Hung over
Well, I awakened to a big steaming pile of poop in the bathtub this morning. Conventional wisdom dictates that when your day starts off with a discovery of shit, you can pretty much tell what the rest of your day will be like. 🙂
I’ve consumed much coffee and Mountain Dew to keep me alive today. My little blogworld is pretty quiet, and that’s probably for the best, as last night was a long one for many of us.
Have not seen/heard from Shan in a couple of days. That can’t be a good sign. I finally left a message for her husband to check in with me with a quick update. Of course, he, like Shan, is on the hated Sprint network and won’t probably get the message till Christmas.
I spoke to my own hated cell phone company today. Seems that AT&T canceled my recurring credit card months ago because my billing address didn’t match my credit card’s billing address (I transitioned to a P.O. Box). So nobody told me that the credit card number was kicked out of the system, and as I have paperless billing, I didn’t know of any past due amounts (and I rarely check my credit card activity because it’s solely used for recurring debts such as web hosting and cell usage). Well, seems I owe them three months of payments. Wasn’t that cute? I don’t even have half of it, so they took $75 and promised to get the rest next month, when the next bill rolls around. This should be fun, trying to have enough credit available for that remaining $150 plus the new charges. E. Gads.
And in Veggie Patch headlines, some dipshit keeps writing to me (and copying it all over creation) to publish a correction to a story she submitted that I ran in the May issue. Back in April, she clearly submitted the story under her own byline, and I made it clear that I needed the specific author information (i.e., that she’s a grad student at some university). So, since the pub date, I have been treated to biweekly demands from her that I tell the world that the article was really written by a merry band of fools, not just her. (Not to mention, she keeps sending me e-mails from someone else’s account, so I have been confused from the beginning and struggled to set the record straight that the owner of the e-mail account was not, in fact, the story’s author. But now the claim comes that the e-mail box owner is, in fact, ONE of MANY authors.)
Let me tell you, after the aggravation of editing that article, I owe her no more time. My personal editorial policy dictates that, when I screw up, I owe the readership an immediate correction. But this chickie seems to think that because I didn’t know that she wasn’t the only author, I must claim that the newspaper erred and thus must assuage some hurt egos. I keep deleting her messages, but bitch won’t go away. Will someone just go shoot her for me?
In good news, Demure is out, so I was not subjected to my weekly stupervision meeting. Hallelujah!