Ordering

I worked overnight and was completely starved and exhausted. So, I stopped at a gas station for fuel and a sandwich. And yes, it is totally gross that I ate at a gas station Subway.

I intended to order the same thing I always order at Subway. A tuna salad sandwich with lettuce, tomato, olives, and topped with oil and vinegar. Again, gross, I know. Instead, Zombie Sam decided to order the food.

Subway Kid: "What can I get for you?"
Zombie Me: "I'll have an egg and cheese on honey...wow. No I won't. Sorry. Can I get a tuna sandwich on....do you have some kind of honey bread?"
SK: "Honey Oat?"
Me: "Yes! That please."
Note: At this point this kid is looking at me like he really wishes he had some of whatever I was on.
SK: "What would you like on it?"
Me: "Lettuce, tomato, and olives"
SK: "Mayonnaise or mustard?"
Me: "No, just salt and vinegar."
SK: "Ok...salt and vinegar."
And he starts shaking salt onto my sandwich.
Me: "Why are you putting salt on my sandwich?!"
SK: "You wanted salt and vinegar?"
Me: "Salt and vinegar? Oh my God no....OIL and vinegar. I'm sorry. Just give it to me."
SK: "Are you sure? I can make you another one."
Me: "No no, it's my fault. I'll eat it. Thanks."

FYI...it was gross. Luckily I'd also purchased a bag of pepperidge far macadamia nut cookies to wash it down with. Mmmmm....healthy. :-p

Pantless

A couple weeks ago my friend and I went shopping at the outlet mall. I bought 3 pairs of pants, none of which were the right length. But, my friend convinced me that I am old enough to handle getting my pants hemmed and should purchase them anyway. So, here I am with 3 pairs of unwearable pants (they are sooo long.) I finally decided to expend some effort and get the stupid things up off the ground. My friend recommended that I take the pants to the stores that sell them at the mall to get them hemmed because then the hem will match that of the original manufacturer. The pants are trouser style jeans and a pair of cords, so I could see the value in having a matching hem. Plus she said it was pretty inexpensive, so why not. I head to the mall.

Go into J. Crew and the staff is great. There's only one chick in the store who knows how to pin pants for hemming, but we finally find her and we're on our way. I ask her whether I can also get a pair of jeans originally sold at Banana Republic hemmed. I figured that because I am paying to have them hemmed, it really shouldn't matter what kind of pants they are. Also I am lazy and didn't want to walk to Banana Republic. The saleslady thinks that would probably be fine but she'll have to check their policy. In the meantime she's happy to pin them for me anyway. Cool beans, I like J. Crew.

Get to the desk and it turns out that they cannot hem pants that aren't from their store. Fiiiiiine. I'll go to stupid Banana. She also tells me that the pants go out to their tailor on Thursday and return the following Thursday. It's going to be a red hot second to get these pants back...but that's fine.

I set off for the Banana Republic to get the stupid almost identical pair of jeans sewn by that company. Walk in and the people working there haven't a clue. They looked terrified that they'd have to pin the pants. I told them not to worry, they're already pinned, just hem them for me. The girl has me fill out a slip and then she goes to look at the tag. I assume to confirm that they're from Banana Republic.

Girl: "Oh. These are from the outlet."
Me: "Yes. The Banana Republic outlet."
Girl: "We don't do alterations on outlet clothes."
Me: "Why not?"
Girl: "The outlet is different. They have different stock and different clothes..."
Me: "Yes...they have the clothes you guys used to have in stock. I don't understand the problem."
Girl: "We don't alter outlet clothes because we're not the same store."
Me: "The pants are already pinned. I will give you money to have someone sew the pants. How is this a problem??"
Girl: "Umm....these are from the outlet....sooo....we can't alter them."
Me: "Oh my God that is so stupid. Okay fine thanks."

My favorite part is that she had already explained to me that the pants go out to their tailor on Thursday and return the following Thursday. I would lay down good money that J. Crew and Banana Republic use the same tailor. AUUUGHGH.

So I guess I'm going to have to fix the Banana pants myself. My Mom got halfway through explaining the hemming process to me before I finally stopped her and explained that I owned neither needle nor thread. So that might be step one. Or I could just pull out the super-glue.

**I bet this was the most boring "pantless" post you could ever have imagined. How disappointing.

Texts from Last Night

I am in bed with my husband at 11:30 PM last night. His phone starts making some noise from Star Wars signifying that he has a text message.

Him: "Who the hell is texting me this late?" and grabs the phone.
Me: "Who is it?"
Him: "It's Timmy. He wants to know whether I remember the cheat code for Sonic off the top of my head."

Silence.

Me: "Oh my God do you?!"
Him: "I think it's up-down-up-down-left-right-B."
Me: "omg I am married to you."

He texts back, sets down the phone and rolls back over. Then doesn't move.

Me: "What's the matter?"
Him: "I think it's actually up-down-up-down-B-A-B."
Me: "Sweet baby Jesus."

He grabs the phone and texts Timmy back with the new code. Timmy replies.

Timmy: "It's okay...I was just proving a point to my roommates."
Me: "His point is that you are a huge nerd."

Flushed Away

Mom: "Ugh, my pager's going off. I wish I hadn't replaced it."
Me: "What happened to your other pager?"
Mom: "Oh, I flushed it."
Me: "Is that a euphemism?"
Mom: "Oh no. I flushed and then noticed 'OH MY GOD THAT'S MY PAGER!'"
Me: "Very astute. How did you manage that?"
Mom: "Well, you know, it fell in the toilet! And I didn't notice until it was too late. So, I plunged it thinking that maybe it would float to the top. But it must've really been far in there! I was actually pretty impressed- it's just a normal household toilet. Pretty powerful. So, I flushed it like 5 more times and hoped for the best."
Me: "Wow. Quite a solution."
Mom: "Yeah. So then I told Karen* that I'd flushed my pager so she'd have to call me at home if she needed anything because my pager was gone."
Me: "Good idea."
Mom: "And then she said it hadn't gone far enough. The toilet almost overflowed yesterday. It is really jammed."
Me: "Wow. That is totally embarrassing."
Mom: "Yeah. I hope I don't have to pay a plumber to go fishing for my pager."

My only hope is that slugs are dancing around with it.



*Mom's co-worker
*Felecia, C&C Music Factory is BACK

The Kid Is Not My Son

I promise that some day my blog will become something more than a repository of hatred for my landlady.

But not today.

So yesterday I was working at a hospital until about 5 PM. I got home, changed clothes, and received a phone call from my landlady. It's 5:15.

Her: "Hey, there might be someone coming to see the apartment."
Me: "Okay, when?"
Her: "Possibly at 5:45."
Me: "You couldn't give me any more notice than this?!"
Her: "Well, they called this morning and I told them to call back to confirm and they haven't called back. So I'm not even sure whether they're coming...I'd say it's about 50/50."
Me: "Okay, well I have to clean up."
Her: "Well, don't do too much, I don't think they're even coming."

So I get up and dump out the bucket of mop water that's been sitting in the kitchen since the day before. Try to wash the dishes really quickly. Take the giant pile of laundry that I was going to do prior to being called into work and stuff it into a hamper. Try to start cleaning the tub a little when the doorbell rings. Awesome. It's the landlady, and her totally annoying 3 year old. It's 5:20.

Her: "They're definitely coming."
Me: "When?"
Her: "They said they'd be here by 5:30."
Me: "Awesome."

So she's standing in my living room and I can hear her scolding her kid to quit touching things. Meanwhile I am STORMING around upstairs, throwing things in closets, making up the bed, slamming doors, muttering. I go downstairs and she's just staring out holding the kid who is making a fuss. He wants to rip all the DVDs off my shelves. She's grabbing him and telling him to stop but he's still having a tantrum. Also he's wearing nothing but a shirt and a diaper, his face is filthy, and he has some dirty little bootie things on.

Her: "Nobody's going to rent this place if he starts screaming."
Me: "Yeah. Want me to turn on a movie for him?"

Keep in mind that I have a vested interest in this apartment being rented. If she doesn't find a renter by the end of July, I'm paying for August even though we'll be living in the new house by then. I have no desire to pay for this friggin' apartment when I'm not even living here. I can barely bring myself to pay when I am.

Her: "Yeah, if you don't mind, that'd be great."

Of course he wants to watch Monsters Inc, which is not in its case. I try to talk him into any one of the 50 other children's movies I have (Muppet Movie? Madagascar? Alice in Wonderland? Babe? How old am I again?) and he is not having it. The landlady finally says to throw on Little Mermaid and he'll watch it. So I do. As I'm turning on the DVD, the potential renters park on the street. Meanwhile her child is still fussing and yelling that he'd rather watch "Monster movie!"

Her: "Here they are."
Kids still fussing.
Her: "He's not my kid..." (I think she's joking)
And greets the potential renters.

My plan at this point is to turn on the movie, hop in my car, and come back in a half an hour as I've done with every other showing.

The people walk in, the landlady introduces herself to them, and then steps over her kid and I and says "I guess they're going to watch a movie." Then takes the renters upstairs.

I am stuck downstairs and she has just passed her child off as mine. How did that just happen?!??

She's upstairs with them, kid is watching the movie with occasional bouts of "I hate this." I'm wondering if there's any way I can leave this kid sitting here alone without him tearing apart everything I own. 5 minutes in, he hops out of his chair and takes off out the front door. I run after him, grab him, and tell him to plant his butt back in the chair. He behaved the rest of the time. But clearly, if I'd ditched him he would've run into traffic.

The renters have no interest in the apartment and leave. The landlady turns to me and says, smiling:

"They thought he was yours. He looks more like you anyway." And leaves.

I am living in some kind of surreal nightmare world where my landlady is on crazy pills and has no idea how incredibly inappropriate she is. Her poor kid.

I Can't Live Here Anymore

As you all well know, my landlady is the worst human being ever to have walked this earth. I'm pretty sure she lives to inconvenience me. Tom and I are in the process of purchasing a house, and every ten minutes I look up and say, "I want to go live in my houuuuse." He has interpreted this as a quality that he never knew about- "You are incredibly impatient." But I don't think that's correct. It's just that every ten minutes it dawns on me that I still live in the same house as this horrible woman- and it dawns on me because I live in constant fear of the next thing she's going to do to completely piss me off.

So, last week she puts a note in my mailbox that she received from the city. The city will be flushing the water mains on every street, so you should check the city website every evening and if they're going to be flushing your street the next day you should go ahead and put some water in pots and pans, or shower the night before. The flushing would only be taking place between 8 AM and 4 PM however, so when you get home you should be all set...just run the water til it's not cloudy anymore. She reiterated the message on the note when I saw her outside later that day- "I don't want a bunch of sediment in my pipes, so make sure you check and don't turn on the water the day that they're flushing." Okay, 'nuff said.

Yesterday was the first day that flushing would be taking place. But, I had a class to attend in Northern China and was therefore gone for most of the day. I didn't get home til about 6 PM. When I got home, the water seemed a little cloudy so I checked the website. My street was completed- the flush had been done that morning. Sweet. I go to pick Tom up from work, stop by the grocery store so I can make dinner, and come home with a plan to run the water until it turns clear and move on with my life. I walk into the kitchen, turn on the faucet, and it's a trickle. Apparently the only reason the toilet flushed and I was able to wash my hands when I got home was that there was that much water left in the system.

So, I call my landlady.
Me: "Hi, is your water working? Mine is off."
Her: "Oh, well they're flushing the water mains, remember?"
Me: "Yes, from 8 AM to 4 PM. It's 7 and my water is off."
Her: "I don't know, I'm not home. That's strange..."
Me: "Well, will you call me when you get home and let me know what's going on?"
Her: "Yeah, I'll be home in about an hour. OH! Oh...it's in the basement...it's....um.....you'll have water later."
Click.

I look at Tom and say, "I'm pretty sure that she turned off the water." So, I can't make dinner, I can't flush the toilet, I can't have a glass of water. Luckily what I really needed at that point was a beer, and I did have that readily accessible. A couple of Tom's brothers came over and hung out (played cards and listened to me call my landlady a whorebag) for a while. So, 2 hours after the initial phone call, I've had some beer and would like to use my bathroom again. I'd also really like to eat some friggin' dinner since it's 9 PM. I call her back:

Me: "Hi, it's me again."
Her: "Hey, what's up?"
Me: "Is there something I can do to get the water back on?"
Her: "You mean it's not back on yet?"
Me: "Should it be? I'll check....nope. Still not on."
Her: "Okay, well I'm having like the worst night ever at work, I was supposed to be home 3 hours ago. Can you just let me deal with this? I'll be home later."
Me: "Well, I'd really like to be able to use my toilet, and it's 9 PM and I haven't been able to make dinner yet. Is there something I can just do to turn the water back on?"
Her: "No. I don't want you touching anything. I'll figure out what's going on when I get home. Could you just order out? I'm just having a terrible night."
Me: "Fine bye."

SHE IS SUCH A TERRIBLE PERSON! Okay, so a few points.
1. "It's not back on yet?" Don't act like the water was going to turn itself back on. You know damn well you turned off the water without notifying me, and then didn't remember to turn it back on before you left the house for the next 6 hours. Don't lie to me. I'm not an idiot. And I hate you.
2. "I'm having the worst night ever at work." I work with dead people. You manage real estate. And half the time you don't have the courtesy to leave my parking space open when I get home after a 24 hour shift. Go screw yourself.
3. "Could you just order out?" Are you gonna pay for it? I just signed up for a mortgage. I cannot afford to order out. Again, screw.

So, she gets home around 10 PM, immediately the water magically reappears. Do you think she calls to let me know the water is back on? Nope. I hate her so much it makes me want to punch a hole in the wall.

This morning she calls. Is it to apologize for turning off the water? Hellz no.
Her: "Hey Sam, I just wanted to remind you that they're flushing the water mains."
Me: "They did it yesterday."
Her: "No, I just called the city and they said that they were on Florence Street today. If you remember, the sheet said that it didn't even start until today."
Me: "No, the sheet said it started yesterday. I checked the website last night and it said our street was completed. And if they didn't do it yesterday then why the hell was my water off last night?"
Her: "The water was off because I turned it off. Last time they did this I got all kinds of sediment it my house and I didn't want that happening again so I turned off the water."
Me: "Well, it's nice of you to let me know you were going to do that."
Her: "I'm going to call them back because I was here all day yesterday and I don't think they flushed the pipes. I'll call you back."

I swear to God if she's going to turn the water off again today I'm going to call and get myself kicked out of this apartment.

Her: "You're right. They did it yesterday. They must've done it after I left."
Me: "Fine. Bye."

I'm not impatient. I just have to get away from her. I want to go live in my new houuuuuuse.

This is Worse Than Snakes on a Plane

I had to work the other day in an area I don't usually cover. This resulted in me driving 4 hours, working overnight, and then driving 4 hours home after having been awake for 24 hours. I've done this before, and granted it doesn't sound like the safest move in the world, but it's okay. It's much better than having to sleep in a hotel room for a few hours. Do you know how often they wash the blankets in those places? Never. Sheets, all the time. Blankets? Don't kid yourself. Those things have never been washed. Ever.

So, I'm driving home and I'm on the phone pretty much the entire way because otherwise I will lose consciousness. In this instance I called the only person who would understand my need to be on the phone for 4 hours at 7 AM. My mother. We're talking about swine flu and how I should wear a mask when I fly home for a visit next week (yeah...that's not going to freak anyone out. Actually, after Biden's remarks today they'll probably be handing them out at the gate.)

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

So, we're chatting and I'm driving about 85 miles an hour on the highway when I look down at the speedometer. And there is an F-ING HUGE SPIDER. It is brown and it is large and it is only a foot away from me.

Mom: "So you need to make sure you grab a mask from the hospital so you'll have one blah blah bl-"
Me: "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD"
Mom: "SAMANTHA what's the matter?!"
Me: "There is a SPIDER and it is crawling right in front of me and it is moving down toward my legs on my god oh my god"
Mom: "It's okay just pull the car over...."
Me: "I AM! It's just that I am going 85 miles an hour on a 4 lane highway talking on a cell phone haven't slept for 24 hours and a SPIDER IS TRYING TO KILL ME!"
Mom: "I KNOW! Be careful."

I successfully pull over to the narrowest shoulder of all time. It is exactly the width of my car. I'm lucky none of my vehicle is hanging over into the nearest lane. I immediately unbuckle and jump out of my seat. I can't jump out of the car because if I open the door, it will immediately be ripped off by a semi and I will be sucked out into traffic by the sheer force of it. Kind of like Titanic but sideways and dry.

Unfortunately during the 5 seconds I took my eyes off the spider to successfully navigate off the highway, it disappeared.

Mom: "Did you kill it?"
Me: "I can't find it! I have no idea where it is! It's probably in my hair!!!"
Mom: "Oh you have to find it...otherwise you'll be freaked out the whole way home!"
Me: "I KNOW!"

Bear in mind that the entire time we're having this really productive conversation, my car is being buffeted like crazy by every passing semi. One of those guys veers a little off the road and I'm going to become real familiar with my steering wheel. Because it's going to be crammed into my chest.

Mom: "Look under the steering wheel."
Me: "You want me to bend over and stick my head under the steering wheel? What if the spider's there? I'm just going to scream and jump into traffic. I'd almost rather not find the stupid spider."
Mom: "Yeah, but I know you. If it pops back up while you're driving, you'll scream and run right off the road."
Me: "This coming from the woman who discovered a bee in the car and rather than pull over to protect the lives of the 5 children she was driving at the time, decided to scream and slap at the air until her 14-year-old daughter could successfully pull them over from the passenger seat?"
Mom: "Shut up. Bee stings hurt! That spider doesn't bite anyway."
Me: "You haven't even seen this spider!"
Mom: "There aren't poisonous spiders that far north."
Me: "What are you, an entymologist?"
Mom: "Maybe you imagined the spider because you're tired."
Me: "I did not. I double-checked before I started screaming. Oh my God I can't find this spider."
Mom: "Well, you can't leave without killing it."
Me: "I have to. My car is going to get sucked into traffic by a semi."

So, I start the engine and jump back onto the highway. Totally suspect of every feeling, thought, sight, and sound. The tiny crack that's been in my windshield for a year? Giant spider. My legs itching like crazy? Spider is tap-dancing up and down my legs just to screw with me. Horrible creaking noise? Spider's going to eat me. (Just kidding! That sound is actually the metal-wrenching noise from my driver's side door that's about to fall off.) I made it back home in record time. I drove with the windows down and the radio up because my mother said that spiders hate wind (I'm pretty sure she made that up) and music (I think that is actually Mormon crickets.)

As for next steps, since the spider's still on the loose? I think Ripley has the right idea.

F-ing spiders.

In Which I Realize Why We're Getting Married

Our final exercise of the marriage retreat weekend was to write each other a love letter.

Tom wrote me an AIM conversation.

I'm ready for August.

Earth Day Resolution

This morning I had a presentation to give at a hospital. I needed to be there by 8 AM, so I woke up at the crack of dawn, sat in traffic, and arrived to the hospital 15 minutes early. This punctuality meant that I deserved a trip to the Dunkin' Donuts situated on the ground floor of the hospital. Woo coffee and croissanwich (which I don't think is what they call it, but that's what it is.) I walk in and take my place in line. Ahead of me is a woman of petite stature, and not so petite proportions. She is wearing gigantic sunglasses, texting incessantly, and looking completely ridiculous.

DD Employee: "May I help you?"
Ridiculous Woman: "Yeah, can I get a bagel with cream cheese, and a coolata?"
DDE: "Yes ma'am, would you like the cream cheese on the bagel?"
RW: "Yeah!"
The DD lady grabs a bagel and starts toward the prep station. The ridiculous woman basically runs after her yelling,
RW: "Can you make it a coconut coolata? COCONUT COOLATA!"
DDE: "Sure."

Apparently she then orders a waffle breakfast sandwich. First of all, there is no reason to order a breakfast housed between two blueberry hockey pucks, but I doubt reason comes into play in RW's daily life at all.

DDE: "I'm sorry ma'am, we're fresh out of waffles."
Me muttering: "Omg there is nothing fresh about those waffles."
RW: "Hang on a second, I'll be right back."

Now, to get a good picture of this, you need to remember that throughout the requests, the stalking up and down the store following the poor Dunkin' Donuts chick behind the counter, the being INDOORS, this ridiculous woman has yet to:
1. Take off her ginormous sunglasses or
2. Stop texting for a single frikkin' second.

So, she goes to the door. She opens the door, and keeping one foot in the store at all times as if she would be melted by lava if she stepped all the way out, she starts yelling.

RW: "Wanda!"
RW: "WANDA!"
RW: "WANDA!!!!"

Everyone in the store flinches, but apparently she's gotten Wanda's attention. Bully for her.

RW: "They're outta waffles!"
RW: "THEY'RE OUTTA WAFFLES!"
RW: "THEY AIN'T GOT NO MORE WAFFLES!!!"

Sweet baby Jesus Wanda there is a waffle crisis, DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!

So wouldn't you know it, the impending waffle famine spurs Wanda indoors to make the decision of a lifetime. She walks in, and I'm seeing double. She's the exact same size and shape as RW, and apparently they took a trip together to the Sunglass Hut. At least Wanda has the good sense to remove her blinders indoors.

They walk in together and move toward the food prep station where RW had previously been barking orders over the barricade. Then they promptly stop. Right in front of me. They're standing right in front of me, and they're texting. Not moving, not making decisions, not getting the hell out of my way. The lady at the counter is asking for the next customer and I am trapped behind a waffle-lovin' wall of stupidity. I finally make my way around the T-mobile twins and ask for a cup of coffee. I'm about to order my breakfast sandwich when I hear Wanda ask whether she can add bacon to her sandwich and whipped cream to her Coolata.

DD Employee: "And can I get you anything else?"
Me: "Oh my God, just whatever you can reach the fastest."

She smiled, glanced at me sympathetically and threw a Boston creme donut in a bag. I paid and left as quickly as possible as Wanda and RW's food sat on the counter unclaimed while they texted.

Screw the earth. From now on I'm using the drive-thru.

Talkin' About My Generation

I'm at the grocery store waiting at the seafood counter. There is a well-dressed woman in her 40's yapping away on her cellphone behind me. All of a sudden an announcement comes over the PA system about some sale they're having.

Yappie McGee: "Could that announcement have been any FUCKING louder?! Jesus!"

I look back at her, wondering who she's talking to and thinking that Jesus probably doesn't appreciate that kind of language. Unless Chris Rock is using it...then he probably finds it hilarious like the rest of us.

The guy working the seafood counter comes up and takes my order. I ask him for salmon and to please remove the skin (because I am lazy.) The guy smiles, says sure, and starts to work. As he's procuring the fish and the instruments necessary for its denudement, he starts chatting with his coworkers. All of a sudden, I realize Yappie McGee has sidled up to me.

Yappie McGee: "Doesn't that just make you crazy?"
Me: "What?"
YM: "The fact that he's having a conversation while he's servicing you*."
Me: "No...he's getting my stuff...as long as I don't have to take the skin off that fish, I don't care what he does."
YM: "Hmph. Well...I guess that just shows the difference between the younger and older generations."

I'm thinking that the difference she's sensing is actually that of nice person vs. total bitch, but I'm ready to make a break for it. Seafood guy smiles, hands me my fish, and asks if I need anything else. I say no and walk away as quickly as possible to the sounds of:

Yappie McGee: "Why is that fish so white?"
Seafood Guy: "It's a whitefish. It's supposed to be white."

Poor Seafood Guy.


*I had to stifle a major giggle when she said this. hehehe servicing :-p

In Which Graduation Can't Come Soon Enough

My Sister: "Someone called and said that they'd planted a bomb on the football field."
Me: "Cripes. So that's far enough away from the school they won't even let you out of class or anything?"
MS: "Nope. The principal said that it was a trick to get us to stay in the school where they'd really hidden the bomb."
Me: "So what did they do?"
MS: "They evacuated us to the football field."

Open Letter

Dear National Grid,

I am a paying customer of yours, partaking in both your electrical and natural gas services. If I had any choice at all in the matter, I would get a waterwheel and tell you to go screw yourselves. My electric bill DirectPay option is set up to withdraw from an account that I no longer replenish. So, the well has finally runneth dry and I need to change my payment options. Because National Grid swallowed up the company that used to provide my electric services, I went to your website to reset my payment options. Apparently the natural gas and electric divisions of the company are separate, and to inconvenience me in the maximum amount possible, you use separate account numbers to represent the different services even though they are for the same customer. Thanks so much for that.

So, I have my account information for my natural gas billing, because I receive monthly email statements. My electric bill is also supposed to be paperless, but I never receive them. So, I just have my account direct-pay and hope that you don't overcharge me. Such is my faith in the goodness of man, and my laziness about resetting any options. Unfortunately recently my outdated account became overdrawn as my electric bills have finally used up all the money. So, I need to reset the directpay to draw from a different account. Enter me putting my fist through a wall.

I come home today with the intention of accomplishing Operation Directpay Reset. I go to the national grid website. Of course I don't remember any of my login information- or what I thought the information was, it wasn't. So, I go to the "Forgot password" form. Apparently my username is incorrect. So I go to the "Forgot username" form. It asks me to enter my email address affiliated with the account. I do and it says that "Email addresses should be in the form address@isp.com". Umm...duh? I know what an effing email address looks like...and furthermore, I know what MY email address looks like. So, obviously, your company has no idea that I exist...probably a remnant of your hostile takeover of my former provider.

I have no choice but to call the company. I know it's not going to be pleasant, I know it's going to take forever, but it has to be done. Because overdraft charges suck. So, I call. First I have to listen to a 5 minute announcement about a power outage that doesn't apply to my area. Fine. Then we get to the automated operator. He reads a menu, I choose an option. He reads another menu, I choose another option. I have to listen to 4 different scripts before the phone starts ringing. At this point, I'm informed that all operators are (shockingly) busy assisting other customers, but they have this great system where they'll call ME back when they're ready. Great. Sign me up. I enter my information and wait 20 minutes for a call back. Which is fine because honestly this game is like crack.

When the phone finally rings, it's another automated operator. "We're calling for...(recording of me saying my name). Please press 1 when this person is on the line." I immediately press 1, and I kid you not am placed on hold. The old familiar sound of "All operators are busy assisting other customers, but your call is important to us. Please stay on the line." Didn't I have you call me so I didn't have to listen to this?!? The phone finally rings through to an operator and all of a sudden the line is dead. Dead. I was disconnected. At this point I have spent an hour trying to switch the credit card billing information on my electric bill.

So, I go back to the website. I try alternate emails and passwords (even though I know which email address should work.) After 3 tries, the system locks me out. I close the window, I'm still locked out. So I have no option but to call back. I call and again hear the message about the power outage. No amount of button mashing will get me around it. I again get the automated menu. I swear and yell in the hopes that you have one of those systems that recognizes when the caller is pissed. Apparently you do because the automated guy apologizes to me and immediately puts me on the phone with a person in billing.

Billing makes sense, right? I'm trying to update my automated BILLING option. I want to give you money. Payments and billing should be the right people, if your company made any sense. But it doesn't. On the other end of the line was the loudest woman in the world, totally pissed that I didn't have my account number ready.

Billing Lady: "You don't know your account number?"
Me: "I know my gas account number, I don't know my electric because I do online statements and I can't access my account."
Billing Lady: "Those are totally separate accounts."
Me: "Okay, so what do we do?"
Billing Lady: "What's your social?"

So she finds my account and then asks me what I need. I tell her I need to update my DirectPay.

Billing Lady: "Oh! That's customer service. Customer service does that. We don't do that. Your account number is 123455432324 (spouted off quickly without even asking whether I had paper and pen handy, which I didn't), call the 800 number then option 2 then option 4."

Does she offer to transfer me? Does she help me in any way? Of course not...God forbid the payment department have anything to do with helping you make a payment.

I called back, listened to the outage message, hit 2 and then 4, ended up having to listen to the menu anyway because hitting numbers didn't get me to the right place. I eventually screamed "CUSTOMER SERVICE" and a couple f-bombs and was placed on hold for a representative. I didn't opt to have them call me back because that obviously is a ploy. When given my estimated 20 minute wait time on the phone, I took into consideration the fact that my next payment wasn't to be deducted until February and decided to give the blood vessel in my forehead a break. After 10 minutes on hold, I hung up and screamed into a pillow.

I guess I'll call back tomorrow. Or stop using electricity. Because seriously, I hate your company.

Thanks for nothing,
Sam

"All I'm Saying Is, She's Got Options."

Dad (about my sister, Jenny): "I think she'll end up being a cat rancher... or a doorstop."

Blogpage.

My 93-year-old great-grand-aunt died last week. As a result, my mother has been very busy making arrangements and taking care of estate issues. Unfortunately this has resulted in a lot of back and forth between the bank, lawyers, and funeral home. The funeral has actually been the worst.

Initially my Mom went to the funeral home and asked if my Aunt had made pre-arrangements. The funeral home said no, so my mother went ahead and set everything up and planned to come in a hour before the service the next day to pay for everything. However, when she got home and started going through some of my Aunt's papers, she found where my late Uncle had made arrangements for the two of them in 1984 with this same funeral home. He had recorded the date, time, contact person, exact arrangements, and amount paid. So, my Aunt had ended up re-paying for my Uncle's funeral because the funeral home had denied having any records at the time of his death in 1998, and now they were trying to bilk my Mom for my Aunt's funeral. Unfortunately for them, my Mother is not someone you want to try to rip off...and she's really not someone you want to mess with when she finds out you've already pretty much robbed her sweet elderly Aunt who is now recently deceased. She's gathering her papers for a lawsuit, but in the meantime, she really wants to vent. So she called me last night.

Me: "Hey Mom"
Mom: "Listen: I think I need a blogpage."
Me: giggling my head off "I think that's a great idea. You should absolutely get a blogpage. Why the sudden interest?"
Mom: "I need one so I can warn old people about all these jerks who try to take their money!"
Me: "I'm not certain that a blogpage is the best way to reach that audience, but you should definitely try. I'll set one up for you."
Mom: "It's free?"
Me: "Yup."
Mom: "But I need one that'll be publicshed."
Me: "Are you drunk?"
Mom: "No. I need one that'll be published and read by the public. I just smashed it into one word."
Me: "Like blogpage."
Mom: "What?"
Me: "Nothing. So, make a well-written blogpage and then send the link to AARP."
Mom: "Oh, not AARP. I hate those people."
Me: "So, you only want to help the old people who are not members of AARP? Every old person's in AARP!"
Mom: "I'm not!"
Me: "Why not?! I remember when you were dying to turn 50 just so you could join and get discounts on crap you didn't need."
Mom: "That was before I found out they take your dues and use them to fund political campaigns."
Me: "Ah. I should've known that only your rabid Republicanism could outweigh your love of discount movie tickets."

So, I've created a "blogpage" for my mother, and I'm really hoping and praying that she writes on it. Because I think it would be hilarious. My mother is a riot.

BLOGPAGE!

Good Advice Hotline- We're Open All Night

I have a sister who is a perfectionist. This isn't a bad thing, but when you're in college and there is the remotest chance of you not making a perfect score on every exam, evidently life can get a little stressful. So, my sister was having some issues yesterday after doing slightly less than stellar on an exam. I called her as soon as her Facebook status alerted me to the situation (I'm really getting too old to admit I have a Facebook account. And I'm way too old to be constantly motoring around on that site checking up on everyone. Note to self: Get a hobby.) Anyway, so I called her around midnight. She didn't answer, I left a voicemail and went to bed. I was asleep for probably 10 minutes before she called me back. I almost told her I'd call her back the next day, but she sounded so exasperated I decided I'd get on board for the long haul.

I didn't get to sleep til 2 AM. But it was okay, because geez did she need to vent. And not in a Coors Light kind of way. (Brief aside- WTF Coors Light? Those are the dumbest commercials advertising the dumbest concept ever introduced to beer cans. Venting? The beer doesn't get enough air on its way into the glass? Also, keep talking about how cold the beer needs to be. Really. If the number one asset of your beer is its temperature, you should maybe think about what you're doing with your life.)

Basically our entire conversation was one long run-on sentence. Including this exchange:
My sister: "So my friend keeps complaining that she's fat and I try to be a good friend and I always say "aw, you're not fat" but today was just such a horrible day so she said "I'm so fat" and it was the last straw and I said "You're right! So get off your fat ass and go running with me, or shut up about it!" and she did go running with me, and then we went and got coffee and I'm pretty sure her boyfriend is gay. Hey! Did you know that "expresso" is actually "espresso"?"
Me: "Yes."
My sister: "Oh. Well I didn't. And when I call it "espresso" I feel like I'm talking with a lisp. But if I say "expresso" I sound like an idiot! But then I thought I'd rather sound like an idiot than feel like I have a lisp, so I'm just going to keep calling it "expresso."
Me: "You should probably say "espresso"...or quit ordering it."
My sister: "Yeah...you're probably right. And then there's this guy I like but he doesn't like me and I don't even need or want a boyfriend right now! But then I meet a guy who's smart and doesn't have a Southern accent and I think "I better jump on that before someone else does!" and then I get all neurotic."
Me: "Wow. Yeah...you should probably at least wait for finals to be over before you worry about jumping on anything."
My sister: "That's a good point. Okay...well I'm going to bed."
Me: "Okay...g'night."
My sister: "G'night."

Last Night

me: Also I accidentally ate at a strip club last night.

C: Whoa.

C: How do you accidentally eat at a strip club?? And what did you eat?

me: I ate at a restaurant right next door to a strip club. Came back to the hospital, told them where we'd eaten...apparently it's the same operation.

C: You need a t-shirt.

me: Yeah. I'm excited to turn in my receipt at work. "Foxy Lady."

C: Hilarious.

me: I ate at "Frank's" but apparently it's "Frank's Foxy Lady"

C: Frank's Foxy Lady. I love it. What did you eat?

me: A scallop roll. Which of course now I regret. Because I ate stripper scallops.

Michael Jackson's Liver?

I was recently with a group that met a liver transplant recipient. What follows is the conversation that we had with her. Questions from various people in the room are in italics.

"I am so grateful for my transplant. It gave me a second chance at life."
"Have you met your donor's family?"
"No, but I feel as though I know my donor already."
"How so?"
"Well, I think that he's sharing my body."
"Because you have his liver?"
"No. A lot of strange things have happened to me since my transplant. For example, when I woke up from my surgery, I was holding my privates. Now, I'm not in the habit of holding myself down there, but I think it's because of the liver. I think my donor was a male."
"Oookay..."
"Also, I never used to like healthy stuff! Now I like to eat healthy foods, so I think my donor liked to eat healthy foods."
"Really? Like what?"
"You know...healthy stuff. Like I never used to like strawberry ice cream. Now it's my favorite. Also, I used to always get sunburned. Always. I was very fair-skinned and would burn if I was in the sun at all. So, I think that my donor was a person of color. My skin is much darker and more pigmented since the surgery. I think my donor was a person of color and my DNA is changing to be more like his."
"Really?"
"Yeah! I told my doctor but he just laughs. He won't test my DNA. I've talked to some nurses and stuff, but they don't have access to the DNA tests. I need the access!"
"Oh. That's too bad."
"Ooh! Have you guys watched that show Heartland on TNT? It's all about transplant and it's awesome. I mean, I probably enjoy it because I know so much about transplant, but you guys would like it too. Don't watch it this week cause it's the finale, but catch it in re-runs. It's great."
"Okay..."

Random thoughts cropped up in her mind every ten seconds over the next hour, but that was the gist of it. So, just to clear up any misconceptions:
1. Organ recipients do not take on the physical characteristics of their donors.
2. Your DNA can not be changed by a transplant. Or anything really besides radiation.
3. Ice cream is not a healthy food.
4. Heartland sucks.