Monday, July 30, 2007

My Guilty Pleasure

My guilty pleasure is not Britney Spears or chocolate cake. It's not singing to the Spice Girls or two hour showers. My guilty pleasure is a little more cruel and a little more fun. My guilty pleasure is pretending to not remember people that I clearly do remember.

Eric and I spent a ridiculously long time grocery shopping yesterday. We went to the new "save mart," which should be called "insanely expensive cow blood everywhere mart." We filled our cart with over priced products, and as I grabbed a package of ground beef, I got discusting animal blood on me. We left, our full cart abandoned, screaming and running for the safety of Nob Hill.

At Nob Hill I always see lots of people I know from high school, Hartnell, or churches U attented. I never acknowledge them. I see their head turn as I walk passed and sometimes I even make eye-contact, but never show a glimmer of recognition. I don't know why but it gives me a sense of superiority. I have even taken it as far as when someone approaches me, I go through the where do I know you from guessing game, even when I know full well it was First Baptist or English lit.

Yesterday at Nob Hill I remained safely in Cori and Eric land, bickering over tortillia choices and fawning over the alcohol isle, seeing but not acknowledging one ex-church friend, four Salinas High classmates, and one San Benancio class mate. It was a very guilty and pleasurable shopping experience (even if I didn't get the alcohol I wanted). I don't understand me, but altleast I give me something to think about.

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