Getting Raped by Expedia (again...)

I'm losing it. 18 days till the Big Day and I'm just hoping I can make it; finding my melt-downs have increased in frequency and severity.

But the big kick in my taco was dealt by Expedia. I should have known. Blood-thirsty bastards. I'm not even going to go into how a $600 return trip booked to Ontario ended up costing a whopping $2400 when my granpa's health swiftly deteriorated and we ended up scrambling to make it to the funeral. Or how I basically ended up writing Expedia a check for $700 when my father-in-law suffered a heart attack and we had to change the date of our flights. I can dismiss a cold-blooded corporation for being what it is and suck it up because I want to be there for my family. I can also assume some responsibility because I did not factor the unexpected death of a family member into my summer vacation plans and therefore did not buy flight insurance. My bad.

This situation was entirely different. And I assumed, laughably of course, that Expedia would oblige. I realize how ludacris that sounds. In between running around like a freaking crazy person at work as per usual, I had to book three flights for the wedding. Fine. I had twenty minutes to sit down, and being the multi-tasking whiz that I am, I should be able to answer phones and check emails and book flights at the same time. Except on the last flight I had to book, which is the following Thursday from the other flights I booked, I accidently was on the wrong month. I know, stupid. I must have slid the flight calender over or something but slid too far or whatever cuz I ended up booking the flight for the last Thursday of September instead of the last Thursday of August. Yeah, thats bad.

I was on the phone with Expedia in 0.5 seconds flat, explaining how I had clicked the wrong button and it probably hadn't even gone through yet and could you please catch it and adjust it to the right date?

No dice.

She put me on hold for about fifteen minutes before she came back and pleasantly told me not to worry she could switch it for me, but it would cost $50 for the cancelling and re-booking fee.
"No no no (this is what I was afraid of) I'm not cancelling and re-booking, please I just clicked the wrong button and it wouldn't let me go back and if you could just go in there and correct that for me..." 

And yes, she was very sorry but no, there was nothing they could do. Except put me on hold for another fifteen minutes while I'm sure her and her collegues laughed maniacally. When she composed herself she got back on and asked me if I would like to re-book a flight. Which, of course I had to, for the last Thursday of August. She told me the flight was the same price so no worries and she just had to put me on hold while she booked that for me. TWENTY minutes later she comes back on and informs me that actually the flight is another $40, plus the $50 dollar re-booking fee and "is that alright ma'am?"
IS THAT ALRIGHT??! NO THAT'S NOT ALRIGHT, WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU ASK ME IF THATS ALRIGHT. I'VE BEEN ON HOLD FOR AN HOUR SO THAT YOU COULD TELL ME A $270 FLIGHT HAS SOMEHOW MAGICALLY BECOME A $370 FLIGHT.
So I asked why the increase since she had previously told me the flights were the same price. "Well its a month earlier." So what. "So its more expensive." You knew that before when you told me it was the same price. "Well its actually more. Is that okay?"
IS THAT OKAY??! NO THAT'S NOT OKAY, WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU ASK ME IF THATS OKAY? YOU'RE JUST GOING TO PUT ME ON HOLD FOR ANOTHER HOUR AND THEN FORCE ME TO PAY WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT ME TO PAY!!!!!!!
Just book it. "Okay I apologize ma'am I'm just going to put you on hold for a few minutes while I book this flight for you."
I WILL COME OVER THERE SET YOUR CUBICLE ON FIRE AND CHOKE YOU WITH YOUR HEADSET WHILE I WATCH THE PICTURES OF YOU AND YOUR CAT 'MITTENS' BURN!!!!!!
Yeah, whatever, thanks.


 

GPs

I hate doctors. More specifically, I hate male doctors, since I have never actually had a bad experience with a female physician.

I hate going to the doctor. I loathe going to the doctor. If I am sitting in one of those tiny rooms in a doctor's office on those paper sheets that only half cover the actual bed-stand-thing after waiting at least two hours before I even get to the tiny room, its because I think that I am dying, I most likely am dying, and if I stayed home I probably would die, and whoever found me would cry and say "oh, if only she had given in and gone to the doctor all of this could have been avoided!" So, sometimes I find myself cranky and sick and haggard at the doctor's office. (If I have showered and put on a bra it is a miracle - which is to say I usually go greasy and bra-less. It isn't pretty.) This is usually the first thing I say to Dr. Dumbass when he walks into the room: I hate going to the doctor. I know people come in for every little ache and sniffle and waste hours of your time with their whining/need for attention. I assure you that I do not do that and the only reason that I am here today is because I have been <insert whatever has been wrong> for <insert ridiculous length of time> and I am desperate.

Some highlights:

One time, I had a high fever and an excrutiatingly sore throat for about 3 weeks. If you have that for more than 3 days, you are supposed to go in. But with my attitude being how it is, I waited as long as humanly possible hoping it would get better. I finally dragged myself in, most likely collapsed on the paper bed-thing and croaked something about searing pain, I don't really remember on account of the fever. I do remember him asking me to take my shirt off so that he could cup my breast and then giving me a fifteen minute lecture about smoking. I also seem to recall asking what information he was able to gather from feeling me up and wouldn't a test for strep throat possibly be more productive. He told me about the wonders of apple cider vinegar and sent me on my way highly doubtful that apple cider vinegar would adequately fend off a streptococcal infection.   

One time, I fell down a flight of cement stairs leading to a basement in a house where I was dog-sitting. The dogs were hovering and barking around me, licking my face but not running off to get me help. Somehow I made it back upstairs to the couch where I stayed until the following morning, only getting up to hobble over to the door to let the dogs in and out. This one was bad. I went to a doctor the next day. I told him what happened and that I was afraid I may have broken my tailbone. He asked me bend over the paper bed-thing, slipped on a pair of gloves, and put two fingers up my bum.
"Ya, I'd guess probably broken."
"Alright that's fine, what next."
"Oh well there's nothing you can do, I guess you could buy one of those air donuts to sit on if you wanted, but I would say just try to take it easy for a bit."
So what did sticking your digits up my bum have anything to do with it?? If there is nothing you can do either way, then why not just say that, slap me on the ass, and send me on my way.   

My most current experience with GPs to diagnose my recent mystery illness was no better, probably even more frustrating because I had to go back so many times, explain myself repeatedly, go through numerous and ultimately useless tests, forcefully insist that my symptoms were not "normal" and that "waiting and seeing" was not a satisfactory solution. Of course I finally went to a female physician who brilliantly thought that maybe listening to a patient describe their symptoms could be helpful in treating them.

I waste my time (which is just as vaulable as theirs!) to pay $50 a pop for some condescending, arrogant, self-important, over-paid, pervert to give me the up-down while either ignoring me completely or flippantly brushing off my concerns and then sending me on my way.

And that's a little bit about why I hate GPs.

A Restricted Diet

Lately what has really been grinding my gears has been a ban on certain foods handed down to me by new doctor. I used to pity people who had to pain-stakingly guard their diet, and now I am one of them. I'm a pretty low-maintenance lady, never giving a whole lot of thought to food besides my fiber intake, and this new diet is proving to be a real hindrance.

What can I have for breakfast that doesn't include caffeine or dairy or eggs. McDonalds is out, Tim Hortons is out, those Boost shakes, waffles/pancakes, yogurt, milk and cereal. And a cup of fresh fruit just does not cut it. (Don't even say muffins or donuts cuz you know that is just a giant slice of cake in a different shape and I have a wedding gown to squeeze into.) I started out by spending a fortune on egg free/dairy free waffles that I ate with the fresh fruit, but that's just not enough fiber in the morning. Threw me off for days. I decided to go back to cereal and choke it down with vanilla soy beverage.

And lunch! What's a sandwich without mayo and some thick slices of cheddar? A pretty lame-ass sandwich.

Bye-bye sweet pizza, lasagna, double bacon cheeseburger (love hurts!), icecream, how can life be sunny side up without two sunny-side-ups smiling back at me next to the hashbrowns?

I will be eating much healthier now thanks to grilled salmon with a side of rice, soy, lots of fruit and veggies, and my body will have to find a different fuel to get me through the day now that caffeine is out so that's good too I guess.* My intestines will thank me for it. But I am still feeling really quite pouty over this whole thing.

(*Although I have promised sweet, sweet coffee that it will continue to be my secret lover - in back stairways and dimly lit rooms, no one has to know...)  

Back to the Grind

Alright I'm back. Took a little longer than expected. New post up soon!

~lethal lizzie

Haitus

Sorry folks, I know we all love a good rant. Unfortunately I have been, and am still, on a temporary haitus while I deal with actual real problems going on in my life, my usual bloggy "dramadies" will have to be put on the back burner. Will be back with more fury in the near future....

~Lethal Lizzie