I don't want to die in the dairy aisle.

There is a very, very creepy dude who works at the Dominick's next door to me. He looks like he's disintegrating. He looks hepatitis-y. He looks kinda like Iggy Pop. His yellow face, which looks like it might fall off at any second, blends in with his straw-like yellow hair. His eyes are that weird super pale blue/almost white color that always reminds me of this:




And he stares me down. Always. Always asks if I need help. Follows me from aisle to aisle. Always smiles at me with his yellow teeth that match his yellow skin and his yellow hair. I'm pretty sure he wants to kill me so he can wear my skin around or something, and I spend a good deal of time suppressing my instinct to say "Just so you know, dude, I am not in fact a size 14."

My grocery store time is my "me" time. I like wandering aimlessly through the aisles, putting things in my cart and then taking them out because I don't really need them. I like hearing Wilson Phillips' "Impulsive" while I carefully decide which bag of "8 O'Clock" coffee is best suited to my purposes. I like "8 O'Clock" coffee because drinking it makes me feel like an old-timey film noir detective. Don't ask me why, it just does. I like hearing Kelly Clarkson's "A Moment Like This" while I stand there with a box of wine, in my yoga pants and Slits t-shirt- with my hair all gagoots, staring blankly at piles of Brie and Camembert at 12 o'clock at night. I hope to god that no one waits a lifetime for a moment like that. I like it when some dude walks up to the Starbucks counter and asks for a bottle of water, and then gets mad that they don't have one. Like he's not even in a grocery store.

And, you know, I really don't like being watched. Or followed. Or smiled at. Not while I'm contemplating whether I should bother getting two bags of Nature Sweet tomatoes- because I really only need one, but they're buy one get one today, and I might as well.

Leave me be, creepy grocery store dude, leave me be.

You are welcome...

"Craigslist Penis Photographer" featuring Bob Odenkirk - watch more funny videos

This is so great- I would totally marry Bob Odenkirk. For a while, Jen and I were like, obsessed with reading the Casual Encounters section on Craigslist, out of curiosity. Not curiosity about who we could recognize on there (although we totally did see one guy we knew, and it was hilarious, and I have not been able to look him in the eye since), or what people were into, but about how deluded they really were.

There is an element of hope in these ads. The hope that some hot ass lady will see it, and after seeing only a picture of your dick, and a couple of grammatically incorrect, poorly spelled sentences about how you need to stick it into something, hop on the bus and come over and do ya. And I really, really doubt that that is ever going to happen. But still, they keep hoping. Which is sad, but interesting nonetheless.

I don't know, I'm really into faces, so I just don't think I'd ever look at a picture of a dick and think "Wow! I'd sure like some of that!" I just wouldn't. I'm not hot for disembodied anything, really. Also, I think that would pretty much be the worst way to die, like, ever, if the guy turned out to be a serial killer. Imagine the news reports! "The Craigslist Strangler lured Miss Robyn to his apartment with a grainy picture of his dick with his gut hanging over it and a message reading:

"I;m looking for big butt princess.I love big women bigger better.DD free and clean"

This, by the way, was the first one on the list when I went over to go check it out. Sadly, there was no accompanying picture. But really- how embarrassing would that be? Imagine Nancy Grace interviewing your mom "So, was she really a 'big butt princess'?" And then your mom would have to say "No. You know, she was a bit hippy, but she never had much of an ass to speak of." And the the tickers across the bottom of the screen would read "Big Butt Princess Meets Tragic End." And then you'd have to die all over again.

Yup.

Things that are good vs. Things that suck. A booze infused list I will probably delete when sober

Good things:

1. Two eggs, over easy, wheat toast, hashbrowns and sausage links. Right now, I can promise you that this is the most importantly good thing ever.

2. Mr. Catface being absolutely delightful.

3. The episode of Fantasy Island I am about to watch.

4. Writing in a bar.

5. Chocolate! I hope to find some in my apartment! I should have gone to Dominicks and purchased tiramisu before they closed. Alas.

6. Closure.

7. The awesome list of ways not to get murdered I wrote today, based upon my watching far too many true crime shows. I'm pretty safe, as I do not jog, I didn't marry my highschool sweetheart or anyone with the last name Peterson, no one would describe me as the All American Girl Next Door with a charmed life who smiles all the time and goes about lighting up rooms with her zeal for life, I have no Sears Portrait Studio pictures of myself donning a floral bib dress and an 80's bouffant, and I would not describe any of my neighbors as people who are quiet and keep to themselves mostly.

8. The most amazing episode of Intervention, ever, is now on the OnDemand thing. The huffing episode with the girl who feels like she's "walkin' on sunshine!" It's so, so disturbing, and yet I cannot turn away.

Bad things:

1. Camille Paglia

2. Dudes that I used to date or see or whatever being painfully, gag me with a spoon, jaw droppingly cheeseball-esque human beings. I tell you, it's absolutely painful, and it kinda makes me feel embarassed to be alive.

3. Tucker Max

4. Having to sit still for too long. I'm not so good at it.

5. The fact that no one seemed to want to be out tonight, when I was way too hyper to go home.

6. The guy who said earlier "what's a gal like you doing in a place like this?" I really wanted to punch him. A lot. More than you could possibly know. Like, A) dude, we are not in the country, and I most certainly do not appreciate being referred to as a gal anymore than you would like being referred to as a motherfucking redneck douchenozzle, and b) Really? You actually said that? Out loud? With the intention of my hearing you? What's next? Asking me what my sign is? Or if I come here often? Oy.

7. The fact that I cannot foresee myself remembering to take off my makeup tonight. And the fact that I didn't finish hanging up my laundry today, and thus will have to remove things from my bed in order to sleep. Sigh.

I am dead, but other than that, things are swell!

I am just going to die today. Seriously. I only got like, four hours of sleep last night, because my stupid phone woke me up (why do I always forget to put it on silent?), and then it was too hot to manage getting back to sleep until like, 4:30am. And today the store is full of delusional people who think they're a size small when even the larges wouldn't fit. I don't get that. Do they think maybe I'm blind? Oy. Who are they trying to fool? Me, or themselves?

Oh! But in awesome news...

1. I saw my dad yesterday and we went out for dinner and it was lovely, and I got to have lobster because I'm awesome, and also my mum sent me a pink umbrella because she's adorable.

2. Project Runway starts tonight! This is the last season, basically, since after this one, it's movie to freaking lifetime, and probably changing it's name to Project; Designers on the Run.

3. And if that wasn't glorious enough... my bad reality show dreams have come true! Rock of Love 3!! And this time... it's on a bus! Sweet!

4. Ok... this is going to sound so, so lame... but I got "Comment of The Day" for the first time over on Jezebel yesterday, and I'm like, retardly excited about it. Yes, I know, I have no life: http://jezebel.com/5025527/reader-roundup.

5. Fun tidbit of conversation:

Robyn: I truly have no desire to see the Grand Canyon or swim with dolphins, and for some reason this bothers people.

Dude: Well, the Grand Canyon is pretty awesome...

Robyn: I don't know, I'm sure it's probably pretty, but how long can that even be interesting for?

Dude: Well, if you like hiking...

Robyn: I totally don't hike. I don't hike, I don't jog, I don't date guys with the last name Peterson, or do anything else that seems to directly correlate to being murdered. It's a thing I have. Seriously, I watch a lot of Law and Order. Hiking= death.

Missed Connection (but not really)

I saw a darling-ly handsome fella sitting on the stairs in front of the Second City building, while I was on my break yesterday. Bespectacled/behatted(which I know is not a word, but wouldn't it be great if it was?) and not possessing any unfortunate facial hair- he looked at me and I looked at him- or vice versa- before I took my usual place on the little stone square to smoke my cigarettes and read my book. But not really. I looked at him and I watched him get up and talk to some far less handsome man, and I tried to figure out if he was too short for me, or what. Not that it mattered, but hey. And I thought to myself- because I am person who spends far too much time on the internet- what if this fella were to send me a missed connection on the Craigslist? I have had three, actually- none of them romantic, all of them having something to do with something snarky I said to someone with skin too thin. I thought about what it would sound like "Tall dark haired girl, sitting Indian style on that random stone thingy with the tree coming out of it, reading a red book, smoking and eating a cookie: You seem fantastic!" or, you know, whatever people put in those things. But then what if I saw it and then, what if I responded?

It would probably be pretty awkward. He might turn out to be a serial killer, or just really, really boring. Maybe he'd talk too much about how his ex girlfriend shattered his heart into a million pieces, and I'd talk too much about...well, everything, because I tend to do that- and I'd probably go on about my commitmentphobic issues- not so much because I really do have them so much as it's kind of a knock on wood/spitting/salt throwing precaution. Because if things don't work out I want to have the advantage of being able to say that I didn't care if they did anyway. And if he didn't talk, I'd expend untoward amounts of effort trying to draw him out, which is something that is never really worth that effort- but you never realize that in the beginning, do you? We'd probably hang out for a while- and I'd enjoy the refreshing change of having something to talk about to my girlfriends other than politics, odd people I saw on the bus and the crazy French lady I work with- but sooner or later... I'd start weighing my options- is he more awesome than the effort required to hang out with him sucks? Is he worth shaving my legs and being tired at work? More than likely- no. He'd probably tell me that I was "emotionally unavailable" at some point, because they usually do, and they're usually right. I'd probably disappear at some point because that's what I do, because I don't get the point of talks, and when I'm done- that's good enough for me and I rarely feel the need to notify them of my decision. He'd want to still be friends, but I wouldn't because I think that's weird, and shit- I have enough friends, and I probably have higher standards for my friends than I do for the douche nozzles I date. Maybe he'd go all dingleberry on me for a while, which usually happens as well (you know, the little shit that keeps hanging on your ass? Even though it's clear you want nothing to do with them?) and then he'd probably get back together with his so-called "crazy and jealous" ex-girlfriend- who probably wasn't crazy and jealous to begin with- but you know how dudes are... they like to feel wanted.

Sigh. So that's what was going through my head. I can't help it- I'm a fatalist. I'm just so tired. I mean, I look at a guy, and think "God, you know, he's cute, but I feel exhausted already just looking at him. I already know how this movie ends" Maybe I'm just lazy?