

Oh no, Captain Punchy–this I cannot allow. This was not a young couple. This was a gross, old couple. And these were not proper public kisses. These were those long loud *MUAH* kisses. I tried my hardest but couldn’t stop myself from literally gagging. I tried to stifle the noise but it was to no avail. Seriously people, I just heard you say you’d be home in an hour. Can’t you control yourselves until then? Nasty.

I managed, thankfully, to avoid the smoochy couple on the flight. Despite the filled-to-capacity plane, there were still plenty of seats available for those in the A 1-30 line. I arrived in Baltimore with a sore throat and an hour to kill. When I finally got into my spot in the boarding line I unfortunately managed to attract the attention of the drunk guy behind me. Knowing that I didn’t want to risk sitting near him on the plane I grabbed the first aisle seat with window and middle filled that I could find.

I wound up sitting next to an older guy and a girl of indiscriminate age. They had some relation because she was showing off some photos on her computer. I kept hearing things from the guy like “Ooh, better hide that one before interviews” and things like that. That’s a little awkward, but okay, I’ll let it slide. Time to turn the electronics off and the girl has lost her entertainment. No worries, her male companion can fill the void. All of a sudden I see that the girl has thrown her legs onto this guy’s lap. Okay, ew. I don’t particularly want to be a part of what seems like a connection that will result in new members of the mile-high club.

But wait–they’re still talking. And the guy just said something about getting to UConn early enough to check the campus out on their own before taking the real tour…and then it clicks. And I realize–these two are not dating. They are FATHER AND DAUGHTER! Okay, I’m not sure what family setup finds throwing your legs suggestively over Daddy’s lap acceptable but if that is (grossly I might say) the case, then that is something that should be kept at home.

This is now the third fairly incestuous (or at least disgusting) couple I’ve encountered either going to or coming from Baltimore. What the hell is in the water over there that has trained these people to think that airport P.D.A. is not only acceptable but encouraged–no matter the nauseated feeling it leaves everyone else at the airport with? I’m not entirely sure but all I know is that I plan to be extremely careful from now on when purchasing snacks during my Baltimore layover.