Blown Fuse

So helpful.

I have a pretty tough time keeping up with all the online passwords I use to pay bills online. So, I wasn't surprised when today I attempted to pay my Discover Card bill online and couldn't remember the password. It gets tough to remember if this is your standard password that you use for everything, or if it's the password with the numbers AND letters, or if it's the password with the numbers AND letters AND special characters.

Needless to say I surpassed the allowed number of log-in attempts and got frozen out. I really wanted to pay that bill this morning or else I'd forget and would be really pissed at myself when I'm paying late fees next month.

I called 1800-DISCOVER to make a payment by phone.

Computer Voice: "To use our free automatic pay by phone system, press one."

*presses 1*

Computer Voice: "Please wait while I transfer you to an account manager. This call may be recorded for quality assurance purposes."

Huh? I thought it was automatic?

Account Chick: "Can I have your name, birthdate, and mother's maiden name?"

*tells her*

Account Chick: "How can I help you today?"

Me: "I'd like to make a payment by phone."

Account Chick: "That will be a $10 charge."

I thought I heard the computer voice say "Free!!!!" I have to pay $10 to have a person do it? Why couldn't I just use the automated system?

Me: "Um, forget that. I have a few days to get it in. See, the problem was that I tried doing it online and I exceeded my maximum number of attempts for the day."

*waits for helpful solution*

Account Chick: "Do you normally pay online?"

Me: "Yep."

Account Chick: "Hmm, I thought I saw something on your account about that, but I was wrong. That was from a previous month."

Me: "......"

Account Chick: "Can I help you with anything else?"

Me: "No."

I then called the technical support number stated on the log-in screen where the guy asked the same exact questions and cleared the password.

I was waiting for the Account Chick to suggest I call the web support people to fix it if she wasn't going to or at least transfer me, but she didn't.

Thanks a lot, lady.

On the trail.

I've been working on my family tree for a couple of years now and haven't gotten very far. The interviews I've done with family members have made it abundantly clear that no one ever asked questions.

I [finally] have a mimeograph of my grandfather's "delayed certificate of birth registration" which confirms only what I've already known: his mother's name. Although I now know her year of birth and birthplace, I've been thrown off the trail by the fact that Maggie listed her husband's name as "Douglas."

Well, she should know what her husband's name was, right? Well on Grandpop's social security number application, he lists his father's name as "Fred." Fred Douglas.

So, who do I believe?

*shrugs*

I guess I'm going to have to drive out to Podunk to find a marriage record or some graves or something. No other [live] decendants on my maternal side really ever communicate much with other Maggie & Fred/Douglas decendants, and I'm sure there are a few. Maggie's nieces and nephews have all bit the dust recently and I'm sure their kids don't know shit, although if I'm really sneaky, I may be able to wrangle some photos out of them. I'm dying to know what Maggie looked like.

Field trip!

A Little Boobage Story

When I was 11 or so and still hadn't developed in my upper region, I ordered a "Solution" from in ad in the back of one of my teen magazines. It promised to make your ta-tas grow like you wouldn't believe.

I waited patiently for 6-8 weeks for what I thought would be a cream or gel to rub on nightly with a prayer.

It turned out to be a ten-page booklet with sketches of exercises. One exercise instructed the flat-chested reader to put their hands in prayer position and nestle them under their breast shelf right at the sternum. Push up and lift. Release. Repeat.

I thought that shit working...and then I figured out it was only puberty.

I want my money back.

You are like a fly. Your presense bothers me. Poof! Be gone.

Excuse my ignorance, but is it a part of Islamic culture for the men to give the women who walk into their convenience stores looks that say, "If you were in my country you'd be stoned"?

He didn't hate it.

While I fully expected Scott to have some unkind words about the paint color, he really didn't. I think that he was just so happy to be home that he didn't really give a shit. He claims that if he truly didn't like it he would have said so. I don't know about that, but he's commented that we need to paint the rest of the kitchen that color now, too. I was going to do white, but eh.

To refresh your memory, the kitchen was "I'll be a sunbeam" yellow before where it is now brown. Here's a picture taken in September of 2001 before we moved in (do note the overgrown camellia shrouding the window):

We still have a lot of work yet to go, but at least now there's one less thing to do.

I care enough to send the very best.

I mentioned some time ago that I can't go into a Hallmark store without wanting to bawl.

Well, I've just returned from my quarterly card junket and I have confirmed my own suspicion that I may be a sentimental fool.

Although I spent a lot of time thinking, "Best mom in the world? Surely they can't be talking about my mother," Mother's Day cards in general tend to be pretty sappy, so I found myself getting misty-eyed over the corniest lines. I rectified the situation by constantly rolling my eyes. I'm sure the people in the aisle with me were thinking, "Wow, that card must be really, really bad."

Since I spend an amount of money on cards that is larger on average than the distribution of other people in my age group, I get a lot of coupons from Hallmark. I had a $5 coupon, so I bought even more cards than I originally did in order to earn the $5 coupon in the first place. I'm fully expecting that by July I'll be hoarding cards like crazy old ladies do cats.

Oh, there's no price tag too large for sprinkling a little happiness via the USPS. *gags*

Burnout

In honor of Administrative Professionals' day, I took half a day off (under pretense that my mom is coming into town). I came home, watched Real Women Have Curves, (which I thought was merely "eh.") and now I'll do some laundry.

Perhaps I'll clean the toilet. Maybe I'll put away the dishes. I may go buy Mother's Day cards. Who knows, but the afternoon is mine. MINE, all MINE! *cackles maniacally*

So...hungry.

When I was a smoker my breakfast of choice would be a cup of strong coffee and a couple on non-mentholateds. I miss that. Fucking breakfast of CHAMPIONS.

I miss going outside on the deck and squatting down to find a comfortable balance where I could rest my cup on one knee and flick casually with the other hand.

Now I get up, get dressed, walk out the door, and go straight to the office. I do not pass go, nor do I collect that desperately-needed $200.

Yes, I am starving right now--how did you know?

I've tried light things like yogurt and fruit for breakfast. I've tried cereal. Most of the time my stomach will be growling an hour later in anticipation for lunch.

I guess this is a casual survey - what's a good [light] breakfast that will give me some energy but not have my stomach talking to people on the other end of the phone?

I can open that eye now.

Every work morning I get up and step in the shower with one eye still partially closed and I wait for the perfect surge of well-modulated warm water to wake me up.

I spend at least two minutes adjusting the cold water knob with my toes, turning my body this way and that to find an inch of dry skin to test the new temperature on.

When that perfect not-to-hot temperature is set I can proceed to shower.

A lukewarm shower would just ruin my day.

While you were out...

It's around 5:22 central time, so it's probably safe to spill the beans on my little secret.

I painted the kitchen.

And Scott doesn't know.

Since he's probably in an airport in Minnesota somewhere right now, I'm hoping he doesn't read this before he gets on the plane.

I painted it a grey-brown color. I think it looks great with all the white wainscoting, but we'll see what his reaction is when he walks through the door.

It might be a shock to him because it's all so messy with there being smudges on the ceiling and all, but I think overall he'll be pissed because I picked out a color without his guidance.

Moonlighting

Okay, so it really isn't moonlighting. I've been a elementary and middle grades math tutor in the Tutor.com Live Homework Help program for a little over two years. It's been a good source of "pin money" to help stretch those days between pay checks.

Now that the medical bills from my sugery are trickling in, I'd like to get them paid off without suffering any real losses from my standard of living. I refuse to give up beer to pay the anesthesiologist, lo siento.

The problem with doing anything online is that there are always problems with communication--people take things the wrong way.

Occasionally I'll get some asshole kid that will say "I want a boy tutor" or " Lick my nuts." Tutor.com insists that we be politically correct and customer-centric and not snap at these little demon spawn. We have to bring the sessions to educationally sound closes and warn the students accordingly that we're going to end the sessions or at least try to begin a tutoring session.

Some of the vicious things these kids say used to really bother me, like the one kid that told me I was all wrapped up in all the money they pay me. Bullshit. Let's just say that experienced tutors get paid about the same per hour as a first-year teacher. You can surmise that isn't much, although the abuse is intensified by the fact that you'll never meet any of these kids face-to-face, so they never get held accountable for their actions.

What I really need are some catchy one-liners to use on these verbally abusive that won't get me in trouble when my sessions get reviewed by the higher-ups. The standard tag line I normally use is "That sort of language is not allowed in the classroom. That is your first warning. If you make that sort of reference again, I will end the session."

I need something that will NOT get me in trouble, but will put these ill-mannered brats in their place.

"Can I see your I.D.?"

Here's why I didn't spill the beans on any details on my little outing on Friday night: there were none worth mentioning.

I went with my twin coworkers to a wine "martini" bar on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill, where apparently they're well known enough to not have to pay a cover charge, as well as anyone following them in.

I did get carded though, which while an inconveinence for someone carrying a purse that's built like a safe, is sort of a compliment. I was going to ask th bouncer if he thought people wearing wedding bands in Chapel Hill should automatically be considered over-21, but I kept my mouth shut.

I didn't have to pay for my own drinks because the boys simply walked behind the counter and got them themselves.

I only stayed for about an hour, long enough to make commentary on the "heiffers" (a.k.a. girls whose bodies don't work with the three inches of fabrc they're wearing), and to determine what the single twin finds desirable in a woman ("She should look like that," he said. "So, you want someone disposable?" I responded.")

I had my flip-flopped foot stepped on three times by people in heavy shoes.

I noticed I was wearing more clothing than any other "woman" in there.

At the particular parking garage I left my car in, they normally abandon ship at around 11 or midnight, so anyone left parking there should be able to drive out with no charge. When I drove in and the gate was down, I didn't take the ticket that popped out of the machine. I merely flicked it. (shut up).

An hour or so later when I was ready to leave and had no ticket, I had to screw up my courage and do something I never do: be nice and suggest that someone do something against the rules." Otherwise I'd end up paying for a whole day's worth of parking, which I would have done if push came to shove, but I only had $5 in cash on me.

To booth clerk while searching in dashboard: "Oh! I don't have a ticket but I came in an hour ago..."

It wasn't a lie.

The clerk shuffled some papers around and moments later quoted "$1.35."

Whew!

I went home and went to bed. I was under the covers by 12:30. I am so lame.

Holy busing, Batman!

I use Topix to keep up with all of the current events in my hometown (and there are SO many events that they have to jack news from surrounding counties to fill the weekly paper).

You know that you've really been away from home for a long time when you read something about one of the four public schools in the county being at a new location.

I need to go home.

*backstory - Chowan county has four schools. Period. There was one "county" elementary school and one in town. The county school got moved closer to town. The town school got moved closer to the country. I am SO pissed, but without you living there it's difficult to explain why.

So. Tired.

I had planned on going out tonight. Really, I did. I had planned with my coworkers to go to a wine bar in downtown Chapel Hill, and was told by the person suggesting the location that we would be going "late."

I had forgotten what "late" meant. When you're in college, "late" means you leave your house at 10 p.m.

When you grow up and work a 9 to 5 it means "out after dark."

Here it is, 10:35 and I'm still at home. My female coworker was asleep at 9:30 when I called her to confirm, so she's out. I'm sitting here with crusty contact lenses and drooping eyelids, myself. At this point I really don't want to go, and it's not really too late to back out, but I don't want to be seen as indecisive about this.

For Pete's sake, who am I kidding? I get up at a few ticks to 6 a.m. every morning and am fast asleep by 11:15. Of course I'm tired.

Oops, there's the phone. Gotta leave now

My new sippy cup.

So, I chose the vacuum bottle. Although I really liked the pedometer, I realized that it would only motivate me to be active. And we don't want that now do we?

And besides, all three of our travel mugs leak when hot liquids are poured into them and like hell if I was going to pay $12 for a new one.

When I earn another 250 blue points, I can earn things like a car vacuum and a "massager." OooooOoooOoh!

Under Foot

The cat chooses the strangest times to exhibit weird cat tendencies such as stalking.

For example: this evening as I was doing my yoga, Bodie decided that my feet are the perfect moving playthings.

Imagine me standing on one leg like a flamingo trying to hold a pose and having a cat nibble at my toes and ankles.

That took some serious chi, folks.

Ooh! Free!

I'm 10 points away from earning a Blue Cross Blue Shield Blue Points prize for frequent exercise.

Hmm...what to pick? I'm attracted to shiny things, so the themos may be an option, but then again, I am a tee-shirt whore.

"Blue Light Special on Support Garments - Aisle 2"

I need to join a gym.

While I'm genetically predisposed to have more thigh than boob, things are starting to jiggle and it makes me feel self-conscious. That, and I'm sure the lupron shots are running a downhill race against the yoga and pilates I do every couple of days. Hellllooooooo, Estrogen.

I'm sure that joining a gym will make me feel all the more self-conscious because there will be so many body-vain people in there that I would just feel less than.

I would have to get up and go reeeeeally early in the morning so that no one would see me. Or is that when everyone else goes?

Damn. I don't want to look hot in a bathing suit or anything, I just want my curves to be where they're supposed to.

Are any of you members of one of those franchise gyms? Are you getting your money's worth?

Oh, my.

Hold up - did NPR just do a story on International Stoner's Day (4/20)?

Too much, too much.

This should make for interesting conversation in the office today.

Sounds about right.

*shiested from Amanda.

GET AWAY FROM MY DESK!

What is it about the sound of a fax machine that makes peoples' ears perk up and feet get set in motion?

I swear, the fax machine in my office is like a hive. Every time it rings at least two people JUMP out of their seats to come read who it's for.

Mind you, I'm sitting right next to it and can easily deliver it to its intended recipient with no problem. If it's contract information that relates than both the recipient and our company, I'll quickly photocopy it for our achives, collate it, and drop it on your desk when I make my rounds to the Lou.

It doesn't even matter who it's for: "Ooh, a fax." *stares at fax*

Me: *reads area code on caller I.D.* "It's not for you."

Eager person: "But what is it?" *stands there stupidly and proceeds to read someone else's fax and then leaves it catacorner in the tray so that the rest of the pages eject funny.*

I don't know about you, but if I'm recieving a confidential fax, I expect you to read no further than the cover page, and not even that if my name is at the very top as it prints out. Go back to your desk, sit your ass down, and wait until I call your name.

That is all.

"NO! NO NO NO NO, NOT THERE!"

I'm exercising some real tolerance, y'all.

This damned cat is cute, and all, but she likes my door frames. She likes them so much that she wants to stretch against them and scratch them.

Fortunately for us her nails are clipped too short to do any damage.

Fortunately for her she has a super-tall scratching post to do her business on.

Unfortunately for her, if she doesn't get WISE to the scratching post, she'll be facing the wrath of my brand new $0.99 water gun.

Y'all better tell her something.

Saturday Memeishness

As jacked from LeeAnn. I owe myself a nice meme every now and again--it's like relishing that feeling you get from sticking Q-Tips into your ear canal.

1. What time did you get up this morning?

8:15 AM.

2. Diamonds or pearls?

Diamond pearls.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?

Holy shit on a popsicle stick, it's been a while. Umm...I think it was Collateral.

4. What is your favorite TV show?

Seeing as how I enjoy gore with a nice side of drama, probably "Dr. 90210."

5. What did you have for breakfast?

Coffee and cat hair.

6. What is your middle name?

It used to be René.

7. Favorite cuisine?

Greasy Southern slop.

8. What foods do you dislike?

Full-sized foods that come disguised as hor dourves.

9. What is your favorite ice cream flavor?

Today? Peach. My favorite favorite is a really good butter pecan. I think Maola makes a good one...or did anyway.

10. What is your favorite CD at the moment?

An Astrud Gilberto compilation.

11. What kind of car do you drive?

A blue-green 1997 Honda Accord.

12. Favorite sandwich?

Hard salami on white bread with lettuce, pickles, banana peppers,provalone, and a good sloshing of oil/vinegar.

13. What characteristic do you despise?

Cheap-assedness

14. Favorite item of clothing?

My stretchy jeans...seeings as how they're the only pair of jeans I have that fit right now.

15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?

I'd be content with Bermuda right now.

16. What color is your bathroom?

They're both white plus the color of whatever towels we're using this week.

17. Favorite brand of clothing?

Old Navy. I worked there long enough to know their sizing in and out, and as a Gap offspring I know their clothing is made in the same factories at the same time. That's why a lot of the shit looks alike--because it is.

18. Where would you retire to?

Ideally, if the neighborhood doesn't go to shit, where I'm living right now. I put down roots and don't like them disturbed.

19. Favorite time of the day?

That three minutes of comfort right after I've closed my eyes to go to sleep at night.

20. What was your most memorable birthday?

I think I was six. My grandma made me a cake and when I was going to go blow out the candles, some asshole did it for me.

21. Where were you born?

Manhattan.

22. Favorite sport to watch?

Rhythmic Gymnastics. I'm kidding. When I did cheer and had to be at the games, I think I preferred football because the boys worked so much harder, but now sports just bore me.

23. Who do you least expect to copy this meme?

Least? Shit. Um...probably Ms.Thing.

24. Person you expect to copy it first?

Bob. He'd make it funny.

25. What fabric detergent do you use?

I'll ditto LeeAnn's response: "On Sale Brand"

26. Are you a morning person or a night person?

I used to be a night person who'd stay up all night and go to bed at 4 or 5 a.m. Now that whole "working" thing reverses that scheme. Now I'm a "Mid-morning" person. I'm at my best right before I hit that wall.

27. What is your shoe size?

7 1/2 women's. 6 men's. You see, Sis and I got the "big foot in ratio to short height" gene from Pop.

28. Do you have any pets?

1 grey hairball.

29. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with your family & friends?

I cleaned the litterbox today.

30. What did you want to be when you were little?

A crotch doctor.

31. What are you doing today?

With what's left of the day I think I'll eat ice cream and buy beer.

My poor little schnookums.

I got up early today and took Bodie for a introductory vet appointment. Poor thing has an ear infection. Her paperwork when I got her from the shelter said that she had been treated for ear mites in her left ear, which is why I needed to take her to the vet to start with--to make sure they didn't come back.

Well, she doesn't have mites, but her ear canal is so imflamed that the doc couldn't get the scope in far enough to see whether her ear drum had a rip in it.

I have to administer oral antibiotics to her for a week and do a folllow-up visit on Tuesday afternoon to make sure she's responding well.

Oh well. Good news is that she's gained 10 ounces in the past 11 days.

*lick lick sneeze*

I think my cat is a person. I swear. I can tell that she's just itching to say "I'm only in the body until I get my human skin out of the dry cleaners."

Confession

I have a confession to make. When I was in Kindergarten I got in trouble for not following directions on the second or third day (in general it was highly probably that I would obey).

The teacher handed out a coloring page and a few crayons to each of us with the instructions that we shouldn't do anything until she said so--some freaky "Simon Says" shit or something. She would tell us which part of the picture to color when.

We colored a leaf. And then something else. And then the highly rational little devil that lives in my head said, "Fuck that bitch. You know how to color." And so I colored the sky blue...as did another little girl at my table who was copying me.

The teacher dashed over to our table and confiscated our pages and our crayons. I was so embarrassed. Here I was stuck in a class of kids who were still being taught to unzip their pants and I was being punished for not getting permission to color a damned sky. Tsk.

Anyhow, I don't know whether the excercise was about following directions or if it was about "this is what color this should be." Maybe a bit of both.

The point is I shouldn't have been in Kindergarten to start with. I was already reading on what was probably a second grade level by then, even if I couldn't recite those stupid-ass mnemonic devices they used to teach the alphabet. * I would have had to have started school in Virginia for them to have skipped me, but I don't think Grandma was going to drive me across the state line every morning to catch the bus.

I still can't color inside the lines to save my life. I call it needing a beer "being creative."

My masterpiece:

*I'm not that great at memorizing things. I have fantastic long-term memory, though. It's very hard for me to memorize a vocabulary list the night before a test, however two months later it'll all pop into my head as if it'd always been there. The same is true for the names of guys that I've dated and couldn't remember the names of.

"Oops, I did it again."

Today, I wore a pair of pants to work that are missing a button on the flap and that expose lower back (i.e "crack draft") when I sit. They also lack belt loops.

They're a pair of those pants that look great when you first put them on in the morning because they shrunk just a teensy bit after their last washing. They're black and made out of some kind of ultrasuede with a "T" pattern on them.

Twenty minutes into the day, however, they've stretched back to their ill-fitting true nature and I find myself stuffing my blazer between the seat and back of my swivel chair to prevent those fortunate enough to be in view of my back from seeing butt cheek.

I'm too old to be wearing Britney pants...but not old enough to be wearing a sweater around my waist all day. Instead I keep my coat on and hope that it's long enough in the back to cover any skin.

You see, I have a problem with black pants. I can't get rid of them. I have five or six pairs and only two fit well. I may be the only person you'll ever meet that wears more black during warm-weather months than when it's cold.

"No, I'm okay. I'll sleep in the closet."

Yesterday Scott informed me that he would soon be leaving on a week-long business trip.

...

Okay, crusty exterior aside, I'm basically chickenshit when it comes to things that go "bump" in the night. If some criminal has been stalking me and knows there should be two cars there instead of one, I'm in deep shit.

*sigh*

When I was a kid my bedroom window was right against the front porch. We lived out in the boonies, so we'd get all kinds of critters walking up and moving the plastic chairs around.

Scared the SHIT out of me every time. I always knew that I would wake up dead...that some axe murderer or hunter gone crazy would punch through the glass and reach a hand through to strangle me.

I slept very close to suffocation every night because I would bury my head under the pillows to muffle out the noises.

Well, I'm still chicken shit in terms of courage. I need a baseball bat to put under the bed.

I need to get this off my chest.

Okay. I have a bad habit of wearing my heart on my sleeve face. Although I may try to say kind words, my expression will read something else entirely.

So, if there was a delayed response between you revealing your new offspring to me and the smile on my face, it was because I was trying to find something nice to say.

Not all babies are cute.

There. I said it. Yes, I know I'm probably going to go to hell for that.

Yes, catblogging.

[To the tune of Phoebe Buffay's "Smelly Cat"]

Needy cat, needy cat.
Why are you following me?

Needy cat, needy cat.
Can't I go pee?

My cat is either seriously attention-starved or very needy. She won't play with toys, so I don't know what the hell she did all day when I was gone at work. She's only content when she's laying on you. Yes, that is cute, but is it necessary for her to begin her lengthy licking ritual while perched on my stomach?

Yesterday she was still groggy from the anestesia. Today she's meowing at me whenever I put her down. She followed me to my computer and is now staring at me pitifully as I type. If I look at her, she makes this pitiful sound of betrayal.

*sigh*

Now she's under the bed sneezing. She likes dust a lot.

Okay, cat people: when is she going to stop being so needy? She's unbelieveably cute, but I'd like to read a book or knit something.

Bodie

We'll get a photo with flash as soon as she gets over her scaredy-cattiness.

Kitty Wonton

And so the obsession begins.

I made a knitted kitty wonton, complete with a sprinkling of catnip.

In all, it took a couple of hours to make. I think maybe I'll make the eggroll, too.

Now Showing in Theatres Near You.

Rhododendron.

Last of the Autumn Leaves

I have such a good man. Look at him hard at work cleaning up leaves while I point and laugh at him through the front door.

Dirty Nails

We've had lots of yuck for weather this week, so all of the outdoor activities I meant to accomplish kind of got put on the backburner. I have a half-stripped piano out in the garage. Since the floor is still wet on one side in there, I don't feel like being bothered just yet.

I did, however, manage to get the rest of my summer-flowering bulbs planted. They'd been sitting in the garage waiting for a day where I had the energy and patience to finish. Since the ground was sort of soft from the torrential rains, they weren't much of a problem to put it. The only hurdle I ran into was a particuarly gnarly tree root that runs smack through a bed I'm trying to fill. *sigh*

Intuition tells me to get something sharp and to cut the mofo off. Common sense tells me that I'll wake up one morning with a tree on top of my car if I do.

I went to Home Depot this morning looking for bulb planter and one of those tree saws that come on a long stick to get those high branches. They had neither. They had loppers and post hole diggers, and that's it. My mistake was not buying the back and February when the had them in stock.

All they had were a bunch of gardening dilletantes clogging the aisles with baby strollers, buying tools that probably don't suit the job, and purchasing flats of perennials that their neighbors already have. I went in for something else, too, but immediately forgot what as soon as I walked through the door and saw all the warm-weather crazies.

The good news is that we now have 3 fewer leaves on the front lawn than we did this morning.

Nickeled and Dimed

Is anyone else considering jumping ship from Netflix? I've become complacent and don't really want to make a move, but I see several other services that allow the same amount of DVDs out for quite a bit less.

They need to catch up.

Jerkoffs. (Fuckers, Part II)

Okay, I didn't know whether I was going to cancel the aforementioned order and get a refund (which would take five days) or see if Scott wanted to get his birthday surprise 9 days late. Scott said he would wait, so I swallowed my angst.

Then, I finally received an e-mail from a customer service rep in response to my "Are you fucking serious!!!!????" question:

"Hi Tiffany, Unfortunately these items ship from the manufacturer to our warehouse and that is where that date comes from. As stated on our website these items usually ship out to you within 2-3 weeks, so the 4/25 date would be three weeks from the date your order was processed. This is a fairly broad window; however we do give our customers the latest possible date that the products should ship out. This item should be shipping to you by 4/25/05. I apologize for the inconvenience, and please let us know if there is anything else we can assist with."

So I was right. They don't have the shit in stock. They order it when you order it. That's kind of shady. Anyhow, all the same they're bald-face liars about that "As stated on our website" bullshit. I studied that damn site on that particular item to make sure it was immediately available to ship. During the ordering process when my confirmation popped up it said "Most orders will be shipped within 2 business days." That's it. Nothing about 2-3 weeks ANYWHERE, not even in the item specs.

I am sofuckingpissed.

I told her to cancel the order.

"Hi Tiffany, I have requested cancellation for you; unfortunately if this order has already left the manufacturer it will not be possible to cancel it. I should have a response tomorrow. I get into work at 2:00pm PST and will let you know then the status. Thank you."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Somebody tell me this crackwhore is joking...go ahead. I'll wait while you summon the will to lie.

...

I knew I should have been suspcious when I went to BizRate.com today and read of people complaining about the same thing today. A customer service rep has apparently been assigned the duty of monitoring the reviews and responding to them. Her cut and paste response was basically the same thing I stated above: "It states on our site that..." with a friendly request to "Call me if you need any help."

All that stated, I ordered this item from Lightingdirect.com. Please let me know if you see something that I don't. Maybe I'm just blind and crazy, but I know what I read.

Now I have to sit around and either wait for my money to be refunded, or not give Scott a birthday present.

A pox on them.

Fuckers.

I spent $90 for Scott's birthday present. I ordered it last Friday in plenty of time for it to arrive here before next Wednesday. Those motherfuckers just sent me an email stating that:

" This e-mail is to inform you that the following items of your order have been forwarded to our warehouse for processing. GK P2974

The estimated shipdate is Apr-25-2005."

(emphasis mine)

Are you fucking kidding me? Why in the holy hell would you say on your site that items ship in 2-3 business days if there's a strong possibility that you have to ORDER IT FROM THE DISTRIBUTOR FIRST AND HAVE IT DELIVERED FROM THE WAREHOUSE?

Fucking assholes. What am I going to do now? Call and request a refund, I guess. I'm not going to sit around and wait three weeks for delivery on what's probably a 10 pound item.

I see, what that really mean by "ship in 2-3 business days" is "charge your card immediately and then make you wait for a back-ordered item."

More.

Chad got it first, and I was pissed because my copy of I'm Just Here for the Food was getting lonely [all by itself wih 30 other cookbooks].

So, I had to go and get it. I haven't cracked it open yet...but it has that whole "new book smell" thing about it.

Would you care for some paranoia?

I just got my first Lupron injection. Seeing as how the little sheet of side effect warnings I got revealed very little information, of course now I'm paranoid that everything off-kilter in my body is being caused by it.

Shit, my heart is racing. Must be the Lupron.

For the next two weeks I'll be in the midst of an Estrogen "surge." This should be very, very, very, very amusing for my male coworkers. Too bad they're not chocolate bunnies, because I'm really looking forward to biting their heads off.

Jonquils are Up

I don't remember these from last spring....must have been dormant.

"I hope you like-a jammin', toooo."

What is it about Subway (the restaurant) that attracts the shadiest characters for employment?

I went to the semi-ghetto* Subway for lunch on my way home from work today. Rasta-man behind the counter looked like he was stoned out of his mind. I could tell that he wasn't all there because he was moving in slow-motion and it seemed like he was counting my banana peppers and pickles...and the looooooooooooonnnng squirt of oil/vinegar was a suspicious action.

There was Bob Marley playing on the speakers and Rasta-man was wearing a Rasta-red/black/green leather necklace.

I do so enjoy mingling with the common folk.

*located in the same shopping complex where the Wendy's had a shooting a couple of weeks back

Yep

At exactly 11 a.m., I bolted out the door from work and drove to the APS to see if the cat in cage G21 had been claimed. When I went into the room, I couldn't see her. She wasn't huddled in the corner like she was last time. So, I did what any other insane person would do: I started baby-talking the cage. A few seconds later a little mound under a towel began to move. One eye then the other found their way to the gap and when she saw there was an idiot there making funny noises, she pulled her head out and put the side of her face against the cage. Maybe she recognized the smell of my perfume.

I waited in a visiting room that reeked of bleach (Parvo disinfection) for about ten minutes before someone brought the cat out to meet me. She was timid, but once she had four feet on the ground she was fine. She bent into my hand as I rubbed her head and did general exploration of the room. I noticed that she felt very thin--I could feel her rib cage just beneath her fur.

Whenever someone walked a dog past the door, she tried to hide beneath the bench, but let me pick her up to hold her. She didn't claw me or try to bite me when I rubbed them like at least 7 of my mother's 8 cats of the past (ill-mannered little mongrels). She's such a sweet cat. I hope she doesn't become a diva when she gets a whole house to herself.

I paid the deposit and requested flea and tick treatment. As soon as they spay her we can go pick her up.

I fear that I'll become an obsessive Cat-Momma...I might even buy a cat condo. And a collar with rhinestones.

That darn cat.

Yesterday we went down to the Animal Protection Society with the intent of looking at some dogs. We got there and saw that they had a lot of Rottweilers. A lot. Sure, they may be cute when they're puppies, but when they get to be ginormous Death Star-sized beasts, they're not really my cup of tea. They had a few others breeds in there but they were already old enough to have developed bad habits. It's not their fault that they were abused and let out into the street, but I'm really not so magnanimous that I want to be their forever-owner.

On a whim, we decided to go into the cat rooms. There was one bastard long-hair that was hissing and trying to bite people through his cage. That was funny. There was another feral cat under a towel trying to claw his way out of the cage. That was funny as well.

There was one young blue-gray cat they'd named Abbie that was hiding under a towel. All we could see was a little patch of head poking out. I asked the volunteer what was wrong with her. Turned out to be nothing--she'd only been there two days and was still scared shitless. When she opened the door and began petting her we saw what was a very pretty cat who enjoyed being petted.

Damnit, I wanted that cat. Herein lies the problem: APS closes its doors at 2 p.m. on Saturdays, and stop letting people play with the animals after 1:30. It was 1:37. We spent so much time with those barking brutes in the kennels that we didn't get a chance to even hold the cat. I certainly wasn't going to put a deposit down on an animal I hadn't had a chance to play with, so we left feeling dejected.

They're closed today. I'm really afraid that when I go back in there tomorrow to get that cat it'll be gone. The more I think of it, the chance of that isn't really great seeing as how no one had taken it in the time we were there, and they haven't even posted the cat's picture on the website yet. I'm going to race down there during lunch tomorrow and put a deposit on that cat. They'll be seeing a grown woman cry if it's gone.

We know we're going to get a cat, so we went and bought everything we'd need to bring a cat home.

Wish me luck on this.

Adding a new bundle of joy to our family.

Don't get your panties in a knot. The Tiffany will not be spawning any time soon.

Scott and I have been debating getting a pet for some time now. Not just your run-of-the mill swimming/running-on-excercise-wheel sized pet, but something that can knock shit over in your house.

I was leaning towards getting a cat because they tend to have a presence in the house without demanding so much of your attention. You dump them a can of smelly stuff into a plate every few hours, scratch them behind they ears, and they leave you the fuck alone. They may occasionally do you the favor of dancing lively jigs on your head when you're late waking up in the monrings.

But then again, dogs can be pretty companionable (unless they're those small lap breeds that bite strangers and scare curious children). There's something quite endearing about the way a dog will put his head in your lap when you're visiting a friend just to let you know that you smell like you belong to another dog and I'm going to stay right here until you smell like me instead--ha ha. I just didn't want to have to purchase a rain slicker and galoshes to be able to walk a dog in this neighborhood when it rains.

I have here a completed adoption application for the county aniaml protection society.

We're going to go down there and look at some dogs and see what's cute and friendly. I preferrably want a very young dog that's already leash trained that won't eat my children when I have them.

...you'll know more when I do.

"I love you." That's my gift.

It's birthday season. Not mine, but just about everyone else's in my family. My mom and niece both had birthdays last month (cards). My grandma's birthday is on the 11th (card. flowers?). Scott's birthday is on the 13th (??????????). My aunt's birthday is on the 15th (definately a card). My sister's birthday is on the 30th (I might cut her a $7 check just for laughs).

I have a pretty breezy little gifting system going. It involves me checking the balance of my bank account and proceeding with great caution.

Most people know not to expect anything from me. I may be the only college grad in the family [excluding Scott], but I'm also the only one paying off student loan debt. I've also become used to not being the recipient of birthday gifts. All I ever want is a card that I can pull out years from now and reminince with.

Who started this whole birthday gifting thing, anyway? Surely it's a 20th century bastard.

Somebody save me....no, never mind.

I don't get out very much because I'm pretty damned anti-social, and I generally don't want to be bothered.

It takes a lot of convincing to get me off of my duff to do something outside the house.

Last night, for example, I knew with a high degree of certainty that I wouldn't be cooking dinner. So I realized that unless we would be satiated with Frosted Flakes for dinner, we'd have to go out.

I called Scott and told him as much.

Ten minutes later I sent him an email saying "never mind--don't feel like it."

Ten minutes later my stomach was growling and I called him to complain that I was hungry and "why aren't you here yet?"

Once I get where I'm going, it's usually not so bad. If someone can get me out of the house to go bowling or to Chuck E. Cheese, I'd be surprised if I didn't put up a fight...though I am in the mood for Skee-ball.

No I'm not.