Speak of the... Phone Calls and Canine Fluoxetine

So no sooner had I clicked the "Publish Post" on that last entry when the phone went all abuzz and the Gringoat themselves were on the line! Huzzah! Turns out it's Ben's birthday - his, egads, 30th - and they were on their way back from Boston and a meal with Ben's parents and decided to pay me a phone call. Sweet.

And I have to give myself an F minus. I am no good on the phone, especially when there is essentially no vital news to report, just a lot of "Yeps, it's hot and no I haven't found anything to do yet." So now I feel bad, though in my defense, they were on speaker phone and using some kind of CB technology where I couldn't talk and hear them at the same time - like there was a delay to all of there responses, and as though the distance weren't enough, time had to be displaced, too. The main effect was that I couldn't tell if my jokes were funny, and lacking my usual ego-filling feedback mechanism, I found myself at a loss of things to say. Not that there are any, as noted above.

So my apologies to ben & Ali for a lackluster phone session; all the more motivation to visit so we can get back to our dynamic in person chemistry. WAHOO! NEways, it does sound like things are going well up there in the Providential area of the country, so the usual props go out to my NE buds. Here's a shoutout to them and their awesome dog, the Heid-star:

And yes, that is supposed to say "star," as she is one. Speaking of dogs, the Sparkle ran out of fluoxetine recently. We haven't had any (knock on Kerry Wood) trouble in the Wrigley-mauling department lately, but given this general facial expression worn over the course of the move:


you can see why it was important that she get back on her SSRI dose ASAP. So I went to the store and tried to pick up the prescription for Rebecca, only they couldn't find it because it was actually under "Sparkle Jones." HA! Then after I paid for it, the checkout lady told me to hold on - and because I am a new customer, their official pharmacist had to come over and explain to me that Sparkle was not allowed to drive or operate heavy machinery if she combined her medication with alcohol. Duly noted, and I then explained to her that Sparkle was a dog. And she tried to keep her speech going about the mechanics of opening the pill bottle, but then she lost it. Laughter galore. Welcome to AZ, Spah-kull. Inherent absurdity is everywhere - but it's a little more obvious when you're picking up prozac for your pup.