THE BOLD & THE FACEBOOK

Caveat: This isn't about any of you.

When my husband first joined Facebook, I made fun of him. LOTS of fun. It was mostly because he was using it when it was still only for college students and he’d “borrowed” a friend’s email address so he could play Scrabble online. What a dork! Then, Facebook blew up into a phenomenon that now includes social networking for users like Proactive and my Mom. Don’t get me wrong, I like it. It’s a good way to keep in touch with people and all that jazz, but my new favorite tool for Facebook is honing in on those “friends” of mine that have some serious problems and give the entire Facebook community a daily play-by-play. Now, I use the term "friends" loosely when talking about Facebook. Because let’s face it, some of these people aren’t really your friends, are they? Like my in-life friend Nicole says, “it’s not like you can call them in a jam.” Granted, there are some people on Facebook that I love reconnecting with, but most of them are located in exotic, faraway places, like North Carolina. So technically, I couldn’t call them in a jam. I mean, I could, but there probably wouldn’t be much they could do except keep me company on the phone while I waited for help to arrive. Like OnStar, but with embarrassing stories from my past. 

I find it very interesting how Facebook as created a completely new set of weird etiquette. Who among hasn’t accidentally offended someone, setting off a string of events that could have had catastrophic consequences? Oh… that was only me. Seriously, hasn’t everyone made fun of Kirk Cameron to the point that someone un-friended them? Again, only me I guess. What about the “friends” that you get fed up with and un-friend them, only for them to try and re-friend you? Awwwwkwwward!  

I had friended this dude from high school that had apparently turned into a crazed-right-wing-nut-job in the years since I’d last known him. And frankly, I got tired of reading posts like “HOPE THAT ALL YOU FUCKING DEMOCRATS ARE HAPPY WITH YOUR SOCIALISM. HEIL OBAMA!” Really? Like you’ve never looked at my profile? Like you couldn’t possibly understand why I might not want to read that shit every single day. If I want to be abused I’ll just watch Fox News, thank you. So I hid his feed, but that didn’t help when he’d post some asinine response to a mutual friend, or that I’d seen he’d join the Glen Beck fan club. It is here that I should also mention that this is the same guy who posted a photo of himself with his wang hanging out.

Hey man, I’m sure that I post things that people dislike, but not every single fucking day. No wonder those teabaggers are so angry. Teabagging is all they think about. That, and having some guy’s ball’s slapping them about the face (if that confused you, I implore you to Google teabagging. Then you will see why everyone thinks the name is so funny. Oh and be sure to turn your safe search off). After I un-friended him. He again tried to friend me. I felt guilty and accepted. Then, after about a month, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I un-friended him again. That lasted a few days until his friend request notice popped up. So this time after some inner dialogue about being rude, I decided that it would be best for everyone if we parted ways. 

In a rash of uncomfortable Facebook moments, the girl that un-friended me for my Kirk Cameron remarks decided to forgive me and request that we once again be faux Facebook friends. Unfortunately for her, I was having a “fuck you” kind of day, and she too was denied the love. I look at it like this: If you truly know me, then you know I will eventually say something to piss you off. All you have to do is tell me, and I will be more than happy to apologize, admit my mistake, and then mock you behind your back. See? Everybody’s happy. On the flip side, are the “friends” that are unintentionally hilarious. I currently have someone that is unaware how much they brighten my day with their vast array of inappropriate disclosures. This person’s life is truly like a soap opera. I’m not talking about As The World Turns, either. They’ve long veered into Passions territory with warlocks and men having babies and shit. Their life is so riddled with drama, that Paul who has reunited with Emily only to reconnect with his daughter that he didn’t remember from when he had amnesia, only to come out of just in time to witness the death of this father, James who is super evil and no one likes – has nothing on them.

These posts have it all: Violence! Sex! Depravity! Just name your poison. And even though I have ever so gently posted replies to these insane status updates, my hinting has fallen on deaf ears, or screens. By now, I figure that I've done all I can do, so it's time to sit back and watch the fun. I also keep up with the updates because I figure one day they might come in handy providing evidence in the event their author ever follows through with the threats to do bodily harm to others. Now, I’m no big city lawyer, but even I think that’s not the smartest idea.

While I try not to judge, I do. I usually justify it by stating beforehand "I don't want to judge, but here I go." So here I go. People, just because there is an empty space by your name, doesn't mean that you have to fill it with the minutiae of your fucked-up life. Jesus, just get a blog.

** So I guess that I wasn't nearly as generic as I needed to be because Crazy must have caught wind of this post and I got unfriended this past weekend. Man alive! Now what am I going to do with my day? By the way, if you want to know who it is, just ask me 'cause I got nothing to lose now.

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THIS IS WHY I NEVER GO OUT

** I really didn't plan to post two music related entries back to back. But hey, sometimes things happen.

I have very little patience with the public at large, and even less if it’s after 9 p.m.

I used to go out a lot. I mean, like a lot a lot. At the time, it was fun - although I haven’t always been the most tolerant person when out and about. I don’t take too kindly to rude people cutting in line, pushing, shoving, spilling, etc… You name it, it irks me. My attitude also gets exponentially worse if the excursion in question is a concert of some sort. I swear to God, if your drunk ass steps on me or dances into me I will slap you in the back of the head. I’ve done it before and I have witnesses.

While I freely admit that I am cranky, I’m not as bad as the old dude I once sat in front of at a Sting concert who told me and my friend to sit down because he “couldn’t see the musician.”
As you can imagine, it takes something very special, plus a stick of dynamite, to get me out of the house and into a club. I can honestly think of about five bands that would have me excited about going out. Then the unthinkable happened: my favorite band was playing in Kansas City. At nine o'clock. At night. On a Thursday. Now, I know what you are thinking. No way! Not nine o’clock on a school night, a good 45 minutes away from home! But, I was willing to stretch out of my comfort zone (not to be confused with its cousin, the Danger Zone) to see The Dandy Warhols. I could go on and on as to why my love for them is so great, but I won’t. Let’s just say that I haven’t had a proper favorite band since Duran Duran in junior high, so when I fell under their spell in 2000, I was due.


With dreams of Dandy’s dancing in my head and dinner plans with friends, we made the trip into KC. Actually everything, amazingly, went according to plan and we had a lovely dinner right next to the venue and strolled over just to catch the last couple of songs of the opening band (which let’s face it, is the best way to watch an opening band). I even saw Zia McCabe in the crowd before the show and watched as some other nutty fan tackled her for a picture.

She was gracious to the crazy-lady and I shot Mark a nasty look because he’d talked me out of bringing my camera. “I could have been crazy, too,” I wailed.The club wasn’t packed, so we picked out a nice, neutral spot toward the back. I thought, “this is the smallest crowd that I’ve ever seen them in, it’s going to be awesome.” The sentence still hung over my head, like in one of those cartoon thought bubbles, when I saw Mark make a horrible face. It like he was trying to laugh and go to sleep while not breathing all at once. I asked what his damage was, to which his only reply was to cough and point to the guys in front of us. I still didn’t understand and my newly-purchased ear plugs weren’t helping our communication at all. Mark leaned over to me and yelled “you can’t smell that?” Right as I heard the word “that” I smelled it. My first reaction was to ask, “who ate a 7-Eleven microwavable burrito before the show?”

Naturally, the two dudes standing directly in front of us took the blame. When it happened again a few minutes later, Mark and I decided to escape by checking out the merch table. Finally, the Dandy’s came onstage, and we cautiously ventured back to our spots, this time upwind from the suspects. Two songs later, we were still getting pummeled by burrito farts, but I noticed that the two guys we’d pinned the crime on were gone. In the empty space where they’d been standing was a lone curly headed mop-top swaying back and forth. He looked like a short version of Shaggy in cargo shorts and Birkenstocks.

My first thought was, “wow, what’s he doing here?” I mean, I don’t really associate hippies with the Dandy’s, because if I did I wouldn’t be a fan. Also, this particular show had the highest concentration of people in glasses that I’d ever seen anywhere. Except for maybe the optometrist, but even then you’ve got a couple of people wearing contacts. It was like a hipster-Poindexter convention, so you can see why Scooby-Doo might have seemed a little out of place.

Right about then I noticed the girl next to me, oddly enough not wearing glasses. She was squealing and literally, jumping with joy. She kept flinging her hands out toward the stage, then grabbing her hair and saying, “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.” I thought to myself, “girly calm down, it ain’t the Beatles.” But that was just the beginning. I don’t know if you’ve ever witnessed someone trying to have sex with another person from 40 feet away, but thanks to this girl, now I have. She gyrated, blew kisses, dry humped the air, flung her hair around like it was a Poison video and kept reaching out toward the stage. Maybe it’s me, but if you are clearly with your boyfriend I think that it might be a little inappropriate to try and distance-fuck the singer of a band.

As entertaining she was, I found myself paying more attention to her than the band, so I decided to move. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this put me in direct firing line of burrito boy. I seriously don’t know what he ate, but I wanted to tap him on the shoulder and suggest that he see a doctor. Eventually, Mark and I moved a good distance from Shaggy, but not before we noticed that he’d successfully crop dusted the entire area around him. No one was even standing remotely close to him, and just about everyone was in hysterics. I mean, at a certain point, it has to become funny, right?
Just as we’d let down our olfactory guard, the band started playing my favorite song. I guess Shaggy had quietly moved closer to us, because just as I got excited and began to sing along, I stopped dead in my tracks. I’d waited two hours and spent $20 to have this douche fart on my beloved song. I was super-pissed, but laughing anyway, when I thought about the wise words of an old friend, “don’t smile, or it will get on your teeth,” and I covered my mouth.

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OH FOR F@$K'S SAKE! PHISH EDITION

It’s a well known fact that I hate hippies. I hate their clothes (seriously I don’t want to see your side boob) and their smells (this includes the BO, Nag Champa and that stinkweed, Patchouli). But most of all, I hate their music. I would rather have pins in my eyes than listen to the Grateful Dead or Widespread or The String Cheese Incident or any other jam bands. However, the worst offender I can think of is Phish. I really, really hate that fucking band. And no, I’m not passing judgment based on their fan base, although I could, ‘cause it’s easy.

Thanks to an ex-boyfriend of mine, I’ve put in my time with Phish. I even went to a show – and blacked out. I will admit, not my finest moment.

Now, some might argue that despite my feelings, they are a good band. Oh, I don’t disagree that the members of the band are good musicians. They seem to be perfectly capable of handling instruments in a professional way. It’s just that I don’t like the sound they make when they play together. A friend of mine once summed up jam bands by saying that whenever a song hits the 2:50 mark, he starts thinking to himself “let’s bring this on home fellas."

Maybe it’s the ADD, but after awhile “the jam” starts to wear on my nerves, even if it’s my favorite band. Recently when I saw The Dandy Warhols, they started some trippy jam and I turned to my husband and said, “This needs to end soon, or I’m going to the bathroom or something until their done.” I don’t care how much you like to play the bongos, do that shit on your own time.

But sometimes, due to circumstances beyond my control, I get trapped into listening to filthy hippie music. This was the case the other night when we ventured into my favorite pizza place. Everything started out normal enough. I ordered more pizza than I could eat and somehow Piper wound up with ice cream. When we first walked in, we were lulled into a false sense of security by the CD player that was set on shuffle. It just as we sat down to eat when it happened. The Phish kicked in.

At first, it was funny. Mark sat there with a tortured look on his face and Piper started to dance. I confess, I encouraged Piper thinking it was one of the most amusing things I’d seen in awhile. I mean a two-year old doing a shimmy to Chalk Dust Torture is pretty freaking funny, right? Mark looked at me and said, “don’t encourage her,” and then leaned over to Piper and told her “this is the worst kind of music in the whole world.” At that moment, I got a glimpse 11 years into the future when she ignored him and just kept dancing.

But the funny didn’t last. No sooner did that song end, when another Phish song started up. I looked over at Mark and said “another one?” He glared back at me and through gritted teeth informed me “it’s an entire CD.” Oh God, we’d just started to eat. The Phish CD had just started to play. That meant we were going to have to listen to this crap throughout dinner. It finally got to the point where every new song that started sent me into fits of laughter. However, I guess since they were the ones that put the CD on, the staff didn’t find it at all humorous and kept shooting us the stink-eye.

Unbeknownst to me it was about to get worse, or better depending on how you look at it. A dread-locked guy strolled in from the back door and spent about 10 minutes bullshitting with one of the cooks. While talking he decided to freestyle to the Phish with the patented doggie paddle dance. Then defying all logic, he added a Michael Jackson spin. It was awesome, but it did nothing for my case of the giggles. After the private dancer dude received his free bread sticks, he moved his picnic to the front counter to hit on the cashier and block the path of customers to the soda machine. Fear not, for while his amour took orders, he continued his doggie-paddled-spin while eating a smoking hot bread stick. Now that’s what I call multi-talented.

At the same time, there was a guy who looked like one of those sketches of the Zodiac killer waiting in line with his Mom. Buzzed hair, glasses with thick black frames and womanly hips that spilled out of his Dockers. As if the situation wasn’t weird already, I saw him adjust his junk (holding onto it just a little too long) and lightly squat down over and over.

I assumed that he was mentally challenged until I realized that he was trying to dance. This went on for a couple of minutes: adjust, squat, adjust, squat. It was about this time that the dread locked bread stick eater started up his routine again, except he’d added some gun slinging finger pointing in there. Doggie paddle, adjust, spin, squat, gun fingers - It was like the most surreal ballet ever with the dancers keeping in perfect time.

We decided that between the twirling and crotch grabbing, it was time to make our break for it and leave. Although we were glad to finally get away from the music, I have to say that I think that it’s the first time in my life that I really appreciated Phish.

** Last week Mark and I went to lunch (not at above pizza place), and as we were getting our drinks, he stopped cold and looked at me and said "oh no, not again." I didn't understand what he was trying to tell me until he snapped "LISTEN!" And damned if it wasn't Phish. Again, throughout the entire lunch, Phish. Phuck.

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OH FOR F@$K'S SAKE! EXCUSES EDITION

I just wanted to take a minute and say sorry to the five of you that read this. It's been way too long since my last post, but things got crazy. My kid had the chicken pox and I just got over a five day bout of the flu (as it turns out since I never went into "respiratory distress" it was not the swine flu. Although I was a little disappointed because I really like saying "you swine!" in my Inspector Clouseau voice).

Also, let's not forget that I am lazy at times, but I've mentioned that so you shouldn't be all that surprised. Anyway, I have a new post and a couple of more on the way. One is about farting, so you should be looking forward to it.

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I HATE NATURE

Everyone knows by now that I am not a fan of the place people call “outside.” It’s too big, and there aren’t enough walls. Truth be told my very favorite thing to do is waste a perfectly good day sitting on the couch watching Lifetime,Television for Women. Before you judge, I challenge you to watch the entire Betty Broderick saga (A Woman Scorned and Betty Broderick: Her Final Fury), and then tell me if it wasn’t the most entertaining four hours of your life. However, since Piper came into my life, she’s really cut into my couch/Lifetime time.

Piper loves to take walks. Piper likes to climb stuff and pick up icky things. She likes to chase bugs and jump in puddles - the kinds of things that I really, really hate. But, I figure that escorting her into the yard occasionally is much more cost effective than say, all of the therapy she will need later in life because Mom wouldn’t let her out of the house or physical ailments due to Vitamin D deficiency.

So, when a beautiful sunny Saturday dawns, I usually curse a little and then force my dead ass up and out of the house. Between the slowness with which I move in the hot sun, my huge sunglasses and my coffee cup, I am pretty sure that our neighbors think that either a) I have a drinking problem, or b) I am part Nosferatu. 

As usual, I digress. Normally on these nice days when Piper wants to escape the confines of the house, we go and visit the horses next door. It’s a pretty safe bet that she’ll want to go and I don’t have to walk far, so everyone’s happy. Our neighbors that own the horses are super sweet people who have a ton of grand kids and apparently don’t mind when we come barging into their barn, which is a huge plus. Actually, Piper usually enters the barn first followed by me yelling “Piper don’t go in there!” You know once, in desperation, I had her hearing checked and unfortunately, everything is OK. It seems that the kid takes after her Great-grandmother Margaret and has what I like to call “selective hearing.” Piper can’t hear things like “don’t run in the house,” but she’ll stop dead in her tracks for “would you like a cookie?”

So while Piper demonstrated her stubbornness, I dodged the horse poo and barn swallows that inhabit the place. The weird thing is, once in the barn she ignores the horses and heads straight for the cats. I have to admit, they're cute and much nicer than the fat, lazy a-hole cat that actually lives with us. Plus, I have to give those cats credit, they don’t claw her eyes out while she’s “petting” them. If there is one thing that I’ve tried to instill in my child it’s this: claws beat skin every time.

The last Saturday that we visited the barn, I spent the usual 10 minutes chasing after Piper and saving her life from gigantic animals that are about 200 times her size. I mean, horses don’t really take kindly to loud noises, like screams of “mommy horse!” from a little girl. As I got wrapped up in conversation with our neighbor, who was busy trying to pawn all of her tomatoes off on me (who can eat that many tomatoes – really?), I caught a flash of Piper heading around a corner. Soon she was out of eyesight. Now, I leave her to her own devices in the house a lot, but in no way am I comfortable doing so in a strange place inhabited by strange animals of all shapes and sizes (in addition to the horses and cats, they have a goat and an awesome farm dog name Charlie. I love that dog, and no, it’s not just because when I see him I get to say “good morning, Charlie.” OK maybe just a little). I tried to excuse myself from the conversation, but like many senior citizens, she didn’t really take the hint and kept talking. Finally I just said “I need to go and find my kid.”

I was too late.

Apparently the kitty she was petting tried to escape the love and headed into the pasture. Piper decided to follow by crawling under the gate. Technically, it was big enough for her to fit under, but in her lack of experience, she made a huge mistake. Instead of pulling herself through the gate head first, she’d decided to go at it feet first on her belly, pushing herself. Well that might have been OK, but for some unknown reason the child had her mouth open when she did this. I got to her just in time to see her standing there with a mouth full of dirt. I mean, it was a huge clump in her mouth and all over her teeth. Then the thought dawned on me. This is a barn. There are horses. That’s not just diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrttttttttttttttt!

I couldn’t get to her fast enough. I couldn’t use my shirt to wipe her mouth out fast enough. She kept saying “icky, icky,” and all I could think was “no, it’s shitty, shitty.” I finally cleaned her up well enough to leave and by that time she was more than ready to go home and wash her mouth out. Then, as we said goodbye and made our way out of the barn, a bird shit on my head. I’m never leaving the house again.

In the days following this post the following has happened: I killed three funky centipede-type bugs in the house. I knocked down the largest spider web that I've ever seen because Piper ventured into the yard only to come back screaming, "the spider is coming, the spider is coming," yeah he was THAT big. Oh, and then there was the garden snake in my mud room. For real.

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I'M SOL ON DSL

Since we decided to move to the middle of nowhere, we’ve met with a few challenges. Runaway dogs, ticks, getting the shake down over trash cans, but nothing really compares to the whole satellite thing. Since we live miles from the DSL community, although feet away from I70, we can’t get cable. Which was OK with me to a point. I kind of looked forward to moving away from the monopoly of the family-owned cable provided in town that was about as fee-oriented as my waste management friends. I mean, they forced everyone to make the digital switch about six months before it was mandatory. Oh, and they raised our rates because “everything’s digital now!” According to their commercials, they were doing it for us, to prevent a cluster fuck at the actual digital switchover deadline. According to me, it was just another way to F us in the A.


When we moved, we were resigned to the fact that we’d have to get satellite TV. We said goodbye to the Tivo and hello to satellite DVR. At first, it was rough because I missed the bubble sound that Tivo made. When I asked the installation man about the sound, he suggested that I just say “boop-boop” out loud whenever I changed channels. Instead, I have learned to accept the sad low-rent version of my beloved “boop-boop,” which is actually a soft "thunk." Although we’ve grown to appreciate our satellite TV for what it is, we do realize that our inability to access the closest news station will prevent us from knowing a deadly storm is headed our way. But hey, what are the odds of that happening in Kansas?


We found out that we couldn’t get the internets through the television company, but there were a couple of other companies that offered satellite internet services. After looking online, I thought that it seemed a little pricey, but I figured they had us by the short hairs. When I called I got a real eye-opening experience. I’m pretty sure that the people that run the satellite internet company also have a stake in the rural trash removal industry. The guy that “helped” me on the phone was the worst used car salesman-type that I have ever spoken to. I mean, he was worse than an actual used car salesman. I swear that I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear the phrase “what do I have to do to get you in this internet today?” fall from his lips. He first explained to me that with internet satellite service space was limited. The service could only hold so many customers at once, so if I didn’t get a spot on the information super highway, I was SOL and would have to wait until there was a space open. Then, to make matters worse, he re-explained it. “See, it’s like a plane. There are only so many seats and if you don’t get on the plane you might not get a seat, see?” When I said, “yes, I understand,” he actually began to re-re-explain it, at which time I stopped him, because I really did understand, and frankly I couldn’t bear to hear him explain it again. Especially since I’m not stupid, and contrary to that crazy person from Alaska (no, the other one) the internet is not a system of tubes that get clogged and prevent my emails from getting through.


Me and my salesman friend went through all the regular stuff and he even congratulated me when we discovered that service was available in my area. Yea! I’m a winner! Of course, not long after my congratulations, all the money talk started. Unbelievably they wanted $200 up front just to come and say hello, OK and to hook it up. But after $98 in fees (man, rural companies sure do love their fees), $25 to have the damned thing shipped to us, because apparently the hook up guys can’t deal with dragging a dish out to the middle of nowhere, and then $80 to hook it up, I was a little shell-shocked. I told Herb Tarleck that I would call back because I wasn’t prepared to hand over $100 right then. Herb smelled blood and went in for the kill “well, I’d hate to see you lose your space. I mean I had a gentleman the other day that waited and when he called back there wasn’t any space left for him…you know, it’s like seats on a plane…” I finally snapped back that I totally understood about the plane thing, but that I didn’t want to give him $100 at that very moment. I decided to spare him my sob story about a diabetic dog, need for new tires and my huge chiropractic bill, all of which take precedence over my ability to access Facebook at home.


After I hung up I was pretty irritated and decided to try and find another company. But it seems as if they are smarter than me. Because every single satellite internet provider is the same fucking company, even though they have different names. So you can imagine my glee when I saw orange AT&T cable flags all over my road. Finally! A reasonable company (you know it’s bad when I consider AT&T a reasonable company). I was excited to call them to inquire about the cable. Did it mean that the Yahoo’s and Google’s were coming to my area? I got online at work (it was lunch. OK it wasn’t), and looked up availability. No congratulations were in order. Still, when a chat window popped up, I decided to take advantage and ask if the telltale orange flags meant that I could tell the satellite people to go fuck themselves. Instead of trying to explain the insanity of my two chats with AT&T, I am just going to let you read them for yourself.


These are real.


Welcome to AT&T. My name is Lewis. How may I help you today?


Lewis: I will be happy to answer your questions regarding AT&T services. I specialize in setting up new phone accounts and High Speed Internet service. To start, could you please tell me what city and state you are located in?
you: , KS
Lewis: Hello! How may I assist you with your online order?
you: You guys do't offer DSL where I live. I believe currently you offer satelitte service through xxxx xxxx, but I've looked it and don't want to deal with them. Anyway, I noticed that all along my road there are orange AT&T buried cable markers and was wondering if perhaps something was coming my way soon?
Lewis: I will be glad to help you with that.
Lewis: First, let me thank you for considering AT&T online today.you: super.
Lewis: Do you currently have active home phone service with AT&T?
you: nope, but if it would help me get the internet, i'd get it
Lewis: Just to confirm, that do you want to go with AT&T DSL internet services only?
you: well, if it's available, yes.
Lewis: Let me send you a link to check the availability.
you: i already did that... it said that it's not available. I don't know if having a home phone would change that.
Lewis: Let me send you a fresh link to check the availability.
you: ookayyyyyyy, but as i mentioned, i've already done this.
Lewis: I'm sorry for the delay. I'll be right with you.
Lewis: Click here to check the availability of AT&T DSL services.
you: Our system indicates that our DSL service, AT&T High Speed Internet, is not available at your location. that's why i was inquiring about the cables...b/c if there is a chance to get it later i will wait rather than going with xxxx xxxx, which is priced quite high.
Lewis: In that regard I would recommend you to place an order for a basic phone line to get the internet services.
you: Oooooo... will it be dial up?
Lewis: The basic phone line will be from AT&T services.
you: but if i get the phone service would i only be able to have dial up internet?
Lewis: If you have the phone line from AT&T, you will be able to get the Internet services also from AT&T.
you:ok, i get that, but is it dial up!? :)
Lewis: It is from AT&T. Dial up is a different company.
you: OK I don't want to be dense, but would the internet service be fast or slow?
Lewis: The AT&T DSL internet service would be 100 times faster than dial up.
you: OK it's DSL. Super! That sounds like a plan...
Lewis: Please hold one moment.
you: hold the phone. ha ha
Lewis: Yes, its DSL super.
you: are you being a smart ass?
Lewis: Let me send you a link to check all the things.
you: um, ok. what are "all of the things?"
Lewis: Are you able to proceed with the oreder?
you: i think so
Lewis: If you have any concerns, please let me know, I am here to assist you.
you: you are just going to ignore the smart ass comment aren't you?
Lewis: I will be right with you.
Lewis: How is the order process going for you so far?
you: they're telling me that internet isn't available even with phone servcie
Lewis: Please allow me to send you the link to check the availability.
you: We've already done this. Ok I think that I need to go before my head explodes.


At one point toward the end of the above chat, I was having this chat at the same time while trying to place my phone/internet order.


Samantha: Hello! How may I assist you with your online order?
You: Well, I've been chatting with another representative in regards to internet. We determined that since DSL isn't available at my address that i could get phone service and then internet...does this sound right?
Samantha: Thank you very much for considering AT&T as your service provider.
Samantha: Yes, you can place the order for AT&T Home phone services online today.
You: But I want internet and phone. I thought I had to get the phone to get the internet
Samantha: Whenever the internet is available to you, you can come back online to place your order for AT&T DSL services.
Samantha: How is the order process going for you so far?
You: Ohhh so the internet's not available now.That's not what some agent named Lewis said. I'm so confused
Samantha: Please provide me with your complete address, along with zip code, to check the availability for AT&T High Speed Internet services at your location.
You: it's not. but here you go:
Samantha: Thank you for the information. Please hold for a moment while I check your address.
Samantha: Thank you for the information. Please hold for a moment while I check your address.
Samantha: Thank you for being on hold. Your time and patience is appreciated.
Samantha: At this time AT&T High Speed Internet is not available at your location. AT&T High Speed Internet is constantly expanding its service area, and will notify you when it becomes available.
Samantha: However, you can proceed with your online order for AT&T home phone services today.
Samantha: I can leave my chat window open while you place your order so that if you have any questions I can
assist you.
You: That's OK I was just going to get the phone service b/c Lewis told me that if I got the phone service I could get internet. He was also kind of a smart ass.
Samantha: Please proceed with your online order today. I am right here to assist you in completing your order.
You: Wow, you guys totally don't read these do you? That explains why Lewis never got back to me on my smart ass comment. This has been helpful and incredibly entertaining.

Update: So this a.m. the AT&T workers were out and I asked them about service. I finally got an answer from the Foreman. Although they are laying cable, it's for the next town over. I'm not really sure why they can't break off to the right and give me some juice, but it's not the case. So alas, it looks as if I am doomed, at least for the time being. I wonder if AT&T offers service in my area?

Update II: Man, why didn't anyone suggest wireless to me? After all this struggle all it took was a trip to the Verizon store. Now we have the Yahoo's juice at the house.

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OH FOR F@$K'S SAKE! STARBUCKS EDITION

Generally speaking, I hold a great disdain for the general public. This is due largely to the fact that most people are stupid. It’s true and you know it. However, since having a child and thereby unleashing the fury of a two ½ year old on an unsuspecting community, I have tried to be a little more patient. Mainly because I am now one of those horrid people that you hate with the screaming kid in the next aisle. But when I walk into a Starbucks sans ADD-riddled child, just trying to get an iced coffee, a plain iced coffee (no frou-frou vanilla half-caf/half decaf chai latte, no whip and light foam), and it takes me over 15 minutes, well then I turn into my version of the Hulk. It’s the same, except without the green and I curse much, much more than Lou Ferrigno ever did.

One morning while running an errand (OK I was at work), I thought that I’d multitask and pop (OK sneak) into Starbucks. The one close to my office has the employees that are nice and super fast. I mean, like, one minute you’re standing there and the next you have your non-fat vanilla latte in one hand and your smoking debit card in another. Plus, if you are any kind of regular, they remember your name. Yeah, they’re good. But as soon as I walked in the door, I knew that this was not a super fast kind of day, with the line stretching all the way back to BFE (OK, like five people back).

Now, I know that I am not alone when it comes to having a frustrating experience in the outside world, where one must interact with others during the exchange of goods and services. I mean, we all know that customer service is dead, which is apparent by the employees who clearly don’t give a shit. Actually, I kind of understand, because I have been a retail jockey and I clearly didn't give a shit.

But, I've spent enough time behind a counter to have seen the worst in people. I don’t have the energy to tell you all the names that I’ve been called or all the horrific behavior that I have seen. I think I can sum it up best by saying that I once had a customer tell me that I “was what was wrong with this country,” when I gave him back to much change. So, sorry about that everyone, I guess I screwed it all up.

But on this particular day, it wasn’t the employees that were wreaking havoc on my Starbucks experience. It was my fellow customers, guests, visitors or whatever the hell you want to call us. The people standing in line with the money. I stretched my neck and got a glimpse of the problem at the head of the line. By the pile of crap she had on the counter, I could tell this transaction was going to be a doosy. Turns out, she wasn’t even getting a drink, she was just buy stuff. And by the way she was doing it, you’d have thought that we were in Florida at a sea-side souvenir shop. But instead of a dehydrated starfish it was ground coffee. She had mugs, coffee beans, CD’s and other unbelievable shit. Just shit. Shit you and I would look at, but never ever buy, because it's shit.

Literally, this woman would pick up one thing, look over at another thing and say “Oooo, what’s that?” The girl behind the counter rolled her eyes ever so slightly and said, “it’s a french press.” In my head, I thought, “oh this is just great! If she doesn’t even know what coffee is we are going to be here forever while someone explains the likes of a french press to her.” And we were. Finally, when the counter had no more space, and no more knacks could be knicked, she and her daughter decided "what the hell? Let’s try some of this so-called coffee." That’s when they decided to decide what they wanted to order. I shit you not.

The Mom looked at the menu and then had to have a primer in Starbucks-ology, and no, her reaction wasn’t nearly as funny as Paul Rudd’s. The whole transaction just went on and on with eventually both women choosing a frothy vanilla shake-looking totally non-coffee type jobby with lots of whipped cream (which on a bitchy note, they both could have done without).

At this point, I was actually not doing any deep sighing or eye rolling, but that was all about to change. I knew it was headed down hill when it was time to pay and I heard the sentence start out with “OK…” An “OK” followed by a trail off usually means that something complex and frustrating is coming. The souvenir woman started grouping everything into little piles, saying, “I need to pay for these separately.” I finally had had enough. My eyes rolled, I sighed - loudly, my arms crossed, my weight shifted from one leg to the other. “Are you kidding me?” I thought. The line was dangerously close to the door when this woman finally got all her coffee memorabilia paid for and waddled her fat ass down the counter to wait for her vanilla shakes.

I calmed down quickly as I realized that I was three people away from getting my very simple, yet very important iced coffee. I truly believed that the most difficult part of my journey was over. That’s about the time one of the girls in front of me busted out a list. “Yeah, I have some orders here that I need to pay for separately.” I had been trying really hard not to be impatient. Trying. But I’m just not a patient person. I am, however the kind of person that stands in front of the microwave and yells “hurry!” And even at my advanced age, I still do the little kid agitated arm-flailing dance when things aren’t happening fast enough for me, usually moaning “huuuuurrrrryyyyyyyyeeeeeeee.” But since I was in public, instead of doing any actually arm flailing, I just thought it. In hindsight, it reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where Elaine is stuck on the subway and she screams “move!” in her head over and over.

While I was meditating on how miserable I was, I failed to notice a new development. The lady in front of me with a huge basket purse and frizzy hair had begun to talk to the guy behind me, who looked like Bill Cosby in the 80s (awesome geometric sweater included). It became very clear that they were friends, and it also became clear that they were going to forge ahead with their exchange despite the fact that I stood in their way like a natural barrier. Because of my prime location, I was forced to listen to their inane conversation. At first, I ignored it, but when someone is talking a foot away from your face, you kinda get involved.

Apparently, Basket Lady had been house hunting, but hadn’t been able to find anything. I mean anything. “You know, because you have to go outside of town. Forget about the schools. I mean, you can’t find a good one here.” Now this is where I chime in that where we live is a pretty nice little town. I get so frustrated when I hear spoiled hippies bitch about “crime,” “traffic,” or “schools” here. I’ll admit, I haven’t exactly lived in Cabrini-Green, but I did spend the better part of a decade inside a major metropolitan city. You want to see a bad school? I’ll show you one. It was right near my old apartment, and I was afraid to walk past it because the students scared the shit out of me. So spare me your tales of woe because you can’t find a school for little Cheyenne that implements the “talking stick” as a proper tool of communication.

Back to the Basket Lady. She lamented on about not being able to find a house that suited her needs. Oh, wait, I mean a house that suited her Feng Shui needs. “Because I need to wake up to the sun, ya know?” She said as she spread her hands out in a jazz like fashion as if to illustrate the sun. “When I get up I need to be energized and have my coffee and really wake up!” Wow, I thought. I can’t believe that you are having trouble finding a house, not in town, but not too far out, that has good schools and has been properly feng shuied. I mean, there must be, what like, none of those in Kansas. Believe it or not, I opted not to reach out and slap the bejesus out of her, even though she seemed like she could really use it.

Thankfully though, the Basket Lady and Bill Cosby dropped the topic of house hunting and their conversation moved forward, unlike the line. The two girls that were ordering drinks for everyone they’d ever met were still trying to get it together, which made me wonder where they worked, because I didn’t think that there was a business that big around here, but that just shows what I know.

After a time, the two gophers looked as if they were close to wrapping it up and the Basket Lady took the opportunity to rummage through her crazy basket purse and find her gift card. What do you know! It was the same gift card that Bill Cosby had given her. OhMiGod what are the odds of THAT! So she decides to ask Bill Cosby she could buy him some coffee. He says “oh no, I couldn’t let you buy me coffee on the gift card that I bought you. I bought that for you, not for you to buy coffee for me.” Basket Lady looked at him all coy-like and said “But you were so generous, please let me buy you a coffee.”

Thankfully, Bill Cosby relented and said “OK” so I wouldn’t have to watch her flirt anymore. But instead of doing the polite thing and stepping into line with him to buy coffee on the gift card that he bought her, he cut in front of me and the two of them continued their conversation without missing a beat. Now, I would have been OK with the line jumping had he just asked, but Bill Cosby just cut in line, without so much as a glance in my direction. Not even an embarrassed “sorry-she’s-making-me-do-this-and-I-know-it’s-rude-thanks-for-not-making-a-deal-out-of-it.” It was like I didn’t even exist. Jello pudding eating mother-fucker.

He then proceeded to pull out his credit card because “I just couldn’t let you pay for this.” Finally, they were ready to order, thus putting an end to the dispute over who was going to pay for coffee. I swear had their “argument” continued any longer, I was ready to interrupt them and offer to pay for BOTH coffees if it would shut them the fuck up. Of course neither one of them knew what they wanted. I think by now I was putting my head in my hands and the baristas looked like they wanted to maim a bitch.

At long last, it was my turn. I could hardly believe it. But you know what? I was ready. I knew what I wanted and I ordered my iced coffee with skim milk, had my debit card ready, and was done in 2 minutes flat. I was happy, the barista was happy, the people in line behind me were more than happy. That, my friends is how you order coffee.

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