Loading...
Title : CDATPharm + Small Alaskan City = Mortification!
link : CDATPharm + Small Alaskan City = Mortification!
CDATPharm + Small Alaskan City = Mortification!
“Ugh, he’s SOOOO cute.”“Ugh, I KNOOOOOOOOOOOOW, rieeeeeght?!”
“He’s like, SO tall. Even when he comes out from behind the counter he’s still like, SUPES tall.”
“And that hair! He looks like the cover of a romance novel. So adorbs.”
“And he’s always so PROFESH—he like, tooooootally knows his shit.”
“OMG I know.”
“OMG it’s so embarrassing.”
“OMG. Seriously. SO. Fucking. Embarrassing.”
[*Dissolve into adolescent giggles*]
Except it wasn’t actually two teenagers engaged in this dialogue. It was two 40-somethings. And not just any two 40-somethings. It was me and a friend of mine, who had ventured out to our local pharmacy to retrieve a long list of embarrassing items from the very-attractive-and-at-least-ten-years-younger-than-both-of-us pharmacist.
Due to my status as a platinum-level frequent flier in the Big Pharma-Medical-Industrial Complex, I happen to know CDATPharm’s name, face, and voice on the phone. But out of respect and discretion amid the inevitable Juneau outing, shall hereafter refer to him only as CDATPharm—Or Cute Dude At The Pharmacy.
In the three years of writing this blog, mortification has become my stock-in-trade. There’s a certain freedom that accompanies stating life’s most horrendously mortifying observations as they come to you (silently to yourself or out loud to a friend), musing that they "would make a good blog post,” and then blasting them all over the Internet in order to divest them of their power.
It’s quite liberating, frankly.
In an ideal world—or at least a town of normal size, accessibility, and anonymity—CDATPharm would not necessarily be privy to the full list of medications that I take for numerous ailments. Or at least I wouldn’t have run into CDATPharm skiing with another attractive friend of his last season, with his secret knowledge of all my prescriptions in the back of my mind as we gamely made idle chit-chat over the variable conditions on the mountain that day.
“No, you see, hahaha--the Valtrex isn’t for REAL herpes. It’s for the SOMETIMES cold sores that I get like, seriously ONLY when I’m stressed out in this ONE little corner of my upper lip? In winter mostly? Like I THINK I actually got it from my babysitter? When I was little? Not from sex? Everything is TOTES fine in THAT department, heh heh heh—no, really, I swear, ha ha ha.”
Of course I don’t say any of this out loud. I just let CDATPharm think I’m a walking (skiing?) STD.
Except it wasn’t actually two teenagers engaged in this dialogue. It was two 40-somethings. And not just any two 40-somethings. It was me and a friend of mine, who had ventured out to our local pharmacy to retrieve a long list of embarrassing items from the very-attractive-and-at-least-ten-years-younger-than-both-of-us pharmacist.
Due to my status as a platinum-level frequent flier in the Big Pharma-Medical-Industrial Complex, I happen to know CDATPharm’s name, face, and voice on the phone. But out of respect and discretion amid the inevitable Juneau outing, shall hereafter refer to him only as CDATPharm—Or Cute Dude At The Pharmacy.
In the three years of writing this blog, mortification has become my stock-in-trade. There’s a certain freedom that accompanies stating life’s most horrendously mortifying observations as they come to you (silently to yourself or out loud to a friend), musing that they "would make a good blog post,” and then blasting them all over the Internet in order to divest them of their power.
It’s quite liberating, frankly.
In an ideal world—or at least a town of normal size, accessibility, and anonymity—CDATPharm would not necessarily be privy to the full list of medications that I take for numerous ailments. Or at least I wouldn’t have run into CDATPharm skiing with another attractive friend of his last season, with his secret knowledge of all my prescriptions in the back of my mind as we gamely made idle chit-chat over the variable conditions on the mountain that day.
“No, you see, hahaha--the Valtrex isn’t for REAL herpes. It’s for the SOMETIMES cold sores that I get like, seriously ONLY when I’m stressed out in this ONE little corner of my upper lip? In winter mostly? Like I THINK I actually got it from my babysitter? When I was little? Not from sex? Everything is TOTES fine in THAT department, heh heh heh—no, really, I swear, ha ha ha.”
Of course I don’t say any of this out loud. I just let CDATPharm think I’m a walking (skiing?) STD.
I won’t even get into that time when I was nursing Isaac and needed Diflucan for the better part of a year. I will let you all Google that one, as even my relatively loose bounds of decency restrain me from spelling it out for you.
Then there’s the Prozac. Sometimes I call it “Fluoxetine,” because I tell myself that using the generic name makes me sound less crazy and better informed than the average mental patient.
“No you see,” I want to say, “I’m not THAT depressed. At least not right NOW, hahaha. I mean, I’m not going to like KILL myself or anything. It’s just that I’m like, super neurotic? And can’t stop obsessing over all the terrible things in the world and all the people who probably hate me for bad shit I have no idea I did? Really that’s it. It’s not so bad.”
Fuck my life, I almost sigh aloud as he hands down the little plastic bag of drugs and tells me discreetly and with a poker face that he probably has to "fax the doctor for refills on the Diflucan."
I’m not sure why I feel the need to prove to CDATPharm that I’m not just another middle-aged mom who contracted a contagious STD in a mental hospital.
Then there’s the Prozac. Sometimes I call it “Fluoxetine,” because I tell myself that using the generic name makes me sound less crazy and better informed than the average mental patient.
“No you see,” I want to say, “I’m not THAT depressed. At least not right NOW, hahaha. I mean, I’m not going to like KILL myself or anything. It’s just that I’m like, super neurotic? And can’t stop obsessing over all the terrible things in the world and all the people who probably hate me for bad shit I have no idea I did? Really that’s it. It’s not so bad.”
Fuck my life, I almost sigh aloud as he hands down the little plastic bag of drugs and tells me discreetly and with a poker face that he probably has to "fax the doctor for refills on the Diflucan."
I’m not sure why I feel the need to prove to CDATPharm that I’m not just another middle-aged mom who contracted a contagious STD in a mental hospital.
And even if I was, would he care? Of course not, because he's a consummate professional and I am simply that person who convinced Aetna to cover that random new eczema drug that costs a zillion dollars to ship here and wasn't that interesting.
Really it comes down to this: all other things being equal, is CDATPharm the FIRST person on earth I’d choose to know the intimate details of my medical history? No, no he is not.
Really it comes down to this: all other things being equal, is CDATPharm the FIRST person on earth I’d choose to know the intimate details of my medical history? No, no he is not.
All other things being equal, I’d be happier if CDATPharm was a matronly old-lady with giant hairy moles whose access to this information would feel slightly less mortifying to me.
Stock photo. Not actual CDATPharm
Thus Article CDATPharm + Small Alaskan City = Mortification!
That's an article CDATPharm + Small Alaskan City = Mortification! This time, hopefully can give benefits to all of you. well, see you in posting other articles.
You are now reading the article CDATPharm + Small Alaskan City = Mortification! with the link address https://wordcomes.blogspot.com/2017/10/cdatpharm-small-alaskan-city.html
0 Response to "CDATPharm + Small Alaskan City = Mortification!"
Post a Comment