In My Next Life

I’m thinking that in my next life, I’ll be some big important-type executive who can whore around to the pimping board members of a large corporation.  You know the type I’m speaking of.  Those who hire people like me for unrealistic amounts of money so they can have bragging rights to the newest and best top paid Hot Dog.

After I’m in charge of making sure every single bad decision that could possibly be made is actually made, then I can count on a massive bonus for absolutely nothing but seat time.  Even though the company has no money, I can legally expect my bonus or sue the company for twice what they owe me.

It won’t matter that other companies who struggle and finally go under lay off their employees, or ask them to take unpaid days off.  Or ask them to give up the retirement fund they gave to during their 25 or 30-year career.  Hell no.

None of that will matter because I will only be expected to sit in front of one of those inane congressional committees and forced to listen to each of them for a timed one or two minute period, followed by a hand-smacking for my dastardly deeds.

In fact, I can even play the martyr.

If I commit to giving back half of my mega bonus it will appear as if I’m remorseful, and attention will be averted back to the new President and his administration, because in the end, this will all be their fault.

Sure, I may have to decide to wait another year before buying that new Maserati.  And the spouse may have to forego  that solid gold toothbrush but, we can handle it.  Little Sheldon and Blade may have to wait until the masses purchase the latest model of the iPhone, but they’ll survive.

Besides, the American public is fickle.  They’ll be off on another tangent as soon as Limbaugh or Fox throws them another dog bone.

Fetch!

Super Tuesday Memeover

Comment Urge = Click on Post Title

So what is one to do on the day after Super Tuesday besides lay in bed in a post primary stupor, suffering from delayed talking head syndrome. Flipping back and forth between CNN and MSNBC, listening to all the convoluted statistics, and trying to process all the jargon was exhausting, if not completely annoying. Is there any rock those guys didn’t act like they were crawling out from under last night?

Jeez.

Thankfully, I’ve been sent a diversion. And since it’s genetically impossible for me to NOT blather myself to pointlessness at times I now present “Six Non-Important Things/Habits/Quirks About Myself,” courtesy of Ann, author of The Tombstone Chronicler and her very first meme! You do remember your first meme, right? Mine was about setting goals. And then there was this one…remember Sanjaya? And the one about layers…Jeez, and then there was one at the end of my American Idol snark session about blogging. In fact there were 14 more. Fourteen. Including the one that got the most comments I’ve ever had. Funny, though. It wasn’t a meme — it was about memes…and all the fanatic tagging that was swirling around Bloggsville last summer. Something about shameless swaggering and narcissistic swashbuckling?

So come on. Don’t all head for the door at the same time. You might hurt yourself.

Thing #1: I have recently learned that I simply cannot wait 12 weeks to have my hair done. I know. Quite the crisis. One wonders how I function. So I’ve been walking around like Pepe le Pew. Good thing I’m taller than most women I know so they can’t see this. But now that I think of it, what would they say? “Dood. What’s up with your color guy?” Sure. That sounds just about right.

Anatomy of a Hair Job
Continue reading “Super Tuesday Memeover”

Counting.

Ever feel like something is creeping up on you?  Ahhh…it’s Wednesday.

And for me, that means tomorrow is Friday. Thursday is my Friday. I shouldn’t look forward to it the way I do because it inevitably leaves me with the feeling that life is stuck in one of those giant revolving doors that move people in an out of large spaces.

So I remind myself to take a breath, slow my mind down, and appreciate the day.

There’s quite a bit to appreciate.

There isn’t 12 feet of snow on the ground.

I don’t have to scrape ice off my driveway or windshield.

I can wear a single layer to work instead of R-30 insulation.

Everything’s green.

Best Buy finally delivered a new television and the Geek Squad will be here in a couple of days to put it back on the wall.

And American Idol will keep us riveted to the television a few hours a week for a while.

What more could I ask for?

Okay, so it would be great if Hilary and Obama would stop bickering at one another.  And Mitt Romney would take over the hosting of Jeopardy! and give Alex Trebek a rest.

Then, life would be perfect.

Parts is Parts

What does it say about me when I can admit that I spent most of my morning at work putting labels and stickers on file folders in preparation for this next year of business and L.O.V.E.D. it?

CONTROL. The woman craves CONTROL. (insert wicked and crazed laughter here and clasp your hands near your chin, making sure to rub them as if applying lotion) It’s an office supply problem. You know. Paper, and pencils, envelopes and white out? I’ve always had an issue with office supplies, and I’ve learned there’s no cure.

But wait! There’s more.

I worked a whole extra 90 minutos loving it. I could see a real live finished product that had dimension. And I could carefully pick up all the brightly colored folders, and click them on the desktop to make sure they were PERFECTLY lined up. So. Cool.

About half way through my time, someone brought up New Year’s Resolutions, and I was surprised that I hadn’t even thought of making one. Of course, now, it’s still on my mind. But not so much that it has kept my drawers in a knot or anything. Now that would be quite the conundrum. Call this practiced avoidance.

Why do you need a resolution when you have a list. I made one last night before going to bed so I could hit the ground running when I got home from my J.O.B. Guess what was first on the list? Okay, so you’ll never guess, and although I’m a complete pro at Twenty Questions, I’ll cut to the chase…

…my friends at Best Buy. Or better said if you’ve watched the show on Monday nights, Chuck, which is beyond surprisingly good for television and no, I’ve never watched Boston Legal, or 30 Rock, or…Okay, you get it. Buy More. That’s what the store is called on Chuck. Best Buy is Buy More. Whatever.

Anyway, I called like a gracious and tolerant consumer who has been screwed and dragged over the coals by the capitalist machine that will be the bane of our existence before we know it ahem…has been so patient with an obvious communication problem.

I was less than thrilled when Josh answered the phone after I dealt with the cheerful machine and sitting on hold for 10 minutes. It wasn’t that Josh wasn’t thrilling. He’s been well trained. “Let me verify that the television we’re talking about is at (***) 555-DORK.” I told him that was correct and that there were most likely red flags and unhappy faces stamped around my phone number along with a few Jolly Rogers and a Fickle Finger of Fate for good measure. After a professional pause, he stated that they did not deal with red flags and unhappy faces (bwahahahahahaha!) and then he read me the notes the supervisor wrote on 12-14 after I spoke with her about what could be done.

Poor Josh read, “General Electronics (authorized posers) is having difficulty ordering parts.” I could only gasp delicately and ask him to tell me if that meant the parts to fix our T.V. still had not been ordered before I collected myself to breathe scorching flames through the receiver. He politely responded that,” because I’m not a supervisor, ma’am (wince), I may not be able to access all the information regarding what has transpired.”

So yes I spoke to yet another supervisor whose name I was provided without a request and isn’t that stellar customer service? But after she said hello, she asked to put me on hold so she could review the service notes. Uhhh…what service?

And when she couldn’t tell me whether parts had or hadn’t been ordered, I told her I would take the T.V. to the closest Buy More Sucker Store and stay there until they gave me a new T.V.

And guess what?

She said in her well-trained and pleasant customer type service voice, ” I can submit an authorization for you, if you’d like.”

Huh? “An authorization for what?” I asked.

“An authorization for a replacement T.V. which will take three to five business days.”

Go figure. So I told her I’d prefer the quickest way to ensure the T.V. was totally functional and wasn’t this a lot of horse shit from me.  She said she’d pursue both avenues and ain’t that special. I was smiling, however. And I did NOT raise my voice ONE time. But my eyebrows were very angry.

So next Wednesday, I’ll bring this up again. You will be soooooo over it, but it will be so special to find out whether I’ve been granted a brand spanking new T.V. or parts. And you know what they say about parts.

Parts is parts…OR…the sum of the parts is greater than the whole.

What’s that song that says something about being happy if you know it and clapping your hands?

Yah. Like that.

Now, on to the next thing on my list.

Once upon a time, the customer used to be right.

Ahhh…what a difference a day makes; it allows the nut inside to cool down a bit so stock can be taken of what matters.

Friday dawned as one should when there’s no work and no carpool duty. I got to enjoy my coffee instead of spilling it down the front of my shirt rushing around. I got to scan the newspaper and not learn anything I didn’t already know because I’d heard it on my car radio.

And then I got to drive my car down the hill to finally have it serviced. Finally. I picked up another coffee at a non-Starbucks joint and proceded to walk back up the hill to begin my day. I wasn’t too surprised to figure out that it is possible to walk up an incline that averages about 15 degrees holding a cup of coffee, occasionally taking a sip, and actually look stupid. No one would do that but me. What a dork. But I walked the distance in about 25 minutes and got my exercise in for the day.

And then all hell broke loose.

Since I was in a “take care of business” type of mood, I’d decided to check in with the authorized service provider we were told to use for our television which is just barely into its extended warranty. We’ve had it for exactly three years and purchased the extension through Best Buy where we bought the LG TV.

So let me back up here.

A bright red stripe about 1.5″ wide that extends from the top to the bottom of the left side of the screen appeared the day before Thanksgiving. Of course I got on the LG website to try and trouble shoot thinking that it may not be quite the big deal. I got out the owner’s manual, too, thinking I could learn something there.

Uh. No.

So the pleasant service guy showed up the Tuesday after Thanksgiving after I called AGAIN because they never called back after the first call. That should have been my warning.

The nice service man said that he’d check about whether parts and service OR a replacement television was in order. Honestly, I didn’t care. I just wanted to not have the red stripe on the screen. OR the pinkish, whitish, greyish conglomeration of tech-snow interference that conveniently did its thang while the service guy was here and thank you very much. For twenty minutes it snowed. Pink.

He said he’d call as soon as he got word on how to proceed. And he did, the very next day saying that parts were to be ordered. They’d come from the Right Coast, take about two weeks to get here, they’d come to collect the TV, install the parts, then keep it a couple of days to make sure everything was fine.

Totally groovy. I was feeling sooooooo efficient.

Just to convince you I’m calm, I waited two weeks and two WHOLE days before I called to check and see about the parts since the authorized people hadn’t called me.

The woman who answered the phone is now my mortal enemy. Her not really connected to this planet attitude and cavalier response about “the parts not being ordered yet” sent me completely through the roof. Her annoying, “Ma’am.” interrupting my request for her to repeat the offending information sealed the deal. She blamed the entire thing on Best Buy saying they didn’t have our information in the blah-blah-bla-dee-dah something or other. And she was, I think, a tad offended when I suggested to her that it was blatantly bad business practice to let something sit unresolved. She had no answer when I questioned her about just how long she’d wait before calling us to say that nothing had been done to service our TV after they’d told us it would be taken care of.

She didn’t like me. She really didn’t like me after 10 minutes of listening to me. But I’ll bet her dislike of me doesn’t approach my less than enthusiastic attitude about her prissy self.

So then I called Best Buy. Or should I say I punched in the number and several hundred others until I actually spoke to a human. I’ll spare you the details. But I did end up with a Manager who did tell me that the authorized people were having trouble getting the parts. Okay, so sure. That story was totally close to the crap the authorized chick on the phone told me. Liar. Great. So I asked the Manager when I might expect to get the parts. Sadly, she didn’t have that information. That maybe in 24-48 hours, I might be able to have that information. Mind you — 24-48 hours and two business days are not the same thing. It was Friday for goodness sakes. Puh-leeeeze.

So I called LG who told me that since everybody was pissing around, I should expect, demand, get a replacement TV. Okay, so the guy didn’t exactly say “pissing around,” but still. So I called Best Buy again, and after speaking with a few other people, got Kayla the Manager on the phone who sounded less than cheerful, in fact, quite resigned when she got on the line with,” Hello Kelly” and I told her what LG had told me. Like she really wanted to hear it.

And then I asked to speak to her Supervisor, Amber, who initiated our conversation with a verbal download of the day’s events so I’d know that she knew what she thought I’d expect her to know to be in the know. Yanno?

But all she could tell me is that it looked like the parts had been ordered.

And I told her that although we’ve purchased many, many things from Best Buy over the years, I was done. That had we purchased the TV from Fry’s, the service people would have taken it off the wall for us so that the MoH and I wouldn’t have had to do it. We are just not quite inclined to do those kinds of things. But we managed to pull the fist full of wires and cables far enough out of the wall to allow the TV to sit on the console below it and reattach it to its stand. Very. Scary. And Oh how I just can’t wait to put it back up there if the damn thing ever gets fixed.

Good thing we have muscles. Feh.

The TV ordeal took a couple of hours out of my Friday. But the good thing about it was that I got a lot of housework done while I was on hold which made it easier to put up the Christmas decorations later in the day.

I’m going to wait until the television is fixed (at the rate we’re going it should be sometime in February…) to write my letters commending the employees of Best Buy who know exactly how to say all the right things in the correct fashion. They’re so well trained. It’s too bad that the content of their comments is worthless. I’ll find a pithy way to extend that particular gem of information.

I’m thinking their goal would be to keep me in a state of suspended animation until the extended warranty time is up. Then they won’t have to do anything about the TV. After all, we already got raked over the coals because we purchased ours so long ago they only cost a fraction of what we paid — one quarter the amount we paid, actually.

So heed my warning if you’re headed out to purchase appliances or electronics this holiday season. Ask lots of questions about the warranties and extended warranties. If we hadn’t purchased the extended warranty, we’d be S.O.L. on our TV right now. LG said had it still been on warranty with them, they’ve have replaced it.

Of course we have a nice Sony in the bedroom that’s years older and has never had a single problem.

So happy shopping, guys!

What to do on a Friday. Or not.

Since I officially have a J.O.B. now, I get to brag that I get Fridays off. And since I only work four hours a day the other four weekdays, clearly I’m not taxed here. Actually, I knew that it would be just enough time to throw off my blogging responsibilities. So thanks for your patience as I figure it out. Some of you are gifted in that area and manage to work and blog quite effectively. Show-offs. Or is it that you use that company computer? Only on breaks, right?

So what to do with this Friday and the weekend?

Grousse a bit about DubYah and the ridiculous “bail out” of the home mortgage catastrophe.

  • How nice that yet again, people who KNOWINGLY got themselves into a mess they can’t get out of get to keep their mess, but have someone else pay for it. Can I get in line for that, please? How can anyone not know that they can’t afford something? No. Way. And the lenders and agents who instigated the whole thing to pad their own wallets and then bail when things began to get soft need to be thrown in the slammer. Losers. They threw Martha in the slammer for something miniscule in comparison, and since this mortgage business is affecting the economy, uh, I’m thinking they need to round the crooks up. The whole “bail out” is a scam, anyway. Sort of along the lines of “Tastes Great! Less Filling.” Tastes great!  Less filling! Serve it up anyway, George. You go right ahead. What. Ever.

B*tch about a hike in our medical insurance because I had another birthday; its high cost must not have been quite high enough.

  • Mind you, we’ve only had the insurance since this past spring. If Blue Cross would give up sending stoopid statements on high quality shiny paper printed in lots of purdy colors (that just confirm we’re getting hosed monthly because there are only zeros on the statement), they could probably save a zillion dollars. Then they wouldn’t have to charge me the extra money that is just going out the window because we don’t use it. You can’t exactly USE medical insurance with a deductible that rivals the national debt. Welcome to the land of opportunity. The place where you purchase medical insurance just to prevent the loss of a home in the event of a serious medical condition. Wait. I could maybe swing a deal with the banking and mortgage crooks, then not have to pay. Sure.

Clearly, others understand this is the land of opportunity and the home of the brave.

  • After you rip everyone off, enjoying their hard-earned cash and credit (sans taxes, of course), why not ask for leniency because you want to turn your life around after you’ve had all this fun? *Can I borrow your spoon so I can stick it in my throat and gag?* If the judge believes these two free-loading ass*oles, I have a terrific chunk of land in Paradise that is a veritable rain forest with unlimited water and city politicians who aren’t liars.

Lest this all depress you, we can look forward to the colors the fashion industry has in store for us all next Spring. Um. I can’t wait. Spring ‘08 Colors The MoH just may be interested in a nice trouser in Snorkel Blue and a shirt with French Cuffs in Spring Crocus. Wait. On second thought, maybe one of Buckler’s designer swim suits. The gold lame.


And last but not least — I saw this standing in the grocery line a couple of days ago.

  • A suggestion or two? Tubal Ligation. Condoms. Birth control pills. Strategically positioned stitches. Lobotomy.

But it’s Friday. So I’m going to spruce up my casita and get ready for the weekend. There’s holiday shopping to be done, a tree to be chosen and to decorate, and maybe…just maybe…another performance of yours truly on ustream.tv this Sunday. Don’t hold your breath for it, though.

My follow through sucks right now.

But we’re healthy, damnit.

Skip Bil-ary: I’m the man for the job.

It’s official. I’ve decided I have the qualifications to become a candidate for President of the U.S.A.

What do you think?


You Are 5: The Investigator


You’re independent – and a logical analytical thinker.
You love learning and ideas… and know things no one else does.Bored by small talk, you refuse to participate in boring conversations.
You are open minded. A visionary. You understand the world and may change it.At Your Best: You are sharp, inventive, and creative. You have the skills to lead the world.
At Your Worst: You are reclusive, weird, and a bit paranoid.

Your Fixation: Greed

Your Primary Fear: Being useless or incompetent

Your Primary Desire: Being competent and needed

Other Number 5’s: Bill Gates, John Lennon, Kurt Cobain, Bjork, and Stephen Hawking.

What Number Are You?

“Know things that no one else does…” Can you even imagine the number of things DubYah knows that we will never, ever know?  Scary.

“Refuse to participate in boring conversations…”  Like at press conferences with the media persistently ask why…or how… or when…and DubYah grins and blithely states that he said he wasn’t going to answer those questions.  Because he’s just not gonna do it.  He doesn’t have to.

“Have the skills to lead the world…”  Think about it — his daddy set things up ahead of time.  And then he just hired all of his daddy’s people.  And he made sure no one ever actually saw Cheney.  Ever.  And setting up the whole hanging chad thing was a good touch just to make sure.

“Being useless or incompetent…”  Who was it that said that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself?  Churchill?  Actually, it was Eleanor Roosevelt.  Okay, so be afraid.  Be very afraid.  Wait.  I already am. (See below)

“Reclusive, weird, and a bit paranoid…”