My "SORRY!" face

So I went to the gas station the other day.

Because I needed gas.

All the pumps were full except one, and that one was on the wrong side, so I would have had to back in. Only as a general rule I don't drive backwards in public or crowded spaces, because driving backwards has a tendency to make me run into things.

Shut up.

So. I'm looking at this gas pump, and I'm thinking, you know? A lot of these stations have those extra long hoses now, that are made to go on either side of the car.

Now, usually those gas stations have signs indicating that their hoses are extra long and made to go on either side of the car.

You know. Like this.

And I saw no such sign. But, using my highly mathematical brain, I eyeballed the hose and decided it was probably long enough.

Do I really need to tell you the outcome of that experiment?

It wasn't long enough, you guys.

I swiped my card, pushed the start button, dragged the nozzle...halfway around the back of my car. No dice.

Great. Now people were watching, of course. So I put the nozzle back. I'd have to turn around. But my credit card was already in that pump, so I needed to hurry up and get turned around and get back. I climbed back into the car just as this guy pulled up in front of me and hit his blinker, obviously assuming I was leaving.

But I was not leaving. I pulled out into the space right in front of him and executed a stunningly graceful 8- or 9- or possibly 13-point turn until I was facing the right direction, and sloooooowly backed in, up to the pump. I didn't hit anything! So there's that.

While I was doing this, of course, I looked at the guy and shot him my silent "SORRY!" face. You know that face? You have one, too. This face, in my head, is not only totally comprehensible as meaning "SORRY," it's also so very adorable that nobody could possibly remain irritated with me while I'm making it.

In actuality...

I mean...that totally looks like I'm saying "SORRY," right??

By the time I finished this whole spectacle, of course, the machine had canceled my transaction and proceeded to sit there, frozen, for a good 3 minutes until it finally cleared out and let me start over.

By then there were like 4 open spots that would have been on the right side of my car. Turn-signal dude just shook his head and took one of those.

SORRY.

Somewhere there's an orphaned Elf looking for me.

OK. I warned you, in my Halloween post, that my Halloween obsession was nothing next to my Christmas mania. I. Love. Christmas.

LOVE IT.

You guys? It's Christmastime. It is! Thanksgiving is over and it's Christmas!

Last month I entered (ok, I obsessively entered every. single. day) a contest over at Periwinkle Papillon to win an Elf on the Shelf.  Now. I had never heard of an Elf on the Shelf before. I had fully enjoyed my holidays for 30 years now without an Elf. But now that I'm aware this magic little creature exists, I need one.

Sara at Periwinkle Papillon foolishly allowed multiple entries to her contest, and I called her bluff. I've done the math (shocking, I know) and my entries totaled 28% of ALL TOTAL ENTRIES. I should have won that thing.

Here's a small sampling of my 17 entry comments:

It begins.

Don't think I won't.

This right here had to be what killed it for me. Stupid!

Did you miss me? 

Why is the universe conspiring to keep me from my rightful Elf?? WHY??

Through it all, I felt Sara had my back. She wanted me to win this Elf, I really think she did.

I'm a prophet. I really am. Pretty sure the girl who won really DID only enter once.

Sigh.

Alas. I did not win. Sara recognized my passion and dedication and expressed her remorse that I hadn't won, but apparently she was not remorseful enough to fix the contest and give me my Elf. Whatever.

So here I am. November 30, and no Elf. I don't even know how I'm going to make it  my kids are going to make it 26 days without an Elf watching their every move and threatening to tell Santa when they whine. Like I can be bothered to discipline them?! Please! I have Christmas movies to watch! Plus, why would I want to be the bad guy? That's why we have Santa. And Elves.

So I've been whining about how badly I want an Elf, but how I don't want to actually pay for one (where's the fun in that?) and then Twitter brought me this:

Elves from Catie. 
Pros: it's an Elf! It's cheaper than Elf on the Shelf. And it supports a good cause.
Cons: Less creepy.

So. In conclusion: who wants to send me my kids an Elf? I don't even need the book, you guys. I'm a writer. I can make up my own story. I just need a seriously creepy Elf to scare my children half to death and instill in them the holiday spirit. Is that so much to ask?

Toying with the Mentally Unstable

First of all, not all my posts will be about antidepressants.  Probably.  Really it depends on how well they're working, to be honest.  So just quit whining about it.  Nobody's making you read this stuff, ok?

Yesterday was what we call a Bad Day.  By Bad I mean sort of hilarious, if you're not me, but I am me, so Bad.  I'm going to tell you a story about my healthcare provider but I'm not going to name the healthcare provider in question, mostly because I'm going to drop so many unsubtle hints that you'll know exactly who I'm talking about, but pretend you don't just because.

So I chose to use the "mail-order" prescription refill option to refill my Zoloft rather than driving myself to the pharmacy and picking it up in person because I do not enjoy standing in line at pharmacies with my children and I do enjoy receiving drugs in the mail, and I didn't do the math to figure out how many days this would take vs. how many pills I had left, because math isn't really my thing, and the end result of all this was that I ran out of pills long before the new ones were due to arrive.  I blame math.

Really all I wanted to do was reroute my prescription, since it hadn't even been mailed yet, to the pharmacy so I could pick it up in person.  First I called my healthcare provider's advice line.  This is always step 1 with them because it's basically the only phone number they'll give you, ever, even if you're dying.  So I called them and explained that I refilled it last week and their website says it's still "being processed."  And I've now been without for 4 days and hello, I am mentally unstable, people! I could be balanced precariously on a ledge right now. 

And the advice line lady is like, "Well...what doctor prescribes it?"  And this is a trick question because the website shows that the medication was prescribed by one "Barbara Tate," a person I have never met or heard of.  So that's what I say and the lady is like, "Well, do you want me to call Barbara Tate?"

And I'm like, "Isn't it your job to know who to call? I don't know. My doctor is Enrique Young.  Call him."

"But he didn't prescribe the medication."

"But I don't know Barbara Tate!  Shouldn't you know who Barbara Tate is?  Maybe she's a nurse in his office.  Or a nurse from the hospital because somebody prescribed this for me while I was there giving birth."

"So who do you want me to call?" 

Then I banged my head against my desk a few times and then I said, "Who do you want to call?  Who can get me a bottle of pills today?"  And she said, "Dr. Young is out of the office.  Do you see Dr. Garrison?"

"Yes.  Dr. Garrison used to be my ob/gyn until she switched offices but whatever, if you can call her and she'll send me my meds, by all means, call her."

"Well, you need to make up your mind, because once I put the request into our system it cannot be undone and you can't change your mind about which doctor you want to handle your request."

"Again...this is not my decision.  I don't care who you call.  Call somebody who can fill my prescription today."

"I'll put in the request to Dr. Garrison.  She'll call you today or tomorrow."

Then I hung up and screamed, and then I went online and attempted to email Dr. Young, only to find he's on vacation (I think advice line lady might have mentioned this, I'm not sure anymore).

Then I emailed Dr. Garrison and just for good measure, Sue Banyon, a nurse in the ob/gyn department who is also on my list of people I'm allowed to email.  I sent all 3 of these people identical emails explaining the urgency of the situation.  Depressed patient...no meds.  Yes, it's my own fault (or math's fault), but at this point can we all just work together to fix it so nobody gets hurt?  My friend Ashley texted me: "Tell them you're not THRIVING."

Then I found another phone number hidden in the depths of the website so I called it, and got an operator, and explained the entire situation, and she said "Couldn't your doctor's office help you?" and I said "IF YOU HAVE THEIR PHONE NUMBER BY ALL MEANS GIVE IT TO ME AND I WILL CALL THEM!" and she said "I'm just an operator.  Who's your doctor?"  and I said "Dr. Young" and she said "Oh, he has a call center.  Hang on, I'll connect you" and she transferred me to...THE ADVICE LINE.  So I hung up.  And texted Ashley, "This would be funny if I wasn't so shaky and sweaty and paranoid that life is out to get me."

Then I got an email from Dr. Garrison saying she had called it in and it would be at the pharmacy today.  Then ten minutes later I got a phone call from Dr. Young's office (they have a phone!  I knew it!) saying that since he's on vacation Dr. Somebody Else read my email (confidentiality breach?) and called it in and it'll be at the pharmacy today.  So at this point I'm thinking I have at least 2 bottles waiting at the pharmacy, maybe 3 if Sue Banyon comes through, and maybe one in the mail.  So I figure I'm stocking up.  For the zombie apocalypse.  Or for the next time math tries to destroy me.

But I guess I'm on my own come the apocalypse because when I finally made it, shaking and dizzy, to the pharmacy at 9:30 p.m., how many bottles of Zoloft do you think were there waiting for me?  If you guessed any, you guessed wrong!  In spite of both doctors' offices assuring me they had called their respective prescriptions in to this pharmacy, the pharmacist tells me it was sent to the other pharmacy across town, the one that closed 3 hours ago.  Of course it was. 

You'll be happy to hear that I looked just crazy enough last night to move the pharmacist to swift action, and he managed the heroic feat of putting 30 pills into a bottle and selling it to me even though the computer told him not to, so I am officially medicated once more.  Bring on the zombies.