CVS, "Knocked Up" Enjoy Other People's Misery

Days till Halloween: 29

It would seem Murphy's Law of Customer Service has decided to latch itself onto me, much in the way a rabid dog latches it's teeth deep into your leg. My doctor called a prescription in to CVS yesterday around 11am, leaving a message on the pharmacist's voice mail that I had to have it filled and absolutely needed it by the end of the day - something totally par for the course, as my doctor often leaves messages, and the pharmacist checks them regularly and voila, you get your prescription in about an hour.

However, CVS thought it would be brilliant - when the regular pharmacist was out sick - to bring in some 100+ year old, Alzheimer's riddled, Spanish-only-speaking goblin creature to handle the high volume calls and patient numbers in the pharmacy. Which meant that when I went in, at 6pm (7 hours after calling the prescription in), they hadn't even checked the voice mail, and had - no lie - about 50 prescriptions waiting.

fandangled computers!

Usually I'm a pretty calm customer, but after waiting for over an hour - and not having anyone actually help me get anything accomplished - I started getting cranky. When I finally talked to gollum, he yelled at me because he hadn't done his job. Well, I told him! Not only did I cause a scene in the middle of CVS by screaming, but then I started bawling like a baby, and can you see why I need my prescription?? Without it, my hormones are completely insane. Like, way worse than usual - and that's horrifying.

Anyway, another day, another corporate headquarters to call and yell at (and probably sob at.) After the debacle, the Reds came over and brought Knocked Up, which I've been dying to see. I never got around to actually seeing it in the theaters (it was some combination of being a homeless nomad this summer, and, you know, having $1.64 in my bank account at any given time.) I was beside myself with joy that it was actually as funny as everyone had made it out to be. I laughed my ass off the entire time.

Until the birthing scene, that is. Now, when I was in the third grade, I stumbled upon a birthing exhibit with a group of friends when we got separated from the masses, and we watched, horrified, as a woman gave birth on a terrifically terrible video projection film. I think I blocked it out, because try as I might, my subconscious just can't conjure up the images (save for the sound of never ending screaming on behalf of the mother.) Luckily, Knocked Up decided to smack me in the face with the image, and reawaken all those horrible nightmares I had for months after witnessing the sight of a baby's head CROWNING THROUGH A WOMAN'S VAGINA.

That thing's supposed to come out of where?!

I feel you, Katherin Heigl! That look of horror on your face is echoed on my own, believe-you-me. When I saw that giant watermelon of a baby's head trying to force it's way out of a vaginal cavity roughly 57,000x smaller than it, I got sympathy pains so badly that I thought I was going into labor. God only knows what I would've birthed, but that's beside the point.

Real point is, Knocked Up teaches us some very priceless life lessons:

1. Smoking weed is good. Smoking weed is very good.
2. One night stands can lead to some very awkward moments.
3. Babies are like tanks bursting through tiny, delicate lace curtains. They will rip and tear and explode and my god, I think I'm going to be sick.

So there you have it. Smoke weed, try to think logically when attempting a very drunken one nigt stand, and whatever you do - for the love of god - don't ever, ever birth anything out of your vagina.

Cali or Bust

Whoever thought it was a good idea to have the workday last from 9am until 6pm was clearly a raging psychopath. Something like 12-4 I can totally see, but 9 hours? Of working? How does anything get done? How do people get up that early and manage to stay awake for the entire day?

I was so tired I nearly fell asleep at the front desk. Then during dinner. Actually, I'm sleeping right now.

I'm a big supporter of never working again, and finding ingenious ways to survive. My mother isn't so keen on this idea, so to be responsible I made a list of possible life styles I could have, complete with pros and cons, so she knows I put some real thought into this.

1. Become a professional vagrant and never work again. I could grab me a sleeping bag and a shopping cart full of cans, plastic bags and kitty litter, and join the ranks of the homeless at McPherson Square.

- Pros: I get to go camping every night; I'll make lots of new friends; I'll never worry about not getting enough fresh air; I'll get to use soiled rags and pieces of pigeons for currency; I'll boost my fundraising skills by asking for change

- Cons: I'll be sleeping in a camping bag on the damp ground with a bunch of people that chew on their own flesh and rant about alien invasions (of the terrestrial and extraterrestrial kinds, because let's face it, we're in DC and everyone talks about politics)


2. Move back home and take up permanent residence in my childhood room. Between my dog, my mother's kindergarten class, and my 18 year old brother, I'll have an endless source of vexation and amusement - just like working a job. Sort of.

- Pros: I already have a bedroom and a big house and yard, so it's not like I'll have to move my belongings; my mom gives me lots of food to eat, and even more wine to drink; my fluffy, retarded dog is there; every single person I went to high school with, even those people that were seniors when I was a freshman, are still there and ready to par-tay!

-Cons: I'd be that creepy 20-something still living at home with my parents, talking about my dog like it's my child, and I'd become an anti-social freak that spends her days drinking entire wine racks of white wine and ranting at the furniture. And I'd probably become a serial killer, cause isn't it a rule that anyone above the age of 18 that moves home permanently ends up hiding bodies in the wall of the family house?


3. Run away to California and become a hippie. I'd smoke weed all day long, grow my hair out so I wouldn't have to buy clothes, and wouldn't have a care in the world.

- Pros: Smoking weed all day, growing my hair out so I wouldn't have to buy clothes, and not having a care in the world; palm trees and the ocean always make me giddy; everyone's relaxed and carefree, unlike the East coast; there's no winter so I wouldn't have to worry about freezing to death in an awkward position in public.

- Cons:Uh...

Okay, so it's LA or bust! I'll find a dealer and a sleeping bag once I get out there, and I guess I could attempt wearing my hair as clothes, although currently it's shoulder length so that might cause a bit of a commotion, but hey - I'm a hippie. I don't care about commotions. Just relax, man, and take a hit of this. Good shit.