How I Almost Lost my Salvation at Costco

I hate all forms of shopping, except online shopping. I guess the older I get, the less patience I have for crowds of people. And I know that’s horrible, but I’m trying to be honest here. Costco is probably my most dreaded place with its shopping carts running about like bumper cars, food samples I can never eat, and the smell of Polish dogs being the only good thing about the parking lot.

Of course, I had to go to Costco yesterday with my mom to help her out. You know I love you when I agree to go to Costco with you. But know this: unless you’re my grandmother and you need the cart to help yourself walk, I WILL be driving that cart in that crazy store.


So there we are, my mom and I, braving Costco like all the other people who apparently don’t have to work on Fridays. Like, seriously, does everyone work from home like I do or what? Although our Costco memberships don’t expire until next month, and you can renew online nowadays, my mom insists on renewing IN PERSON. Some lady and her granddaughter are taking their sweet time with the customer service rep, who is the only ONE person helping out for membership. I guess that makes sense, because they need all the manpower they can get in Returns.

There are people returning toilet paper because it’s not the right kind of fluffy, someone’s blender broke on the first try, and a lady bought her husband the wrong size socks. The Returns line is like the monkey cage at the zoo, except there are no metal bars. I’m glad we aren’t returning anything, because if we were, I’m thinking that I would need a bar–and not the metal kind, if you know what I mean.

However, our line has some tension for a good five minutes. The lady with her granddaughter is still taking forever (and by “forever” I mean that I am temporarily a 12-yr-old not getting something quick enough) but my mom and I stand by. Then a woman gets in line behind us, but seems to have no knowledge of personal space. She stands in a way that really impatient people–even more impatient than I–do when they think it’s going to get them ahead of other people. You know the type: they think their errand is more important than everyone else’s, and besides, it’s only going to take 30 seconds. R-i-g-h-t.


So she’s standing right behind me, but slightly out of line, and I can hear her muttering and sighing deeply. “Gosh, this is taking so long…” Really, lady? Longer than the 10 seconds you’ve been standing behind me, breathing some of my air?

Finally, the Costco heavens open, two people are helped at once–in less than a minute–and my mom is renewing our memberships. Now that she’s feeling happy about doing this in person, I feel like an ass for arguing that she could have done this all online and saved us time. I mean, seriously? It took less than ten minutes and it’s not like I had anywhere important to go.

Then the shopping excursion commences. We go to get a present for my little sister’s birthday and I’m thinking that the rest of our experience will be uneventful. Wrong.

“You can’t have my apples,” teases an older man in the aisle.

Um, excuse me, but WHAT? We don’t want your apples, we don’t want to talk, and we’re busy. Can’t you see this, sir? But no, my mom–who, by the way, had a medical procedure this morning and is still on meds, at this point, that are equivalent to 3 martinis–decides to answer back. “Oh, why can’t we have your apples?”

And I just lean on the cart and want to shoot myself in the foot, wishing that Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility would present itself to me NOW.

My mom starts walking next to the Apple Fiend and asks where he got the apples so she can get her own later. Meanwhile, I find my sister’s gift and have to shout at my mom 3 times until she hears me. Typically, I have to call her twice, but the meds she’s on today make it 3. “Mom! Is this the one?” She leaves the old man’s side and says yes, and I haul the big box into our cart.

Note: My mom is totally fine, by the way. And if she’s reading this (but she won’t): I love you, Mom.

Next, we get laundry detergent in another aisle, and just when I think we’ve escaped Apple Man, he’s there, staring us down–no, like LITERALLY staring us down, apples and all–so I talk abnormally loud to my mom, making up a bunch of stuff and talking about moving out, so Apple Man doesn’t interrupt us. It works and I’m relieved. Though, I’ve now upset my mom about talking on the subject of moving–and not just out, but to a different city–and she says something like, “Well don’t rush it…” I refrain from using an expletive in my response and Mom just rolls her eyes at me. “Hey,” I point out, “I could’ve cussed.”


We stumble upon the meats and cheese section, where all the food samples abound. Except I can’t enjoy anything because it’s all breaded or glutenized in some form and my mom tries the samples while giving me sad looks. She refrains from telling me how good everything is, but I can see it in her eyes, and I hear it in her Mmms. Thanks, Mom, I wasn’t hungry anyway. At this point, I’m texting my sister, who is my only form of entertainment in Costco limbo, and I ask her to save me. But she’s no help.


When we near the never-ending lines of carts ready to pay and escape the torture, my mom announces she needs Co-Q10 and I argue that I’ll just order it online for her. But she gets a bit nippy and I respond to the effect of: FINE HAVE IT YOUR WAY AND TAKE CRAPPY SUPPLEMENTS. Yes, I’ve reverted back to being 12.

Next, my mom sends me to grab a packet of organic apples and I pray I don’t see Apple Man. Who knows where he could be looming now? I’ve never gone on a covert apple mission before this and let me tell you: it’s not easy. But I don’t see anyone creepy or familiar, and have success with my efforts.


I find a shorter line somewhere in the middle and Mom finds me. We pay, I grab the loaded cart, and we finally make our way out of the torture that is Costco. I’m feeling like I need a Valium and a yoga session and a puppy, but Mom is happy, so that’s all that matters. Once we get in the car, I can breathe again and am ready to face Whole Foods. Nothing but Namaste and rainbows over there, so I know I’ll live to see another day.

And that’s how I almost lost my salvation at Costco.


All images via Meme Generator.

When Experiments Go Wrong

Thought I’d post something on the lighter side today. I truly think it is important to be able to laugh at oneself and let me confess that I laugh at myself all the time. Seriously. I am one of the biggest goofs I know. Were I to be stranded on a deserted island, I would know how to entertain myself. Now, that doesn’t mean that I really am funny and that people find my antics amusing. For all I know, they may think I’m a complete psycho. Regardless, I am positive that at least someone will find these mishaps pretty damn hilarious:

There I was, getting ready for a coffee date. I had pinned my hair in tight coils the night before, securing each piece with two bobby pins. My hair is naturally curly and I thought, why don’t I help my curls along and do an overnight “set?” Then I’ll have fabulous ringlets when I unfurl each piece! What was a great idea turned out to be a hair disaster. See exhibit A:

Curls gone wrong…

After the initial freakout, I calmed myself down and thought, I bet a blow dryer would help this situation. Let’s see what happens. This is what happened; see exhibit B:


At this point, I was laughing hysterically. I mean, who DOES that?! I took pictures of each stage and sent them to my sister. Pretty sure it made her day. Well, the Lafawnduh look wasn’t for me, so I decided to wet my hair and see if I could scrunch pieces back into semi-normal curls. The only look I achieved was “wet rat”. Attractive. See exhibit C:

Hey boys…

Finally, I busted out the blow dryer again and things were much better. Then I straightened my hair as quickly as I could since time was running fast. Still not my best hair day, but at least it wasn’t out of control. Sometimes I send those pictures to friends/co-workers randomly to bring smiles to their faces—especially if someone is having a bad day. Works EVERY time.

You too can ruin your hair, just like me.

One more mishap I specifically remember took place almost ten years ago. We were having some of my friends over for lunch that day—cute, high school boys, mind you—and I wanted to make a lasting impression. What does a sensible teenage girl do to impress? Why, bake an amazing chocolate cake, of course! I followed the baking instructions to a T. Well…sorta.

I still don’t know what I really did, but…somehow, I added in too much butter. When the cake was ready to pop out of the oven, I opened the door and shrieked. About a half inch of melted butter was swimming over my beautiful cake. That couldn’t do, of course! Enter: good ole Mom to the rescue. Who knows if this is a real thing or not, but my mom said, “No problem, we’ll make it Texas Cake.” Huh? WTF is Texas Cake?? (It actually is a real thing; I Googled it. Click here for a recipe.)

Mom grabbed a bag of mini marshmallows and simply threw them on top of the butter cake. Because everything was so hot, the butter melted the marshmallows and the marshmallows absorbed the butter which=win/win. The cake itself was very good and oddly enough, the marshmallows on top (with all that butter) added a nice balance of taste to the cake. Though it turned out well in the end, I have been extremely cautious when measuring butter to this day. Lesson learned.

Does anyone have any mishaps they’d like to share?  =)