Monday, July 31, 2006
Bla bla bla meaning of life and all - but more importantly, what the hell is up with the world's pharmacies? Is it a test? Because I keep failing it.
There's this line on the floor and a sign that indicates "To insure privacy, please wait here for the next available pharmacist." It's probably 6 feet away from the counter.
Horseshit. I contend that the government makes us stand there so that we work out the urge to squeeze the life out of pharmacy techs before we can reach the counter.
If privacy were a concern at all, I seriously doubt I'd be prompted to call out my name and the number of prescriptions I'm seeking over the heads of my co-que-panions. I feel like I'm attending an auction where every shouted letter of my name is a bid for medication - and if I just over enunciate enough - every single letter of my first and last name, the tech will yell "GOING ONCE, GOING TWICE......SOLD!" and eventually start looking for my flipping drugs IN THE CORRECT SECTION.
"Last name SASSENPANTS, first name SASS. Last name spelled ESSSS, AAYE, ESSSS...."
"I don't see your prescriptions here in the D section....how many did you say you have?"
"THREE, and the last name is SASSENPANTS. It starts with an ESSSS." Which I illustrate by drawing an S in the air. "ESSSS, AAYE, ESSSS....."
"Nope, sorry. Can't find it here in the P section. What's your phone number?"
"ESSSSSSSSSSS! MY LAST NAME AND FIRST NAME BEGIN WITH ESSSSSSSSSSS!"
My name isn't difficult. At all. If I had one of those names that everyone mispronounced or couldn't read, I'd be a lot more patient with the pharmacy. I'd be willing to bet you there are at least 5 strangers in the neighborhood of this pharmacy who could probably answer this Daily Double clue on Jeopardy "She was arrested for jumping over a pharmacy counter and screaming 'here, just let me find it for you'" - "Who is Sass Sassenpants?" BLING! Correct. You win a jillion dollars. And a lifetime of drama free pharmacy visits.
Personally, I don't give a crap about "privacy" at the pharmacy. I don't care if the whole world knows what kind of medicine I'm trying to pick up. I never have. I'd wear a sandwich board with my name on it and a list of my meds if I thought it would actually improve the process of picking this stuff up.
Seriously. We might as well slap a drive through speaker on the counter and give that a shot. I get more accurate output from the El Pollo Loco drive through and their record is abysmal.
And don't think I haven't noticed the positive feelings the media is trying to hypnotize me into having when I walk into a pharmacy. If commercials are to be believed, I'm supposed to be taken by some kind of customer orgasm if these people point out a possible drug interraction to me.
I have never, ever in all of my years at the medicine counter been told about a drug interraction, possible or destined, by the pharmacist. All of that information has come from my doctor. The doctor who is able to pull my chart from the "S" section on the first try.
I will, however, get very tingly if I'm ever able to pick up my prescriptons without having to talk myself down from the urge to jump the counter.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Everything was going great. We had our beers and our big fat pretzels, when I saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks.
Coming towards me was my Formerly Amish Mom (FAM) and my Dad. Don't get me wrong, I adore my parents. I don't mind running into them unexpectedly. What gets a little uncomfortable is not knowing what they will be saying to the people I might happen to have with me. People that haven't been given the "here's what to expect" speech. And signed the release.
I waved at FAM and Dad, and introduced Ms. Sparkle to them. They exchanged introductory pleasantries. Before I go further, let it be known that my family is not the kind of family that believes in racial bigotry. Unfortunately, exposure to my parents without a lot of explanations might lead people to believe otherwise. Hence, much squirming from me when I see FAM and Dad approaching me at the fair when I've got an uninitiated friend with me.
My dad launched into recommendations for exhibit viewing. "We went and saw the baby piglets, and OH MY that was a good time! They were nursing, and you wouldn't believe it. This black lady kept screaming at the piglets 'you get that tittie, you go. GET THAT TITTIE!"
By the time this little gem of a story registered in my consciousness, Dad had his new cell phone out and was showing Ms. Sparkle the "Cool GPS technology that came with it." He was also trying to explain the history of cell phones - beginning with the Pilgrims. Poor Ms. Sparkle oscillated from smiling politely to raising her eyebrows in what I pray was mostly amusement, not stifled screams of terror.
When my parents announced they were catching one of the free shows, I jumped at the chance to RUN AWAY. "OH, well we won't hold you up any further, you might be late. ok.nicetoseeyou. ok BYE!"
Turns out, that which goes into a show must eventually come out. Out they came some few hours later and magically appeared at my side once more. This time the entire group was assembled.
This time Ms. Sparkle's unfortunate "wrong place at the wrong time" type luck held strong. I went over to Dad and said "Hey, let me buy you a beer!" I was trying to keep him busy. Bad idea. He practically screamed out "Oh, no thanks. I just shed water off the taters and that wouldn't be a good idea."
Confused, I stupidly asked "Pardon?" He said "You know, peed! I just got done peeing. Your grandfather in his Irish accent used to say that all the time when I was a kid. 'Shed water from the potatos. taters.'"
"Ah" I said. "Yooou betcha. Ok then."
Funny. Grandpa obviously didn't often say that out loud and in front of a ton of people he didn't know, or else I'm pretty sure I'd have been far more familiar with that phrase.
At some point when I was talking to Mr. Zoom - probably begging him to stop the WARNING buzzer that was going off in my head - my parents slipped away and headed for home.
How can two people, whom I legitimately view as unpredictable powder kegs of loony talk, be missed so much when they just slip away? That's the magic of my parents.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Last week after work I raced to a birthday dinner with friends. I was on the freeway when I spied THIS sharing our roads:
From afar, when I first noticed it, I thought it was a giant seal. I wasn't wearing my glasses. I fumbled for my camera and began shooting it through the bug encrusted windshield until I got close enough to take a shot out of my passenger window.
And here's where I got annoyed. I'm on an already highly over crowded freeway. It's close to 7pm and there's no speeds over 30mph. Oh, and I was hungry. HANGRY and HOT. And woman. There's no more lethal combination in the world. Just ask Mr. Zoom, or that lady I yelled at once in IKEA.
When I'm close enough to see that this trailer with a Dinosaur Barney on it belongs to a company called monsterdeals.com - I immediately think freeway Pop Up Ad. Pop Up Ad I can't block, can't click off and worse yet - causes me to take pictures of it while I'm driving.
I am amused at the photo op - as well as the newly acquired ability to say to my friends that evening "I saw a dinosaur on the way here tonight, it was on the freeway with me!" Yet, I am angered that what is probably 24-30 feet of freeway driving space is occupied by an advertisement resembling a Barney designed to appeal to goth children.
I've looked up the company's site on the web:
There's nothing there but a little message saying "coming soon". I beg to differ. It's already here and it's riding my freeways with me.
I've had some time to obtain an attitude adjustment. Air conditioning, and the consumption of food will do that for me.
I do not know if this company's mission statement includes pimping out life size, durable statues of ... word play. I do not know if I will soon be forced to take a Xanax in preparation of my evening drive home. I can't much handle the sheer joy of a bizzarre photo op and then the irritation of thinking "Ugh. Yet another advertisement crammed down my eye sockets that I can't get away from." I am woman. It is my duty to be both amused and annoyed at the same time.
I doubt that's what they are after. I'm sure it's something completely harmless and probably clever. In fact, I'm pretty sure that they are just victims of zoom logic.
Years ago vehicles began to appear that were covered in decals - ads. People signed up and were paid to have their car scream "ad whore" like a city bus - at about 1/4 the size.
I might have, in my hangry hot state, pulled that long ago phenomenon out of my head and laser beam imposed it on the monsterdeals.com dinosaur barney truck. Welcome to my super power. It's not pretty, but isn't a super power supposed to be oppressive to the super power-er?
Thursday, July 20, 2006
I can't even remember to keep my phone on unless I'm actually meeting people somewhere. That has to be the ONLY reason I've never butt dialed someone.
Because today, TODAY I had adventures with "reply to all" feature in e-mail. Yes ... yessireee.
Mr. Zoom sent me an interesting e-mail by bcc. My dumb ass was doing far too much not working all at one time to realize I'd chosen the "reply to all" feature and then I typed out my normal, sass heavy reply.
That got delivered to HIS BOSS, and the entire department he works with. THANK THE HELMET GODS that the contents of both the original e-mail and my reply were non-sensitive, easily swept under the desk type topics. I did elicit some raised eyebrows, but as far as this kind of boo boo goes, I probably made it with the best possible e-mail if it was destined to occur.
That doesn't help the "want to puke" feeling I'm currently shaking hands with, however. Mr. Zoom assures me that while being an unfortunate occurrence, the damage is minimal. All I have to do is buy certain people's forgiveness. And I will.
Forgiveness is now on lay away, and I'm just praying my receipt does not arrive via e-mail.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
If there's anything worthy of being pointed out as being worn by anyone in our family, it is that I wear the helmet and Mr. Zoom wears my sass.
One night while watching a documentary on the Queen Mary 2 Cruise Ship, Mr. Zoom asked me a trivia question. "What ship also went to England and went through that ceremony thing there?" My answer leaked out of me with a questioning tone. "Ship of Fools?"
He sighed. "No, Titanic."
One morning I was on the search for a washcloth for our bathroom. Mr. Zoom came out holding the item I had retrieved saying "Knucklehead, this is a face/hand towel. Not a washcloth." I immediately shot back at him "Don't get all domestic name cally on ME!"
Of all the things traditionally domestic and womany that I don't know or don't do, why did I attack him for calling a towel by it's proper name? Why did I suddenly feel like he was giving me the business and somehow saying (without saying, mind you) that I was inadequate in the towel/wash cloth department?
Diagnosis: Missing helmet. Sometimes I forget to wear it.
This is why I'm so excited to present this video to you. Every speck of red on Mr. Zoom is from his participation in the belly flop contest that occured not more than 10 minutes after we arrived at a friend's house this weekend. It's as close as I might ever get to seeing him without a helmet.
Check this out:
Belly Flop - Custom videocodes by MyWynk
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Since Dancing UG does not mind that I linked her by mistake, I'm going to leave it that way. There are a couple of reasons for that. 1. If I try anything with linking, as already forcefully demonstrated below, I'll mess it up. And 2. I want to make sure I apologize appropriately to Spin Doc for my - what some might call my predictable outcome of playing with technology.
Thank you for not showing up in my yard with torches.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
IN MY PURSE:
1. Ultra Mentha Lip Shine - "the ultimate mint-infused balm" it says on the tube. I LOVE this stuff. Have never heard of it before, but a family member gave it to me for my birthday. Never thought I'd ever carry (or use) anything more than chapstick with me. I'm going to cry when this tube runs out unless I take proactive measures to find out where to buy it before then. Although that's about as likely as me not losing my car keys every 10 minutes. You will notice they are not on this list.
2. Maximum Strngth Gold Bond Medicated Anti-Itch Cream. I'm allergic to new stuff every day (at least it feels like it sometimes). I don't want it to slow me down, so any hives get a shot of this. The only bummer is it smells "medicated." Works great, smells ... sorta zesty.
3. My cell phone, which if I remember to turn it on, has the ringer on silent. So friends often find it extremely frustrating to try and reach me.
5. Glasses. I wear them only at work or when driving at night. I don't seem to remember to use them when I'm running around the house or just in general on the weekends. Unless we go to a movie.
IN MY REFRIGERATOR:
1. Those 12 oz plastic bottles (mini?) of Regular and Diet Coke.
2. Starbucks Mocha Frappa Whappa Chino Shamalamadingdong. Mr. Zoom isn't one for traditional coffee in the morning. He has been a Mocha Frap addict for years.
3. A bottle of Blackthorn Cider (We love Trader Joes).
4. Peels Blueberry Pomegranate "premium malt beverage with 100% pure fruit juice concentrate, natural flavors and color from blueberry and carrot juices." I am not kidding you, all of those words are on a 4 pack of pure crazy that apparently Mr. Zoom and I had to buy while wandering the liquor department at Ralphs. Have I tried one? No. Will I? I can't answer that. Any "trying" I do with that will have to involve me forgetting that there is CARROT flavor in it.
5. My Dad's latest wacky food offering. It's an apple carmel cake. Or so he claims it is. He's really a great cook, but he insists on making the most obscure item he can find. And even the ones he makes that you've heard of, there's always some twist to it. "LOOK, I made a pie with no crust and substituted shampoo where the recipie calls for butter!"
IN MY CLOSET:
1. Doc Marten Boots.
2. Doc Marten ... uh... Mr. Zoom calls them "Mary Jane Like" shoes.
3. Sweaters. Sweaters that hate me and never want to be worn.
4. Drawer of socks.
5. Drawer of belts.
IN MY TRUCK:
1. Gir Air Freshener
2. Happy Bunny "You Smell Like Butt" Air Freshener
3. Bat Beanie Baby that rides in my ashtray. It looks exactly like my kitty Slausen did when he was a baby.
4. 5 cds of mixed songs from itunes.
5. Lots and lots of empty water bottles.
And I'm suppolsed to tag 5 people, but I'm going to leave it open to anyone who would like to be tagged.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Today someone tried to sass me as I ran from the supply closet with an entire box of manilla pocket folders for my cases going to trial.
"OOOOOOOOO! I'm telling management! You are hoarding!"
And believing I heard something else, I responded enthusiastically "COOL! But you should know I'm married now and I only whore with my husband. Are there bonuses involved if I'm identified as a whore?"
My opponent shook her head and said "NO, HOARDING! Office supplies." As she pointed to the folders in my hands. "The memo?... ...oh, never mind."
As she walked away I said "Ok, but I'm still up for being reported for something if you really have your heart set on it. Should I call my husband over for lunch and then have a nooner in the supply closet?"
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
I joined right in, for there's nothing like telling management what you think of their memo when you believe you are fairly safe from them actually hearing these brave words come out of your mouth.
I opened one of my drawers and dug through the 317 pen caps, 12 post it note flags in 4 different colors, 5 feral staple sticks that escaped from their box, and some rubber bands that eerily held all of this together. Under all of this I found a supply I had TOTALLY forgoten even existed.
White Out Tape. I think it's also made by the post it people. It is used like white out, but can be removed from the document when you are done - no damage to the document. It comes in all kinds of sizes. I found the 1 inch version hiding in my desk and screaming to be used. This week.
This is the office window of one of the associates I work for.
"When will the tape stop screaming?"
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Until summer ends, I'm left with those opportunities that land in my lap. And there aren't many. Even I recognize the boredom that could kill by posting only pictures of the drive throughs I visit on my Flickr account.
I went to the gym yesterday because I figured it had a/c, and I know there's hardly anyone there on a Saturday afternoon. I walked in and a huge, muscl-y employee with not enough to do (apparently) yelled across the floor "YOU HERE TO RIP IT UP!?" I kept looking behind me to see who he was talking to. Yeah, he was hollering at me. When I figured that out, I looked at the floor and then bolted for the upstairs where I do my thing. And I surely wouldn't consider what I do "ripping it up", unless that now means consistently picking the machine that makes the most annoying noise in the whole gym.
Myspace. I've found a ton of people on there that I know or knew in the past. Co-workers who don't know I see them, that kind of thing. I have a friend or two that plays in bands, so they've encouraged me to check out their page. Which I did and still do from time to time. I put our zip code in the browse feature and when the results came up I said to Mr. Zoom: "Funny, when I go outside - the public doesn't look nearly as good as you would think they would by looking at this."
If myspace existed when I was in college or even when I was in my late 20s, I bet I'd have joined in and had one of those profiles that takes about 4 mintues to load and even then, doesn't quite load everything properly. And the curser would be customized. I'd probably have no friends. I'm not saying older people these days can't have fun with it. It's just that for me and in my stage of life, I don't have the time or energy to do more than give it a fake name, fake e-mail, fake location and check out all of my friends and co-workers with it.
Last night Mr. Zoom had an ice hockey game. I opted to stay home and watch a movie. I hit the couch with a glass of ice water. I put the glass down on a coaster. I swear to you, that glass levitated, turned upside down and landed on the rug - and all over my slippers. All I could do was look down and say "Oh, of course. I was due for a spill."
When Mr. Zoom came home I said "HONEY! I did that trick I always do where the glass of water and all of the ice ends up on the living room floor!" He said "OOOOO, I did one too! I went to Del Taco and afterwards made a turn too quickly. The whole thing went all over the floor of the truck!"
Mr. Zoom usually performs food juggling exclusively where I am the expert at unintentional beverage flinging. I guess the heat effects us all in different ways.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
The 4th of July was a nice day. Mr. Zoom and I went to a beach community where our Jeebersitter lives. She had an open house type thing we couldn't resist. The day was so good that Jeeber didn't even get out of his bag. Seriously.
Upon entering the enclosed porch area, a friend who had already arrived at the house handed me a jello shot and said "CATCHTHS UP! I'm already had thwoo!" It was the most convenient, yet strange jello shot I've ever seen. It was in one of those salsa containers they give you at El Pollo Loco through the drive through. It had the lid and everything. My pal had her 3rd and I had my first. It hit me about 10 minutes later. I had to resist any more, as I had to work today. I kept to my 2 can Sam beer limit after that.
We walked down to the beach and on our way found this here, bigger than life size....
Moose. I kept calling it a moose. *sigh*
You can see our excellent party hostess and favorite Jeeber Sitter in the background. I put a circle around her so it's a little easier to see her. Although because I had to use Flickr, the picture is a bit small.
When it came time to watch fireworks, some of our party grabbed surf boards to paddle out by the pier to watch.
I'm a sissy. I chose to stay up on land and watch from there. I can't even drive a vehicle competently, I'm not about to drive a surf board in the night time.
Mr. Zoom and I left after that. There are only 2 main roads out of this little community and all of Southern California was on those two roads. We were sandwiched in there. Oh, and every foolio with a lighter and an explosive device of any kind was outside making with the shenanigans. I love shenanigans, but not when they land at my feet, go boom and scare the britches off of me.
When we finally got to the freeway, it was obvious we were in for a long ride home. We decided to grab the toll road as soon as we could.
I noted out loud that the UPS center we had tried so hard to get to earlier this year was all kinds of visible and lit up on our right. I said "LOOK HONEY! It's the UPS!" He gave them a wave with one finger and I giggled, secure in my ignorance of the revenge Brown would soon take out on us for so much as looking in their direction. Apparently they do not appreciate the single finger wave.
We pulled up to the lines forming at the exit gates. Neither one of us had seen the lines like this in all the times we've used the toll roads. It soon became obvious that we were in the lane marked retarded turtle, while everyone else was stuck in lanes simply marked regular turtle. We sat there for a good hour before it was our turn at the gate.
The problem only became obvious after we stuffed a $5 bill into the machine. The screen kept blinking "Toll is $3.75, no change available from this machine, exact payment only." You will note that the machine took our $5, but did not register that it had it, did not give it back, nor did it give change. At this point we figured "Aw hell, well, give it exact change, maybe it will let us out? Even though we just put $5 in the damn thing." So we put four quarters in. And it just kept blinking the same message at us.
At this point two things happened. A lady ran across all the lanes and yelled into the booth next to ours where an actual human was taking money. "Our machine isn't taking our money, and we've been here for an F-ing HOUR!" Mr. Zoom said to mad lady "Neither is ours!" and she said "See? Neither is theirs!" The lady in the toll booth looked scared, and she grabbed a telephone. At the same time, some guy in a car behind us kept yelling "Write a letter! run the thing! I'll pay your fine, let's just get this thing MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVING. C'MON DUDE!! I'll pay your fine!" He sounded exactly like that turtle in Finding Nemo.
We ran the gate and will probably get a ticket. Along with the 200 + other cars that probably had to run it. Or, the agency will just wipe out that block of tickets knowing that they\'ve got a lot more money in the box than they would have gotten by collecting the regular toll. Who knows.
We will now invest in one of those transponders that bills you as you drive through the gate marked "Fast Pass". If the toll roads can redeem themselves with us, this will do it.
My Formerly Amish Mom is terrified of the technology - especially the invisible technology. Credit cards were bad enough for her to accept. Those, you know, are the work of the beast. And Debit cards? Oh, those are only one of the beast's 6 heads.
I.CAN.NOT.WAIT. When our fast pass gets here, I'm going to find a reason to shuttle my Mom down south and jump on the toll road. Then when we go through the gates I'm going to cue up some Rob Zombie on the stereo and explain to Mom what that little bling noise she just heard was. I'll tell her that we are now just like supermarket items on a conveyer belt being scanned and that the grocery bag we are going home in has "Thank you for shopping at BeastMart" on it.
The only problem with my plan will be getting her to actually let me drive. I've come to a disturbing place in my life where both my Mom and I are equally scared of each other's driving. Any joint venture begins with an excuse off as to why one or the other should or should not drive.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Mr. Zoom found that site and left it for me on my comptuer one day. I now spend my time cooing at it, and then cursing him for turning me on to it.
Now for my official Disclaimer, and the part of the post that relates to the title:
IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, IF YOU FEAR TOO MUCH INFORMATION, IF YOU HAVE A LINE IN THE SAND AND YOU ARE FAIRLY CERTAIN I'M ABOUT TO CROSS IT (AND I AM), STOP READING NOW..
Are you still here? Because really, this isn't going to be pretty. And I warned you.
Alright then. On with it.
Last night Mr. Zoom was on the computer. I went to the loo. I took care of business. I flushed and to my horror, the toilet gave a wheeze and died.
In disbelief, I tried again with the flusing, and this time was rewarded with all the water filling the bowl. Threatening to overflow onto my floor with my deposits still bobbing around in there.
Yes, this is horrifying to me too. I warned you.
I shot across the house to the utility room and fetched a plunger. I did the ew ew dance while trying to fix the issue. This did nothing. I was defeated.
I went into the computer room to report to Mr. Zoom.
"The toilet's backed up" was all I managed to squeak out with the first breath. He said "Oh? It won't flush?" I responded "WITH MY POO!" And then I cried a little.
Let me just tell you that revealing to your husband that your deposits are currently floating around in what is now your broken toilet is about as comfortable as having your nekkid bum on an examiniation table and your feet in those stirrups - IF the Dr. Decided he'd like to show your isue to any number of other Dr.s and then invited about 20 more strangers in to have a look. And then asked you to "scoot down a little more please."
Mr. Zoom took care of things while I fled to the bedroom emitting the "aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" noise with "I'm going to dieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" thrown in every once in a while.
Mr. Zoom got the gigles over this whole production. He came in and tried to reason with me. "I bet this happens to everyone" he said. "Oh really? I've lived 37 years now and never once heard of this happeneing to anyone I know. Nor have I ever seen it happen when I lived in a house with at least 5 occupants, sometimes more in it. I don't believe you. I'm going to dieeeeeeeeeeeeee!" was my dramatic response.
He said "Ok, I guess I have to remember that girls don't poo." I said "It's not that we don't poo, it's just that YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO SEE IT. EVER! Especially not that way."
And so here we are. I'm able to laugh now. Although I do now have a brand new fear. "What if this happens to me while we are at someone else's house?"