Caterwauling

So I needed a dress today. That’s all. That was my only goal to achieve. Well, that and overcoming a lack of sleep due to what feels like heartburn and the formation of an ulcer, but in any event, let’s focus on the thing I CAN control: the shopping.

As always, I’m on a budget. And finding something appropriate for my body type is always an adventure, not to mention that if it fits properly too, well that’s utopia.

So against my better judgment, I found a Fashion Bug. And god damn, I have hated that store since I was a wee lass. I have hated the styles, the cheap quality of the clothes and the just overall crappy shopping experience. I swear, I haven’t been in a store in 20 years, but I found one recenly when my mom gave me a gift from there and I wanted to exchange it for, oh, anything else.

Anyway, I figured I’d been striking out at all my usual haunts, and this was literally the last resort. And miracle of all miracles, I found something. It’s not wonderful, by any standards, but for $40, if I get two wearings out of it (before it falls apart in the washing machine, which it WILL), I’ll be overjoyed.

There was also a sale going on, to buy something and get a lesser-value item for $1. And in some weird burst of karma, I found a pair of black dress pants in a petite size. Which, holy crap wow! I never buy pants because I refuse to pay out the wazoo for them and then have to go deal with getting them altered. Remind me to tell you sometime about my adventures with tailors. Seriously, how they had the audacity to make me pay them to fuck up my dresses is beyond me.

In any event, I found a dress, the pants, a slip and a necklace. The way I calculated it, the pants and the necklace would be a buck each.

A BUG (EMPLOYEE) UP MY ASS

When I got up to the checkout, the cashier threw a fit that I hadn’t properly taken advantage of the sale. And god help me, whatever language she was speaking (perhaps Russian) was lost on me. All I got out of it was that she thought my dress was way too expensive and she felt like I should go get something cheaper. There was something else said but it was lost on me.

I stared at her as she took all of my clothes and curled them up in a ball and threw them on the other side of the register. She ordered me to go find something different. I was like “What is your problem, lady? I want what I chose.”

She argued with me some more, to go find another dress. I said, “The rest of the dresses are fug. I don’t love it but GOD, it’s the best you have!”

I asked her to hand me back my crap so I could go put it back where I found it. She started yelling after me that when I found something better, I could cut to the front of the line. Yeah, the 12 women with 47 kids each really loved hearing THAT.

Luckily, my best friend called exactly at that moment, so she was my cheerleader when I told her how I was planning to impale Olga the Overlord with a plastic hanger. We talked for an hour, during which time I wandered the store and still didn’t find shit else that I would in my right mind want. But as always, my friend talked me off the ledge and injected some sanity into my life, as it’s been pretty scarce lately. When we hung up, I went back to the counter and guess who waited on me?

*sigh*

I asked her what the hell was wrong with the dress, anyway. And that she’d said I hadn’t taken advantage of the sale, the sign above the dress said buy one, get one for $1. I didn’t need two. And then she said I must have misunderstood her, because it was the pants that weren’t applicable for the sale. To which, I said of course I want them — Kee-rist, if they fit somewhat well, why wouldn’t I want them? I’m not made of money but there’s a lot to be said about a basic wardrobe staple that was only $30 in the first fucking place.

NOT SO MUCH IMAGINARY FRIENDS AS MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES

So she decided to be really nice to me and told me how pretty she thinks I’ll look in the dress. (Apparently she missed me in the dressing room mooing at myself. You always know when you’re in the dressing room with me when you hear two voices going, “Who’s a fatass?” and replying, “You’re a fatass!” And in the first voice, “Fatass fatass fatass” and the other voice laughing demonically. You later learn the voices were coming form the same person — moi. Ha!)

In any event, if I’d wanted a salesperson’s opinion, I would have asked them to unlock a dressing room for me instead of just crawling under a door and letting myself in that way. So I laughed and said, “Fatass!” and she was all, “WHAT?!?” And I said, “Exactly.”

She’s lucky I was only calling myself a name. Lord knows I was tempted to blurt out c u next tuesday but it’s pointless to play with an unworthy (and, yes Sabre, unarmed) opponent!

First I’m going to burn down their building. Then I’m going to light myself on fire. But even before all that, I want what I paid for.

OK, five times they’ve shipped my order to the wrong place because they didn’t use all the information I gave them. This week? They lost the whole damned order. But they sure as hell didn’t forget to CHARGE me for it.

This is a product I run out of and need to replenish regularly. And god damn, do I spend the money on it. I’ve tried every available substitute and from places with better customer service (from which I just ordered one of the sub-par items for the low, low additional cost (ha) of next-day air shipping), but the stupid company’s product is better. Fuckers, talking me on the phone like I’m the crazy one when I tick off now SIX instances in which they have fucked me over. HATE.

What I also hate? My cat threw up all over my bedroom carpet AND living room carpet. Not just kitty chunks, mind you. Split-pea soup, acrid, pure liquid, bad-ass dark brown puddles. So now that I’ve been scrubbing the hell out of my carpets, I ran into the kitchen to dispose of the cat vomit-infused sponge. And guess whose wet feet slid and knocked their owner straight into a row of cabinets?

I need to go back to bed. I so very much miss the days when I could call off work and not have to stress out so much over formulating a game plan that it’s not even worth doing. Forget Amazon wishlist donations — can’t anyone just throw a girl a Valium dispenser?

Because for the first time in Dubya’s presidency, I agree with him on something:

Bush Opposes Singing Anthem in Spanish.

Read the rest of this entry »

Bugshit crazy

I’m so happy to report that the current apartment management is planning to exterminate my place on my official moving day. Blah blah blah “you will be fined $50 if you do not permit the exterminators to do their job.” I’ve tried this before — they bring in the bug boys to do a shitload of apartments in one day; no special considerations for anyone, circumstances be damned.

Seriously, they’ve had my notice for weeks — gee thanks. Ya couldn’t wait an extra, oh, DAY could’ja now? Seriously. Ya already inspected this dump today — hope you liked tripping on the vacuum cleaner cord and piles of newspapers, as I didn’t exactly clear a pathway for my guests.

‘Scuse me while I hang myself with that ethernet cord

Meanwhile back at the new ranch, I tried to schedule cable/Internet hookups at the new bachelorette pad. But I can’t because somebody, somewhere fucked something up and Crazy-Ass Cable Conglomerate have somebody else scheduled for an install at MY ADDRESS. Three phone calls later (and phone monkeys referring to me by a man’s name when I give them the address — the HELL?!?! As I asked one poor rep, “Do I SOUND like I just sprouted a third leg? You were calling me Dawn a minute ago, you know, when I gave you my cell phone number and my name popped up on your screen!”

Actually, I found it funny. I had no choice. 😉

Replace that zero with a hero … zero?

So anyway, the phone number. I started off with my area code. I said “Seven, Zero, Three. …” and the girl interrupts me to say, “You mean Seven, OH, Three?” I laughed and said yeah. Good on ya for translating that Zero into an Oh. Can’t put anything past YOU!!!!

The punchline

After I offered to fax my lease to prove that I am in fact the rightful tenant of said apartment unit and volunteered to submit to a medical exam to prove I was not the man whose name they called me by, I learned that I could not get the hookups and was thus regaled to living without cable and Internet until they could get hold of this mystery person who I am clearly NOT. Whee.

In any event, I suggested ever-so-helpfully that, since I had switched apartments at the last minute, perhaps the guy had done the same thing — only he’d gone so far as to schedule cable installation?

And the angels sang alleluia

I was put on hold and later told that — guess what? — the guy lives one floor above me. Hah. Somebody made a boo-boo when inputting the data. And apparently he has no idea, and if not for me, the boy would probably never get the cable.

The only reason I even threw the fit was because his install date that they’d mentioned in the first place (for the guy, which I didn’t realize at the time) was inconvenient to me, and I need mine way sooner. Heh — it would’ve been nice to have somebody else responsible for that triple-digit mess of a bill every month for practically nothing!

Let’s not talk about the mess over ordering checks.

Long story short, my bank has two addresses on file for me. I ordered checks using the mailing address I designated but with the new address to be printed on the checks I ordered from an independent company. Bank says the mailing address isn’t my address. Thus, no soup for you. So I updated my mailing address at the bank and now I see an e-mail that until my bank provides written verification (which is never going to happen) I am screwed and my money will be refunded in 45 days.

Because, you know, who really needs real, numbered checks? I hope I can pay my rent in navel fuzz, since they don’t accept starter checks.

More moving fun

I am terrified to call back my insurance agent to find out how much my already-astounding car/renter’s insurance is going to skyrocket with the move. Really — a girl can only handle so much in one day!

It’s all good, though. I’m moving forward. That’s all there is to it. I’m leaving behind a lot of posssessions, but that’s all they are — things. Stuff. Sentimental items. Tattered crap, basically.

I’m also leaving behind the tears, the frustration and sadness and fear and despair. It’s like getting a haircut and snipping off the split ends — they’ve incurred enough damage. Time to let them go into that gentle good night. It’s an opportunity to take with me what I want and not leave a forwarding address for what isn’t working for me.

I’ve wasted too much time being unhappy — and while I know I can’t abolish bad feelings, I can change the scenery and not be reminded of the old stuff that weighed me down. Four walls can only hold so many tears — these have hit their capacity. My new place is untainted, untouched. It’s full of sunshine and space and possibility. And, thus, so am I. And I feel healthier already, just thinking about the laughter and joy I’m going to experience anywhere but here. …

Further proof that the gene pool is contaminated:

Boy gets caught in toy-filled ‘claw’ machine

“When the 3-year-old Austin, Minn., boy crawled through the discharge chute of a Toy Chest claw machine at a Godfather’s Pizza in his hometown, he ended up on the other side of the glass surrounded by stuffed animals.

“Rescuers had to pry the door open to get Devin out, though the boy was in no hurry to leave.”

I think that was a waste of rescue efforts — the parents should have proven their skill at the game and played it to try to get him back. Now THAT would be entertainment!!!

I know, I’m so going to hell for this. Either that or I’ll probably have a kid who does that or worse.

In any event, the article made me hungry for Godfather’s Pizza, which was pretty much the highlight of my Minnes”cr”ota episode.

I suppose the parents are just lucky that the brat didn’t crawl into the pizza oven instead!

As I am in mid-move and therefore cannot cook at home (for one, I don’t want to have to throw food away, and two, I packed most of my small appliances), I’ve been hitting the fast-food circuit altogether too much. Which, let’s not talk about the expanding size of my ass, but I digress.

What I’d like to talk about is how EVERY ORDER I have made in the last two weeks has been SCREWED UP in some way. And how I figure that, well, if I only paid a few bucks for the meal, I really don’t have the energy/right to complain. Much.

However, I almost rammed a tip jar up someone’s ass yesterday. And she so would have deserved it. Because SHE was mad at ME for making her REDO my order!!!

Read the rest of this entry »

So I opened a new bank account in preparation of my move. Because I am not wildly in love with my own bank and, besides, I wanted something uber-convenient to my new locale. I also trust the hell out of the new bank as I’ve had several accounts through it before.

Well, the right word in this scenario is trusted.

Read the rest of this entry »

On coping with obliviots:

Friend: “I envision a spaceship with 10 seats, and I oftentimes change out who’s on that trip to the moon, never to be seen again.”

Me: “Only 10? Hell, my spaceship would have to be standing-rooom only!”

Actually, in all fairness, my vehicle going to the moon is less of a ship than a six-car Metro. 😉 Please stand clear of the doors!

Dippity Dubya is on TV right now, answering the questions of civilians and military families in West Virginia. I am slightly riveted as I don’t normally work among inarticulate people, so it’s been interesting hearing a non-Grammar Nazi ramble at length about nothing at all.

Someone just mentioned that they pray for him, and he went on a five-minute tangent about how he loves being president because everybody’s praying for him. Dude, let’s get the record straight. We’re praying for you to NOT FUCK UP any more than you already have.

We’re praying for good sense to enter into your head when you’re making the magnanimous decisions that your successors are going to have to live with and/or undo. We’re on our knees begging for our troops to come home safely and not in the cargo section of trans-Atlantic flights where they will be buried in Arlington Cemetery, where I’ve witnessed a burial EVERY GODDAMNED MORNING except Sunday, when I only saw mourners on their knees laying flowers on the graves of their loved ones.

Even the atheists and the pagans are turning to their Higher Powers and just asking for the mercy of the powerful over those who are powerless.

My point here? Don’t flatter yourself. We’re praying to thrive — that’s all we’re doing here. It sure beats Becoming Republican!

Look, I am one of those people who — if I can do something myself — I will DO it and I will do it WELL. I hate asking people for anything and I hate it even worse when there’s something I cannot do at ALL.

There’s this company I deal with because, well, fate has thrown me that hand. I order from them once a month. They are in California, a good 3,000-plus miles away.

I used to buy their product from a much more competent third-party distributor. This company was efficient and effective. It also delivered to my post office box.

This wonderful party discontinued the product, so I have to order from the manufacturer.

I cannot find an acceptable substitute. And believe me, I’ve tried.

So today makes FOUR times — FOUR!!!! — that the manufacturer has Fucked Up my order.

Not the order so much as the address.

First of all, I’ve been ordering from them for years. YEARS. And my disgust grows stronger with every passing DAY.

So, they get the order right, but the fuck up the shipping address every time.

First of all, they refuse to ship via USPS and send things into the abyss known as UPS. I hate UPS. I got cut off tonight at 7:30 p.m. on the Beltway by a UPS truck. I almost crashed into it. Maybe it held my package!

Anyway, this manufactuer-type company — what they do is delete my company name from the address. Which, duh, I work in a Big Complex with Lots of Companies. My name + street address + city and state doesn’t do a shit bit of good to a UPS driver with a bajillion other companies to visit. I highly doubt they’d go that extra step to ask every business if I work there.

Anyway, last month when the order got fucked up, I called the company and asked WTF was going on. The customer service rep tried to convince me I was nuts. Which I would have accepted HAD IT NOT HAPPENED BEFORE. So he assured me that he made the change in their database but that I’d have to hunt down UPS to find out where my package went. *sigh*

It was suggested that there might have been a glitch with the website where I’d ordered it from. He told me to just call next time, as the phone people are quite competent.

Fast-forward to last week. I called, I ordered, I confirmed the company name was listed, I conquered.

Or so I’d thought.

I got my confirmation e-mail on Saturday to say the order had been shipped. Was their a company address on it? Noooooo.

For the record, in my MANY conversations with this company, I’d bitched to holy hell how I HATE sending shit to work because it’s nobody’s business what I’m ordering. And I hate it that they don’t deliver to P.O. Boxes, as when shit gets sent home, I’m never there for it and UPS ain’t open on weekends, so my stuff invariably gets placed in a holding facility until I can somehow swing some time to go stand in line on a workday to get it.

*sigh*

OK, so I called the company on Saturday — AGAIN — and raised hell, only to be told, “There’s no company name for you on file. Just (Blah blah addresscakes).”

I flipped. I mean, really. I lost my cookies. I asked where I can order their product, because the product is superb but their staff are fucking MORONS.

I was given the name of another third-party distributor (which, for the record, does NOT sell it and YES I DID CHECK). I was also told that, “We’ve made the fix to your records THIS TIME” and that “Um, you’ll have to contact UPS yourself to get the package in transit.”

Bah.

Fine.

Whatever.

I have them on speed dial.

So I called UPS on Saturday. I explained that we’d gone through this before with this stupid company and could they pretty please make it all better like they did the last time?

The rep assured me that he made the fix to my records while I was on the line. And that I’d get the package Monday.

So with today being Tuesday night and I’m on fire, guess who has YET to see her package?

I went to the UPS tracking website, where it has said for two days that there’s no company name/suite number and therefore the thing is undeliverable. And it also bore the CROCK OF SHIT of “We are trying to verify the address.”

With whom?

Seriously, WITH WHOM are you verifiying this address? I gave two reachable phone numbers (real ones! Not the usual fake ones I give out to creditors and such!) and neither one of those bitches were ringing duriing the past week!

So I got a UPS customer service rep on the line today and, per the usual, RAISED HOLY HELL.

Her response?

“There’s no record of you calling on Saturday. There’s no company name on file. You’ll have to pick up the package yourself in (city that I don’t know worth a shit).”

My blood? BOILING.

I asked why I paid for shipping and handling in the first place.
She rescheduled the delivery for tomorrow.

God willing, I’ll see it. I’m not suffering through these semantics for something I can do without.

I hate this shit.

UPDATE: The package came first thing in the morning. Sweet! I dread when I need to order again next month. …