I've Pissed Someone Off Again - Imagine That

This is shaping up to be a fine week already.  Not only did I have the issue with the non-English speaking call center reps, I've managed to completely infuriate someone from Sanford of all places.

I didn't know they even had Internet access.

Anyway, I jest, sort of.  But check out the lovely comment that was left for me.  I draw attention to it for several reasons.

1.  The person who left it has no problem defending Sanford and touting its praises, but they had to leave their comment "anonymously."  If you really feel that strongly about a subject, at least have the balls to put your name out there.

2.  The person who left it has no problem eluding to the fact that they hate my picture, yet they leave their comment "anonymously."  If you want to throw stones at me my friend, have the balls to show your face.

3.  The person who left it has no problem making me out to be ignorant and uneducated about Maine humor and the regions that compromise this state.  They must not have taken the time to read further into my blog and notice that I also spend significant time making fun of Athens, where my parents live, Portland, where I live, and myself, my friends, and my family.   

4.  And finally, the anonymous individual who left such a pleasant comment refers to my "shallow analysis" of a store name, and that I think that the "dumb people of Sanford aren't intelligent enough to know how to spell."  Yet, in the final sentence, they inform me that they won't comment on my picture because "your not worth the breath."  Thank you, dear anonymous, pissed off, Sanford resident for making my point for me; in case you hadn't noticed, YOU'RE missing both an apostrophe and the letter 'e.'

Overall, I think the comment is a keeper, don't you?

Many of You Might Hate Me After This

I'm going to go out on a limb here, and say something I probably shouldn't.  And I'm only saying it because this has happened to me multiple times in the last two weeks, and it's really starting to piss me off.

Why the fuck can't anyone that works for a telephone company, credit card company or mortgage company call center speak English properly?  Seriously.

In the past two weeks, I have wasted countless hours - we're taking nearly double digits here - on the phone with different call centers, and it takes forever to resolve anything.  Like the double payment that Capital One took out of my account.  1 hour and 45 minutes to get them to understand that they double dipped me.  You know when I got someone that spoke English?  At 1 hour and 43 minutes when I was so livid and precariously close to slinging racial slurs through the phone line.

I'm not a hater, but for Christ's Sake, WTF?

Starting Summer Off With A Bang

Well, I just looked at the calendar and realized that it's the first day of summer today. And it's raining and 60 degrees here; huh.

On a happier note, I'm headed out for a girls' night, which likely spells not only trouble, but a great story tomorrow.

The last time I was out with this same group, we managed to get kicked out of a bar that I think probably never kicks anyone out. It was quite an accomplishment.

And the reason? Because my very verbal friend got in a sailor-swearing contest with a woman I believe to be the owner's wife. It's been nearly 3 years since I've tried to get back in there, so if we make a stop at ForePlay, it could get ugly.

That same night, I remember walking what seemed like 10 miles with my friend Sarah who was up from Kittery, just so we could get back to the West End and crash; mind you, the West End is about 10 blocks from the Old Port, but it seemed like a really long way considering my state of mind. And it wouldn't have been so bad, but I was wearing my lovely Gucci boots that look pretty from afar, but when they're on your foot, it's a total effing nightmare.

But we're starting the night at Norm's for dinner at 6:30, a very reasonable hour for old hags like myself. Although the girls' want to make a banger of a night out of it, we know how bad things can get when I put a few drinks in me. Not to mention the fact that 9 o'clock seems to be my bedtime lately.

So, I'll report in tomorrow with all the details. I'm *forgetting* my camera, so there is no actual evidence of anything that goes on......

Oh, and speaking of ridiculous shoes (here my ADD is clearly kicking in.......) check these out.

I Often Question Whether or Not I Should Take Myself Seriously

One of the things about my job is that I have to keep myself on a pretty tight schedule.  I mean, on my calendar, I have specific time slots alloted for specific clients.  

However, yesterday, I scored a majorly exciting gig; writing all of the catalog copy for Melie Bianco Bags for their new line.  So amazingly fab.  Can. Not. Even. Tell. You.

That said, the copy needed to be done almost as quickly as we signed the contract.  Which meant, my little schedule got thrown for a loop.

So it was just now that I sat down to do the work that I typically do at 5:30 in the morning.  One of the clients I write for on a daily basis has a lingerie blog.  Most of the time, I get to write about great new women's stuff, and when it's time to chat about men's skivvies, I spend a lot of time giggling......because I'm wildly immature.  But hey, if it pays the bills, what the hell, right?

So, because I have nothing more productive to say, and because I still have a lot of work to do yet tonite, I wanted to give you a few links that I found quite interesting this evening.

Kid Friendly Sex Shop Opens in New York

A Take on Angelina Jolie's Comment That She Feels Sexier While Preggo With Twins

I love getting paid to read the UK papers....seriously, it's such fun.

Oh, and while you're busy clicking all these other links, head over to the baby clothes site - alarming write up about the chemicals used to grow conventional cotton.

Flight Risk

This goddamn dog is going to be the death of me; honestly.  It's not bad enough that he can physically jump a 4 1/2' fence without any effort, it's that he continues to do it ALL. THE. EFFING. TIME.

And each time, one of us chases him all over the neighborhood, until he decides that he's so tired he just can't go on and he lays down, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.  But once he lays down, he won't get back up again.  Like, "Oh, but my 70-pound fat ass just ran all over the neighborhood and now I don't have enough energy to prance back to the house. I guess you'll just have to carry me."

And I want to scream, "Yeah, well my fat ass just ran all over the neighborhood too you stupid shit.  And I got in a fight with a short fat woman with a lab who swears you were trying to bite her damn dog, when in all actuality you were just trying to play.  Oh, and you see that black and white f*ck-face? That's the cops. The same cops that the fat lady with the lab called because you're running around the neighborhood, loose, acting like an asshole.  So, YES, you will get your fat ass up and you will WALK home Mister, RIGHT. NOW."

Of course, if I actually say that out loud, the random neighbor whose yard I'm standing in the middle of with a piece of cheese in one hand and a hot dog in the other will likely think that I'm far nuttier than I actually am.  But, the thought ran through my head.

Why, oh why, can't this dog stay in the yard?  I mean, it's not like we've got a postage stamp out here; it's a big effing yard. Ugh.

What You Want vs. What You Get

I've always been a big believer in "you get what you ask for."  Even before that damn movie "The Secret" was out, I knew inherently that, if you put out bad vibes, you'd get them back; if you put out happy ones, you'll get them.  It's called karma.

So, in general, I try to be pretty good-natured.  But, over the course of the last several days, I've been beaten down into submission from the karmic-Gods and I don't even know what I did to deserve it.  Here's how it's gone down in my little game of "What You Want vs. What You Get."

What I Want :: To make people laugh.

What I Get :: My brother calling my dad and tattling on me after I blogged about stuff I'd already said to him in person.

What I Want :: A nice little fence around the back yard so the dogs can frolic happily.

What I Get :: A nice 4 1/2 foot fence that took twelve hours to install, multiple trips to Home Depot, hundreds of dollars out of our checking account, and a dog that is apparently crossbred with Super Man because he can jump over it like it's nothing. 

What I Want :: One day to work completely uninterrupted.

What I Get :: 3 hours of chasing a loose dog around the neighborhood while he proudly carries a dead squirrel in his mouth.

What I Want :: To serve my time on jury duty in peace.

What I Get :: A seat next to chatty-cathy whose breath always smells like cat poop.

So what did I do to piss off the karma Gods anyway?  I can think of about 10 people that are going to email me right after they read this and list all the reasons I'm being justly punished.

E=MC Hungover

As I peeled my eyelids open at 6am and sat up, I was immediately reminded why I very rarely drink anymore. I'm pretty sure that it was because I didn't like the feeling of my brain trying to squeeze it's way out through my eardrums.

So, a half-hour later, I've had two cups of coffee, two Excedrin Migraines, and a bowl of Fiber One with Blueberries. Although, my lame attempts at eating healthy this morning are less about curing my hangover and more about making a sacrifice to the back fat Gods for all the french friends drench in Ranch dressing that I consumed while listening to my NASCAR loving brother talk about protein shakes.

I wonder if I should call him and ask if they cure a hangover.

How did I get in this condition, you might ask? The kid had a sleepover last night, which was supposed to be at our house. But first we needed to pick-up both the friend and her bags. When her mum asked if I wanted a glass of wine, I ponied my fat-ass up to the table and figured why not? It's not often I get social hour with adults anymore and the girls were keeping themselves entertained, so it seemed like a good idea.

Well, 3 glasses + a few splashes of wine later, and I think I managed to make quite an endearing impression; I'm sure that after last night, they'll likely never let their kid come over again. How bad could it be? Well......

• It's possible that I was mildly offensive (I know, completely shocking, right?) regarding both minivans and black leather couches; both of which they own.


• I divulged that one of my someday-sister-in-laws lives in a single-wide across from a state prison with her ex-convict husband and that together they run a concession stand at a rodeo.


• I spoke of my brother and his pimped out minivan with the NASCAR license plates.


• I spoke of my brother who named his kid after a WWF wrestler.


• We chatted about my mother, who has the drunk husband that passes out in the driveway and thinks he's fluent in Chinese.

It really makes you want to invite me over, right now, doesn't it?

Now, today, in my fragile condition, I get to go volunteer at the Spring Fair for the kids' elementary school. The bake table, the checkerboard game, and one other awesomely fun thing. Three whole hours of screaming children all vying for trinkety prizes. I can hardly wait.

Why do I do such a thing? Because I'm the PTO's bitch, that's why.

T.G.I.F.

I gotta say, there's nothing better than your brother with the pimped-out mini-van calling about protein drinks on a Friday night when you're drunk. The brother that loves NASCAR and has named his kid after a WWF wrestler has called to ask if protein drinks are what fills you up.

Clearly, he thinks I'm the pinnacle of healthy living.

He must not know that I'm currently eating seasoned french fries drenched in Ranch, and that I had gummy bears and a diet Pepsi for lunch.

Even funnier, he has no idea I'm three sheets to the wind and giving him advice.

But he's chatting (yes, we're on the phone right now) about my mother's fish tank, the dispute with her drunk husband over fish babies, and how hot it is in the factory he spends his days in. He reports there's a tornado watch in Michigan, the trees are blowing over, and his WWF namesake is really good at sliding in to the bases in t-ball.

So, if you're in Michigan, get your ass in the basement.

I Hate Stringy Bananas

I've been having some pretty piss-poor luck with food today.

First, I tried to beat the garbage guy today, but by the time I tossed all the spoiled food from the refrigerator into the trash and tied up the bag, he was just pulling off our street.  I contemplated throwing the bag in the car and chasing him, but decided against it because it was just too much effort before my second cup of coffee.  So now, I have a bag full of rotten food sitting in the trash can outside; who wants to lay money on a raccoon family moving in soon?

Then, I really wanted and egg and cheese sandwich from the Double D's, but remembered that we're trying to stick to this thing called a budget, and we're not allowed to use the debit card for things like that.  So I swore at myself because I didn't have any cash with me.  Then I swore again because the debit card thing was my stupid rule to begin with, so I can't even be the first one to break it.

I came home and made an egg and cheese sandwich here, but ended up with 1/2 the egg shell in my egg, but in a million little pieces.  So I, of course, swore some more.  I once dated a guy that could crack an egg with one hand AND keep all the shells out of it.  I probably should have asked him to teach me that at some point.  Needless to say, digging egg shells out of a slimy egg is really no fun, and it's a lot of work.  Had it not been the last egg in the house, I would have just thrown it away and started over.

And now, I've just had the pleasure of eating a little snack of precisely 28 almonds (yes,  counted them) and a banana.  But the banana was stringy.  I hate stringy bananas.  Just when you bite off a chunk, you have a big stringy thing hanging down your chin.  Or across your arm (not sure how that one got there).

If I didn't love food so much, I'd really contemplate giving it up.

Working from home vs. Working in an office

There are definite advantages to working from home, don't get me wrong.  But for every advantage, there is also a disadvantage.  So, for anyone considering a work-at-home career, take the following in to consideration.

1. You might have a neighbor that likes to drive past your house on his riding lawnmower, thus making clients on the other end of the phone say, "What's that noise?"  Trying to explain it becomes difficult when they are under the impression that you are actually working in an office.

2. You will have unlimited access to your cupboards and food, therefore, your risk of obesity is much higher because you can eat ice cream, cookies, and Butterfingers anytime you want.

3. If you choose to be the better person and not buy junk food, thus reducing your risk of becoming obese, your family will hate you, and the evening hours of your day will be miserable.

4. You will likely get distracted by things such as laundry, MySpace, YouTube, and Facebook.

5. It's easy to develop and online gambling habit.

6. You only get paid when your clients decide it's time to cut a check; you cannot storm in to their offices and demand payment if they do not live in the same town as you.

7. If they do live in the same town, and you do storm into their office, be prepared to be escorted out by security, never see the money the owe you, and never be able to work in the town you live in again.

8. Your significant other may develop the annoying habit of saying, "So, what are you doing tomorrow?"  If you state the obvious, "working just like you," s/he will roll their eyes and say, "No, really, what are you doing?"  This will cause tension in your household and you will have to fight the urge to screech, "do you think I just pluck paychecks off the money tree in the backyard asshole?"

9. You might decide to blog all day instead of actually working.

10. You run the risk of becoming socially inept because you spend your entire day with two dogs, a cat, and your computer.