B.J.'s

So earlier this afternoon Mark took me out to B.J.'s to buy dog food, and some brie cheese. As far as I know, besides gasoline, those are the only two things I can save money on in that place. The trouble with traveling the five miles to B.J.'s in the eighty five degree heat, with eighty percent humidity, is that the eight hundred dollar air-conditioning repair we did on the car last summer, has failed. That coupled with Mark's horrendous driving skills had me as nervous as a dog in a Korean restaurant. Instead of changing lanes and pulling around slow moving cars, Mark likes to sit behind them and call them all kinds of politically incorrect names. And then there is the radio. Mark likes to put a c.d. in the radio and play it over and over again until you want to eject it and reinsert it into one of his orifices. The c.d. of the last two weeks is the cast recording of Pricilla, Queen of the Desert. I thought I loved that show, until Mark forced me to re-live it every time I get in the car. Anyway, after a white knuckle ride on the expressway, and listening to Mark scream at the car in front of us for driving at the speed limit, I decided to pull out the video camera. It's not much, but it amused me at the time.