Overheard at the Pharmacy

Customer: “I need you to refill my insulin. Oh, and can you tell me where I can find the Ding Dongs?”

Snort.

Follow Me

I’m moving! My blog, that is. Not houses or anything hard like that. Just my blog. You should update your links and stuff, because from now on I’ll be posting at the all new, easy-to-remember http://likeswimming.wordpress.com.

Easy-peasy, right?

Okay, maybe not. I know it’s a pain to update blogrolls/links/subscriptions, etc…but in the end, it will totally be worth it. Really, it will. Don’t make me start singing Nimue’s song from Camelot.

Don’t Gotta Wear Shades

Sometimes I worry about the future. Not in a “I’m going to die” kind of way, but in a “what’s wrong with kids these days” way. Yeah, I know. But we’ve already established my geezerhood, so I might as well roll with it.

Today I was at a convenience store, picking up a Dr. Pepper and a dark chocolate Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Don’t you judge me. I was stuck in line behind two guys–probably in their late teens–who, as best I could tell, had been dropped on their heads as children. Multiple times. I felt sorry for the poor cashier helping them…until she started talking.

“Those guys asked me how to make a upper-case cursive L. I told them, ‘My name is Veronica Hancock. How would I know?'”

How, indeed? Honestly, people, I’m flummoxed. I don’t even know what to write here. It’s bad enough that all three of them have no idea how to write cursive, but to actually admit it to another person? No. Not okay.

Gah. Just…gah.

*If you’re either too young or too old to recognize the reference in the title (and you want to know why I’m using poor grammar) go here.

**I should rename my blog “Blogging Without Pants.” They’re all in the wash again. Aren’t you glad I don’t video blog? Yeah, me too.

My Kid is a Little Creepy

As you know, Little G’s birthday was yesterday. It was a great day. We went to the aquarium, had pizza and cupcakes, and Grandma and Grandpa bought him a water/sand play table. It was in the 40s and raining, so we temporarily put it in the garage and filled the whole thing with water. Awesome, right? Little G loved it.

Here’s the thing. I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to have nightmares about Little G’s laugh. Seriously. He sounds like a crazed killer clown or something, and he’s doing it all the time now. It’s not just me, right? This is creepy.

Sweet dreams, my lovelies!

Happy Birthday Little G!

As this is my blog, I reserve the right to post gratuitous celebrations of my children. Two years ago today, we welcomed a beautiful little 3 pound boy into our family.

4 days old

Such sad, scrawny legs!

It’s cozier than it looks!

Incubator, sweet incubator

Meeting my brother

So…much…work…

7 weeks old – finally home!

It’s like having a doll!

A moment of peace

Found my keys!

Such a happy boy!

I’m plotting my revenge.

So…very…sleepy…

I promise I’ll be good!

Don’t I look like a preemie?

Get me some milk, woman!

My first Easter. Aren’t I handsome?

Yeah, I’m cool.

Got me a truck.

They’ll never find me here!

Could I BE any cuter?

What, you’ve never had a bad hair day?

So THAT’S a haircut.

Go ahead. Hug me.

Eggs!

Wait, I’m not supposed to fling myself into the tub head-first?

Whee!

Release the stingray!

Go, penguins, go!

Wow! Penguins!

 Happy birthday, little man. You’ve come a long way.

Strong Like Bull

Early on in our relationship, Car performed some awesome feat of strength (I believe it was single-handedly lifting a snowmobile out of a drift) that led my brother to label him “Strong like bull.” (Yes, this was right around the time There’s Something About Mary came out, and that phrase was all over the commercials.) That’s pretty much been his role in our marriage–he’s the rock, and I fall apart at random intervals. He’s freakishly proud of his immune response, and also a firm believer of mind over matter. 

If a man has a wife who is frequently ill, saying “I don’t get sick because I don’t want to” might not be the best idea. I’m just sayin’.

It's the Anti-Car!

Some of my favorite moments in our marriage involve completely random comments from Car that are similar to last night’s conversation:

Me: “The doctor at the instacare says I have strep.”
Car: “That’s probably what I had. My throat was kind of sore.”
Me: “Really? How do you feel now?”
Car: “Oh, I’m better.”
Me: “Umm…I don’t think you had strep, honey. You wouldn’t be feeling better.”
Car: “What, it’s not possible to get over strep without antibiotics?”
Me: “I guess it’s possible, but there’s a good chance of complications.”

I admit, it really is possible he could have had strep, but still. What’s he trying to do, steal my thunder? Prove how woefully inadequate my immune system is?

Remember the big West Nile outbreak/hysteria several years back? Based on a short period of muscle aches and general malaise, Car was convinced that he had West Nile, but came through it just fine. Thanks so much, news outlets, for reporting that many people have just those symptoms with West Nile.

Again, it’s not that he couldn’t have possibly had West Nile…it’s the assumption that every time he gets sick, it’s something potentially serious but somehow he manages to overcome it through the awesome power of his immune system. (Ooh–I almost forgot last year’s magical Swine Flu episode! Seriously. He does this with every major health scare.) (Also, I’m really glad he didn’t do any swimming the year of the big cryptosporidium outbreak. I shudder to think how that would’ve gone.)

He’s the healthiest hypochondriac I’ve ever met. Awesome.

The Drive-Up Window is My Archnemesis

My pharmacy has a drive-up window. As you may have inferred from the title of this post, I hate it with the passion of a thousand fiery suns.

Satan's Preferred Transportation System

Today, for your reading enjoyment, I present:

Drive-Up Etiquette (or, Why You’re Lucky I Can’t Reach Out and Stab You in the Eye)

1. Get. Off. Your. Phone. Seriously. If you want us to help you, stop talking to your spouse/boyfriend/kid/baby daddy/drug dealer and pay attention to the person trying to give you (legal) drugs.

2. Press the call button once. We know you can’t hear it ding, but we can. When you press it 5 times in 10 seconds, we have the overwhelming urge to make you wait…just because we can.

3. If we ask for your picture ID, just send it. You have no idea how tempted we are to call the cops when you claim you have no ID with you. You drove here.

4. If you’re picking up a large prescription–nebulizer solutions, a giant bottle of Miralax, insulin syringes (to name a few)–don’t come to the drive-up. They don’t fit in the tube, and we’re not going to run them out to your car. We also prefer you not use the drive-up if you have 20 prescriptions.

5. If we tell you it will be ready in 15 minutes, don’t come back in 5 minutes and park yourself in the drive-up. Chances are your prescription isn’t finished, and you’re not our only customer.

6. When we ask if you need anything else, don’t say, “Yeah, an order of fries.” It’s not funny. It wasn’t funny the first time we heard it, and it certainly isn’t any better the 5,892th time.

7. If you’re the passenger in the car, please have the driver do the talking. As much as we enjoy trying to lip-read through the surveillance camera, it simplifies things to have the driver actually speak into the microphone. I realize it isn’t his or her prescription, but if you don’t trust a person to ask for your pills, you probably ought not trust that person to drive you around.

8. If you’re driving a diesel truck, turn off your engine. See above item about lip reading.

I know there are more things that bug me (When are there not?), but I have to go to bed at a reasonable time tonight. Tomorrow I get to spend seven hours being annoyed by people at the drive-up. Whee!

*Also? I have strep throat. And it sucks. Yes, that means I’m spending tomorrow spreading strep to all our pharmacy customers. I figure they gave it to me, so it’s karma.

**Shut up, WordPress. Whee is a totally legitimate word.

Adventures in Idiocy

There are two techs-in-training at our pharmacy. Tech #1 (we’ll call him Stud, because he is awesome) is helpful, funny, and trying his hardest to learn the many things necessary to be a good tech. Tech #2 (we’ll call him Idiot, because that’s what he is) is self-centered, has no sense of humor, and wants everyone to give him all the answers. Because, you know, thinking is, like, hard and stuff.

As you may have surmised, today’s blog is a treasury of quotes from Idiot. I did not make any of these up.

To a female customer: “Why would you pay $50 for birth control?”
Female customer: “Do you have any idea how much it costs to have a baby?”

“My wife won’t use birth control.” (Idiot is currently engaged.)

“I won’t let my wife see a male doctor. I don’t want any other guy to see her like that.”

“Oh, man. My abs are so sore! I worked them way too hard yesterday!” (This comment, in and of itself, isn’t necessarily awful. Repeated 20 times throughout the day, it begins to grate on me.)

And my personal favorite:

“How do I keep my wife from getting fat after we’re married?”

Dude.

*Yes, I know I missed last night. I fell asleep on the couch and when I woke up at 1:30 am, I just didn’t have it in me. If you count Wordless Wednesday, I’m doing TWO posts today!

**Big G update: The pediatrician said Big G might be having myoclonic seizures. Since he’s not positive, we have an appointment with a pediatric neurologist in 2 weeks. I appreciate everyone’s concern!

Wordless Wednesday – Rear View

Get Off My Lawn!

In case you’re wondering, I am wearing pants tonight. I’m sure you’re all kinds of relieved.

I live across the street from a high school.  Today, as I pulled weeds (I know! I think I have some kind of neurological condition that’s completely changing my personality.), I took a moment to observe the high school kids across the street and spent the rest of the day humming “I’m Glad I’m Not Young Anymore.” (It’s from Gigi, people. If you didn’t know that, it’s time to brush up on your 1950s musicals. Also? Stop judging me.)

The one thing I hate about living across the street from the high school is the amount of trash that blows into our yard. Apparently none of the students understand the purpose of a garbage can, which brings me to the moment I realized I’m an old fart: I actually considered collected all the garbage from my yard for a month and taking it to the high school administration.

Holy crap. I’m pretty sure the next step is to start spraying kids with a hose every time they pass my house. That actually sounds kind of awesome. I might just enjoy this whole “getting old” thing.

*Even WordPress knows Gigi. Is WordPress smarter than you?