I go to Food Lion, so what?

There are dog people (like me) and there are cat people.  There are liberals and there are conservatives.  There are Wal-Mart people and there are Target people.  At least before the current economic times.  We all live in a Wal-Mart economy now.  Everyone is pinching pennies and cutting costs.  The snubs that would not be caught dead at Wal-Mart are now die hard patrons, parking their SUVs and Sedans alongside the regular shopper’s station wagon and rickety old pickup trucks.  Sign of the times.

I have always been a Wal-Mart person.  It just makes sense to go to one store where you can get everything you need.  Almost everything you need.  I ignore all those nay-sayers who see Wal-Mart as one big evil empire.  They’re cheap, period.

Other grocery chains are also going the Wal-Mart way – pushing value.  And if that fails, kill the shoppers with customer service.  Lemme explain:

I live really close to a Food Lion which is very convenient for me because from time to time, I leave something on the stove while I make a mad dash for an ingredient.    Food Lion is old school…a notch above Piggly Wiggly, which makes them country.  Country cool, like the Dixie Chicks.  Although their selection is limited, it’s affordable.  Wal-Mart affordable.  And once in a while you can find some real treats like the steakhouse rolls I found last week…you know…those tasty wheat rolls they serve with dinner in Outback Steakhouse or Chili’s. 

When I first moved to the south, the overall hospitality of the people never ceased to annoy amaze me.  The Food Lion staff especially irked me.  Coming through the doors, you can be sure you will be greeted with, “welcome to your neighborhood Food Lion!”  And when you get to the cashier, you can be sure there is a, “did you find everything okay?” waiting for you.  While making your way down the aisles you are likely to bump into a manager/assistant manager/stockperson who will undoubtedly ask if you need anything. Sometimes the mean Midwesterner in me is tempted to make up something like telling the staff that I saw a huge cockroach in the vegetable stand…just to see to what extent they would actually do something about it. 

I know…I’m spoilt.  In fact, I expect it the attention now.  So yeah, when I get made fun off by those Publix-loving, Kroger-going, Target-liking co-workers of mine, I just smile and think of all those nice cashiers who call me, “honey,” or “sweetie,” or “sugar.” 

Food Lion makes driving seven miles Wal-Mart so inconvenient. Guilt-ridden. And rude.

(Why oh why am i blogging about grocery stores???  I need my blog-mojo back!)

I WORRY

I am a little overwhelmed.

Lately, I have been moving stuff around in my finances…from savings to checking to retirement to emergency funds etc…

I find the whole thing tedious and depressing.  I know that with being in grad school and working full time, I am probably trying to do too much but with the recession and with being in my thirties, I feel I am running out of time and may not have enough for retirement.

I worry that I may not have enough money for emergencies.  For now the only emergency I have to think about is if old faithful dies (my 15 year old lexus).  Or if there is a death in the family and I have to go home immediately (God forbid!  I rebuke it!! *as solomonsydelle says to do often*).  Or if I have a wedding to go to and I have nothing to wear.  (Yes, that is a real emergency).

I am thankful that I am covered for medical emergencies with health insurance, AFLAC and short and long term disability.  No worries there.

I also worry that if Turtle and I decide to get married I won’t be able to pay for my own wedding.  He is covered…being the baby of his family.  Me, I am not so lucky.  My parents are retired and living on fixed incomes.  I am kinda of on my own.  This is probably the reason Vegas keeps looking attractive to me with each passing year.  I guess I should not worry about that now and cross that bridge when I get there.

I worry that I may never be able to afford the house of my dreams.  This is a ridiculous worry since I have never been a fan of owning a home.  I see it as a shackle around one’s ankle preventing you from moving around whenever you feel like it.  I worry because it is a rite of passage that I may never experience.

I worry that I don’t really want kids.  Don’t get me wrong, if I get knocked up, I will be scared but ecstatic that I have been given a chance to redeem myself for my unnatural thoughts.  But I am not one of those women that say, “I will have two kids by the time I turn xx years old.” In fact, the thought of being responsible for another human life gives me hives.

I worry that I others see me as a failure.  Especially my family.  I mean, I am not a doctor/lawyer/nurse/engineer/IT specialist.  I worry that they think I wasted my life in the United States and settled into mediocrity.

I worry that by the time I am middle aged, the best years would be gone and I would have nothing to show for it.

I worry.

(Wow. This  is like my very first unedited post ever!)

How much….

…do we really change?

I took a walk down memory lane this week… sifted through old letters from good friends and acquaintances… went through old photographs…I laughed a lot… I gasped a lot… because some things really shocked jogged my memory…

Yet -  I was amazed how much I had changed.  And how much I had not really changed.  Isn’t it strange how some parts of you remain constant, while everything else (especially physical attributes) slowly morph into another version of you?

Some things I learned from old lettes and photos and keepsakes:

I was quite skinny years ago. Like, a rake. No hips, no boobs, no curves. At least by African standards. I think Kate Moss would disagree with me.  In fact one co-worker described me as “svelt.”  I think an occasional sandwich would have been beneficial to me back then. And no, I will not be putting up ‘AFTER’ photos.  I am a good 20 pounds heavier now.

I was kinda cute in a simple innocent way. And I had almost flawless facial skin. *sob*

My hair was long…past shoulder length…thick…full and all mine. *sob* nnnwwaaaaaaaaaaah!

Remember my 10 Things post about being a germaphobe?  Well, it turns out that I had always been a neatness freak. I just did not know it. I mean, my SS3 (high school senior year) teacher wrote to me in 1998 and said in BOLD and UNDERLINED words… and I quote: “you are one of the neatest people I have ever come across.” Come to think of it, I think I remember winning ‘neatest girl,’ award in high school. It is weird that I hardly remember that …and that I just don’t see myself as neat.  There is always an item of clothing to be put away, or dirt to be swept, or mirror to be wiped down…

I had always had a mean tongue. My BFF wrote to me around the same time to and jist me of a really handsome muscular older neighbor whose nickname was “America,” but whom I always called, “all brawn and no brains.”  Just disrespectful for someone my age at that time.

I have always been competitive and ultra focused on life… and by life, I mean SCHOOL and WORK.  It’s like I sometimes forget to live life.  It felt so strange to see all those college honors and deans lists …I have to remember to not work as hard and to take a breath of fresh air ever so often. BTW- why am I not making more money??? On would think I would be on a fast track to running a company by now…oh well…after my MBA…we’ll see…

I have always been ‘crazy.’   My BFF also wrote about this new room mate she had that reminded everyone about me because she was just as “crazy” … so crazy that my ex-boyfriend stays clear away from her.   I really don’t see myself as crazy.  I know I speak my mind.  I know I take the road less travelled.  I know that I HATE conforming.  I know that I am deathly afraid of being average and being like everyone else.  Over the years, there has been variations of that term…crazy cool, crazy wild, weird crazy.  Even Turtle said I was the craziest girl he has ever dated.  Although I am not fond of being called crazy…I have learned to embrace it.  Afterall, only a mad man does not know he is mad, right?

In a way, I am glad I dug up all my old photos and letters.  Maybe I should take up scrapbooking and put everything into a nice happy bow-tied pictorial of my life so far.  But that would be sort of fake because there are are pretty nasty memories that I came across too. But nevertheless, its better to dwell on good times than bad times.