Monday, April 4, 2011

Customer Comment

I've never been one to be exclusive to particular brands or stores.  I suppose I can attribute this to living in the suburbs for more than half of my life, or perhaps I've just never been so incredibly wow-ed by one particular place that I've found the need to do so.  Boycotting, on the other hand.. now that I can do.  Never will I step foot into a Wal-Mart, Chick-Fil-A, or anywhere that plays FOX news on TV.  However, it seems that these days stores want you to be a shareholder even if you've not the slightest interest.  

When I first moved to Charleston and to my first Charleston apartment on King Street, CVS Pharmacy was the closest place to pick up drugs, champagne, cigarettes, and perhaps some lonely college student all in one go.  (I kid on that last part, maybe).  However, it became excruciatingly aggravating at each time I'd walk up to check out that I'd be asked for my "CVS customer rewards card".  I was immediately frustrated each time I had to answer this question.  If I said no, I would be given a 5 minute long encouragement as to why it would benefit me, regardless of whether or not there were 20 people waiting in line behind me or not.  If I said yes, I would then have to lie and say that I could use a phone number for it.  After giving out all of the phone numbers of my friends and family that I had memorized and still failing, the bitches at the counter would finally just let me use the goddamn store card.  Thank God.  

However, in my most recent trip to CVS, before anyone could ask me if I had my frequent flier mile card, I asked to apply for one.  Right then and there, I was handed a huge red piece of plastic and given the discount.  Yep, that easy.  Why didn't anyone tell me it would be that simplistic?  I don't give a shit to continue patronage at CVS rather than any other pharmacy, especially now that I live closer to Rite Aid and Burbage's, but it's nice to know that I'm over the phase of my life that I would once dread walking into the place.

corporatism at its finest.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Roe is a tricky little hoe

I must admit that due to my being raised in the 90s, that I was definitely victim to growing up when Roseanne was somewhat prevalent.  

Everyone knows this lady.  She is the epitome of class.  She is what all lower-middle class midwestern housewives strive to be.  From discussing masturbation with her youngest son, DJ, to dealing with a separation and winning the lottery, she's done it all.  And I think we should all respect her a little bit.  

I recently stumbled across this episode, likely for the first time since I was under 10, and almost pissed myself.  

What a fancy lady.  

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Sunday Funday

It's only until recently that I began to truly enjoy Sundays.  I think it's because I found out about brunch.  Now, as if it weren't enough of a devastating, kick-to-the-face blow when Vickery's downtown closed, and I wasn't able to stumble to a friends place after mimosas, I must say that I was disappointed once again today by my meal at brunch.  

One might say that I should be well-prepared for disappointment by ordering a side of french fries from a mexican restaurant.  However, my friends and I chose to eat at Santi's, which well-exceeds any other mexican establishment in which I've dined.  My expectations are just that much higher that I can no longer walk into La Hacienda King Street and deal with 16 year old girls drinking margarita pitchers which likely have one shot of tequila in them.  And did I mention the smell of lost, old, gym socks?  Anyway, back to Santi's.  So the young gay man who brought us our food hands me my side of fries.. and much to my disbelief, the fancy wax paper and basket of fries looked like the leftover french fries that you would bring home from Applebee's as a kid.  There were about 10-15 fries total, all of them unseasoned, and a little less than fully cooked.  

Our food runner was wearing this outfit

This is what I expected

Saturday, February 26, 2011

First Blabber

I've been having a little difficulty finding the desire to do anything more than drink after work.  Perhaps it's my pea-brained, big muscled coworker driving me to do so or perhaps it's due to the thousand-year-old, ignorant ladies that I encounter every day.  

Nonetheless it seems like this may be becoming a thing.

Earlier today, my friend drove me to work at 530 in the morning since the previous evening had been filled with fierce chugging of margaritas and $2 PBRs thus finding the need to leave my car and bike at a friends' house.  When I finally finished my day at an early 12:45, I knew it was time to start the party.  I went to pick up my car and drove around trying to decide which restaurant in which I would chose to drink mimosas with complete strangers.  During the drive my friend Ryan called me and asked me to join him at Juanita's.  Of course they don't have champagne there, which after an anxiety-filled search for parking and work day was definitely a deep desire of mine.  However, I was fairly easily swayed into consuming 2 pitchers of PBR with Ryan and an additional few glasses.  After having both our bartender and later our server when our party grew asked us to close out as they were going home, we decided it was time for a change of venue.  We walk to the Upper Deck still very much in time for happy hour and I order another PBR.  The thought of being up again at the ass-crack of dawn began to loom in the back of my mind and I started to think about closing my tab.  After saying goodbye to my friends and bartender I left, picked up a free burrito from Moe's SW Grill, stopped by work to pick up a few extra dollars that I knew I would need for my unexpectedly long time I spent in the parking garage, and got in my car.  I left the parking garage paying only $6 for my $9 fee, since that was frankly all I had left.  Got home, threw some vegan cheese on my burrito, nuked it, washed my face and prepared to spend part of my evening in my bed watching The Simpsons on DVD.  I woke up just an hour or so ago to stinky morning after breath and leftover Moe's chips still on my bed.  

I guess what I'm getting at here is that my fun evenings out generally start to suck when I begin to have anxiety about my work shift that begins many hours later.  And that I hope I'll be able to one day, just drink all day and not work 6 days a week.  

Friday, February 25, 2011

Welcome to Blogspot

It seems I've fallen into the category of the type of person that would blog.  But, as my friend says, if we snoop around on others' blogs, people we hardly know, people we don't even like, why shouldn't you guys be able to stalk my random thoughts?  

Go nuts.