I’ve been depressed lately — the clinical type — and that’s a low point that’s not funny. Plus I’ve been busy makeuping and, um, sleeping because that’s what we depressed people do.
But things were starting to turn a corner, and I woke up this morning really feeling like today was going to be super rad. I only had two things on my schedule: a haircut, which was sorely needed and rehearsal 10 1/2 hours later, which meant hanging out with really funny, awesome people and singing songs.
I love singing songs.
That left oodles of time for me to drive around the area and buy stuff with Husband’s money, and that naturally got me pretty excited. I was going to be productive. I was going to buy things and do stuff that had been on my to-do list for ages but had been neglected because depression/sleep. And then I was going to come home and make yet another real, actual dinner with real, actual food for Husband and me, and we were going to play video games in our sweats, and then I was going to head off to rehearsal and he was going to snuggle with the cat, and going to bed, I’d think pleasantly upon the day, with a half smile on my face, like they do in the movies. I might have even chuckled to myself WHO EVEN KNOWS. There was a lot of promise.
I feel like the best way for me to illustrate how today went is through a series of selfies you’re welcome.
I got a great haircut this morning. This isn’t abnormal because my stylist is kind of a goddess, but in growing my hairs out, I’ve slowed down on the regularity of said haircuts and only visit her once every two months or so. I was growing out my bangs. But then I got cast in a show where I’m a child character, and we all agreed bangs would really make it better. So the bangs, they came back. And guys, they’re, like, super cute.
I wanted shorter bangs because I make my eyebrows look rad these days and didn’t want bangs to cover them up. Also, it’s inevitable that I’m going to get little kid bangs above my eyebrows for the show (I get into character, people) and didn’t want to shock people too much on April 1st when suddenly I looked ten. I felt great about this haircut. This was the kind of haircut you get and then plan out a full day of being in the public eye so everyone can enjoy it with you.
I might have a small problem with narcissism.
And then it was off to all the fun stores to buy all the fun props for my birthday party photobooth. Not to give it all away because at least one person who’ll be coming will probably read this blog post (incidentally, more strangers read my blog than friends/family — is that cool? Is it sad? Hmm), but WANDS AND A BOA. ALSO A COWBOY HAT AND PINWHEELS. I should have know, however, that the day was going to turn when I was going down the aisles and found artificial butter flavoring.
Artificial. Butter. Flavoring.
Look, I get it. There are women in the world who desire pristine white frosted wedding cakes that are pure as the driven snow and are willing to DROP THEIR MORALS and let their bakers use clear, artificial butter flavoring for their buttercream. These women are grossly wrong. Grossly, grossly wrong. They should be smacked.
But I was buying photobooth backdrops and a birthday tiara for myself, and that felt like a little tiny blip. Insignificant — we’ve got nothing to worry about here, everyone, the day is going to be great despite making a rather upsetting discovery.
And since we’re talking birthdays, we might as well announce right now that mine is coming up in a mere five days (four if you are willing to agree with me that my being born on the 23rd in Korea = my actual birthday being the 22nd in America … Husband remains unconvinced, but he’s probably just jealous). And with that comes a lot of free food. No seriously — all the restaurants want to give you free food for your birthday whenever you want, and it’s fantastic. I pulled into the parking lot of my local Noodles & Company, pulled out the ole phone to bring up the coupon FOR A FREE NOODLE BOWL, NO BIGGIE, and was met instead with a bunch of messages from Gmail essentially saying “You literally have no emails from anyone with noodles in the name or about noodles or your birthday or free noodle bowls, give up on life now.” And trust me, I looked really, really hard. I searched all the terms. No dice.
Yes, it was too much to ask, in fact, so I drove away, quite dejectedly, to go to the Walmart Pharmacy, at which I’d already had a fairly heinous experience in the past. Note to self: just because the pharmacy is close to your house doesn’t mean you should, like, use it. Go to another state if you have to, just avoid the Walmart Pharmacy like the friggin plague.
I stood in line. I stood in a line of only one other person and myself for a really long time. I posted two pictures to my business Instagram page. I texted a friend. I checked some notifications. And finally it was my turn. (Yay! It’s the little things! And I’m going to get my anti-depressant and take it and be happyyyyyyyyyy!) So the crabby man asked for my name, misspelled it once, and said, “You have to go to the drop-off desk. They have to talk to you.” Not sure why they needed to talk to me, I headed on over, where I stood in front of a woman on the telephone, looking at a computer screen, and not actually indicating that she was aware there were other human people around.
I waited for her to get off the phone.
I waited for her to talk to the pharmacist.
I waited for her to talk to the other pharm tech.
AND THEN VICTORY WAS MINE and I gave her my name, and she said, “Your medication was recalled. There was something wrong with the batch, so we’re not dispensing it. But we might get it in tomorrow? So … just call tomorrow morning?”
In case you’re wondering, anti-depressants/anti-anxiety medications are literally the worst to recall. We’ll risk it. Just give us our drugs.
But, like, they’d called me twice about my prescription being ready. No one said anything about a recall or not getting meds, and IF THEY HAD, I would have probably had the prescription transferred to the Rite Aid AT WHICH I’D USED THE RESTROOM A COUPLE HOURS PRIOR.
The drive home was a somber one. I can’t even remember if I listened to the radio because all I could really think was “No noodles, no meds.” over and over again because, you know, OCD.
I parked, I opened the trunk, I discovered the half gallon of milk I’d purchased (whose safety seal was perfectly intact, so how any of this went down I have no idea) had leaked in the bag all over and into the upholstery of my car. Which is rad because milk gone bad smells awesome. I ran to get it inside. I had a little incident with a couple bags and my keys and the cat ran outside (don’t worry, she does this thing where she runs immediately and then freezes like she has no clue what to do). Milk on the entryway floor. Milk on my favorite suede boots.
In case you’re curious, when I pulled up my email on the computer, I totally found this beauty within seconds.
And this is what lunch looked like instead.