In a Jam

If you’re a man and you’re confused about us women and how and why we operate the way we do, I can totally understand because I do shit all the time that confuses me.

For instance, I was in the market yesterday during my lunch hour buying some items I didn’t need, to fulfill something that isn’t there. Along with those items, I bought a bag of pretzels, which I did need, because I had an upset stomach, and pretzels always ease my upset stomach. 

But I was debating whether I should buy them or not because this particular market only had large bags of pretzels, not small bags, and they were almost four dollars… for fucking pretzels?! (is what I said to myself), so I almost didn’t get them. But I did.

After I ate a couple, I wished I hadn’t gotten them because they weren’t that good. You’d think you couldn’t screw up a pretzel, but you can. Anyway, as I got back to work, I remembered our office vending machine sells small bags of pretzels and I laughed about it because if I had just waited ‘til I got back to work, I could’ve saved a few bucks. 

I forgot to bring some of those mediocre, expensive pretzels to work with me today, and I was craving some, so I went downstairs to the vending machine and bought a small bag.

It seems I have a problem remembering pretzels. 

Anyway, what’s my point? Well, my point is… I was taking issue with how much the bag of pretzels cost at the market, but I didn’t hesitate to buy some from the vending machine, which are .85 cents for a very small bag, and I could buy two large bags of expensive pretzels for how much I spend weekly on the small ones from the vending machine. So I’m not only buying a large bag of pretzels I don’t even like, I’m spending extra money on the small bags at work; money I could use to just buy a large bag of pretzels I do like* 

You follow?

If you’re a man and you don’t follow, or are perplexed about my reasoning, I just want to say… I fucking get it. I get you, man. 

*This may not be a gender issue. There may be plenty of men out there who would do the same pretzel thing I do, but I can’t be too sure. 

But it doesn’t stop there. I bought some jam jars online because if you can fucking believe it, I’m making more fucking jam because my life sucks right now!!!*

ahem… I’m making more jam. 

*Confused? Read my post from a couple weeks ago.

Yeah, I found this peach tree down the street from my work and this time, I wasn’t stealing the fruit. No, not at all… I was helping myself to the fruit because the branches of this fruit tree were hanging over the wall of the owner’s property and California law states that “Any fruit that is hanging over the wall or fence of the owner’s property is fair game for anyone to take”… or something like that (I’m paraphrasing), so that wouldn’t make me a thief, I’m a… I’m a…

Okay, okay, okay… I stole the fucking peaches!

I’m a fruit thief.

Say that five times quickly.

So I made some peach jam when a few weeks ago it was apricot jam. Where I am going with this anyway?

Oh, yes… I bought more jam jars online, which cost more than the ones I initially bought at the dollar store a few weeks ago. I hesitated buying all of the dollar store jam jars because I didn’t want to spend too much money, so when I made this second batch of fucking delicious homemade jam, I needed more jars, and by the time I went back to the dollar store to get them, they were all gone. 

I could’ve saved time and money by just buying all the goddamn dollar store jam jars in the first place. 

Now, one could argue that this is really a money issue, not a “you’reafuckingcrazylady” issue, but I can’t be too sure.

Want some jam?

Published by Clever Girl

Intrepid writer, reader and comedian.

39 thoughts on “In a Jam

  1. Mindlessly buying pretzels with an upset stomach makes sense. You want them. Paying attention to what costs what is difficult if you feel bad or, are driven to distraction.

    With the fucking jam jars…you can’t possibly anticipate whether or not a dollar store will retain merchandise. It’s a DOLLAR store. So…you bought more jars online. Make more fucking jam and sell it.

    Fruit thieving is relative. I steal figs from my next door neighbor all the time. She has a small fig tree. Why? IDK. She doesn’t like figs. I snatch them.

    So, buy your fucking pretzels, eat your fucking pretzels, steal your fucking fruit, buy your fucking jars and make your fucking jam. It’s all good. Nobody is watching. If they are and they ask WTF are you doing, simply say “I don’t have a fucking clue.” LOL!


  2. I don’t like pretzels. At least not the kind you can buy in a bag from a vending machine or at a grocery store for $4 a bag. But, for what it’s worth, I do like those large pretzels you get at pretzel trucks or at booths at outdoor concerts, you know the ones with large crystals of salt and upon which you can spread yellow mustard.

    As to your pretzel and jam quirks, I am a man and I get it. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.


  3. Ha ha. I must be honest, Jam… is one of those words that, when I’m in the states, gives me pause. Do I actually mean pass the ‘Jelly’… god… why am I have this vocabulary crisis about stuff that gets spread on toast… maybe I should just point to the jar and tacitly… you know… infer that I’d like it passed in my direction… without having to use a noun.


  4. Isn’t it weird how life-suckage can sometimes result in sweetness? This was great. I laughed, I cried, I read it to my husband. Ok, I didn’t cry, but I thought about it with the peach thievery thing because it was so damned funny. Do I want jam? Of course, want jam. If plane tickets weren’t so prohibitively expensive I would go there and demand some jam. Because, obviously, anyone who makes jam under the pretense of life-suckage must give up jam to anyone who demands it. That law is nearly federal so it usurps your California laws. But only if I want it to. If you would like to try out other laws regarding life-sucking jam-making, it’s strawberry season here in Maine.


  5. I’m thinking you oughtta use the extra pretzels from that giant fucking bag you bought to make your very own unique Peach Pretzel Preserves. Sell ’em online, and you’re set for life. Although I might demand a 10% cut of your resulting company’s profits in perpetuity since I’m the marketing genius who suggested it for you in the first place. And by the way, I’m never confused about why women operate they way they do ’cause you know why? ‘Cause if I were a woman and I had to deal with clueless men all the time, I reckon I’d operate exactly the same way. So I get you, Clever Girl, even if you don’t get yourself.

    Not too long ago, I wrote a short story about a woman who makes her own blueberry jam and sells it in a local market. I’m particularly pleased with it. I think it’ll make you laugh. If you’re interested, you can find it here:


    1. Hmm, not a bad idea.

      Probably won’t do it, but it is an intriguing thought. If I did, I’d call it “Fucking Pretzels and Peaches”. It has a nice ring, I thought.

      I enjoyed your story.

      Liked by 2 people

  6. Isn’t marijuana legal in California? I bet you can make some kind of jam out of that. And it would go great with a large bag of pretzels. When you make some let me know and I’ll drive up. I’ll even bring the pretzels.


  7. So my psyche is such that I would rather have buyer’s remorse over buying too many jars than suffer from feeling that I overpaid for the jars. This then lends itself to the idea that it is not what you spent but what you saved. I keep trying to convince my husband that this is a solid economic concept.

    Great post! Thanks for the giggle! 🙂


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