I'm Out of Love with Trader Joe's

I've been away from blogging. I've been away from sane thought in general. Everything was fine at 5:30 and life changed irreversibly at 6:00. I wish the phone call was something different. You can never be prepared for this sort of thing.

I'm getting better. I can think about other things. For two weeks I couldn't, but I'm starting to think about other things.

And hence can I blog, or at least attempt to. My mind's overexerted so no one thing I say or try to communicate can really make sense, because each thought is clouded by 12 million other thoughts that also make sense, because there's too many of them and I am unprepared for any of them. But I will try.

***

I went back to MA this weekend, as per Sister's suggestion. She thought it might help, to see things, to experience things, to stop imagining and force myself to face how things actually are.

Rather than face things for the entire time, I decided to take an extra day off to spend with Sister, to talk face-to-face, to cry if necessary with one of the two people who understand this.

Sister wanted to cook an elaborate dinner. I agreed, as cooking dinner is cost effective and fun. We scoured three vegetarian cookbooks and decided on a honey-pear salad followed by asparagus/ricotta/mint risotto. We decided not to be overambitious and agreed to purchase a fancy dessert.

Sister said "OK, here's the thing. Trader Joe's is awesome but may not have ingredients, but is closest. Star Market is far away but will have ingredients, except for awesome desserts. Whole Foods is in the middle and will definitely have everything and awesome desserts BUT it's wicked expensive."

We decided on risky Trader Joe's, because Trader Joe's is awesome and because I wanted to buy some fabulous snacks to bring back to NYC, as D and I had rented a car for our return as freaking Amtrak is now freaking $93 one-way. Bastards. We also decided on Trader Joe's because it was closest, and because we are tired all the time and can't really be expected to function, the world would have been asking too much of us if it demanded we walk all the way to The Stah (which is now Shaws, right?).

Anyway.

I hate Trader Joe's. I know that Trader Joe's is not a supermarket, but seriously, how could they not have anything we needed?

They did not have pears. Or asparagus. Or a reasonable amount of honey. Or a reasonable amout of mayonnaise. Or ricotta. Seriously. They did not have ricotta!

We revamped the dinner plans, and there were no ingredients for the new menu either.

We came up with idea after idea, found half the ingredients, realized that they didn't have the other half of what we needed, put everything away, started over...

Insanity.

Our minds were not up for this. I kept saying "We can just buy a pizza and heat it up! This is madness!" but we did not want to be defeated.

I know Trader Joe's is not a real supermarket. And I know that they do not really need to have ingredients since they have the best pre-made food selection in the universe. I have limited patience for anything right now, and oh how I need something in my life to be straightforward and easy.

We ended up buying pre-made gnocchi and pre-made pesto, because I couldn't remember the recipe for pesto. We made a goat cheese salad with candied pecans and raspberries. We bought mochi (oh, mochi, yes!) and I tried to buy a bottle of wine because we Lars really need to be drinking as much as possible right now. I didn't buy any snacks to bring back because I was on the verge of a meltdown, because these days anything might spark a meltdown.

The plan was that I would put the groceries on my credit card and that Sister would pay me back eventually.

Except that I didn't have my ID because I hadn't brought my wallet (because why would I bring my wallet on what was supposed to be a two second trip to Trader Joe's that turned out to be two hours?).

Ah, New York, I've gotten used to your cardless ways.

The cashier asked for my ID and I didn't have it, so Sister gave him hers.

Sister offered to put the groceries on her card.

The cashier, however, wouldn't let her buy the wine because I didn't have my ID! He said "You can't buy it because you're buying it for her."

"But... but..."

And that's when I started yelling, for the entire store to hear, "BUT I'M 30 YEARS OLD! SHE IS MY YOUNGER SISTER! BY ALMOST 7 YEARS! I'M 30 YEARS OLD! I'M 30! I CAN BUY ALCOHOL!" I wanted to add "And listen, buddy, you don't know HOW MUCH WE NEED THAT WINE THIS INSTANT!"

And we left without alcohol.

I wanted to cry, or throw a fit, and I think I did both.

My only consolation was that the cashier thought that I looked very young.

Later on that weekend I was relaying this story at PetCo, where Sister was buying guinea pig supplies. The eavesdropping PetCo cashier said "Oh, my partner works at Trader Joe's. They have to card everyone, even if they're 105 years old. If they don't, they could go to (whispering) jail."

So I guess it wasn't my youthful appearance that denied me the wine. It was the Trader Joe's cashier's ability to do a good job and avoid jail. Good for him, bad for me.

D, my hero, went out and bought Sister and I a bottle of wine, which we inhaled and which resulted in the ultimate regression, with Kid Fears and The Beatles (Beatles' songs are so sad when you're sad, even the happy sounding ones) and oh my god Stone Temple Pilots.

I think people do this sort of thing because it reminds them of a time when things were less complicated. Our singalong was the last uncomplicated portion of the weekend, and when I think back on this weekend I will wish that there was more time for singing.