Rock of Ages: if Chuck Norris and Clay Aiken sang hair metal on ‘Glee’ (or “Why is that monkey dressed like Muammar Gaddafi?”)

Unless you live some strange ascetic life, there’s little doubt you’ve heard a little something about the new movie musical Rock of Ages. Based on a hit Broadway musical, RoA (as I’m calling it, pronounced “Row-ah”), is seeking to following the footsteps of such hit movie musicals like GlitterXanadu, and the tour de force From Justin to Kelly. [side note: I think I’m one of two people to actually pay money to go see FJTK. The other? Probably my friend, Nathan. But seriously, how could we NOT go see it:

 ]

But really, RoA wasn’t really a bad movie. In fact, somewhere in there is a pretty terrific movie (but more on that later)

Let’s start with the good:

Paul Giamatti (playing a greedy manager), looked suspiciously like Gallagher (but without the watermelons), had a sweet bald-ish/afro-ish ponytailed mullet, enough sweet suits to make Sonny Crockett jealous, and Zach Morris’s cell phone. He was every bit the opportunistic sleazeball and even belted out a few bars of Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again.” It was fabulous. And I couldn’t get enough.

“Hello, Stacee Jaxx’s manager’s phone.”

Also good? Mary J. Blige, who  proves again she is the Queen of Awesome and can do no wrong. She’s not the best actress, but let’s be honest. When you can sing like that, who cares if her acting chops are a little lacking. And as the only real professional singer of the lot (Sorry Julianne Hough. One shitty country song does not make you a professional.), I expected her to be amazing.

Catherine Zeta Jones (aka Mrs. Douglas), Alec Baldwin and the former Mr.Katy Perry were also bright spots in their (brief) time on screen. In one of the strangest scenes CZJ belts out “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” with a chorus of women that look like they robbed a Laura Ashley Store in a church, while her husband (the ever delightful Bryan Cranston) proceeds to get a little 50 Shades of Grey with his mistress nearby. Uncomfortable to watch? No more than actually READING 50 Shades. Besides, CZJ is actually a pretty good singer. And the clothes are so hilarious, it makes the scene worth it.

I’m not entirely convinced Baldwin and Brand did much acting. Baldwin paraded around in a leopard print shirt and a TERRIBLE wig. He also attended the “Chuck Norris Vocal Academy” as his “singing” was more in the vein of Chuck Norris than say Chuck Berry.

The crew gave Russell Brand an equally terrible wig, for reasons I can’t comprehend. I’m pretty if the director had said “Hey, Russell. We need you to cut your hair into a feathered mullet,” I’m pretty sure Brand would have been game. This is the guy who once dressed up like Osama bin Laden. I think he could have handled a bad haircut.

Now for the GREAT:

Tom Cruise. In a word: fantastic. In a few words: completely bloody fantastic. No, really. He was. I wanted to think he was terrible and/or wrong for the part. I wanted to laugh at him. But I couldn’t. He was just too good. He played aging rock star Stacee Jaxx with a little bit of Axl, a little bit of Keith (Richards) and a little bit of a cult leader speaking only in “wise proverbs” (maybe he got some inspiration at the Scientology Center in LA?). He was just the right amounts charming (for all of Tom’s weird personal faults, he’s effortlessly charming on screen), bizarre, and oddly sexual (seriously. The guy’s pushing 50 and looks bangin’, yo.)  Plus, he had a monkey named “Hey Man” that he dressed like a little Muammar Gaddafi. Because why WOULDN’T you want to have a pet monkey that shared the stylin’ ways of a horrific Libyan dictator?!

“Sweet hat, Muammar. I have one just like it at home”
image courtesy of perez

Which brings us to the bad.

The two leads. In a word: unnecessary. In a few words: completely and totally unnecessary. I was more interested in Stacee Jaxx, Russell Brand and Alec Baldwin’s strange relationship, and even CZJ’s turn as Head Tea Partier (I’m pretty sure she prepped for the role by watching a lot of Glenn Beck. Minus the crying.)

Diego Boneta is a cute kid with a great voice. If the Z GuyEE-Z (the supremely terrible boy band Giamatti-Gallagher put together) had been a real group back in the late 80s, I totally would have been obsessed with them, writing “I ❤ Joshy Z” all over my notebooks. Had he a better co-star that he had actual chemistry with, he probably would have been even better.

Which brings me to Julianne Hough. Forgive me, but I can’t figure out why this girl is A- famous and B – still getting acting/singing work. She’s a gorgeous girl and a phenomenal dancer. But her acting and vocal ability is about as good as you’ll find in a community theater production of Oklahoma (and I know. I’ve seen such productions.) Halfway through the movie I wished she’d just pack up and take her “Sister Christian” ass back to Oklahoma and leave the movie to the grownups. I didn’t like her character, not because the character was unlikeable, but because Hough just isn’t a good enough actress or singer to make me care about her.

Like I said before, there’s a terrific movie buried in here. Tom Cruise, Malin Ackerman (who I love love love! seriously adorable, that one), Baldwin, Cathy Jones and Queen Mary J were all woefully underused. I would have preferred some character development from Stacee and explored him a bit more. Make HIM the central figure. Diego and Julianne could really be cut and the movie would have still worked. It just would have been about an aging rock star trying to stay relevant in the age of boy bands. Keep CZJ and Cranston, Baldwin and Brand and expand Mary J’s role. Maybe she and Stacee strike up an unlikely friendship after he starts coming to the strip club. I’m totally just spitballin’ here.

The big problem (aside from a completely miscast Julianne Hough) is that the movie isn’t quite sure what it wants to be. Is it a serious musical (like Jersey Boys) or a parody (in the vein of Spinal Tap)? I don’t think the cast was even on the same page. The leads were so earnest that you really bought they thought they were in The Graduate: The Musical rather than Xanadu: the Sequel. However, Baldwin, Brand and Cruise all seemed to realize the movie was ridiculous (and a farce) and played their characters accordingly. The result was a disjointed (and at times painful) 2+ hours.

But all is not lost, there were some great performances (particularly Tom Cruise) and some terrific–and terrifically funny—moments (the Baldwin and Brand duet. I won’t spoil it for you, but it’s HILARIOUS). The music, for the most part, is really fun. Queen Mary J SLAYS on Pat Benatar’s “Shadows of the Night” (my wish is for her to actually release it as a single. It’s that good)  and Tom Cruise was a surprise vocally and sang his ass of. While his “Wanted Dead or Alive” isn’t quite as good as Bon Jovi’s, it was good enough to make me want to hear it again. With some tweaking, rewrites and editing, Rock of Ages has the potential to be a great film. Unfortunately, the reality falls flat.

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“You’re tacky and I hate you”

When I was driving home the other day (ugh, that sounds just like the beginning to every horrible story my high school biology teacher, Mr. Mott used to tell us. Except his usually started with “When I was walking to school this morning…” and yes, he walked to school every morning. And yes, there were considerable times I considered running him over with my car.) a radio ad for Pier One came on and I was sufficiently perplexed. (I spent WAY too much time trying to find the audio for it. Next time I hear it, I’ll try and record it.)

Perhaps you’ve heard it. It stars a mom named “Leigh” who is attending some sort of support group. I’m not quite sure the purpose of said support group, but I don’t think the ad people considered the weirdos out there like me that have to dissect everything. So, “Leigh” tells the group that her kids complained that their backyard was boring and they wanted a trampoline. Well, in “Leigh’s” world, there will be no trampoline. I imagine it’s akin to having broken down automobiles, trailers or garden gnomes in the yard (aka the “White Trash Special”). So what does she do to liven up the yard?

Well go to Pier One, of course! To buy new lawn furniture! Because what kid doesn’t want a new outdoor chaise lounge. ESPECIALLY if it comes from Pier One.

Oh wait. I know. EVERY.SINGLE.KID.IN.THE.HISTORY.OF.THE.WORLD.

Except for maybe this one.

When I was growing up, my siblings and I begged our parents for a trampoline (And, yes, we were eventually victorious. We jumped the crap out of that thing.). If they had come home sans trampoline and instead, had new patio furniture, we definitely would have mutinied. And I’m not kidding. When my folks told us we’d likely be moving to Chicago, my brother E got so enraged, he punched a hole in a wall (to be fair he was only 8, but thanks to him, they had to re-wallpaper an entire wall in their two-story foyer. To this day you can tell which wall because the coloring is slightly off). Moral of the story: unless you want your kids going all “Braveheart” on you, if they ask for a trampoline, don’t buy a new patio table and chairs. It won’t go over well.

Unless of course, this is your kid.

 

And in that case, I still wouldn’t spring new outdoor furniture on him. He STILL may mutiny. Especially if your taste runs more Bobby Trendy than Nate Berkus.

“and for just $100,000,000 I can make your house look just like this!” image courtesy of TMZ

What would YOU do with the Stanley Cup?

I’m not much of a hockey fan. Scratch that. I’m not a hockey fan at all. Not because I think hockey’s boring (I don’t) but mostly because C-L-E doesn’t have an NHL team and I feel weird cheering on a team that doesn’t “belong” to me. [side note: this feeling, of course, is null and void when it comes to whatever team is playing against the Miami Heat. I’ll cheer until I’m blue in the face. LeBron James has become my own personal Moriarty. Except he has no clue about my existence and even if he did, he probably couldn’t care less that a(nother) white girl from Cleveland wished for his demise. And I’ve clearly been watching WAY too much BBC Sherlock] Besides, I only have so much time to be depressed about professional sports. Three teams is my limit and I’ve already sold my heart and soul to the Indians (sads), Cavs (double sads) and the Browns (infinite sads). My poor little psyche couldn’t withstand ANOTHER losing team (because I? am not a frontrunner).

But I do have friends that are MAJOR hockey fans. Unfortunately most of them are Pens fans and I ,in good conscience, can’t root for anything that comes from Pittsburgh. Except for the phrase “yinz.” I love rooting for awesome slang.

What I DO root for, however, are super fan-freaking-tastic sporting traditions. It’s the history nut in my combined with my super competitive nature. And one of the best is the NHL’s Stanley Cup.

Suck it, Flat Stanley. I’ve been to way more fun places

Unlike a Super Bowl Trophy or World Series Trophy, the Cup gets passed between the members of the winning team and it’s become tradition for players to find the most outrageous/ridiculous scenarios and put the Cup in them. Patrick Kane of the Chicago Blackhawks took the Stanley Cup to Niagara Falls, the Pittsburgh Penguins took the Cup for a swim in Mario Lemieux’s pool (I can’t believe I just typed that sentence), Sylvain Lefebvre of the Colorado Avalanche had his daughter baptized from the Cup, and (not to be left out) Mark Messier of the Edmonton Oilers took the Cup to his favorite strip club, the Forum Inn, in which it starred in a dance with a stripper.

So when the LA Kings won their first Stanley Cup, I was excited to see what hijinks the Cup would see. More strip clubs? Perhaps a visit to the Playboy Mansion (come on, they ARE in LA), maybe taking it to East LA and start a street fight between the Bloods and the Crips?

I was wrong. What happened was WAY better.

The Kings’  right wing (and Captain) Dustin Brown’s sons used the Cup to drink chocolate milk.

I don’t know what’s cuter: the blowing bubbles or the matching Spiderman pajamas. Or maybe the giggling.

What a (literally) sweet moment for the Stanley Cup. Kids in Spiderman pajamas should ALWAYS drink chocolate milk out of Championship cups. ALWAYS. And someone should always be filming. It’d be like the new LOLcats. Except way better.

Although, this photo of Chuck Liddell and an Oompa Loompa with the Cup is pretty damn amazing. I wonder if Willy Wonka showed up later to fill it with Fizzy Lifting Drink?

photo from yahoo sports

long time, no write

I’m alive. I swear. There’s been a lot going on in Casa D (and my life) and I decided to take some time away from the blog.

Basically: I needed a break.

While I’m not entirely ready to explain EVERYTHING, I am ready to talk about some things beyond my usual pop culture rants, top ten lists and dumb-things-that-happen-to-me recollections.

For instance? I’e decided to go back here.

I guess I’m a sadist. Just like Anastasia Steele

But don’t worry. I won’t stray too far from my bread and butter. There are far too many things happening in the world of pop culture for me to ignore. Besides, The Bachelorette started. And that show BEGS to be mocked. And law school will simply add to the amount of dumb things that happen in my life. Seriously. Have you ever met a law student (or worse, a group of law students)? They’re awful (and oftentimes rather stupid) creatures. There are entire blogs (or blawgs, if you will) devoted to the idiocy of law students. [Don’t believe me? Check out my girl, Legally Fab]

I’m taking a summer class taught by one of my favorite human beings (not just law professors) ever, KFO. Barely an hour into the class, I was able to identify the class’s gunner. I’m already trying to figure out a way to tape his mouth shut for the duration of the semester. I whispered to my friend, Pete, today that there is an excellent chance that I will fight this guy by the end of the semester. He agreed the OG (Original Gunna) needs to be stopped. I’ll keep y’all updated.

In other news, Will Smith reminds everyone that he is, in fact, King of Awesome by performing the Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song on the Graham Norton Show.

I totally want to be best friends with him.

“In the future everyone dresses like Katy Perry”

Oh sweet little blog, I have neglected you for FAR too long. And you, my dear readers, I’ve neglected you too. I’m sorry. If I could send you all fountain diet cokes and chocolate chip cookies as “I’m sorry presents”, I totally would. Because, really, is there anything better than fountain diet coke and homemade chocolate chip cookies? I think not.

There’s a LOT going on in my life at the moment and rather than bore y’all with the details, I’m going to gloss over everything. Because, frankly (ugh, I’m starting to sound like Newt Gingrich. Minus the Tiffany’s line of credit. And the megalomania), I’m entirely exhausted of talking about it. But I DO promise a post in the near future explaining everything. I just don’t have it in me right now. Besides, the weather is way too nice to be talking (or even thinking) about depressing things.

The long Easter weekend was just about perfect. I caught up with friends and family in the C-L-E that I hadn’t seen in forever (but there are still many many more that need to be remedied!) and had some much-needed downtime to relax.

Let’s recap.

Thursday was Cleveland Indians Opening Day, which happens to be one of my FAVORITE days of the year. Terry Pluto, one of my all-time favorite writers, wrote an excellent column about the tradition of Opening Day last week that I can’t even begin to sum up. Just click the link and read it, even if you’re not a baseball fan. If you’re a fan of family, traditions, history or have any sort of heart at all, you’ll appreciate it.

Opening Day always makes me think about my family, particularly my siblings and my dad (and by extension, my super-amazing late grandfather). Baseball for us, like many families, is special. It ties us together. Some of my earliest memories are going to baseball games at the old Municipal Stadium with my dad and grandfather. Because I was a picky eater as a kid, my mom ALWAYS packed me a sandwich (I hated hot dogs) and two orange Kool Aid juice boxes. Why two? One for me and one for my grandfather, duh (why I didn’t insist on three is beyond me. Sorry, Dad!). Now, I’m sure the last thing he wanted to drink at the ballpark was orange flavored sugar water and would have MUCH rather preferred a beer (these WERE the 1980s Cleveland Indians. Boozing was required to get through a game), he always humored me and acted like he couldn’t imagine sitting through a baseball game without one. Now that’s true love, people. I wish I had some pictures of the three of us at a game, but, sadly, the best I can do is the memories in my head. Or perhaps draw a picture. I’m very good with stick figures.

This clip from “Field of Dreams” (a Casa D staple growing up) that says it all. Baseball is a constant. It ties generations together. History is respected. There’s a reason on Opening Day you see so many families sitting together, three (or more!) generations laughing (usually at the Tribe’s expense) and cheering. I know one day if I ever have children, I’ll be taking them down to Jacobs Field (whatever, it’ll never be Progressive Field to me), each April, molding them into the sad little creatures the rest of the world knows as “The Cleveland Sports Fan”

Thursday also meant dinner with m’bestie, Sarah (or Kres, or Mama-to-be. She answers to them all). We hit up Angelo’s Pizza in Lakewood for a much needed catch-up session and some yummy margarita pizza. If you haven’t been there before (and live in the CLE), I highly suggest going. The dining area is quite small and fills up quickly in the evenings, but no worries. They do take out and delivery.

And, on Saturday, I FINALLY got to see THIS with my friend, Rachel.

I was so excited and so spastic about FINALLY getting to see Katniss and Peeta (and Cinna! Heart you so bad, Lenny Kravitz), I knocked my diet coke into my purse. So for the remainder of the day, I walked around with wet handbag that also smelled like diet coke. But it didn’t matter. I was too pumped about the movie to care.

I normally don’t get this excited for books-turning-into-movies (the Winona Ryder “Little Women” is an exception. I think I talked about seeing that movie for six months until it came out and my mother was forced to take me—and sit with me while I cried my little eyes out). We’ve already discussed my hatred for all things “Twilight” and I’m not huge on Nicholas Sparks/John Grisham/Whatever-Chick-Lit-Is-Being-Optioned-Today. That’s not to say I don’t like reading those books (with the exception of Nicholas Sparks. I can read one of his books and feel like I’ve read them all). I do. I might make an exception if my girl Jen Lancaster ever options one of her books into a movie. But normally, I’m a book girl. Always have been, always will be.

But, “The Hunger Games” won me over. And I’m happy to report Rach and I were NOT the oldest people in the movie theater.

However, we WERE the snarkiest. We can’t help it. It just happens. It’s innate in us. We BREATHE snark.

Not ten minutes into the movie, Rachel leans over to me and whispers (in a scary, futuristic voice) “In the future, everyone dresses like Katy Perry.” (if you’ve seen the movie—or even previews—you’ll notice that most of the people in it look like extras from a Katy Perry video or, at very least, like they’ve raided Lady Gaga’s closet).

I laughed so hard, I choked on my popcorn.

I’m sure we annoyed everyone else sitting around us with our running commentary: “Think that kid will turn into a werewolf now?” “Ohh, I wonder where Lenny got his gold eyeliner. I wonder if the girls at Sephora can help me later” and “There should definitely be an ‘Avengers’ type movie with Katniss, Peeta, Edward Cullen and Bella. And the ‘Babysitters Club’ can show up too. You know, to get our generation into it” (I should preface by saying that Rach and I have long ago said goodbye to our teenage years).

Sadly, I would definitely watch a ‘Babysitters Club Hunger Games” (No doubt Kristy Thomas would win. She’s a cutthroat bi-oytch, that one).

Easter was lovely. Lots of food and family. My mom, sister and cousins made my Aunt Carol a scrapbook (like the one we made for my grandmother) and we FINALLY finished it on Saturday. We were so pumped to give it to her and, no surprise, she loved it. Being away from family really makes you appreciate the time you do have.

So that’s it. I have to catch up on tonight’s episode of “The Voice” (Tony Lucca better be safe, or I’m blaming Christina Aguilera. But, whatever, I’d blame her for something else).

Oscars liveblog!

Every time an awards show airs, I get it in my head that I’ll do a liveblog. But every time I forget about it and end up drinking wine out of a red plastic tumbler.

But this year my only drink of choice is Diet Coke, meaning I’ll be able to ACTUALLY liveblog.

I know you’re all pumped.

7:59: Sort through twitterfeed and make witty retorts about Nick Nolte.

8:07: The Hunger Games trailer airs. I squeal a little. I am so excited for this movie, it’s ridiculous. Calm myself down and eat a black & white cookie.

8:11: Roll eyes at George Clooney and his walking Oscar Barbie (Stacy Keibler). He flirts with Robin Roberts while OB (Oscar Barbie) looks on, unsure of what she’s supposed to say. Tim Gunn talks to Brad Pitt who looks like he needs a shower.

8:15: montage of who celebs think will win/want to win. Clooney says he’s rooting for the Descendants. In other shocking news, the sky is blue.

8:17: This Google Commercial airs. I’m obsessed. 

8:23: I definitely would want to hang out with Tom Hanks. Also? Brian Grazer has really weird hair.

8:26: Roommate, T, walks in and says “Of course you’d be watching this.” I throw an empty diet coke can at him and tell him he’s the worst.

8:31: Roommate, L, walks in and comments that Morgan Freeman is a baller for wearing two different earrings

8:32: Billy Crystal shows up.

8:33: Billy Crystal proceeds to do a little Oscars intro. Worst moment? Seeing a Ginger Billy. That’s something I’ll never unsee.

8:37: Billy’s inevitable song and dance. I can’t help it. I’m smiling. Apparently, accords to the twitters, everyone else hates it. Whatever.

8:43: Some guy that looks like Billy Connolly wins some award that no one cares about. Some Italians win another award no one cares about.

8:55: Realize liveblogging and livetweeting at the same time was a terrible idea. Briefly consider scrapping both and opening a bottle of wine. Decide against the wine and continue blogging and tweeting until my little fingers bleed.

8:56: Jennifer Lopez and Cameron Diaz present ‘best costume design’ and both look terrible. Jennifer’s dress was both shiny and pleated, Cameron’s had weird shiny parts and feathers. Awful.

9:00: More boring awards. Receive tweet from my pal, Zac, telling me how wrong I am about J-Lo & Cameron. Have to explain the difference between girl hot and guy hot. Also, must remind me that the Oscars are not the cover of FHM.

9:05: Sandra Bullock presents the award for foreign language film. Think about how awesome she is, but that her dress is awful.

9:13: Octavia Spencer wins Best Supporting Actress. Boring. I’d have rather seen Melissa McCarthy win. Also? Getting bored with twitter. No one is appreciating my witty barbs.

9:20: Some weird black and white Christopher Guest bit. But I do love me some Fred Willard and Catherine O’Hara. I didn’t understand it, but I’m a fan. And if you haven’t seen For Your Consideration, please remedy it immediately.

9:25: Tina Fey, Bradley Cooper and Bradley Cooper’s mustache present a bunch of awards that no one cares about. Also? What’s the difference between sound mixing and sound editing. They sound the same.

9:35: Kermit and Miss Piggy show up and introduce the creepiness that is Cirque de Soleil. I think about using this time to refresh my diet coke.

9:37: Cirque de Soleil is creepier than I remember. Not even a nod to North by Northwest can save it.

9:40: Billy Crystal makes fun of Christopher Plummer. No one mocks Captain Von Trapp & gets away with it.

9:41: Robert Downey Jr. shows up and I forget my anger at Billy. He’s wearing a very dapper silver sparkly bow-tie. I’m in love.

9:45: Chris Rock is still the unfunniest person in the room. And tells a race joke. In other shocking news: the sky is blue.

9:52: Emma Stone is adorable. But I’m pretty sure Nicole Kidman wore the same dress a few years ago.

9:55: Jason Isaacs need to be in more. I don’t care what. He just needs to be in my life more.

9:58: Melissa Leo manages to get through her intro without dropping an F-bomb. An improvement over last year. Also? If anyone but Christopher Plummer wins Best Supporting Actor, it is fixed.

10:00: Christopher Plummer wins. I won’t have to write a nasty letter to the Academy. Captain Von Trapp finally wins an Oscar. And his acceptance speech was perfect.

10:07: Start to get bored with the entire show. Contemplate going to sleep.

10:09: Billy Crystal does a dead-on Martin Scorsese impression. And a dead-on Nick Nolte.

10:16: Will Ferrell and Zach Galifianakis show up in white tails with cymbals. I have no idea why, except that it’s awesome.

UPDATE: Yes, I did fall asleep. Sadly, the Oscars didn’t hold my attention this year.

misadventures with the United States Post Office

It’s no secret I’m not a fan of the Post Office. In fact, on most days, I rather loathe it. Last Saturday’s fiasco with the Arlington branch(es) only fueled my hate-fire (is that a word? If it isn’t, it should be. I’m submitting it to Webster’s next year) of the USPS.

Since moving to DC, I’ve been incredibly homesick. Despite having friends in the area (whom I don’t get to see often because I work so much), it’s been a pretty lonely experience. There have been a few occasions when all I’ve wanted to do is hope in my car and drive the 6 hours to Cleveland to crash on my parents’ couch with my dog.

But I haven’t. Mostly because there’s so much to do with work…but also because just the thought of driving for 6 hours makes me sleepy.

My poor parents have shouldered the brunt of my homesickness-meltdowns (Hi, guys. Thanks for not hanging up on me.) and I’m sure have rolled their eyes when they see its me calling for another round of “Guess Why I’m Crying Today?”

But instead of changing their phone numbers, they sent me a care package from the C-L-E (seriously, how great are they? I definitely don’t deserve them). When I got home from my pal Leah’s farewell fiesta last Friday, I saw the ‘sorry we missed you, you have a package’ card. My mom sent it certified, mainly because she’s afraid someone will steal my mail.

I stopped by the post office near my house first thing on Saturday morning. I handed the card to the super helpful bureaucrat who looked like she would rather be 100 other places, including the dentist. She took one look at the card and promptly told me she couldn’t help me.

“But I live two blocks from here!” I cried. “This is my post office!”

She (super)helpfully pointed to the address on the card. “This says you have to go to the Jackson Avenue branch. We don’t have it here.”

I again tried to tell her that even though I just moved here, I was pretty sure my package would be at the branch closest to my house.

SHB (Super Helpful Bureaucrat) essentially rolled her eyes and said I needed to go to the other post office. I sighed, but acquiesced. I wanted whatever was in the care package and was not about to wait until Tuesday for it (since Monday would be President’s Day = no mail service). I hop in my car, plug in the address to the GPS and see that it’s not TOO far from me.

This is when things got weird(er).  Continue reading