Yes, I Ate It. No, I Don't Know Why.

Sometimes I do really stupid things. I know that seems very unlike me. From everything I've written here, I'm a solid decision-maker. But every now and then I just do things or eat things that are questionable.

For instance, when I lived in Seattle, I found myself at my neighborhood grocery store. Not knowing what I wanted to buy, I wandered around. While in the fancy cheese section, I noticed a small container in the middle of the sea of cheese. Now, it didn't say that it was a sample, but I felt like it surely must have been. To the best of my knowledge, the QFC never gave out samples, but maybe they changed that. Maybe they DO give out samples, and this MUST have been one. Why not? Since I wasn't positive about the actual purpose of this container, I looked around to make sure no one was watching me. Opened it up, and popped a piece of crunchy, black speckled cheese (and yes, the appearance SHOULD have been a red flag, not to mention the smell and texture). As I quickly evacuated the section and rushed down the cereal aisle, the true flavor of the rotten cheese came through. It was nothing short of terrible. I didn't know what to do, so I just swallowed it and suffered through the self-induced nausea. I'm still not sure what it was, and I'm also not sure if it was actually a sample. If it was a sample, it's one that was there for about a decade. Nasty.

Another time I was cat-sitting, and my friends left out quite a bit of food for me. It was just after the holidays, so there was plenty of homemade candy and whatnot. One day I was there, and my co-cat sitter left me a note urging me to try the chocolate covered toffee. Not one to pass up a good treat, I opened the bag and noticed that the toffee was covered in white fuzz. Suspicious, yet still willing, I sniffed it and put it in my mouth. Do I need to tell you that it was totally disgusting? I spit out what I could, but still wanted to believe that the white fuzz was just a special kind of powdered sugar. That taste didn't leave my mouth for hours. The next time I went to check on the cat, I noticed that the toffee was gone and my co-cat sitter left me a note telling me that she tossed it out because it was moldy. Yes, I am that gross.

And the first place trophy goes to.... One year I went to a New Year's Party, and I just didn't know what I wanted to drink. While looking over the bar I noticed a small bottle of cranberry juice, so I decided to mix some sort of concoction with it. The juice was brown, smelled bad, and tasted worse. I mixed my drink, which was awful, and drank it. It took me awhile because it tasted so bad. Thinking that I chose the wrong mix of alcohol and juice, I added more cranberry juice to my next drink. Still disgusting. Other people tried it and agreed. I still drank it. Later on, I moved to something else, and ended the party in the bathroom. The next day I spent on the couch and in the bathroom. That night, I had dinner with the party hosts, and they told me a little story. One of my fellow party-goers opened up the cranberry juice (after I mixed my drinks) and informed the party host that the cranberry juice was rancid. Furthermore, the party host revealed to me that he found the cranberry juice in the back of his refrigerator and didn't remember buying it, so he thought it may have been in there for 3 or more years. And I drank it.

Gross.

Heaven Needs to Lose an Angel

Well, friends, the Phonies saga continues.  Yesterday I received BOTH phones (the soon-to-be returned one and the new one from my new carrier, who will be referred to as "Heaven" henceforth).

Where to begin?  Let's see, both of the phones came to my door yesterday, and I started by calling Heaven to make sure the phone was activated and ask a couple of questions.  Things were going swimmingly.  My representative was really jazzed to talk to me.  He was "totally" able to help me with his "awesome" service.  We discussed his hopes and dreams of starting a film-related business.  Specifically, he wants to set up a store that sells used movies.  Now, I know what you're thinking...don't independent record stores already do that, and isn't the used DVD business what's been keeping them afloat for the past few years since CD sales are declining?  And if you want to buy used DVDs online, can't you just go through Amazon, Half.com, or any number of other websites?  Well, yes.  That's true, but his idea is "totally" innovative (mostly because he apparently lives in the middle of nowhere and only has access to Best Buy for DVDs...I'm just guessing here).  I chose not to burst his bubble.  He was just too darn nice and eager to help me.

He was my third EXCELLENT angel (which is how I will now refer to Heaven's little helpers/representatives).  All of my questions were getting answered.  He upgraded my service to my exact wishes.  I couldn't have asked for a better experience.  Then, I asked whether they had a discount program for employees of certain companies (because I recently learned from Phonies that my company DOES have discounts set up with wireless providers).  He was "totally" thrilled to help me.  Apparently, I DID qualify, but he was unable to sign me up.  So, he transferred me to someone else.

I honestly had such high hopes for this new angel, but it looks like 1 in 4 angels is the devil in disguise.  Here's how it all went down:

Me: Hi, I just opened up service with Heaven, and I was wondering if you have a discount for employees of -insert company name here-.
Bad Angel: Yes, we do.  Now where did you buy your phone?
Me: I got it from -insert 3rd party dealer here-.
BA: (pause) Bfff.  Uhh...Bfff. (Shouting in a very condescending tone.)  Why would you do that?
Me: Excuse me?
BA: Huh...You made a huge mistake there.  Why would you do that?  I would NEVER go to a 3rd party dealer.  I would NEVER direct anyone to a 3rd party dealer.  You just screwed yourself.
Me: I'm sorry.  What?
BA:  There's nothing I can do for you.  You can't get a discount.
Me: Umm...I'm a little confused here.  What are you talking about?
BA: You went to a 3rd party dealer which is the stupidest thing you could possibly do.  You can't do anything.  You basically gave up all of your rights and your access to anything good.  You should NEVER buy from anyone other than Heaven.  You really messed up.
Me: Yeah, still confused.  Why can't I get a discount?
BA: (Still yelling.  Still condescending.  Still sounding like a big, fat loser.) Because you went to a 3rd party dealer, which was a huge mistake.
Me: Okay.  I'm a little lost here.  Instead of reprimanding me for my apparently poor choices, could you just explain the process to me?
BA: Well there's nothing you can do.
Me: Right.  I got that.  Could you just run me through the process of how one might get a discount under normal circumstances?
BA: (Lets out an exasperated sigh.)  Okay.  So what you did was go to a 3rd party dealer which is something I would NEVER do.  I would NEVER direct anyone to a 3rd party dealer.
Me: Yeah.  I'm with you so far.  Can you move past that and answer my question?
BA: What you should have done, and I don't understand why you wouldn't have done this in the first place, is buy the phone from Heaven.
Me: Uh huh.  Still following.
BA: (Sighs again.) See.  Someone from your company makes a deal with Heaven, and we agree to it, and then the employees can get a discount.
Me: I understand that part, hence my talking to you in the first place.
BA: But because (and the yelling starts up again) you went to a 3rd party dealer, you lost your eligibility to get any of the promotional offers that we have.  You couldn't have avoided the activation fee (ed. which I did).  You could have taken advantage of our 1 year contract (ed. not that concerned).  You could have gotten whatever promotional rates we have (ed. which I did get a kick-ass plan that's better than any wireless plan I've ever had in the past).  But you can't get any of that.  You ruined your chances.
Me: Uh huh, yeah.  Still with you.  Why exactly?
BA: Because you are locked into a contract with that 3rd party dealer, and you can't change anything.  If you get the discount, then your service is taken out of their revenue stream, and they'll charge you $300 (ed. Actually, they'll charge me $250 if I try to do something fraudulent, but there was no sense in correcting this sweetheart of a man).  So now you can't get that 10% discount.
Me: (Thinking to self.)  10%?  That's it?  Phonies gave me 25%.  (Quickly calculating the savings on my calculator.)  Whatever.  The phone was free.  I'll forego the $7.50 discount.
BA: (Still yelling.) You should have gone to your company website and clicked on the Heaven link to handle the whole transaction (ed. By the way, there is no such thing on my company website).  You really messed up.  Why would you do that?  You should NEVER go to a 3rd party dealer.  NEVER.  You're going to be really sorry you did that.
Me: Honestly, I'm not that sorry.  I'm sorry that this news is so upsetting to you, though.
BA: There's nothing I can do for you.  You made a huge mistake.
Me: Okay.  Listen.  I've had the worst month of my life trying to deal with cell phone issues.  My last carrier, Phonies, treated me like a piece of shit.  I'm so excited to move over to Heaven, and everyone has been so nice and accomodating....
BA:  I understand that.  I'm sure you've been frustrated.  But you really messed up.
Me: Okay, stop.  I don't think you should take this tone with me.  I'm a new customer regardless of how I chose to purchase my phone and rate plan.  I understand that my hands are tied regarding this discount, but that doesn't really give you the right to be so rude to me.
BA: Well, ma'am.  There's nothing I can do.
Me: Yeah, I got that.  Could you answer another question for me?
BA: Ma'am, I can't answer any questions about your account.  You'll have to call customer service.
Me: Could you transfer me?  They transferred me over here.
BA: I can't do that.  I can just give you the number, and you'll have to call them yourself.
Me: Right.  Thanks.

So, what do you picture when you think of Bad Angel?  I picture a fat loser (not unlike the people that work for AT&T's DSL tech support) who was taunted in high school for being a geek and now takes his rage out on innocent customers that call for help, while hiding behind the anonymity of a phone line.

I really hope that conversation was actually recorded.  That dude needs to be taken down a notch or twelve.  Despite that unpleasant experience, I STILL prefer Heaven to Phonies.

In fact, after that call, I rang up Phonies for our daily chat.  This time I wanted to re-activate my pre-blackberry phone with my old number (that is dead to me for the next month and a half).  My representative didn't know what he was getting into with me.  I was totally prepared with all the serial numbers, and he was quite thrown.  We got it set up, and during that process, he felt it was a good time to ask me what was wrong with the old phone.  Again, he had no idea into what kind of murky waters he was treading.  I simply explained to him that I had trouble with two blackberries and was completely unsatisfied, so I had no choice but to return it.  And then he started in on a little sales pitch.  I immediately stopped him.  My mind is made up.  Luckily he didn't push the issue.

But, come on!  Shouldn't their screen start blinking with rage when I get on the phone?  I call them every day with a complaint...or request to get a revised bill that, for some unknown and asinine reason, is impossible for them to produce.  Shouldn't everyone in that company know by now that there's no saving this customer?  Honestly, I think I've travelled into "We're better off without her" territory.

Whatever.  Still waiting on the return label.  It better get here on Monday.  Time is not on my side, since Phonies is doing everything they can to suck up my 30 day grace period (including telling me everytime that I talk to them that my 30 days expired without even looking at my account).  Jerks.

It's a new day in Heaven though.  The phone actually works in my house.  That's a very exciting change.  Keep your fingers crossed that the blackberry setup is easy on Monday.

And that's the news.

My 200th Episode!

My page has been viewed 200 times.  I am so popular.  Don't look at anybody else's views.  I don't want anyone to upstage me right now.  200.  Wow.

So, tonight I went to the track (in the misty rain) and I ran UNDER a 10 minute mile.  Granted, I didn't run a straight mile, but if I did, I would have run about a 9:15 mile.  Hello?  That's so awesome for me.  I'm so sucky and slow, so this is something to celebrate.  How shall I celebrate, you ask? 

Well...I'm selling my wetsuit.  Yes, I finally found a buyer (and I finally was willing to accept a lower price than what I wanted).  My size small wetsuit (which is best suited for someone shorter and lighter than I have ever been in my adult life) will find a new home in just a matter of minutes.  I bet you're wondering how I got saddled with a wetsuit that was too small.  Well, let's just look at some of the other choices I've made.

How did I end up with 2 different (and equally expensive) blackberries from Phonies when I initially intended to just switch carriers and get a free one?

How did I end up buying a crappy, low-end bike off of some guy in the Sunset for full retail price?

How is it that in the midst of a leisurely Sunday stroll through my neighborhood, I ended up signing a lease on a new apartment and agreed to move in within 2 weeks before finding out the terms of my current lease and ended up paying rent on two places for a month?

How did I end up with a pair of men's size 9 Pumas that were non-returnable?

How is it that I spent one New Year's Eve drinking cocktails (that I mixed) made with rancid cranberry juice even though I noticed that the juice was a) brown, b) smelled bad, and c) tasted terrible....oh, and d) was informed the next day that the party host found the juice in the back of the refrigerator and thinks it may have been there for 3-4 years?

Why do I always do other people's Excel projects when it doesn't pertain to my job at all?

Why do I insist on not getting cable and keeping my 13" TV/VCR combo until it completely stops working?

So?  Do you know the answers?  Sucker, Sucker, Impetuous, Sucker/Cheap, Undiscriminating, Sucker, Cheap/Stubborn.

And where does the wetsuit purchase land among these answers?  Well, I'll have to add a new one.  Vanity/Sucker for Flattery.

I purchased my wetsuit on the night of the Apparel/Gear clinic which featured a 20% discount off of everything but wetsuits.  When it was time to try on wetsuits I knew that I fell in the middle of the Medium and Large sizing, so I asked which suit I should try.  The wetsuit rep suggested trying the Medium.  I put it on, and it seemed to fit.  He kept telling me that it needed to be tight.  Honestly, it felt pretty darn tight, then he told me to put my hand under the collar.  Upon doing this he said, go for the small.  So, I did.  And it fit.  And I felt so flattered by the fact that it actually fit (while completely disregarding the fact that neoprene is really stretchy) that I ended up buying it. 

Immediately upon getting home after a short 2 block walk, I knew I bought the wrong size.  I also knew that I couldn't return it.  So, I wore it to the first Bay swim the next Saturday.  As I walked on the beach, I noticed that my range of motion was severely limited (much like it is in my oddly restrictive jeans).  I went too small.  Convinced that I could somehow lose the 30 pounds it would take to truly fit into the wetsuit, I continued to wear it.  And then, I split the bottom.  A quick trip to the manufacturer and that was fixed.  Then, I split the bottom again.  Apparently the wetsuit wanted nothing to do with my behind.  Occasionally, other swimmers would aid me in zipping it up and comment on how difficult it was.  I didn't want to tell them it's because I'm too big for it, so I just said, "Yeah. Weird, huh?"  One of my friends, who is tiny, told me that even SHE doesn't fit into a small wetsuit.  How did I make this magic happen anyway?

The too small wetsuit did well even though I tortured it with my extra 30 pounds.  I sent it back to the manufacturer for another re-glue, and now...after sitting in my room for a year and a half, it has a new owner.  She's a tiny Asian girl.  Looking at her in the wetsuit, and seeing how tight it was on her, I really wondered how I ever managed to shove my fat ass into that thing.  Miracles DO happen every day.

Hopefully it will serve her well too.

And now I have to go buy another one that will actually fit me...and my blubber.  Keep you fingers crossed that I've learned from my past indiscretions and will make an appropriate, well-researched choice.

And While I'm on the Topic of Laundry...

Let's take a walk down memory lane, shall we?  Let me dazzle you with my tales of being a laundromat menace.

The first tale is a story of it's own that must be told at a later time.  It's called, "8 Quarters".  It's a story of revolution at the Suds on 8th laudromat in Brooklyn, NY.  Since I only have the time it takes to dry my clothes, you'll have to enjoy my San Francisco laundry stories.

Laundry Tale 1: How I flooded the laundromat

A couple years ago, I was doing my laundry, just minding my own business when tragedy struck.  You see, I was new to this laundromat since the one closer to my house closed and became a bank/gym.  So, it was only my second or third visit.  I dutifully placed my clothes int he washer, closed the door, dumped in my laundry detergent, and sunk a few quarters into the machine.  Everything was going swimmingly until I noticed soapy water leaking out of the washer.  That leak became a waterfall in no time, and I had no choice but to disturb the laundry lady.  She came out and was none too pleased with me.  Apparently I was negligent and a sock got stuck in the door.  Whoops.  I kept pacing around offering to help and apologizing, but she wanted none of it.  She put a bucket next to the machine and told me to go away.  So, I did.  I took that time to get some food down the street.  When I returned, the water was mopped up and my clothes were clean...and the laundry lady wasn't smiling.  In fact, she hasn't smiled at me since.

Laundry Tale 2: Clumsy

This story is best told in person because there is quite a bit of physical comedy involved, so we'll see how well it translates to the written word.  One day I was heading over to the laundromat with my grandma cart, and everything was going just fine.  Well, everything except that I was wearing my oddly restrictive jeans (from this point forth, they will be known as "ORJ").  I don't know what it is about ORJ, but they limit my range of motion for no reason in particular (and yes, they are the correct size).  So, I was walking down the street, pushing my cart ahead of me when I got to the intersection in front of the laundromat.  Being that it was 5 o'clock on a Tuesday, there was a wee bit of traffic on the street.  I started into the crosswalk feeling good about the world, when tragedy struck.  The front wheel of my cart got caught in a pothole or train track (I've never deteremined which) and started falling forward.  Unable to stop my momentum, I started falling with it in slow motion.  I swear it took 45 seconds for me to hit the ground.  Now, when I say hit the ground, I mean that the grandma cart hit the ground and I fell on top of it.  So, there I was, in the middle of the crosswalk, surrounded by cars, laying on top of my cart.  Being that I was wearing ORJ and was in an odd position, I was unable to just move my  leg forward and stand up.  No.  Instead, I had to roll off of the cart and tumble onto the street.  Then, I was able to stand up.  It's never embarrassing to land like a cockroach in the middle of the street.  Ever.

Laundry Tale 3: Sudsy Jazz Hands

A few months ago, I had to do my laundry before a trip.  In true form, I waited until the very last minute, so I got to the laundromat two hours before it closed.  Lucky for me, there was a TV.  Once I started my laundry, I decided to turn on the TV and watch it.  Everything was going just fine.  I got in some Top Model, and then the TV stopped working.  I had nothing to do but wait.  In my boredom, I started singing to myself and dancing.  I attempted the Charleston complete with jazz hands and pushed myself through the aisle in one of the laundry carts.  After doing this for a solid 15 minutes, I noticed that I was dancing directly in front of the security camera.  Horrified and embarrassed (since I am persona non grata at the laundromat), I immediiately stopped mid-dance.  Two minutes later I started up again.  It was already recorded, after all (assuming there's actually tape in there).

And those are my tales of being a laundry menace.  Now that I've written them, I think they are best told as a one-woman-show.  So, until I get that up and running, don't expect to read them again anytime soon.

The Neverending Story...

Guess what?  I still don't have a phone!  Yay!  It's really cramping my style.  I have to make full plans before leaving the house and trust that no one's running late.  It's totally awesome living like it's 1992.

So, the phone is somewhere.  I don't know where exactly, and no one seems to have any interest in helping me figure it out...or give me an ETA for that matter.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't freaking out a little, because I totally am.  What if it was sent to the wrong address?  I'm completely screwed if I don't get the phone back.  I need it.  I need it.  I need it.  I'm returning the stupid thing to Phonies, and I can't return an empty box.

I've also signed up with a new carrier, so the new phone is on its way as well.  Maybe I'll get that sooner than the other one.  Who knows!

Oh, and I worked out a deal with Phonies, so I don't have to pay the cancellation fee...but I do have wait a month and a half to move my current number to the new carrier.  So does everyone know what that means?  I'll tell you.  Don't call me.  More importantly, don't text me.  I basically have no minutes on the phone number, so don't mess with me just to be funny. I will serve you with a bill for any errant text messages.  I mean business.

Was that scary enough?

Good.  No texting.

I can't wait to see how this story unfolds tomorrow (or later today should the Phonies phone arrive....you know, like it was supposed to a few days ago.  Didn't IT Guy tell me he was sending it on Friday to arrive on Friday (which is impossible, but still you'd think I would have received it by now)).

And that's all.  I'm out.  I got nothing.  I'm boring today.  Or maybe I do have something, and I'm just holding back.  Whatever the case, I need to do my laundry.

Back on the Horse

I went on a 40 mile bike ride this morning. That's right, 40 whole miles. I didn't cry or anything! In fact, I chatted with other riders throughout the ride. Oh yeah, I'm nearly a pro now. That rainy day was just hazing. I survived, and now I'm really good. Okay, so I'm still really slow, but I didn't fall of the bike this time (even though I came dangerously close at the very end of the ride when I got to my car).

I did start to wonder how people manage to ride long distances on a bike seat without going totally numb "down there". My seat is "women specific" because the original saddle was horrendously awful, and I was afraid that I'd accidentally give myself that procedure that people learn about in Cultural Anthropology 101...you know, the one given to women in some tribal cultures in Africa. Do I really need to say it?

Regardless of the fact that my seat includes a c--- slit, it's still not like sitting around on my couch (which is almost always comfortable, unless I sit there too long and my skin grows into the fabric like on that episode of Nip/Tuck with Big Mama). I would go as far as saying that yesterday's self-improvement project of getting the hair RIPPED from my legs was less painful/uncomfortable than sitting on my bike seat for 3 hours. I suppose the reason for that is that my legs endured the pain for a total of 30 minutes, and the actual "pain" only lasts about 2 seconds per rip. But still, if you've ever had the hair ripped off of the front of your ankles, you know that the 2 seconds of pain is worth a whimper.

So how do people do this? Is this why girls don't ride bikes as avidly as boys? And what about the boys? They have special seats too, so there must be something to whine about.

Maybe Dr. Scholl's should make gel seats like their gel insoles. Then my naughty bits would be gellin' like Magellon, too.

My Favorite Blog

Just a quick tip.  My favorite blog is www.jennsylvania.com

Her blog also appears on her MySpace page.  I've read both of her books, and I love them.  Her next book comes out this spring, and I plan to meet her at her book signing in a couple months.  Yay!

She's my hero.

I just thought I'd give you some more options, should I not be an avid blogger on any given day.

 

Oh, and I'd also like to update everyone on the status of my Phonies Throwdown Training.  While I was driving over the bridge, I role-played that I was on the phone with Phonies trying to cancel my service.  I made all of my demands very clear.  There was quite a bit of screaming involved.  I'm going to be ready on Monday when I finally get out of this cult.  I'll be fully deprogrammed.  Mark my words!

Stay tuned...

My Blood's No Good

Today I had a plan.  I was going to donate blood.  I've never donated blood.  I've never had the desire to donate blood.  So why do it today?  Because I could get a free technical shirt for my generosity.  That's right.  I require some sort of compensation (other than cookies and juice) for the gift of my blood.  And a technical shirt is quite a prize, let me tell you.  It's no regular t-shirt.  It wicks.  I need this sort of thing in my wardrobe because I'm a runner, you know.  Runners wear technical shirts.  They don't wear the random promotional t-shirts (that were also free) that I like to sport on the track.  They're fancy.  And as soon as I gave blood, I was going to be part of the club.

I've been thinking about this blood donation for a week now.  I actually wanted to chicken out, but I stayed strong.  Last night I really wanted a beer or some wine, but I couldn't.  I did not drink because I was donating blood...because I wanted a free shirt valued at $26.

So, today I finished up my work and headed over to Oakland.  Even though I've been to College Ave MANY times, I still get lost trying to find it.  After wandering through the neighborhood, I finally spotted the blood drive, and I went into the sponsor store to inquire about my donation.  They directed me to the blood bus and reminded me to come back for me free shirt (like I'd forget, p-shaw!).

I knocked on the door, stepped into the bus, filled out my forms, and then it was time for the interview.  Everything was going smoothly.  I answered my questions very well.  The nurse asked me if I had ever donated blood, and I told her it was my first time (which seems surprising to these people).  She asked me if I donated blood with another program.  Nope.  She asked me if I donated blood several years ago.  Nope.  To convince her that it really was my first time EVER, I informed her that I'm not exactly giving when it comes to my blood.  She laughed.  The interview continued.  There was a sketchy moment when we got to the deferred medications because I HAD taken something on the list when I was 15, and I actually voiced that that was 17 years ago and suddenly felt very old. 

We continued...and then she got to the part where I've travelled outside of the US in the last 3 years...specifically to China last August.  She looked through a couple binders and told me that today was not my day.  Apparently, I'm a malaria risk.  I didn't even tell her about the mystery bug bite that turned into a nasty black bruise and created a terribly itchy rash all over my leg.  How could I be a malaria risk?  Just because I was there in the rainy season when it was 100 degrees outside and felt like you wading through a pool of water just to walk a few feet.  Come on!

Okay, so honestly, I was a little relieved.  She told me that I'll be eligible again next September.  Too bad I won't be eligible for that free shirt--or will I?

Feeling a bit mischievous (and perhaps a little entitled even though I didn't live up to my end of the bargain--by no fault of my own...well, sort of), I went back to the store and plotted my plan to walk away with a free shirt.  My initial plan was to walk in, have the salesperson spot me, and graciously accept her offer for the shirt without explaining anything.  Unfortunately for me, the people that were rejected right before me were in there explaining their tale of disappointment.  Since they saw me in there, they knew I was a reject too.  Plan A was out the window.  My next plan was to just hang around, try on shoes, and somehow get a free shirt.  Since one of the salespeople was giving blood, they were short-staffed.  I wandered around until someone asked me if I needed help.  I told her I needed shoes (which is true.  I think if I run in my old shoes one more time my toes will turn black and fall off and both of my ankles will spontaneously break.), and she appeared very worried.  Apparently, she needed to leave and was holding down the fort until her coworker came back from the blood drive.  She apologized for my wait and somehow the fact that I tried to give blood came up.  I don't know how.  It was just the natural course of the conversation...or was it my plan?  She asked me if I got a coupon for a shirt, and I said no.  So, she handed me one and told me to keep it a secret.  SUCCESS!

Of course, now I really did have to stick around and buy a new pair of shoes.  The blood donor came in, and I felt pretty guilty about my evil plan to walk away with a free shirt as my parting gift for not actually doing anything.  We zipped through the shoe purchase process (which was pretty amazing.  Last time I bought running shoes from them, it took 4 visits before I was satisfied).  She asked me if I needed to buy anything else.  I told her I probably did, but not today.  She apologized for the long wait (which made me feel bad again since I was only hanging around for a free shirt). 

Once I selected my snazzy new running shoes (that happened to be on sale), I went to the register.  My generous salesperson told me that if I donated blood I could get a shirt.  Knowing that I couldn't just give her the coupon, I explained that I actually came there with the express purpose of donating blood, but that I was denied.  She then told me that she'd let me have a shirt anyway.  So, I walked out with a new pair of shoes AND a new shirt....and a coupon for another one.

We'll see how evil I am later this weekend.

For The Record...

I'm totally fed up.  After Howard blabbed my secret password to the world, I went to Phonies website to change it, and I discovered that my bill was...exorbitant!  Upon looking at the actual charges, I discovered that not only did they over-charge me for the phone, they also charged me for all the "freebies" they promised.

Outraged, I called their customer service line (for the second time in a day), took my rage out on the voice-activated operator and sat on the phone with four different people trying to get it sorted.  The first girl was nice enough, but she told me that she wasn't going to be able to give me the price that I was promised because she talked to her supervisor.  I then told her I wanted to talk to her supervisor.  That woman immediately tried to "de-escalate" the situation, which only irritated me more.  I know what they're doing when they act as though they understand and are sincerely sorry.  She still wasn't going to honor the price I was quoted when I purchased the phone and insisted that she didn't think I was lying (as I may have announced to her that I am NOT a liar).  That conversation ended when I told her I wanted to return the phone and cancel the service.

While on hold, I started to panic a little because my phone isn't with me.  IT guy has it tucked away in his desk drawer.  I hadn't planned beyond this moment, so I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to do.  Part of me wanted to chicken out, but the other part just wanted to say "F- it!"

Then, smooth-talking Tyrell got on the phone.  I told him I wanted to send back my phone, and he took my account information.  Then, he said, "While I wait for this to load up, I just want to take this time to say Happy Valentine's Day."  I laughed.  Who wouldn't? It was funny.  I also held back on making some smart-ass remark about living in the sewer and only coming to the surface under cover of darkness.  I didn't want to give him any material to woo me.  I was on a gd mission.  Our love affair was brief.  Once my account was up on his computer, I went through my spiel, and he connected me to someone else.

A fast talking spitfire from New Jersey was now on the line.  She asked me what was wrong, and all I could do was laugh.  Seriously?  They don't know by now?  I told her my beef.  She attempted to relate to me and tried to calm me down.  She gave me the price I wanted on the phone (But I'm still not convinced.  They won't give me a revised bill, so I can see that all the erroneous charges were cancelled.  Also, the amount doesn't add up to what I think it should be).  She related to me on the blackberry connectivity woes, and attempted to give me advice on what to do.  Much like Howard, she seemed to think my IT guy didn't know what he was doing.  Little do they know that IT Guy's ONLY job is to set up blackberry service.  He does this 5 days a week for a multi-national corporation.  I think he has it under control.

Since I didn't have the blackberry in hand, I decided to let the cancellation drop (for now), and started nitpicking on the bill.  Fast-talker and I sparred for awhile to the point that I asked her if we suddenly found ourselves in a marriage.  We were arguing like an old married couple.  Oh, we laughed.  Finally, I got her to see my point of view...and then my f-ing work phone went silent (It's an IP phone, so every now and then it just stops working for no reason in particular.  I've noticed that it goes silent every day in the 3 o'clock hour).  Needless to say, she hung up.

I was PISSED.  PISSED!

Knowing that there was nothing I could do (and that I was totally phone-less at this point), I left the house and told my story of woe to my most avid readers.  And now I'm writing it (in much shorter detail).

IT Guy said he was sending back the blackberry today, so I'd get it today.  But, I think I'll get it on Monday (unless he opted for Saturday delivery).  Come Monday, I'm raising all hell with Phonies.  I'm getting out of the contract.  I'm not married to these bastards.  Ten years, schmen years.  Who f-ing cares!

I'm not backing down.  I've been coached.  No backing down!  I'm not a satisfied customer.  I want out, and I'm not paying their bogus cancellation fee.  I've paid them enough coin in my time.

Blech.

Techie Troubles

This nightmare is NEVER GOING TO END.  EVER!

My phone is on holiday in the city that doesn't sleep.  It's having a great time!  I'm starting to feel a little lonely without it.  Kind of.  On the one hand, I don't really care, but on the other hand...well, I still don't really care.  It's just strange being without a phone.  Nobody calls me, so it's not as though I'm missing out on anything really.

Anyway, let me tell you about today's chapter in the Blackberry that Won't Cooperate.

IT Guy called me today, and told me we needed to call Phonies customer service.  Luckily I just learned how to conference people two days ago, so I was on it!  The short story is that we were on the phone with Phonies for a half an hour and still didn't get a resolution.  The true point (and the funny part) of the story is that the Phonies customer service guy was an oddball.

I dialed Phonies and worked my way through the computer answering system, then we were put on hold for 15 minutes.  After jamming out to the smooth jazz that Phonies offers its holding customers, my guy, Howard (honestly, I don't remember his name, so we'll just go with this), answered the phone.  I didn't immediately tell him that IT guy was on the phone as well, mostly because he didn't give me a chance.  He discovered it when IT guy and I started chatting about something.  Howard interrupted us and told me that maybe I should call back once I have it figured it out.  Knowing that was a bad idea, I said no.  Here's how it all went down.

Howard: (semi-whispering) Okay, you may want to call me back or mute IT Guy because I need your password.
IT: I'll walk away from the phone.
H: Is this okay with you?
Me: (knowing that I can change my password easily enough) Yeah, that's fine.
H: (still whispering) Whenever you're ready
Me: 123456
H: (in his normal voice) Okay, that's 123456. (Inputting information.) 1-2-3-4-5-6.  Sounds like a birthday.  Is that a birthday?
Me: Uhhhh...
H: Is that your mother's birthday?
Me: No
H: Whose birthday is it?
Me: Uhhh...
H: Wow...it's yours.  Are you 50?
Me: It's not my birthday.
H: I know, I'm kidding.

Okay....what the hell?  At first, Howard seemed very concerned about my privacy.  He was so concerned that he whispered his concerns to me while on a speaker phone.  Then, he proceeds to loudly repeat my secret password TWICE.  But did he stop there?  No!  He then started quizzing me on what the number represents.

What an idiot!

I'm totally changing my password now.  It wasn't that good to begin with (and, for the record, it isn't my mom's or my birthday).

That's just one more thing to check on today.  The other thing is making sure that the thief who stole my doctor's cashbox doesn't start using my Healthcare credit card number for their doctor visits (which seems unlikely, but still!).

Stupid Phonies.

At the end of the phone call, Howard started talking shop with IT Guy (who totally wasn't having it).  He slowly ended the call, then hung around for a bit.  Thinking he was hanging up, IT Guy and I started chatting, then Howard jumped in and said, "Guys, I'm going to have to get off of this call now.  I can't chat anymore."  He hung up, then IT Guy said, "What was up with that guy?"

My thoughts exactly.

Again.  Stupid Phonies.

Banner Day!

Consider yourselves lucky!  The muse just gave me a solid kick in the behind--THREE blog posts in ONE day!  Speaking of my behind, I was walking down the street, checking out my reflection in the windows (which is something I do regularly because I'm obsessed with my own image even though I'm usually dissatisfied with what I see), and I noticed that my ass is looking A-OK today.  I attribute this newly found "nice ass" to the whopping 3 days I worked out this month.  Maybe there is something to not-so-regular-but-well-intentioned exercise.  Now, I know that writing this is just asking for trouble, and I promise you that I will not turn into my former roommate.  I will not take hundreds of pictures of my own backside and hang them up around the house as "art", nor will I make a plaster cast of my posterior (along with 30 other people's derrieres) that will be used to make silicone butt blobs that I will stack or hang around different art galleries (or my living room).  I also will not use a Christmas card holder/wall decoration as a year-round condom dispenser next to my couch.  I just wanted to note that I think I may be doing my body a little good.  If only my middle would whittle a little, I'd be in business.

What won't help me do my body good is my insistence on visiting the bakery.  Yesterday I really wanted a "most-est" cupcake from my local bakery.  This little piece of heaven is modeled after a hostess cupcake, except it's gourmet and stuff:  yummy chocolate cake, Bavarian cream filling, topped with chocolate ganache--and for Valentine's, they are covered in sprinkles around the edges with a tasty cherry-flavored candy heart in the middle.  YUM!

I ran out of time yesterday, so I decided that today was the day.  I marched over to the bakery only to discover a line that stretched outside the door!  This is unheard of!  Rather than take this as a sign that I had no business in there, I found my place in line and patiently awaited my turn.  As I stood there, a couple came up to the bakery.  The woman was in her mid-40's wearing a hideous furry sweater, enormous rose-tinted glasses, with her hair in a pony tail (not unlike mine), and the man was non-descript.  I couldn't decipher their exact relationship, but I think they were co-workers of some sort.  As she walked up, I could tell she was annoying.  Here's how it all went down.

Annoying Lady: This is the place.  Here's where we want to be. (She attempts to walk inside the bakery despite the fact that there is an obvious line reaching outside the door.)  Where do you stand?  Do you think this is a line? (She and her companion then line up behind me.)  Will this work?  This is the place.  I bet they're fast.  They must be fast.  Do you think they're fast?  Wow.  They must be good.  I wonder why all of these people are here.  Do you know why so many people are here?  Why would all these people be here?  Is it that good?  What do they have in there?  Is this place good?  Why is there a line?  Why are all these people here?  I bet it's good.
Me: Valentine's Day is tomorrow.  That's why there's a line.
AL: (Looking baffled and somewhat unconvinced) Oh.  What's good here?
Me: Everything.  I like the cupcakes, the cheesecake, the tortes, and some of the cookies.
Friendly Fellow in Front of Me: It's true.  Everything's good.  However, there is one thing that's not all that great.  The more standard cookies tend to be too dense.
Me: Yeah.  I don't like their sugar cookies, but those Quake cookies are my favorite.  (For the record, the quake cookies are chewy chocolate hazelnut cookies covered in powdered sugar that used to be a bargain at 85 cents, but now cost $1.15)
FF: Have you tried their newest thing?  They have something called a Love Bun.  It's so delicious--croissant-like bread with pastry filling.
AL: (Turning to her grumpy companion) I just heard they have something called a Love Bun.  I'm going to get that.  My decision is made.  I'm getting a love bun.  What else do they have in there?
Grumpy Companion: This is gonna take too long.  I need to eat something.
AL: Well there are all these people here.  It must be good.  People wouldn't come here if it wasn't good.  I'm sure we can get something for you.
GC: Well, I'm hungry now.
AL: I'm getting a Love Bun.  Doesn't that sound good.  I think it'll be great.

(We finally make it into the shop, and AL starts bobbing around people trying to find what she wants, chattering about nothing in particular.)

AL: (To GC) It looks like they have Tuna Salad and Egg Salad sandwiches.  I wonder why they don't have more sandwiches.
Me: (Thinking to myself) Because it's 4 o'clock, you dumbass.  Lunch is far from over.  They close in three hours.
AL: I can't see everything.  I wonder what they have.  I want a Love Bun.  Oh no.  The Love Buns are gone.  I bet those guys took the last one. (For the record, FF and his friend did not take the last Love Bun.  The bakery didn't have any today.)  What are you going to get?
GC: I guess I'm getting a tuna salad.  That's all they have here.
AL: I wonder why they don't have more sandwiches.  Doesn't it seem strange?  Why would they just make tuna and egg salad. (Obviously she didn't notice the 5 other signs for sandwiches that WERE there before they were sold to lunch customers prior to 4pm.)

(After waiting for the millions of bakery-goers to get their sweets, I ordered my cupcake and was almost on my way.)

AL: Do you have any Love Buns?  I want a Love Bun. I heard their good.  So do you have any?
Bakery Dude: (confused) No.  Not today.
AL: Are you sold out?  Did that guy get the last one?
BD: We don't have any.
AL: Oh.  What's good?

(And that's when I left.)

- scene -

I NEVER want to be in a line with that woman again.  Should she become a regular at my local bakery, it may be the deterrent I need to NOT go there (and, quite honestly, I don't go there THAT much).  So annoying!

After that excursion, I stopped by my favorite coffee shop (since there are 3 to choose from on my street).  All I wanted was a large mango iced tea, and it took ten thousand years to get it.  Why?  Because a couple that was older than dirt was ahead of me.  Old people are slow.  One day I'll be a slow, old person (with no cats, but with a few too many quirks to go out into public on a regular basis), but until that day, I'll be the speedy young nipper who stands there slightly annoyed at the oldsters because she just wants her iced tea in less than 15 minutes.  And then, as I'm thinking about how silly it is for me to be annoyed, I'll start thinking about my grandparents and how I used to think they were unbelievably slow (and got slower as they got older).  Then, I'll start to feel bad about the way I acted like a spoiled brat (because I was 20 and full of piss and vinegar for no reason in particular) the last time I saw my grandma and wish that I could apologize for my behavior (since I didn't know it would be the last time I'd ever see her) and tell her I how much I love her and wish that I knew her recipe for chicken and dumplings that she created just for me.  But I guess that's just the cross I have to bear.

Anyway...I did get my iced tea, and I did eat the cupcake.  Both were divine, and now I'm good on the most-est cupcake for another year or so (I don't want to overdo it and make it less than a treat, ya know...besides, I gotta work on improving my reflection).

Is That Creepy? A Poll.

As you know, my cell phone is on a fabulous 3-day vacation to exciting NEW YORK CITY!  I don't know what kind of plans it made for its whirlwind adventure, but I'm sure it will take in a Broadway show and enjoy the nightlife that Manhattan has to offer.  My blackberry likes to get down if you know what I mean.

As you may or may not know, I like to bake (cookies in case you thought I was referring to a lifestyle choice other than that of "crazy cat lady" (sans cats) which may soon be a reality for me--and speaking of cats, I've been sneezing all day long and discovered it's because I'm wearing a hoodie with cat hair on it...argh!).  I also like to win people over with sweets.  So, it seemed only natural that I might make a batch of cookies to thank IT guy for dealing with pesky little ol' me.  Unfortunately, I didn't have enough time to bake (and the mood didn't really strike me), so I ended up buying some candy for a dollar (do I need to make a crack about being a cheapskate?  No?  That obvious, huh?).

Since tomorrow is Valentine's Day (and my phone will arrive at IT guy's desk tomorrow as well), I went with a box of chocolates with a silly picture of daffy duck and the space alien from Looney Tunes (okay fine, you dragged it out of me...it was a heart-shaped box).  And that led me to wonder, is that creepy?

I did write a note telling him that I sent the candy as a little thank you (and left out the bit that it was also incentive for him to help me out because I figured that was implied).  On the whole, I don't think sending treats is creepy (though maybe I've been fooling myself all these years), but the fact that it is Valentine's candy on Valentine's Day makes me wonder.

So, I'm putting it out there.  Creepy?  Yes?  No?

1-800-MNKY-LUV Is Closed For Business

This is a public service announcement to let everyone know that my cell phone is in a box on its way to New York.  For that reason, I ask that you not call me until further notice.  If you try to call me, you'll just end up talking to my IT guy, and I don't think any of us want that.  Also, don't call 1-800-MNKY-LUV.  I just made that up,  If you do so, it's at your own risk.  Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if it was a creepy phone sex number.  Your call might be similar to the one I made several years ago when someone (read: me) typed up a form and switched two of the numbers on the listing for customer service.  And, well, one day I needed some customer service (from the very company for whom I work, which is NOT, to the best of my knowledge, a phone sex hotline), so I dialed it and was shocked and horrified to be greeted by some sultry, yet still unattractive-sounding woman explaining the rates for her luscious services.  Horrified, I called my boss and had her try the number.  That's when I discovered that *I* was the one that mistyped the number, and I quickly let the matter drop...and revised the form.

So the blackberry is STILL the bane of my existence (apropos of nothing, if you misspell "bane", "bain", you are making some reference to bathing--thank you dictionary.com).  I can't get the stupid thing to work.  Today, I talked to Phonies, and they had me take my SIM card out (which made me sad, even though I don't really know its purpose beyond enabling me to use the phone overseas which I may never do...but I COULD), and it still didn't work.  I then wandered down to a neighborhood with better reception and ate a hamburger (that, at first, seemed small until I realized it was the size a hamburger SHOULD be) while attempting to connect to my company server.  After two attempts IT guy told me to send it to him.  Feeling I had no good argument against it, I relented.  If he can't get it to work, I'm sending everything back to Phonies (and I mean everything.  I've got some spring cleaning to do (which I did start the other day, and, for the record, my house sparkles), so they may end up with a couple boxes of rubber bands that are just taking up space next to the bag of receipts I need to shred).

Oh, and speaking of Phonies, I'm terrified of my bill.  I have no idea what it's going to say.  I'm not made out of money, people.  If I don't watch it, I'll start having night terrors about getting a million dollar cell phone bill that will replace the odd dreams I've been having about living in a mansion without access to the outside world (hmmm...I actually think I know where that dream originates...yikes.  I gotta get out more...and a working blackberry will only help that situation).

So, to sum up.  Don't call or text me, and if you do...don't do anything that I'll regret.

Signed,

MNKY-LUV 1

SEVEN?!

*I wrote a beautiful story of love and loss, but it got lost in the internet vacuum yesterday morning.  After spending my day mourning the loss of my masterpiece, I'm back to see if I can recreate the brilliance.**

The scene: Neighborhood Chinese Restaurant

The back-story: On Saturday night, I made plans with some friends to go out to dinner.  Since there were too many chefs in the kitchen (and more kept walking in the door), I bowed out of the decision-making process.  Once they agreed upon a favorite Chinese place, they called me and told me to be there at 7:45.  This is where the scene begins.

Time: 7:45

(I walk up to the brightly lit restaurant and peer inside to see if my dinner companions have arrived.  Since the place is so small, I can see that I am, in fact, the first to arrive.  So, I open the door and walk in.  The restaurant is very crowded, and a waiter approaches me.)

Waiter 1: Hello, how many?
Me: I'm meeting some friends here.  We have a reservation for 7 people.
W1: You're friends were here earlier.  They left already.
Me: No, the reservation is for 7:45.
W1: Oh.  One minute. (He then turns to help one of his many customers and walks away.)

(Another waiter approaches me from the back of the restaurant.)

Waiter 2: Hello, table for 1?
Me: Actually, I have a reservation for 7:45.
W2: Under what name?
Me: (Quickly trying to figure out whose name it might be under) Billy, Joe, or Bob*?  I'm not sure.

* The names were changed to protect the innocent.
(The waiter walks to the back and returns with a couple menus.)

W2: Table for 2.  Right this way.
Me: No, the reservation is for 7.
W2: SEVEN?! (He shrieked, quickly turning his head to either side to survey the impossible situation I'd just thrown at him.  Then, he gave me another panicked look, and ran to the back of the restaurant.)

(At that moment, 4 more of my dining companions arrived, just in time to witness the flurry of activity as two women and a baby were evicted from their newly acquired seats at a 4-person table and were ushered over to a soon-to-be vacated 2-person table.  The only other empty table in the place was moved over to accommodate us, and we were seated.  Dinner was delicious, the conversation was sparkling, and the freaked-out waiter turned out to be quite a spitfire.)

And that brings me to the live sex show...

We were seated directly in front of the door, so I had prime seating for people watching.  Since we were such space hogs, several people had to wait for tables.  As we finished up our meal (of which I ate far too much), a group of four women (I may regret saying this, but I'd like to state that they were four very unattractive women...and they were lesbians, but let it be known that the two facts (even though one is admittedly subjective) are not inter-dependent on one another...I'm just creating a visual for you, my readers) entered the restaurant.  They waited a few minutes to be seated, and just as the waiter motioned them over to a table, one of the women turned around (as if she were on a mission), grabbed her girlfriend's face, licked her cheek and started making out in a very unsettling way.  Now when I say "making out", I don't mean they were kissing in an innocent way like you probably should when in public at a family restaurant; I mean they were "making out" in that I've-got-to-f***-you-now-and-i-think-we-should-do-it-on-this-plate-of-moogoogaipan-because-this-couple-and-their-baby-don't-really-want-this-table sort of way.

Tongues were flying, hands were creeping, and I wouldn't be surprised if indecent exposure was risked.  All the while, I couldn't stop staring (and, I should also state that my assessment of their level attractiveness doesn't make the scene any more or less gross).  Apparently, I was the only person at my table that was privy to the sex show before us (mostly because of where I was positioned), so I didn't have anyone to commiserate with, and I didn't want to draw more attention to them than they were already doing.  I mean, come on!  We were in a brightly lit restaurant that was inexplicably filled with teenage boys.  Who does that?  Seriously.  There is a time and place.  And yes, I know that I am becoming more like my mother every day, but gay, straight, or animal-loving, you shouldn't subject the public to your lovemaking.  And yes, I DID use the term "lovemaking".  Crap.  I AM my mother.

So, just a quick word on my mom...  Whenever she sees people kissing in public (I'm not talking dry-humping next to a plate of chicken chow mein...just kissing), she gets all disgusted, and says, "There are better places for lovemaking."  Not only does my skin crawl at the mere sound of that term (especially when it comes out of my mom's mouth), but I get totally annoyed with her for being such a prude.  Now I'm starting to turn around on the issue, and I see her point.  Maybe it's that I'm quickly becoming the crazy cat lady on the corner (who doesn't have cats because she's allergic and too lazy and irresponsible to care for a living thing other than herself), or maybe I'm just making the natural transition to being more like my parents (which hopefully does not entail watching Fox News every night).  Whatever the case, I'd rather just eat my fortune cookie and laugh about my fortune "in bed", than suddenly discover that I'm eating in someone else's bedroom.

Despite being horrified (and somewhat entertained, since it was pretty funny in a very inappropriate way), I had a great time.  I mean, come on, I scared the waiter (he really did scream, "SEVEN?!") and I witnessed impromptu hot lesbian action.  It's all good fodder for storytelling.  What more do you need?

And I'm Disappointed, Why?

Uhhh....so yesterday I noticed that my snazzy new cell phone (with far more features than I've ever wanted or needed on a phone) does not have a camera, and I was actually disappointed.  For most people, this may seem obvious, but when you consider that I only started text-messaging less than 2 years ago (after my friends shamed me) and have NEVER had a camera phone, it seems a little odd.  Why do I suddenly care?  Why do I get sucked into uber-consumerism so easily?

I'm totally sticking with my 13-inch TV/VCR combo until it catches on fire like the rest of my appliances.  I don't want the headache of technology-envy to enter my life.

Oh, and for the record, I ran 8 miles this morning (okay, so it might have been 6-7, but still...I went far).  Woo!

Did I Mention That I'm Available?

Alright, gentlemen, start lining up to the right, 'cuz I'm AVAILABLE!

Today was a shining example of what kind of sweet catch I truly am.  It all started when I called my friendly IT guy to set up my blackberry with the company network.  After wrestling (or wrastlin', as we like to say in my homeland) with Phonies, I was feeling pretty confident about the final phase of my set-up.  What could possibly go wrong?  If you're thinking "everything", then you are close to right.  I think I may be a cell phone foster parent because I may be sending this puppy back to the shelter for adoption.

So, IT guy and I chatted (and I definitely need to bake him some cookies now), and we started the set-up process.  Of course, being in my house there is no signal (as previously discussed), so I had to wander outside (which is now where I will hold all of my important phone conversations,so for anyone that might want to call me, be aware that the world is my stage--also be aware that I may be sending my phone to IT guy, so he'll be answering my phone for a few days).  I walked about five blocks away until I found a full signal, then I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, facing the sun for 45 minutes.  I held my phone an arm's length away from me (because if it got closer, the signal was lost).  IT guy and I tried to make it work, but alas, it didn't.  The whole time I stood there, people passed me giving me odd looks.  I also noticed someone staring at me from their window.  They probably thought I was casing the joint.  Little do they know, I'm just an idiot with a piece of technology that I'll never fully master.

After an uncomfortably warm 45 minutes (because I was wearing a wool sweater and it was 65 degrees outside), I was starving.  Standing in one place with your arm outstretched is hard work.  Did I mention I was halfway up a hill?  Yeah.  Because my belly was doing the talking, I went to the first available restaurant (luckily it was located one storefront ahead of the terrible taqueria, otherwise we all know what would have happened--nothing but regret).

My hostess seated me outside at a table that was next to the window.  A group of people were sitting inside the restaurant on the other side of the window.  If the window weren't there, I'd be dining with them.  Knowing that we were far too close for comfort, I felt the pressure to be on my best behavior.  That means no excessive nose-blowing.

Everything was going smoothly in the beginning.  I selected my meal, I read the paper, I didn't clean out my ears.  I was an upstanding citizen.  Hell, I'd want to dine with me.  Then, my iced tea came.  What could go wrong with that?  Well, let me tell you.  The waiter (who is a delightful bear that loves to call me sweetie and always seems genuinely pleased to see me) put an enormous lemon slice in my tea that was conveniently cut down the middle for my squeezing pleasure.  Unfortunately, it was almost completely sliced, so when I squeezed it, half of it flew out of my hand and hit the window.  Had the window not been there, it would have hit the guy sitting caddy-cornered across from me in the face.  Nice.

I laughed that one off, and as far as I could tell, the window diners (who appeared to be having a business meeting) didn't notice (despite the fact that one of them barely escaped peril).  Still confident that I could pull off civilized, I continued reading the paper until my sandwich arrived.  Being famished, I knew I risked shoving too much in my mouth all at once.  Some people don't outgrow bad behavior, okay?  I really did my best to be a lady, but the universe was not on my side today (which says to me that I missed my window of opportunity to buy a lottery ticket).

I bit into my sandwich, and discovered that I'd gotten some gross gristle/bony/hard piece in my mouth, and I had no choice but to spit it out.  And here's where it gets complicated.  Had I been banished to a corner, where most restaurants like to seat solo diners, I could have gotten away with it.  But being that I was inches away from a business meeting that I couldn't hear, I was in a bind.  I tried to politely put my napkin to my mouth and spit it out.  Unfortunately, there is no graceful way to make that exit.  I did the best I could, but I know it was gross.  I also tried to discard the evidence by shoving the napkin under my plate, but as I looked up, I noticed that everyone on the other side of the table was looking at me.  CAUGHT!

I can't take myself anywhere!  No wonder I go to the terrible taqueria all the time.  They don't care, especially when I order take-out.

So that's the story.  Who wants to have dinner?

That's How I Roll...

In case you were hoping to get a little insight into how I live, here's a nice example.

Yesterday, I spent the better part of my morning on the phone with Phonies, trying to get my blackberry set-up.  I won't bore you with the details (as I already did that last week), so just know that it was a long and tedious process.  I think I may have too much phone, and I'm definitely too old to know how to use it.

As I was saying, my morning went a little bit like this.  I woke up, ate some breakfast, turned on the computer, did a little work,  and waited for my Phonie rep to call.  He never called, so I gave him an hour and called them myself.  Then I sat on the phone with three different people for over two hours.  On my final call, the customer service lady, who was a delightful woman from Kentucky, wanted to make sure I had internet access.  Unfortunately for me, my house is a vacuum of bad signals.  I had her on speaker phone and let her know that I was walking to the other side of the apartment (which is a palatial studio), at which point we commenced yelling to each other (that was actually kind of funny). 

Then, she told me I should just go outside.  To most this might be a reasonable request. For me, it struck fear in my heart.  Why?  Because I was still wearing my pajamas--and yes, it was noon.  Not sure what to do, I told her I'd be a minute.  So, I ran into the closet otherwise known as my bedroom (literally) and threw on some clothes.  I then yelled out to her that I was going outside.  I ran outside, checked the web, and came back in.  I told her it was a success, and she said, "Great.  You're set."

I had her sitting on the phone waiting for me for more than 5 minutes while I got dressed and ran outside.  Did she wonder what I was doing?  I certainly couldn't tell her that I was still in my pajamas.  That's just embarrassing (even though all the delivery people know what kind of lazy slob I am).

Oh well.  Once I was dressed, I suddenly felt like being productive, so I brushed my teeth.

And that's how I live.

Hey boys! I'm available!

Personal Record

I ran a 10 minute mile today.  That has NEVER happened in the history of my life.  While this may not seem like much a feat to anyone that actually runs for fun, it truly is.  I am no runner, people.  Nope.  Not a runner.  Throughout my 31 years, I've made every effort not to run.  That's why I don't run marathons.  I don't like running for 1 mile, much less 26.  But tonight, I hit a milestone.  Admittedly, I was skeptical.  I mean, after last Saturday's bike ride, wouldn't anyone be?  Perhaps I bit off more than I can chew with this whole triathlon training.  But, apparently, the coach hasn't given up on me.  I admittedly thought he might (especially if he actually knows that I started crying on my bike), but he still thinks I could be an athlete--albeit, a slow one.

People who run don't understand those of us that don't.  It's funny really.  They have no problem running and talking.  Me, I can't really do both.  It's one or the other for me.  I keep trying to carry on a conversation (especially since people insist on talking to me while we do our warm-up run which feels like a balls-out run to me), but once we make it halfway around the track, I'm out.  Sometimes I wonder if people think I'm rude for bailing out.  But then I realize that they can see that in less than 30 seconds, I'm halfway behind them.  Not a runner.

So, tonight I ran 5 miles.  FIVE MILES.  Again, to people that run, that isn't such a big deal.  But I didn't walk during any of those 5 miles.  Okay, that's a lie, I did walk a little bit on two of my "recovery" jogs.  So we ran about 3 1/2 miles, and then at the end we had to run a "hard" mile.  I tried to bargain with the coach, making an empty promise to run a mile tomorrow morning, but he had none of it.  So I just did it...and I ran fast.  Well, I ran fast for me.  My pace is most people's "easy" pace.  Once I realized that I was running a 10 minute mile, I certainly didn't want to stop.  So I just kept going.  I DID IT!  Not only that, I ran the 1/2 mile "cool down" too.  Last time, I just pretended to do it.

It was very exciting.  Another girl was paired up with me because she was slower than the others, and she ran a personal best of 8 1/2 minutes.  Why she was paired with me is a total mystery.  That, and, how fast were the other people going?  Seriously.

It turned out to be a good night for me.  In the beginning I was skeptical.  Then I got out there and saw that there were a couple fat girls, and I felt totally relieved.  Well, I was relieved until I found out they were part of the boot camp and not the track practice.  So, I'm still the slowest one, but I'm nothing like I was when I started triathlons 3 years ago.  My beginning running pace was a 12 minute mile because I couldn't run a full loop around the track without walking.  See how far I've come?

Now I just have to start the swimming portion of my training.  I'd like to say that will be easy, but I'm not as good a swimmer as I have led myself to believe.  I grew up with a pool in my backyard, so it seems obvious to me that I'm an excellent swimmer.  My little floaties were deflated during my first timed open-water swim 3 years ago.  We had to do 6 laps in a lake, and the coach told us that we COULD do 4, but strongly encouraged 6.  I was one of the last 3 people in the water (and yes, the other two had 200 pounds on me).  I was convinced that everyone else just did 4 laps, until it happened again...and again...and again.  Apparently, hanging out in a pool everyday of the summer as a kid doesn't make you a competitive swimmer.  Weird.

But I'm not dwelling on that.  I have to get over that hurdle tomorrow.  You know, after I get all the hair ripped off my legs.  That's just the kind of girl I am.

Just A Few Words on Martha

Martha Stewart is such an awkward person.  I was watching her show while I ate my delectable lunch (a salad of my own design, followed up by a banana), and, as usual, I found myself dumbfounded and annoyed.  She's really strange.  Honestly, I'm not a Martha fan, but I can't stop watching her show (mostly because it comes on during my lunchtime).  So here are some of my observations.

For starters, I don't think she really likes her guests.  She seems to think she is better than them (even when they are the experts in their field).  Sometimes, it gets to the point where you can just feel the tension.  For instance, when Paula Dean is on (and I love Paula Dean.  She reminds me of my cousins from Georgia), Martha is utterly horrified by her to the extent that she tells her as much.  Paula was busy being messy, and Martha told her that she couldn't handle having Paula in her home.  Martha constantly corrects people in a very condescending way.  It's just odd.

I really think that she was forced into this show by her PR people.  Sure, they did a great job at making her over post-prison, but she's still a cold, cold woman.  She also laughs inappropriately.  It's kind of unsettling.  Today she was answering a viewer's question about preparing beans, and started laughing as she poorly delivered an unfunny joke.  It was really uncomfortable because she was the only one that thought she was funny.

A couple years ago, on her Halloween special, she was totally insane.  She crawled out on the set as if she were a cat, then started running around showing off everything on the set.  She was totally manic and really weird.  For weeks afterward, I kept looking for clips on the internet or The Soup.  There was nothing!  It was totally worthy of the The Soup.  Crazy.

Today she had a British kid named, Freddy, on the show.  He apparently stars in the Spiderwick Chronicles.  It became readily apparent that Ms. Stewart is not comfortable with children during his segment, in which they made some sort of cookie bar (that did look delicious).  She did not know how to talk to him at all...and he was 16.  So, it's not like he was an unruly five-years-old.  At one point she seemed shocked that he had read "Catcher in the Rye", then proceeded to awkwardly ask the audience who had read the book and command that everyone should do so.  As they were making the treats, Freddy was politely waiting for her instruction, and she couldn't have been colder.  She's really bossy.  At one point, they were spreading candy all over the dough, and he asked if he had spread it correctly.  Martha curtly replied, "No." and continued about her business.  Rude!  I just think there is a better way to handle that question.  It was innocent enough, and he was clearly intimidated by her.

No wonder her daughter is such a cold person.  Have you ever seen her on the show?  Yikes.  I'd hate to be stuck at a dinner table with her.  Talk about negative.

But anyway, I just find Martha Stewart to be an awkward, cold person.  She tries to be all warm and fuzzy.  But, ultimately, she seems like she'd just prefer to be on the stage alone.

Oh, AND...I get so annoyed when she gives household tips.  Once she demonstrated the 27-step procedure to cleaning windows and explained that her method was the ONLY acceptable method.  If you clean your windows in two steps, like me, you are a fool!  No one has that kind of time, Martha!

My last gripe...  While I understand that she uses the show as a vehicle to sell her many product lines, I find it irritating that she's CONSTANTLY plugging herself on the show.  "Now you'll just take a dab of the Martha Stewart craft glue, and firmly attach the Martha Stewart colored paper after you've cut it with your Martha Stewart scissors."  Enough already.  There are too many lemmings in this world.

Okay, I'm done.