Fixed up the new place. Painted the walls and moved shit around all by myself. It was a new beginning for me. I’ve never felt so capable in my life.

I can grow into a crazy cat lady in the comfort of my own home and not have anyone come and change a light bulb or put in a screw.

My parents came by to see the place. My mother touched the walls and ran her hands through the crease-less sheets, looking for any sign to complain but she humbly kept her mouth closed. My father walked around with his hands in his pocket, nodded a few times and said “good job”.

I offered my parents coffee, some pumpkin bread and just about before I served them, my father goes, “I’m really proud of you. I’m watching you and you look strong; confident. You’ve been through a lot but you made a home for yourself on your own and I’m extremely proud.”

My father gives a compliment once every five years so I was extremely touched but before I thanked him, my father did what he did best in a conversation : go off the rails and transition into a grim lecture, completely unrelated with the topic at hand.

Dad: So I was at church the other day and they were talking about the rapture…

As my dad spent the following 30 minutes explaining his version of the apocalypse, I started thinking about my immortal fate. Would I go to heaven? Purgatory? Then I remembered my last trip to Trader Joe’s where I murdered everyone in my head, good ol’ American Psycho style.

What was even more frustrating is that I still had to wait on the check out line in my own daydream, post-slaughter. See in New York City, people who venture to Trader Joe’s during rush hour are like roaches when the light comes on at night. There’s no fucking order.

Shit. They saw us. Grab the Cookie Butter. RUN!!!

*cling cling shhhh cling* OH you don’t know what that is? That’s my best interpretation of frantically brushing yourself amongst the frackled masses, pushing your red shopping cart like a old walker escaping a fire while carts bump n’ grind good ol’ R.Kelly style in the checkout line by the coffee samples…

While I’m still going to hell let me just add for the bozos who walk into TJs without a strategy or plan during rush hour: Go home. FO’EVA. I’m not even kidding. There’s always that one dude picking yogurts like a fucking orchard.

Bruh can you just grab all your yogurts and not exist for two seconds? I just came here for hazelnut creamer. I’m trying to gtfo. Thanks.

Here’s the thing, everyone is hungry, broke AF and either forgot to shop at a more convenient time or didn’t have a choice, so if you show up at 6pm la-fucking -dah- and stand here in the middle of the fucking isle contemplating which oil is safe for high heat? I’m going to knock you in the head with avocado oil, put it in your cart and roll you aside.

Unfortunately for us poor folk, Trader Joe’s isn’t a by-foot travel commodity. Most of us trek from our shitty jobs back to our neighborhoods and get back on the shitty subway, which in some ways is a prelude to the rapture in its self so please, from one cranky New Yorker to another : do the fucking research people. Don’t come with the life questions hoping to get an answer. Fuck, come with no hope, at all. Instead, come prepared, my immortal fate depends on it.