My six-year-old doesn't have an edit button; he utters what's on his mind. He and I were in a meeting on Monday afternoon with the Event Planner at a swanky resort in town. It's where the non-profit I volunteer with held our fundraiser last Saturday. My co-chair and I needed to meet with the planner to discuss a few bumps in the event's evening and since my son's surgery was happening in a day, I had to take her first opening and bring him with.
This event planner was quite condescending and busy blaming us for the snafus that happened despite the fact we were asking to come back for the next two years. It was considerably perplexing but I hadn't done this gig before so perhaps this is how people in this position behave.
My son was quite bored and behaving so, until he spied something interesting on the Planner's desk. I glanced and saw a cute Teddy Bear and said "That's a cute bear", but he shook his head, rose from his chair and pointed to the picture frame next to the Teddy. He pointed at the picture and blurted out,"I hate Charles Taylor (Hmm, I wonder where in the world he conceived that sentiment?)." I took a look and saw our planner standing next to our (now) former Congressman, eyes beaming with delight. I didn't know what to say, but luckily (for her) it didn't seem to break her arrogant stride.
We left, bewildered, but after processing it all, I couldn't help but draw some conclusions about her behavior based on her fondness for our corrupt Congressman.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Monday, November 06, 2006
Little Black Dress
For four months I've been volunteering with an organization in town, helping chair their fundraiser that happened on Saturday. The time spent organizing the event wasn't near as agonizing as trying to dress for it.
I have been receiving invitations for events like these for years, always opting to make a donation and skip the event. It's the way I save money - I don't have to spend money on a dress, shoes, and babysitter. And, oh, I don't have to stand around in high heels that are wrenching my toes while my back screams,"Sit down, please."
I abhor the whole dress up thing so much, that I just ignored it, hoping the dress up fairy would visit my closet and leave me something (not stunning, just something) decent to wear. Oh fairy, she came, but not with a dress. She sat on my shoulder on Monday morning, 5 days before the event, while I checked news on MSN. She directed me to click on an article, "How to dress like the stars", something I would normally sneer at. But I clicked. Then I clicked again to Overstock.com. Ten minutes later, I had a silk empire waist dress on it's way. But would it look like it did on the mannequin? Hell no - I knew the answer to the that question! But the bigger question, would it arrive on time? I had to leave that in my fairy's hands.
My fairy, came through, somewhat to my disappointment, and the dress hit my porch on Friday. Now I had to give it a try. If it looked crummy I could always send it back, right? I slipped into the sassy number and surveyed the look in the mirror. Immediately, I thought, too much belly not enough boobs. But that's a song I know well, I sing it almost daily.
Since the dress passed inspection, I had to address the accessories situation. For most girls, this would involve jewelry, perhaps make-up. For me it meant a bra and panty hose.
Since my DH was as work all weekend,I bribed my boys to hit Target on Saturday, hours before the event, and I bought a "corset bra", of course without trying it on - who has time for that with two boys in tow?- and some thigh high hose. I have to say the thigh high hose are pretty sexy. I was quite turned on myself, but I digress.
I hastily threw my accessories in the cart and made a stop in the Lego section before finding some eye shadow and nail polish to finish out the look.
I arrived home with hours to spare but farted them away and before I knew it was 4:00 and my oldest wanted to play Battleship. I have an hour, I thought, which is more than I need to get ready. Besides, I can play battleship and paint my nails at the same time. Never mind that this game requires one to pick up tiny pieces and place them in miniscule holes. At 4:30, I arose from my Battle and hit the shower, proud that my polish was still in tact. The shower wasn't as friendly as the battle ground and when I emerged from the steamy bathroom, I had three nails that needed to be re-done. I removed the polish, and continued to get ready, noting I could polish the mistakes before I left. But alas, my husband, then my sitter arrived and we had to bolt out the door at break neck speed. I swiped the polish and slammed the door. I'll just put it on in the car - there are only three nails.
Yes, and in hindsight, I should have just gone naked - as far as my nails go - but I tried to tidy up my mistakes and ended up dumping polish on my brand new silk dress. "F***",I griped when I realized my clumsiness. I quickly grabbed an empty envelope (what, that's not what you'd grab?) to dab up the polish. No luck. DH stopped the car (what else are you going to do with your wife screaming, f***, f***?) and grabbed a bottled water and blanket out of the trunk. Too late, the damage was done. Pink polish was dry on black silk. NIIIICE!!
Lucky for me that the event was sold out and so crowded that no one had a chance to notice my grace, or lack there of.
I guess there's no sending the dress back now?
I have been receiving invitations for events like these for years, always opting to make a donation and skip the event. It's the way I save money - I don't have to spend money on a dress, shoes, and babysitter. And, oh, I don't have to stand around in high heels that are wrenching my toes while my back screams,"Sit down, please."
I abhor the whole dress up thing so much, that I just ignored it, hoping the dress up fairy would visit my closet and leave me something (not stunning, just something) decent to wear. Oh fairy, she came, but not with a dress. She sat on my shoulder on Monday morning, 5 days before the event, while I checked news on MSN. She directed me to click on an article, "How to dress like the stars", something I would normally sneer at. But I clicked. Then I clicked again to Overstock.com. Ten minutes later, I had a silk empire waist dress on it's way. But would it look like it did on the mannequin? Hell no - I knew the answer to the that question! But the bigger question, would it arrive on time? I had to leave that in my fairy's hands.
My fairy, came through, somewhat to my disappointment, and the dress hit my porch on Friday. Now I had to give it a try. If it looked crummy I could always send it back, right? I slipped into the sassy number and surveyed the look in the mirror. Immediately, I thought, too much belly not enough boobs. But that's a song I know well, I sing it almost daily.
Since the dress passed inspection, I had to address the accessories situation. For most girls, this would involve jewelry, perhaps make-up. For me it meant a bra and panty hose.
Since my DH was as work all weekend,I bribed my boys to hit Target on Saturday, hours before the event, and I bought a "corset bra", of course without trying it on - who has time for that with two boys in tow?- and some thigh high hose. I have to say the thigh high hose are pretty sexy. I was quite turned on myself, but I digress.
I hastily threw my accessories in the cart and made a stop in the Lego section before finding some eye shadow and nail polish to finish out the look.
I arrived home with hours to spare but farted them away and before I knew it was 4:00 and my oldest wanted to play Battleship. I have an hour, I thought, which is more than I need to get ready. Besides, I can play battleship and paint my nails at the same time. Never mind that this game requires one to pick up tiny pieces and place them in miniscule holes. At 4:30, I arose from my Battle and hit the shower, proud that my polish was still in tact. The shower wasn't as friendly as the battle ground and when I emerged from the steamy bathroom, I had three nails that needed to be re-done. I removed the polish, and continued to get ready, noting I could polish the mistakes before I left. But alas, my husband, then my sitter arrived and we had to bolt out the door at break neck speed. I swiped the polish and slammed the door. I'll just put it on in the car - there are only three nails.
Yes, and in hindsight, I should have just gone naked - as far as my nails go - but I tried to tidy up my mistakes and ended up dumping polish on my brand new silk dress. "F***",I griped when I realized my clumsiness. I quickly grabbed an empty envelope (what, that's not what you'd grab?) to dab up the polish. No luck. DH stopped the car (what else are you going to do with your wife screaming, f***, f***?) and grabbed a bottled water and blanket out of the trunk. Too late, the damage was done. Pink polish was dry on black silk. NIIIICE!!
Lucky for me that the event was sold out and so crowded that no one had a chance to notice my grace, or lack there of.
I guess there's no sending the dress back now?
Friday, November 03, 2006
Sleep Apnea
Dealing with my youngest son's behavior had depressed me, yet I didn't realize it, until his recent diagnosis. He had a handful of "meltdowns" at school in the last year. Totally losing control and becoming physical with the teachers and other adults in his vicinity.
I dread to hear my mobile ring. I race to answer it or listen to the message after I am too late. Perhaps it is school, asking me to come to get my angry, out of control child. It happened a month ago. I was in the shower. When I picked up my mobile, 10 minutes later, I had three messages; two from school, one from DH, who unfortunately had to leave work to go retrieve my raucous child because I had decided to take a shower for the first time in 4 days (perhaps another sign of depression, but hey, I do live in Asheville).
This summer, while in our travels to our trip out West, I slept next to my beautiful child, noticing the pause in his breathing pattern. When I returned, I contacted his Pediatrician, inquiring about this. Three months, two doctors visits, and one sleep study later, he has a name for his quick temper and constant fatigue - sleep apnea.
It's a relief to have a disorder to hang our hat on. He will have his tonsils and adenoids removed on Wednesday. The Ear Nose and Throat Doctor that we consulted this week said that 98% of children with sleep apnea have it resolved with this surgery. I sure as hell hope so. He was waking from deep sleep to light sleep 22/hour - the average is 2 to 3/hour! No freakin wonder he is tired and irritable.
Anyway, once he was diagnosed with Sleep Apnea last Friday, I realize what a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. There is an explanation for his behavior. I was in an incredible mood on Sunday - haven't felt like that in a while. But we saw the ENT on Wednesday, and even though I have scheduled the surgical resolution to his problem, it still weighs on me. It's hard to give your flesh and blood up to someone else's care, no matter how qualified he is. The weight is back. I hope it recedes on Thursday.
I dread to hear my mobile ring. I race to answer it or listen to the message after I am too late. Perhaps it is school, asking me to come to get my angry, out of control child. It happened a month ago. I was in the shower. When I picked up my mobile, 10 minutes later, I had three messages; two from school, one from DH, who unfortunately had to leave work to go retrieve my raucous child because I had decided to take a shower for the first time in 4 days (perhaps another sign of depression, but hey, I do live in Asheville).
This summer, while in our travels to our trip out West, I slept next to my beautiful child, noticing the pause in his breathing pattern. When I returned, I contacted his Pediatrician, inquiring about this. Three months, two doctors visits, and one sleep study later, he has a name for his quick temper and constant fatigue - sleep apnea.
It's a relief to have a disorder to hang our hat on. He will have his tonsils and adenoids removed on Wednesday. The Ear Nose and Throat Doctor that we consulted this week said that 98% of children with sleep apnea have it resolved with this surgery. I sure as hell hope so. He was waking from deep sleep to light sleep 22/hour - the average is 2 to 3/hour! No freakin wonder he is tired and irritable.
Anyway, once he was diagnosed with Sleep Apnea last Friday, I realize what a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. There is an explanation for his behavior. I was in an incredible mood on Sunday - haven't felt like that in a while. But we saw the ENT on Wednesday, and even though I have scheduled the surgical resolution to his problem, it still weighs on me. It's hard to give your flesh and blood up to someone else's care, no matter how qualified he is. The weight is back. I hope it recedes on Thursday.
Monday, October 16, 2006
WTH?
I take leave for almost three months and what does my precious blog have to say about it. Nothing, you say? That's what I thought but I was WRONG. I came back and my bloggie has decide to announce my aging out of the 4th decade and into the 5th. YIKES! ...
On Thursday, I caught the beginning of the local news here in Asheville. The reporter was live where there had been two accidents in the last week at an intersection near a school. She reported that there were folks who thought there should be a "red light" placed at that intersection. Huh? Aren't they called traffic lights? Don't they have more than one color? But before I could finish dissing her, she said it again. Listen, sugar, those of us raised in the south, myself included, say these things in conversation, but don't you think you sound a little less intelligent when you choose that kind of language? Before I could finish my thought, she threw her gig back to the anchor who repeated "red light" in her synopsis. Did they really write that down?
I'll be back before I turn 41.
On Thursday, I caught the beginning of the local news here in Asheville. The reporter was live where there had been two accidents in the last week at an intersection near a school. She reported that there were folks who thought there should be a "red light" placed at that intersection. Huh? Aren't they called traffic lights? Don't they have more than one color? But before I could finish dissing her, she said it again. Listen, sugar, those of us raised in the south, myself included, say these things in conversation, but don't you think you sound a little less intelligent when you choose that kind of language? Before I could finish my thought, she threw her gig back to the anchor who repeated "red light" in her synopsis. Did they really write that down?
I'll be back before I turn 41.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Full Monty
I'm back from Desolation Canyon, UT- the most incredible trip of my life. Ok, it is all relative in comparison to the places I have been, or should I say haven't been, BUT still it was an amazing trip.
For now, I'm still in recovery mode. We returned three nights ago, but I am still unpacking, cleaning, doing laundry and catching up on the "every day".
I will tell you this. In the spirit of the trip I thought it would be fun to have river names for everyone. It never really caught on, but I will say that my DH's river name was perhaps the best. We named him Monty- as in the "full Monty" because he unintentionally exposed himself to the one of our fellow campers, a teacher at our sons' school. She claimed she was "blind" after the incident. I'm just not sure which came first - the blindness or the full Monty.
For now, I'm still in recovery mode. We returned three nights ago, but I am still unpacking, cleaning, doing laundry and catching up on the "every day".
I will tell you this. In the spirit of the trip I thought it would be fun to have river names for everyone. It never really caught on, but I will say that my DH's river name was perhaps the best. We named him Monty- as in the "full Monty" because he unintentionally exposed himself to the one of our fellow campers, a teacher at our sons' school. She claimed she was "blind" after the incident. I'm just not sure which came first - the blindness or the full Monty.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Memories
My boys and I are about to embark on a trip out West. We leave Monday for UT, with stops/adventures along the way, where we will then spend 6 days on the Greene River in Desolation Canyon. Apparently, only 600 people per year raft this area.
I was speaking with some friends yesterday, who remarked that the memories from this trip will be something to last my boys a life time. When I was 12 and 14, my three brothers, parents and I made similar pilgrimages in an RV. One summer we went up North and one summer out West. I have vivid memories of these family vacations but most that I conjure up don't include appreciation for the landscape or history we encountered. Here are a few of my most memorable ones.
These were my formidable curling iron years. I never left the RV without my hair perfectly coifed and sprayed into my best Farah Faucett even if we were headed to the pool where my curls and spray would fall out the second my do touched the water. Once, I left my hot curling iron laying on the bench in the RV and my youngest brother unwittingly fried his bare foot on it. I don't want to go into family dynamics here, but let's just say I didn't win any points with my carelessness, however, my hair regiment was not shaken.
Once, we stopped at a Burger King to eat where I ate a milk shake and onion rings for dinner. A couple of hours later, the rings repeated themselves, over and over and my brothers couldn't pile out of the RV fast enough to gulp in some fresh air. Hey, a girl has to do whatever it takes to get a little solitude time.
Once, in the Grand Canyon, my Dad tried to wake us all at some ungodly hour, like 4 am, to see the sunrise. I didn't budge and I regret it.
From our Northward travels, I can only recall one city- Bar Harbor, Maine - and then that's all I remember, just the name. The highlight of this adventure was a stop at the Bass Outlet store. I was in preppie heaven. Discount Bass penny loafers and boat shoes. Honestly, that is ALL I remember from a two week trip. Discount shoes.
It is all ahead of us now, but I hope our trip makes for better memories for my boys. Barring anything terribly tragic, it will for me.
I was speaking with some friends yesterday, who remarked that the memories from this trip will be something to last my boys a life time. When I was 12 and 14, my three brothers, parents and I made similar pilgrimages in an RV. One summer we went up North and one summer out West. I have vivid memories of these family vacations but most that I conjure up don't include appreciation for the landscape or history we encountered. Here are a few of my most memorable ones.
These were my formidable curling iron years. I never left the RV without my hair perfectly coifed and sprayed into my best Farah Faucett even if we were headed to the pool where my curls and spray would fall out the second my do touched the water. Once, I left my hot curling iron laying on the bench in the RV and my youngest brother unwittingly fried his bare foot on it. I don't want to go into family dynamics here, but let's just say I didn't win any points with my carelessness, however, my hair regiment was not shaken.
Once, we stopped at a Burger King to eat where I ate a milk shake and onion rings for dinner. A couple of hours later, the rings repeated themselves, over and over and my brothers couldn't pile out of the RV fast enough to gulp in some fresh air. Hey, a girl has to do whatever it takes to get a little solitude time.
Once, in the Grand Canyon, my Dad tried to wake us all at some ungodly hour, like 4 am, to see the sunrise. I didn't budge and I regret it.
From our Northward travels, I can only recall one city- Bar Harbor, Maine - and then that's all I remember, just the name. The highlight of this adventure was a stop at the Bass Outlet store. I was in preppie heaven. Discount Bass penny loafers and boat shoes. Honestly, that is ALL I remember from a two week trip. Discount shoes.
It is all ahead of us now, but I hope our trip makes for better memories for my boys. Barring anything terribly tragic, it will for me.
Friday, July 14, 2006
My Friday Night
My family was to play tennis tonight but a thunderstorm thwarted our plans and instead we perused Charter cable for a movie to watch. We settled on Super Baby Genius Two. After watching this incredibly stupid movie, I wondered how they could have ever decided to make a sequel.
Scott Baio starred as the Dad in this lame flick. I had a crush on him when I was twelve. I remember writing to his fan club and getting a pin up picture of him, along with a photo book in which I wrote silly things on each page like "My kind of guy". I know, I'm gagging too. Poor guy. This is what is left of his career.
At least he is still getting work and doesn't have to rob the cleaners because his career is in the toilet.
Scott Baio starred as the Dad in this lame flick. I had a crush on him when I was twelve. I remember writing to his fan club and getting a pin up picture of him, along with a photo book in which I wrote silly things on each page like "My kind of guy". I know, I'm gagging too. Poor guy. This is what is left of his career.
At least he is still getting work and doesn't have to rob the cleaners because his career is in the toilet.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Letter From President Bush
President Bush wrote me on official White House letterhead.
Congratulations on receiving the President's Volunteer Service Award from the President's Council on Service and Civic Participation. Through service to others, you demonstrate the outstanding character of America and help strengthen our country.
In January 2002, I called on all Americans to dedicate at least two years- or 4,000 hours- over the course of their lives to serve others at home or abroad. I congratulate you and all Americans who have answered this call and have earned a bronze Award from the President's Council. Americans of all ages can serve others in countless ways, such as mentoring a child, caring for an elderly neighbor, teaching someone to read, cleaning parks, and creating safer neighborhoods.
My Administration encourages every American to help their communities and our country. Through the USA Freedom Corps and the President's Council, we are building a culture of service, citizenship, and responsibility in American that will last for decades to come. Americans continue to serve and are part of the changing America, one heart and one soul at a time. Your actions are part of this change. I urge you to continue serving your neighbors and earn a Silver or Gold Award. I also hope that you will ask your friends, family, and colleagues to join you in serving your community and our Nation.
May God bless you, and my God continue to bless America.
Sincerely,
George Bush
There are several things to note about this letter.
First, it reeks. Bush is taking credit for my volunteer work, because I "answered this call". He is so unbelievably full of himself. I have volunteered all of my adult life, as do most folks I know. C'mon Prez, we do it because we were caring, compassionate people before you became King. Really. We aren't motivated by a tiny, stinking, metal pin. Really.
Second, had I known that my hours were being tallied by the White House, I wouldn't have signed "in", which I only did about half the time, when I volunteered at my son's school.
Third, WTH? How much money is being wasted on this program? Do they really think they are motivating folks who weren't already volunteering, or do they just want to take credit for it? Never mind, I know the answer. I think our money could be better spent elsewhere.
Fourth, Bush sounds a bit like a feminist, or at least politically correct, in not attaching a gender to God. It would really be p.c. if he said "God bless the people of every nation." Really.
Congratulations on receiving the President's Volunteer Service Award from the President's Council on Service and Civic Participation. Through service to others, you demonstrate the outstanding character of America and help strengthen our country.
In January 2002, I called on all Americans to dedicate at least two years- or 4,000 hours- over the course of their lives to serve others at home or abroad. I congratulate you and all Americans who have answered this call and have earned a bronze Award from the President's Council. Americans of all ages can serve others in countless ways, such as mentoring a child, caring for an elderly neighbor, teaching someone to read, cleaning parks, and creating safer neighborhoods.
My Administration encourages every American to help their communities and our country. Through the USA Freedom Corps and the President's Council, we are building a culture of service, citizenship, and responsibility in American that will last for decades to come. Americans continue to serve and are part of the changing America, one heart and one soul at a time. Your actions are part of this change. I urge you to continue serving your neighbors and earn a Silver or Gold Award. I also hope that you will ask your friends, family, and colleagues to join you in serving your community and our Nation.
May God bless you, and my God continue to bless America.
Sincerely,
George Bush
There are several things to note about this letter.
First, it reeks. Bush is taking credit for my volunteer work, because I "answered this call". He is so unbelievably full of himself. I have volunteered all of my adult life, as do most folks I know. C'mon Prez, we do it because we were caring, compassionate people before you became King. Really. We aren't motivated by a tiny, stinking, metal pin. Really.
Second, had I known that my hours were being tallied by the White House, I wouldn't have signed "in", which I only did about half the time, when I volunteered at my son's school.
Third, WTH? How much money is being wasted on this program? Do they really think they are motivating folks who weren't already volunteering, or do they just want to take credit for it? Never mind, I know the answer. I think our money could be better spent elsewhere.
Fourth, Bush sounds a bit like a feminist, or at least politically correct, in not attaching a gender to God. It would really be p.c. if he said "God bless the people of every nation." Really.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Sweet Solitude
My DH has taken my boys out of town. The house is mine for the weekend.
This just materialized in the last week, so I have felt a bit pressured to make the most of it because this has never happened. I have had girls' weekends away and vacations away from my house but I've never stayed home by myself.
There was a day, some twenty plus years ago, that I would have planned a raucous party, to take advantage of my parent's empty home.
This weekend I just want to enjoy the relative quiet with no agenda and know that I am in not in charge of anyone else.
Sweet Jesus, I deserve it.
This just materialized in the last week, so I have felt a bit pressured to make the most of it because this has never happened. I have had girls' weekends away and vacations away from my house but I've never stayed home by myself.
There was a day, some twenty plus years ago, that I would have planned a raucous party, to take advantage of my parent's empty home.
This weekend I just want to enjoy the relative quiet with no agenda and know that I am in not in charge of anyone else.
Sweet Jesus, I deserve it.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Vonage Hell
Last Fall, I took the bait and joined "the revolution" at Vonage, an internet phone company. At $25/month for unlimited local and long distance, it was half the price of the big boys over at BellSouth. Since BS doesn't know a thing about customer service, I took Vonage's line and boy did they take me for a spin.
I wasn't able to keep my old phone number- that should have been the first red flag- but I didn't mind inconveniencing all my friends and family because I was teaching BellSouth a lesson for their unscrupulous business practice of slamming me over to their long distance without my permission - not that they cared until I took it up with the NC Attorney General.
Guess what? My new number was long distance to everyone in Asheville because Vonage didn't "have a contract" here and my exchange was out of Boone. At the time they had contracts in 90% of the markets in the US. It now stands at 99%, but Asheville still doesn't make it. I spent some time talking with the nice folks at Vonage who fell all over themselves to try to make it right, even giving me a toll free, but totally different number, free for 3 months. Of course, I didn't give it out to anyone; who wants to dial 10 digits to ask your neighbor for a cup of sugar? Still, I stayed with Vonage for 9 months,trying to wait out the contract.
Finally fed up, my DH signed us on with Charter's new phone service, which conveniently included an upgrade in cable just in time for The World Cup. So I called to set up cancellation of our Vonage service. After holding for (and I'm not joking) an hour and half, the polite representative on the end of the phone said I had to call on the day I wanted the service canceled. YIKES. So I called back a couple of weeks later. This time only a 55 minute wait. Woo hoo! The courteous rep told me since I was canceling within a year of my contract, that I had to pay a disconnect fee of forty bucks.
Surely, someone can waive that fee considering no one bothered to tell me I wouldn't have a local number?
No. I can't do it nor is there anyone else here who can.
I asked to speak to her supervisor. There wasn't one there.
Then give me his/her name and I call back.
I'm not allowed to do that. Company policy.
I have to hand it to her. She remained calm and polite, despite my increasing agitation with her inane answers.
What do you suggest I do?
She couldn't answer that.
I finally got her to give me the CEO's name and corporate address. A lot of good that will do.
I'm feeling a little deja vu. I had the same experience with BS, only their phone agents were nasty about it. I even wrote to their "escalation department" with no reply.
Guess I'll have to ask the Attorney General to intervene again. What a freaking pain in the ass. I have to do hours of work to get back what is rightfully mine. It absolutely isn't worth the time it takes to get back $40 ($34 from BS) but it is the principal of the issue. How many others don't have time, or just aren't capable of fighting these battles? How many seniors are out there getting fleeced?
Here's the thing. If Vonage had fair business practices, then I would be happy to give them another chance somewhere down the line, as eventually they will get a contract here. But it doesn't matter. I'm just one customer and my absence won't break the bank. It won't even make a little dent.
I wasn't able to keep my old phone number- that should have been the first red flag- but I didn't mind inconveniencing all my friends and family because I was teaching BellSouth a lesson for their unscrupulous business practice of slamming me over to their long distance without my permission - not that they cared until I took it up with the NC Attorney General.
Guess what? My new number was long distance to everyone in Asheville because Vonage didn't "have a contract" here and my exchange was out of Boone. At the time they had contracts in 90% of the markets in the US. It now stands at 99%, but Asheville still doesn't make it. I spent some time talking with the nice folks at Vonage who fell all over themselves to try to make it right, even giving me a toll free, but totally different number, free for 3 months. Of course, I didn't give it out to anyone; who wants to dial 10 digits to ask your neighbor for a cup of sugar? Still, I stayed with Vonage for 9 months,trying to wait out the contract.
Finally fed up, my DH signed us on with Charter's new phone service, which conveniently included an upgrade in cable just in time for The World Cup. So I called to set up cancellation of our Vonage service. After holding for (and I'm not joking) an hour and half, the polite representative on the end of the phone said I had to call on the day I wanted the service canceled. YIKES. So I called back a couple of weeks later. This time only a 55 minute wait. Woo hoo! The courteous rep told me since I was canceling within a year of my contract, that I had to pay a disconnect fee of forty bucks.
Surely, someone can waive that fee considering no one bothered to tell me I wouldn't have a local number?
No. I can't do it nor is there anyone else here who can.
I asked to speak to her supervisor. There wasn't one there.
Then give me his/her name and I call back.
I'm not allowed to do that. Company policy.
I have to hand it to her. She remained calm and polite, despite my increasing agitation with her inane answers.
What do you suggest I do?
She couldn't answer that.
I finally got her to give me the CEO's name and corporate address. A lot of good that will do.
I'm feeling a little deja vu. I had the same experience with BS, only their phone agents were nasty about it. I even wrote to their "escalation department" with no reply.
Guess I'll have to ask the Attorney General to intervene again. What a freaking pain in the ass. I have to do hours of work to get back what is rightfully mine. It absolutely isn't worth the time it takes to get back $40 ($34 from BS) but it is the principal of the issue. How many others don't have time, or just aren't capable of fighting these battles? How many seniors are out there getting fleeced?
Here's the thing. If Vonage had fair business practices, then I would be happy to give them another chance somewhere down the line, as eventually they will get a contract here. But it doesn't matter. I'm just one customer and my absence won't break the bank. It won't even make a little dent.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Doin' The Donald
I had a dream I was getting it on with Donald Trump AND I was enjoying it. Yeah, that's right. That's what I said. He was charming and a great kisser. But just as things were heating up on his double king bed, my boys interrupted by bursting in the room. I reluctantly left the Donald's side to show them their rooms which of course were up three flights and down two hallways. Before I could make it back down to finish things with Hottie Donnie, I moved on to another dream, but not before I caught myself thinking that all my past comments about his bad hair/comb over were going to be hard to explain to my new lover.
This is going nowhere so I'll move on to a drink and my book. Maybe tonight's dream lover will be attractive OR my age. Is that too much to ask the dream fairies?
This is going nowhere so I'll move on to a drink and my book. Maybe tonight's dream lover will be attractive OR my age. Is that too much to ask the dream fairies?
Monday, June 19, 2006
Lefty Lost It
Dare I risk posting about something I know little about, again? Ahh what the hell. It always gets the most action, even if it is at my expense. Besides, golf isn't that difficult to understand. Playing the game well, at least for me, is a different story. Way too much time to think - a thinking man's (um women's) sport, although that could be called into question given some of the comments past and present players have made - Fuzzy Zoeller's racially charged comments about Tiger Woods and VJ Singh's sexist blurb about Annika Sorenstam come to mind. They could not have been thinking.
I dig watching Golf on a Sunday afternoon. I hate playing it. It's torture. Paying a hefty some of money for 5 hours of dragging your bag around, all the while sweating like a horse, and swatting away gnats like one too. Shelling out more money to the cart princess peddling beer, wearing a low cut number (hmmm, wonder who she's marketing to?) because beer enhances my bowling game, maybe it will help this. At the very least it will dull the boredom. Ok, maybe frustration is a better word because I suck at golf. The only count I've ever had on a hole that came close to par was the number of balls I lost. At the end of my round of "exercise" as my husband likes to sell it, after accounting for my beer intake, I've burned a net of 10 calories, smell like a wet dog, "out" 20 bucks in lost balls and exhausted because I took three times as many strokes as my comrades.
Sorry but I'd much rather spend that 5 hours playing a couple of tennis matches, where sweating is an indication of actual exercise.
Face it, you just don't see a lot golfers, especially Americans, who appear to be physically fit. In fact, many of them have man boobs, including Phil Mickelson and Colin Montgomery, who were in the running for the US Open trophy yesterday. I can't think of any sport, besides Sumo wrestling, where man jugs appear to be an indication of success. Phil has had an incredibly successful year, bringing with it a big payroll, which apparently, judging by the size of his expanding bust, enabled him to eat a little more.
Maybe that plays into his "likeable" factor - he seems like golf's favorite son. He looks like an average guy, lest you stand him by his gorgeous wife and beautiful children, who enjoys hotdogs and beer (and perhaps a few ho-hos?) like most other Americans. He wears his heart on his sleeve, looks like he might cry on the 18th after falling apart yesterday, and calls himself an "idiot" in the post game conference.
He lost it yesterday. I felt bad for him, but he sure makes that boring, frustrating game worth watching.
I dig watching Golf on a Sunday afternoon. I hate playing it. It's torture. Paying a hefty some of money for 5 hours of dragging your bag around, all the while sweating like a horse, and swatting away gnats like one too. Shelling out more money to the cart princess peddling beer, wearing a low cut number (hmmm, wonder who she's marketing to?) because beer enhances my bowling game, maybe it will help this. At the very least it will dull the boredom. Ok, maybe frustration is a better word because I suck at golf. The only count I've ever had on a hole that came close to par was the number of balls I lost. At the end of my round of "exercise" as my husband likes to sell it, after accounting for my beer intake, I've burned a net of 10 calories, smell like a wet dog, "out" 20 bucks in lost balls and exhausted because I took three times as many strokes as my comrades.
Sorry but I'd much rather spend that 5 hours playing a couple of tennis matches, where sweating is an indication of actual exercise.
Face it, you just don't see a lot golfers, especially Americans, who appear to be physically fit. In fact, many of them have man boobs, including Phil Mickelson and Colin Montgomery, who were in the running for the US Open trophy yesterday. I can't think of any sport, besides Sumo wrestling, where man jugs appear to be an indication of success. Phil has had an incredibly successful year, bringing with it a big payroll, which apparently, judging by the size of his expanding bust, enabled him to eat a little more.
Maybe that plays into his "likeable" factor - he seems like golf's favorite son. He looks like an average guy, lest you stand him by his gorgeous wife and beautiful children, who enjoys hotdogs and beer (and perhaps a few ho-hos?) like most other Americans. He wears his heart on his sleeve, looks like he might cry on the 18th after falling apart yesterday, and calls himself an "idiot" in the post game conference.
He lost it yesterday. I felt bad for him, but he sure makes that boring, frustrating game worth watching.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Exhale
Last night, at BlogAsheville's birthday gig at friend Edgymama's warm and lively home, I was crowned Biggest Slacker at BlogAsheville. Well deserved, I might add, but I've been called worse, and sadly it was by my beautiful six year old -STUPID IDIOT (redundant, I know, but considering his age, not bad. I rue the day when he replaces IDIOT with another 5 letter word).
Thus my absence from the blogger pages, at least I think it is the most probable cause. I've been consumed with managing my strong-willed child's antics at school. My consumption mostly consisted of helplessly holding my breath until school ended as I had difficulty finding a therapist who was "taking new patients". School ended two weeks ago and we have found a new therapist that understands him and assures me he won't grow up to be an ax murderer. In fact, she said kid's like him - bright, articulate, perceptive, sensitive and let's not forget strong willed - grow up to change the world. Big Exhale. It's good to breathe.....
Thus my absence from the blogger pages, at least I think it is the most probable cause. I've been consumed with managing my strong-willed child's antics at school. My consumption mostly consisted of helplessly holding my breath until school ended as I had difficulty finding a therapist who was "taking new patients". School ended two weeks ago and we have found a new therapist that understands him and assures me he won't grow up to be an ax murderer. In fact, she said kid's like him - bright, articulate, perceptive, sensitive and let's not forget strong willed - grow up to change the world. Big Exhale. It's good to breathe.....
Friday, May 05, 2006
The End
The lunch boxes are dying, their plastic flesh reeking of peanut butter, yogurt, grapes, sour milk and juice. I have done everything within my power to prolong their lives - they only need to hold out for four more weeks. Just hold on, I think, then you can go peacefully to the trash, knowing you helped nourish my kids for their school year.
Perhaps if had taken better care of them, they wouldn't be dying. Damn. Maybe if I didn't forget to unpack them at the end of the day, instead waiting until the next morning, when things had time to ferment.
I really meant to be better this year. I even got the boxes with the hard, plastic removable trays that were easy to wash. But still the leftover milk and honey found their way into the cracks and crevices of the interior, eating away at the boxes' guts.
Its only a matter of time. I hope they can hold out for just a little longer.
Perhaps if had taken better care of them, they wouldn't be dying. Damn. Maybe if I didn't forget to unpack them at the end of the day, instead waiting until the next morning, when things had time to ferment.
I really meant to be better this year. I even got the boxes with the hard, plastic removable trays that were easy to wash. But still the leftover milk and honey found their way into the cracks and crevices of the interior, eating away at the boxes' guts.
Its only a matter of time. I hope they can hold out for just a little longer.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Jesus Emails
Forwarded emails don't normally bother me. It takes just a few seconds to discern the content and either delete or read. But I have a few friends, mostly my brothers, who fall victim to the "religious" email bully. The emails normally have some benign, sweet content to make you feel good, or lovely pictures of nature. But at the end of email is a not-so-cleverly written threat/ message that if you can't take the time to send this out then you must be ashamed of Jesus. It goes on the use a bible quote to support this.
I received one today that said "if you are not ashamed, send this message but only if you believe". Just in case you're stupid and didn't understand, it goes on to say, two lines later- "This is a simple test. If you love God and all the great things He has done for you, send this to everyone you know."
First of all God's not a he. Second, this is simple and I can't believe folks actually are bullied by this - it has to be the reason they send it, right? God's gonna be pissed if you don't send it, right? Surely, you'll go to Hell for being "ashamed".
UGH!
If only spirituality were as simple as pressing the forward button.
I find it curious that the friend that sent me this one (my brothers too), also sent an urban legend one about how evil Target is. She shops at Walmart. Don't you think God would be more pissed off that you support a company who saves you $3 while discriminating against women and minorities, bullying folks to work off the clock so they can keep their low paying job "with benefits" they can't afford?
I received one today that said "if you are not ashamed, send this message but only if you believe". Just in case you're stupid and didn't understand, it goes on to say, two lines later- "This is a simple test. If you love God and all the great things He has done for you, send this to everyone you know."
First of all God's not a he. Second, this is simple and I can't believe folks actually are bullied by this - it has to be the reason they send it, right? God's gonna be pissed if you don't send it, right? Surely, you'll go to Hell for being "ashamed".
UGH!
If only spirituality were as simple as pressing the forward button.
I find it curious that the friend that sent me this one (my brothers too), also sent an urban legend one about how evil Target is. She shops at Walmart. Don't you think God would be more pissed off that you support a company who saves you $3 while discriminating against women and minorities, bullying folks to work off the clock so they can keep their low paying job "with benefits" they can't afford?
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
Shit!
My youngest holds it forever. You can hear him farting across the house. It sounds like someone is shooting off a round from an automatic weapon. This an indication that he needs to "go", but he heeds no nudging from me.
Tonight when I ducked into the bathroom to check his bath progress, I was greeted by a pungent stank. Youngest was sitting in the tub, half cocked on one buttock, like he was trying to let one "go". "Get out of the tub and go to the bathroom," I pleaded, my nose watering from the smell. "Ok, Ok," he whined.
A few minutes later, he was yelling from the tub, "I'm all itchy."
"You probably used too much soap again. Stand up and turn on the shower."
"Nooooo," objected my strong willed child.
"Ok, then, get out!"
I proceeded to slather him with lotion to quell the itching and then helped him to bed.
When I returned to the scene of the crime, the smell was still quite acute. I took a couple of steps closer to find bits, MANY bits, of poop in the bathtub.
"****ing gross," I snarled. Then I hit the cleaning closet. Times like these call for drastic measures: Clorox.
This wouldn't be so dramatic if youngest was say, 3 years old. But he is 6. Six years old!!
I did give him a choice: Either you clean it up or you lose 10 compliments (our reward system for doing things right). He's no dummy. Earning 10 compliments is a lot easier than cleaning up shit. He went to bed.
It was only later I realized why he was itching. Shit!
Tonight when I ducked into the bathroom to check his bath progress, I was greeted by a pungent stank. Youngest was sitting in the tub, half cocked on one buttock, like he was trying to let one "go". "Get out of the tub and go to the bathroom," I pleaded, my nose watering from the smell. "Ok, Ok," he whined.
A few minutes later, he was yelling from the tub, "I'm all itchy."
"You probably used too much soap again. Stand up and turn on the shower."
"Nooooo," objected my strong willed child.
"Ok, then, get out!"
I proceeded to slather him with lotion to quell the itching and then helped him to bed.
When I returned to the scene of the crime, the smell was still quite acute. I took a couple of steps closer to find bits, MANY bits, of poop in the bathtub.
"****ing gross," I snarled. Then I hit the cleaning closet. Times like these call for drastic measures: Clorox.
This wouldn't be so dramatic if youngest was say, 3 years old. But he is 6. Six years old!!
I did give him a choice: Either you clean it up or you lose 10 compliments (our reward system for doing things right). He's no dummy. Earning 10 compliments is a lot easier than cleaning up shit. He went to bed.
It was only later I realized why he was itching. Shit!
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Top 10 Reasons Not to have an Affair
1. might harm the kids
2. screw up your career (esp if you're a minister)
3. might catch an infectious disease
4. might get pregnant
5. can't fart at will any more
6. have to bathe everyday
7. have to shave legs and pits more often
8. would hate to break up Keith Urban and Nicole
9. could go against the grain of being a person of integrity
10. problem of where to hide all the new lingerie from hubby
(This list was generated by Restless Mama and Running Rio during the night of escape at Asheville Brew and View. We had to do something after Duke lost.)
2. screw up your career (esp if you're a minister)
3. might catch an infectious disease
4. might get pregnant
5. can't fart at will any more
6. have to bathe everyday
7. have to shave legs and pits more often
8. would hate to break up Keith Urban and Nicole
9. could go against the grain of being a person of integrity
10. problem of where to hide all the new lingerie from hubby
(This list was generated by Restless Mama and Running Rio during the night of escape at Asheville Brew and View. We had to do something after Duke lost.)
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Meet Patch
Destroyer of prescription glasses, my mobile phone, and Legos. Chewer of shoes, yoga blocks, solar yard lights, many piece of furniture, match box cars and anything in the recycling bin. Burier of 50 rawhide bones given so he won't chew on the above. Jewel Jumper - as in family jewels - to anyone who comes to our door.
It's like having a toddler added to the household, only we can lock him away without anyone calling DSS.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Now That's Showing Your Ass
Last month, while skiing in Colorado, we met some incredibly bright and interesting folks which was conducive to good conversation. And good conversation always includes interesting stories. Here is one I really enjoyed:
This particular story was told by Laura, a warm and genuine southern woman in her late fifties.
Years ago, Laura was skiing with a group led by a ski instructor. Her group included a woman who was significantly older than the rest, but was trying to keep up with the younger, more agile skiers.
After several days of ski instruction, the instructor decided the group was ready for the top of the mountain. After successfully negotiating the ride off the lift, the group gathered together before they tackled the mountain. The older woman, pulled the instructor aside and asked how long before they reached the bottom. Forty five minutes, he told her. She wouldn't last, she told him. She needed to use the facilities. He directed her to the trees between the slopes, and the rest of the group waited patiently. After a few moments, there was an audible yelp from the trees. Everyone looked up to see the woman, skiing backwards, with her ski pants bunched up around her ankles, her buttocks exposed to the elements and the entire skiing population within eye shot.
Eventually she regained control and was able to cover her chapped assets but was, of course, tremendously embarrassed. So much so, that the next day she was too horrified to face the slopes and skiers again; she opted for a quiet day of anonymity by the lodge fire, hoping to forget the previous day's events. There was a young man relaxing by the fire too. He bore a fresh cast from an apparent ski accident. Curious she struck up a conversation with him. What happened to your leg?, she asked.
Much to her chagrin, he relayed the events of the previous day. It seems that he was having a fantastic time skiing when he looked up to see a woman skiing backward and half naked down the ski slope. He was so shocked that he lost his focus and balance and fell to break his leg.
I'm not sure if she remained anonymous but forgetting the show of assets was impossible.
This particular story was told by Laura, a warm and genuine southern woman in her late fifties.
Years ago, Laura was skiing with a group led by a ski instructor. Her group included a woman who was significantly older than the rest, but was trying to keep up with the younger, more agile skiers.
After several days of ski instruction, the instructor decided the group was ready for the top of the mountain. After successfully negotiating the ride off the lift, the group gathered together before they tackled the mountain. The older woman, pulled the instructor aside and asked how long before they reached the bottom. Forty five minutes, he told her. She wouldn't last, she told him. She needed to use the facilities. He directed her to the trees between the slopes, and the rest of the group waited patiently. After a few moments, there was an audible yelp from the trees. Everyone looked up to see the woman, skiing backwards, with her ski pants bunched up around her ankles, her buttocks exposed to the elements and the entire skiing population within eye shot.
Eventually she regained control and was able to cover her chapped assets but was, of course, tremendously embarrassed. So much so, that the next day she was too horrified to face the slopes and skiers again; she opted for a quiet day of anonymity by the lodge fire, hoping to forget the previous day's events. There was a young man relaxing by the fire too. He bore a fresh cast from an apparent ski accident. Curious she struck up a conversation with him. What happened to your leg?, she asked.
Much to her chagrin, he relayed the events of the previous day. It seems that he was having a fantastic time skiing when he looked up to see a woman skiing backward and half naked down the ski slope. He was so shocked that he lost his focus and balance and fell to break his leg.
I'm not sure if she remained anonymous but forgetting the show of assets was impossible.
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