Kimmie

I've been stretching my last bit of shampoo for a few weeks now... shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me-- or sees me, for that matter.
Since I'm running dangerously low, I decided I'd make the dreaded trip to Walmart after getting my eyebrows threaded.

Everything was fine. In a matter of five minutes, I picked up deodorant, floss, mouthwash, shampoo, and some panty liners (of course these were last, because for some reason, I'm still painfully shy to admit to fellow shoppers than I am indeed a menstruating female).
Mistake number one:
I headed over to the 10-and-less item lane.
I didn't notice the people ahead of me, since I was too taken by the wide variety of beef jerky... like some starved dog. However, my concentration was ruined by a very angry young man, strung-out as fuck, yelling at the lane's cashier. Right there, in front of me, stood a young fellow... probably no older than 23, reeking of... something stronger than cigarette smoke, definitely not weed... but something more offensive to the nostrils... like tar. His black shoulder-length hair was disheveled as fuck... like a rat's nest.
Like the traumatized ex-hood rat I am, I looked down at the floor, hardly breathing (these are the moments where I'd transfigure if I had that super power), hoping not to get noticed. I was unable to leave the lane, because some fucking oblivious bitch parked her overflowing cart directly behind me... practically pinning me on this strung out homeboy.

I guess Strung-out Homeboy was irritated because the cashier was refusing to sell him cigarettes without an ID, and he was losing his shit.
After verbally abusing the shit out of the cashier, the homeboy looked like he was finally calm enough to leave on his merry way.
But of course I couldn't be so lucky... this crazy couldn't leave the store without incident with ME. Homeboy turns around and looks at me. Dude proceeds to grab a magazine off the rack (I don't remember if it was Star, or OK! since I don't keep track of gossip magazines) and tosses it directly in front of me, on the conveyor belt.
Him, looking at the cashier: I bet you won't turn Kim down! Here, I'll save the bitch some trouble and place this here for her. She buys all the covers she's in. Don't say I didn't do something nice!

And the dude stormed off.
The cashier and I stared at each other, I'm sure we were both equally pale.
I looked down at the magazine before the poor man removed it out of the way so I could finally unclench my beauty products and place them on the belt.

Who was I confused for by this drug addict as I clenched some panty liners for dear life in the line at Walmart? Kim Kardashian.

I was so... amused and confused (that's the new insult going around now? Calling a chick "Kim Kardashian"? I wish I was that homegirl, are you fucking kidding me?!), when I sat in my car getting ready to drive off, I committed mistake number two:
I popped out one of my diamond earrings with the seatbelt... and lost it under my car seat.
This wouldn't be bad... if my car seat were fucking normal.
But my car seat isn't normal. My stupid fancy car seat is all hydraulics and bullshit... I can not find a way to retrieve my earring.

I have never owned diamond earrings... and now I know why: BECAUSE I LOSE SHIT! I can't have nice things!

These earrings are the most expensive piece of jewelry I have ever owned... and I fucked that shit up.

I have never been so angry.
I proceeded to throw my phone against the ground and screamed... because I'm fucking level-headed like that.

This day has sucked balls.
This week has SUCKED DICK!

I just want to sleep. Fuck this shit.