Happy Halloween, Sinners!

31 10 2012

Tonight I clicked a link to a Halloween Chick tract. Chick tracts are, as best I can tell, cartoon gospel tracts meant to be used by evangelical Christians. Approximately 2 hours later, I knew I had to share with you guys. Seriously, it’s like going down the rabbit hole. When you start reading these things, you may never come back. You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. They’re like crack. Hilarious, overzealous crack.

Here’s a little summary for you:

Sure, Halloween seems all fun and crap, but really, it’s a pagan holiday masterminded by Satan, who’s trying to snatch away your eternal soul. And yes, you may be frickin’ Mother Teresa, but unless you actually say “I accept you into my life, Jesus,” it sucks to be you, because you’re headed straight for Hell. THE END.

Anyway. You really need to check these things out. Just don’t start drinking that Kool-Aid, because then we can’t be friends anymore.

FYI: Here we have a perfect example of how not to comfort your child when his best friend is hit by a car:

And yes, this does all remind me of the “Hilloween” episode of King of the Hill. If you’ve seen it, you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, you can Google it, or go on with your merry life blissfully unaware.

I realize this post is a little bit…manic. Life is a little off-kilter right now, but this made me giggle enough that I had to share.

Just remember, kids – the truly frightening people are the ones who give out religious tracts instead of candy.

THE END.

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Sadly, My Superpowers Have Faded

14 07 2011

Y’all who have been around for a while remember my love of the Reader’s Digest, right? If you’re new to these parts and are unaware of my adoration of this magnificent publication and its paranoia-inducing headlines, click on over and give it a read.

This month my love is magnified by the fact that the Reader’s Digest not only has a fantastic main headline (sure to send you scurrying for your water purification tablets), it also has an article that reminds me of an incident from my childhood that now feel obligated to share with you.

I was too lazy to scan the cover, so you get this crappy cell phone picture.

You might find this hard to believe, but I was a bit…erm…cocky as a kid. Shut up. I said as a kid.

Jerks.

I was also an enormous tattle-tale. Fortunately, this does not seem to be any sort of litmus test of future character development, as every child I’ve ever met is similarly afflicted.

Anyway, one Sunday I was at my Primary class and it was time for the prayer. For some reason the class members stood in a circle (I have no idea why) and some other kid said the prayer. When it was over, I said, “Sister Jones! Billy didn’t close his eyes during the prayer!”

“Jenny,” she said gently, “How would you know that unless your eyes were open too?”

Wait for it…

“I can see through my eyelids.”

My parents tried to mask my abilities as best they could.

The best part of this story is I actually believed it. Delusions of grandeur aren’t actually diagnosable in an elementary school-aged child, right?

I wish I could remember the teacher’s response, but it was probably something really boring like “Oh, really?”

As an adult I’ve come to the realization that all children are pathological liars. “Did you take the last cookie?” “No, mom!” the child answers, as he wipes chocolate off his face, yet he’s convinced himself it’s true. My children are hilariously bad liars, and I’m going to enjoy it while I can. I dread the day that they’re able to successfully lie to me, because that’s when I’ll have to start beating the truth out of them.

I’m kidding. Probably.

I would've been Professor Xavier's most gifted student if not for those bastard surgeons!

*Sometime I should really tell you the story behind this picture.

**(Hint: children ought not run whilst holding pencils.)

***You just winced, didn’t you?

****Is it just me, or is there a scary-ass clown on the Christmas tree behind me?

*****No, I don’t know what I’m holding there.

******It is not a dildo.

*******Perverts.





Wordless Wednesday – I’ve Always Wanted to Meet Someone Famous

13 07 2011





This Is Why I Can’t Be Nice

14 04 2011

Okay, fine. One of the many reasons.

Actual conversation from work today:

Customer: I’d like to refill my birth control.

Me: I’m sorry, your prescription is a year old and the refills have expired.

Customer: Can you just refill it one last time and I promise I’ll get a new prescription before the next pack is due?

Me: I’m afraid I can’t do that. I can fax your doctor for refills.

Customer: But you did it last time. (Since her last new prescription was a year ago, this must’ve been over a year ago.)

Me: Your doctor’s office is still open, so why don’t I fax her and you can call her, and we’ll try to get your refill by the end of the day. Are you due to start the new pack tonight?

Customer: No. I start it tomorrow night.

Me: Okay, so we have until tomorrow night to hear back from the doctor.

Customer: Well, I feel weird calling her because she’s not going to be my doctor anymore. Can’t you just give me a pack to get me by until I see my new doctor? You did it last time.

Me: We do that in emergency situations. It’s the middle of the day during the week. Doctor’s offices are open, and you aren’t out of your medication. This isn’t an emergency.

Customer: *sigh* Fine.

I want to be helpful. Really, I do. But conversations like that suck away my will to provide assistance to even the most worthy customers.

Therefore, to this woman and other such customers…stop ruining it for everyone else.





Coming Undone

5 04 2011

Keep holding on
When my brain’s ticking like a bomb
Guess the black thoughts
Have come again to get me

Anger.

So many ways to say it. Rage. Ire. Wrath. Fury. Outrage. Choler.

Sweet bitter words
Unlike nothing I have heard
Sing along, mockingbird
You don’t affect me

Fury.

So many ways to feel it.

Big G screams and sobs because there isn’t a piece of sausage on his pizza…even though I offered him a piece 30 seconds ago.

Little G head-butts me so hard I see stars.

Car says he’s going to throw away my Nine Inch Nails CD.

A customer complains about the restrictions on her Medicaid when she can’t fill her Percocet five days early.

Some jerk glues himself to my bumper on the freeway, somehow thinking I can defy earthly laws and go faster than the car in front of me.

That’s right
Deliver it to my heart
Please strike
Be deliberate

Rage.

I barely recognize this version of myself. As much as I hate depression, it’s a familiar state. This constant, seething lividity is a creature I don’t understand.

Wait, I’m coming undone
Irate, I’m coming undone
Too late, I’m coming undone
One look so strong, so delicate

In rehab I learned that anger is a secondary emotion. It covers up hurt, frustration, fear…a myriad of emotions we don’t want to feel or can’t allow ourselves to feel. It’s a defense mechanism. My therapist believes my anger is borne of exhaustion and hopelessness.

I’m trying to hold it together
Head is lighter than a feather
Looks like I’m not getting better
Not getting better

I think for now I’ll embrace my wrathful incarnation. It sounds safer than exhaustion and hopelessness, don’t you think?

*Lyrics are from “Coming Undone” by Korn.

**Yes, I have the musical tastes of a 14-year-old boy. I think we’ve covered this before.





Let It Begin

21 02 2011

Sometimes I get broadsided by things that, in retrospect, are painfully predictable.

On Saturday I had a conversation with a customer about the pediatric neurologist her daughter is seeing. Big G saw the same neurologist, and I made a brief comment about how impressed I was by this doctor. Of course, the customer wanted to know why he’d seen a neurologist.

I briefly explained his motor tics, and went on to tell her I feel it’s likely Big G has Asperger’s Syndrome and the tics are symptomatic of that.

“What’s Asperger’s?” she asked.

“High-functioning autism,” I said.

And here’s where we all step back and wonder that I didn’t see this question coming from a mile away:

“Did you have him vaccinated?”

Dude.

If I have a kid with autism of any sort and I, for some ridiculous, grasping, misguided reason decide that it’s because of vaccinations, whatever. I suppose that’s my crazy, irrational business. But unless I come to you and tell you that the medical profession has royally screwed my child over and Thimerosal has ruined our lives? You just back away. I don’t care what you believe about it. This is not your child, and this is not your life.

Of course, being the person I am, I had to throw out, “You know, most of the authors of the original study linking autism to vaccinations have retracted their work,” but we all know that makes no difference with most zealots.

I guess the good news is now I’m kind of prepared, right? This was a nice, low-stress way for me to realize (on a very small scale, I’m sure) what the future has in store.

Go ahead, world. Bring it. Yesterday my kid pooped on the carpet and peed on the Wii balance board. (Or, as said by the lovely @guiltysquid, Wii-wee’d! HA!) I’m pretty sure I can handle just about anything right now.





To My Beloved Customers

31 01 2011

Dear pharmacy customers,

We do not live in the deep south, where certain endearments are a cultural norm. I daresay 90% of you have little more than a fleeting connection with the south. (I feel as though I should make a 5% exception for you, mister customer who sounds exactly like Foghorn Leghorn.) We live in Utah, which is very, very far from the south and much more reserved due to our staid pioneer heritage. (What? I can be staid! Shut up. Jerks.)

Now that we’ve established this fact, I have one more thing to say:

The next time one of you refers to me as “sweetie” or “hon” I will reach across the counter and flick you right in the middle of your forehead.

Bless your heart.