Alarms, dishes, and Dave.

So I woke up this morning, surprised that it was still earlier than my alarm time of 7:20, and looked at my phone which read: 8:07. WHAT THE HELL. I use my phone as an alarm, and it says the alarm is on, so my only guess is that I slept on my phone all night. This means my massive body weight must have muffled the alarm. That's a comforting thought. However, it turned out pretty good, because I called my boss and now I'm coming in late to even out the extra hours I worked this week. This is bad too because now it's going to be even harder to scrape myself out of bed and go to work.

I love the light in this room. It's rainy outside, and the rainy-early morning light is the best morning light of them all. All I need now is for Pete to be here to shnugglechuddleshmoosh me and for Dave Matthews to be hiding under the bed serenading us. That's not too much to ask right?

There's a mountain of dirty dishes in the kitchen right now and it always amazes my sister and I to see how they just pop up one day out of the blue, like everyone in the house is using paper plates and bowls(we're not) and like someone has snuck into our house and dirtied our dishes. It's always a very disguised argument between us. The one this morning went a little something like: "I didn't cook any vegetables this week, that must be YOUR pot of broccoli." "Well, there's your macaroni bowl." "Who ate rice!?" "Well, yeah, I guess some of those forks are mine..." And back and forth we go until every dish is claimed. After the Mystery of the Dirty Dishes is solved, they sit there for another few days, slowly getting washed bit by bit until finally the whole load is clean. And then a day goes by and 47 dirty dishes magically appear, all at once it seems, and a new discussion of who's bowl is who begins. It's a very vicious cycle, which is why it is very important, ladies and gentlemen, to own a dishwasher. Remember that.

So with that said, I guess I'll go turn on some Dave Matthews and wash a few of those dirty dishes, all the while enjoying the soft light of the rainy day.

And that will be my morning. And then I'll be off to work.

See you in Hell bitches!!

So remember how I hate all the Lowest Forms of Life that come into my work on a semi-daily basis?

Well I will be free of some of them for quite some time, about a mandatory 15 years or so to be specific.

Because they are going to prison.

And, oh, how this makes me smile! And laugh! HHHahahahHaha!

"After a three-month investigation, the County Sheriffs Office has arrested 13 people in connection with illegal distribution and sale of prescription drugs."

I'm leaving out the specifics here, but basically out of the 13 mug shots from the article, I recognized about half of them as regulars at our pharmacy. They are the ones I complain about, the ones that lie to you, steal from you, and make you wait late because they need their "medicine". I do not consider what they are prescribed "medicine". Medicine is something like bubble gum flavored cough syrup, or heart medication, or even something for ED (by the way, I had a guy come in last week and buy ONE Viagra, then he asked for a cup of water because "Oh heck, I'm going to her house straight from here!.....EW!), but oxycodone? Not "medicine", that's way too innocent a word for it.

I'm glad they were caught, and I'm glad they're getting a mandatory 15 year sentence, but it still makes me die a little inside to know that I work at one of the pharmacies that unknowingly supplied the pills for their little "organization".

An "organization" that was selling these pills to kids in high school.

Yuck.

Enough with all the pharmacy talk. I'm done with pharmacy talk....for at least a week. Hmm..what else can I report on?

How about:

In other news, the shirt I'm wearing smells like a hamster's cage.

My smelly shirt is much more interesting and worth more time and thought than are the "dope heads" (as the pharmacist calls them) and their wasted lives.

The Post of a Thousand Parenthesis

HOLY CRAP I just ate an entire box of organic Macaroni n Cheese. For dinner.

I know that sounds bad but I can justify that even though I only ate Mac n Cheese for dinner (a whole box, every last Godforsaken noodle), it was, in fact, a complete nutritious meal because it was organic. Isn't eating something organic, equivalent to like, eating a thousand multivitamins or something?

No? Not at all? Whatever.

ANYWAYS (screw you healthy eaters and my New Year's resolution!) let's move onto the topic of tonight's discussion.

Pete and I have been watching Weeds online and I can't decide if I like the main character, Nancy Botwin or not.

I guess the main thing that bothers me is that we don't know how or why she initially got into selling weed (unless I missed something extremely crucial in those early episodes). It doesn't seem to be an occupation you can just jump into. I understand your husband died and you and your family are accustomed to a certain lifestyle and whah whah whah, but you suddenly are BFF with some people in the "ghetto" (I don't know why I couldn't un-quote that) and they're all, feeding you their cornbread and crap? (They really eat cornbread on the show, like all the time, that wasn't supposed to be some racial stereotype, although does just mentioning how that could sound like a racial stereotype make me sound racist?? Crap.)

And she's always, ALWAYS, drinking some kind of fast-food drink. "Slurp" is actually one of her more popular lines. I don't get it, and? I don't like it.

I mean, I get that she's like quirky, and cool, I guess, but she is a pretty shitty mother and at any moment she might be banging some random dude in a street alley, or an office, or WHEREVER she chooses to be whorey that day. And apparently she has no soul because she was responsible for an innocent man's death and consequently the destruction of said man's child's life, and seems to feel no remorse. If that wasn't evidence enough to her soul less shell of a body, here's more proof: she has black eyes.

Look for yourself:


Are those just two giant pupils? What's going on there?

So anyways, I totally loved you, Nancy Botwin, in Fried Green Tomatoes, but I find myself routing against you in Weeds (shoot her in the face, just SHOOT HER in the FACE!) and routing a lot more for the character that's supposed to be the bitch no one likes....but then again, what does that say about me?

By the way....gotta give a "shot out" to my dear friend Whitney for leaving me the comment of "SWEET POTATOE!!" on my last blog entry because it seriously made me Laugh Out Loud because, again, what? Should I know this? Because...I don't. But? I love you Whitney. Sweet Potatoe to you too.

Sweet Potatoe to you all!

Home Video Time!

It's that time folks!

Calm down, calm down, I know we're all excited.

Pete and I may need to get a life, because this is our typical Saturday night. But? Suits me juuuust fine.



Um, I kinda forgot which way to hold the camera, so, let's all tilt our heads to the left now shall we?

True Love...

Wait, I live in Flordia right?

It's been COLD here this week. Like cold cold. And I don't like it.

So, maybe temperatures in the 20's is a warm summer day for some Northerners, but here in Florida? That's F-ing cold. Floridians don't understand temperatures that low. Most of us hardly own anything other than flip flops, and our version of a winter jacket is something a little heavier than a cardigan.

So a few mornings ago when I walked out to my car, I was a little confused...What is this strange white chalky stuff all over my car?? It's cold!

It's ICE! What.

So my solution? A spatula. Twenty minutes later I was good to go.



Thank God our normal 70 degree temperatures are moving back in today...I don't know how winter people do it! Seriously...how do you do it?

Rant in 5...4...3...2...

Where do I work again? Oh yeah, the OPPOSITE of rehab.

• When you call, let's try to NOT have someone screaming/crying in the background and or loud wind/static noise, and please, for the love of God, HAVE A PLAN. Avoid something like..."Uhh...um, I like get my prescriptions there? And uh, I have this doctor, I don't know his name, and um....wait, which pharmacy is this?" Thinking about what you need BEFORE speed dialing us would really help. A lot.
• It's called a shower. Try it out sometime. Normally I wouldn't really care, but I can smell you, and? you stink. Horribly.
  
• Stealing, counterfeit money, and fake scripts do not make for friends. And no, we didn't steal the money you left on the counter, that was your crackhead friend.
• Usually scripts are written for 30 days, so when you come in for your refill a week after getting the original, because you're "going out of town", you won't get it. So why bother?
• Parking lots are generally where people park their cars, not deal drugs. A group of twenty sketchy looking people hangin' out outside a pharmacy tends to scare our trendy hair salon neighbors, go around the corner or something.
  
• The time that we close is, the time that we close. We're not interested in that fake twenty you'll slide us for staying an extra hour just so you can get your oxies. We have things to do. Like lay in bed eating banana chips and writing blogs complaining about you. Important stuff, you know. Just buy some off your friends and call it a night.

Today was only the fourth day of Boss Out Of Town Week and oh man, there's like a lifetime to go. It's just been so CRAZY. No time. No patience. No lunch. (No time, again). I think this constant state of extreme business has left my tolerance for some of our "regulars" to, well, nothing.

You don't understand people!

It is so frustrating to work with some of the people that come into our pharmacy. These are people you can't trust. They are so sad, and so desperate, and normally I would feel bad for them and the shitty life they must have, but I'm just too annoyed lately to care.

I've tried to justify it a million ways, but I still cannot understand why doctors prescribe the way they do. They don't care, they just want money. Pretty pretty money. Who cares if you're not really in severe pain, and you sell half your script on the streets? Who cares if you get addicted and get desperate and rob pharmacies? And who cares if you overdose and die? Some doctors really don't.

It's true you don't always know what's going on in these peoples lives, and some of them are legit and really do need their medication, but when 80% of the people who come in ask for same medication, some of them must be abusing. They are abusing.

And eventually, it's hard to be optimistic.

Annnd that was my rant for the night. I feel better. Thanks.