Press pound if you want to scream

June 21, 2004

Has anyone else noticed that when you call utility companies you get transferred to an automated voice system? I know that maybe I’m an old fashioned type of gal, but honestly, I kind of want to talk to a person when I call someone for service. I know in this day and age, it is supposedly easier to talk to the automated, but to me its just downright frustrating. I am ready to scream because I don’t care to talk to the motorized voice.

So my question is, am I the only one who feels this way? Or is this a common feeling for all? 

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Things that make you go WHAT??!!

June 17, 2004

So in lieu of Jenn being gone, I know she loves to rant, so I’m ranting for her.

I was having a chocolate craving because well, I’m stressed- I have piles of work on my desk that doesn’t seem to be reducing, utility companies to call that are apparently experiencing high call volume so call back later and someone’s painting the halls here so I’m getting high (that’s just an added bonus).

I had a Twix bar, unopened sitting on my desk and a coworker of mine walked by. (note: this coworker was male). He took the Twix bar from me and said, “Meeta, women with bodies like yours shouldn’t eat this in order to keep yourself in the great shape you are in”. WTF?!!! I wanted the freaking Twix bar. But I was too steamed to talk right then.

Yes, I was a bit annoyed.  The thing is…

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Damn spammers!

May 28, 2004

I am angry. Seeing red. Want to reach through this computer and hurt someone.

I am temporarily turning off all comments. I just got 57 spam comments in about 2 minutes. Nasty ones that really and truly will be sending that spammer straight to hell with his buddies.

Once I have things worked out or have switched over to ExpressionEngine, I will allow comments. I hate doing this, but this is ridiculous!

UPDATE: Apparently, I can only close comments on the new entries. Oh sure, like that will work. Spammers never use the new entries. I know that MT has the blacklist thingie and all, but I am probably moving away from MT anyway. I have the ExpressionEngine and Clint is running WordPress. I just hate to think that I have to deal with a new template and everything. Seeing as I am only smart enough (blogwise) to get myself into trouble, I won’t be trying to create a new template for a new platform. Not just yet. So, if you come back here and see the most boring look EVER seen here, don’t panic. I will put the bells and whistles back when I can. Besides, you come here to read my words,right? Not to marvel at my beautiful site. (Goodness, I need some Moxie in my life! But HE says I need to pay bills right now and not use the money to just make my blog pretty. Damn responsible spouse! lol)
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A little constructive criticism

May 5, 2004

Dear Realtor Agent Showing My For-Sale House:

It has come to my attention that you apparently need me to define something for you. Constructive Criticism. The key word there is constructive.

Let’s look at some examples that outline what is constructive and what is not.

Constructive: Your house smells like feet. Light a fragrant candle.
Not Constructive: Your house was built too long ago.

Constructive: Having a sink full of dirty dishes with flies swarming around doesn’t give a very good “homey” atmosphere.
Not Constructive: I don’t like your floorplan.

Constructive: It may make a better first impression if you tried to erase the chalk body outline off of the sidewalk.
Not Constructive: I don’t like the location.

Can you see the pattern, people?

Constructive means you are being helpful. You are offering advice on ways to improve the overall show-quality of my house. You are mentioning things that we can actually do something about in order to lure in a buyer.

Not constructive means you are being a petty pain in my ass and need to go away now.

Thank you for your help in correcting this situation.

Sincerely,
The Seller
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Friday? You sure it’s not Monday?

April 30, 2004

It’s storming here.

There are kids here that are not mine.

My head still hurts. (Yes, since Monday. Nonstop. All the time.)

Would you all mind if I just go crawl in bed and dazzle you with my brillance tomorrow?

If you must read something I wrote (Don’t you love how I flatter myself?), head over to DotMoms. I had a chance to post an entry there this morning. No, I am not cheating on you here. I am contributing there. Really. I love you best!

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American Idol? Whatevah!

April 22, 2004

American Idol talk. Yes, I admit it. I watch it. I am not sure why I do this year. It just seems to suck the energy right out of a room this season. Oh sure, there are a couple who have talent. But, it is an almost uncomfortable season watching. But, yes, I am out of the reality tv closet. I watch American Idol. (Survivor too, if you must know.) So anyway, don’t read if you haven’t watched the show yet and don’t want to be told what happened.

You’ve been warned.
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A job well done

April 15, 2004

Is it wrong that I felt the need to do a shot before I had to go to “Science Night” at the school? I’m just asking.

Let’s see, I have snapped at my kids to get in bed because it is way past their bedtimes. Of course, I told them they could stay up later. So, in a sense I was yelling at them for something I let them do.

I bumped into Little Diva and knocked her down then got irritated that she was underfoot.

I slammed my husband’s one true passion and pissed him off and upset him.

Yep. My work is done here. I’ll be turning in now.

(Can you tell it is the night before a PTA executive board meeting?) Can you tell I am stressed beyond belief and angry at the world tonight? I mean seriously. I am angry at every.single.thing right now. Do I hide it well?

In the infamous words of my darling daughter…..”I need some chocolate.”
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Home in just a mere 9 hours!

April 12, 2004

Left Houston at 4:00pm
Arrived home at 1:03am
(You do the math. To me it equals about 47 hours of hell, but I think the actual number is closer to 9 hours. 9 hours for a normally 5 hour drive. Yeah. It sucked.)

Suffice it to say that the drive sucked and I am sleeping in tomorrow.

Gawd it’s good to be home. I’ve missed my blogging! I will be sure to thrill and entertain you tomorrow with tales of bathroom crashing, cars overheating and children who use less than angelic language in rather humorous ways. Later today. When I wake up. Sometime around noon if I can keep the crack house from being shown in the morning.
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NOT on the road again

April 8, 2004

I should be on my way to Houston.
I should be in the car irritated with the kids about now.
I should be getting restless looking for the nearest exit with a bathroom.

However, my lovely car decided to overheat.

So I am not on my way to Houston.
I am still a bit irritated with the kids, though.
I can just walk down the hall to go to the bathroom.

Looks like I will be hitting the road at 4:00am now.

Don’t you wish you were me?
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I said 50 cents…now go away!

April 3, 2004

So, we have already established that I am missing the June Cleaver gene. I am pretty sure that my PTA gene was a bit underdeveloped, warped or just plain missing. We’ve found yet another missing gene of mine. The garage sale gene.

Don’t have one. Don’t understand people who do.

We decided to have a yard sale since we are moving and have way too much crap. (And frankly, I don’t want to pack it all.) So some brilliant person said, “Why don’t we (meaning me) have a yard sale?” Then a complete idiot (me) said, “Sure! Why not?”

Never. Again.

Did you read that? Never again. I don’t have the “thang” that you need to either a)enjoy a garage/yard sale or b)the ability to haggle over a cheap-ass $1.50 item.

Case in point, I actually argued with a woman over a quarter.

Cheap Lady: “How much for all of these toys?”
Me: “50 cents”
Cheap Lady: “I’ll give you 25 cents.”
Me: “Does 25 sound like 50? Not to me. 50.”
Cheap Lady: “How about 30″
Me: “How about 50″
Cheap Lady: “What if I say 40?”
Me: “Then I say put the crap down for the next person to pay 50 cents”
Cheap Lady: *pause pause deliberate in her brain* “Fine. I suppose I’ll give you 50. You win.”

Whaaahuhhh? All of that over a quarter. A freaking quarter. It nearly came to blows for a minute there.

Why didn’t I just give it to her for a quarter? Because I said 50 cents, damnit! I was tired of everyone lowballing me on everything. Having them haggle over price and the decide on a 50 cent item (all the while complaining about it) and then giving me a $20 bill when they finally decide to buy it.

Never. Again.

I don’t have the gene. And frankly, if that is how it works, I don’t want it. So, chalk one more up to the “Boy is this lady a freak” when adding up my totals. I am garage sale deficient and proud of it!
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