Strange as it may seem, this life is based on a true story." - Ashleigh Brilliant
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Thursday, March 31, 2005
So you'd like to know what happened with the international check fiasco. Here's the latest and, hopefully, the finale.
I finally talked to Dave again late Thursday; he was the nice guy who was looking into it for me. He said he was getting the check sent back, it would come to me or him, and I'd have to come in and do it again - the right way this time, hopefully. He also noted, because I asked more than once, that they would remove the $4 charge.
What really pissed me off is that Saturday I got a letter from MPBI that said something like "International checks cannot be deposited as regular money" and telling me they were pulling the amount and charging me $4. No motherfucking shit, sherlocks, try telling your fucking employees that. I did not try to deposit an international check like a regular check - the fucking dimwit behind the counter did.
As of Wednesday the $4 charge was still there, though my $460 has finally gone through and been put in as it should have. I just called and spoke to someone at their Customer Service Center in Shreveport and now she is looking into it (the charge) - says someone went into the account the other day and fixed everything else, but obviously didn't remove the charge. Yeah, obviously.
Dave called again yesterday and I told him the $4 charge was still on there and he said he'd "take care of it". As of this morning it is gone and it appears everything is now as it should be.
I am currently working on my letter of complaint to the main offices because this kind of incompetence and ignorance is unacceptable.
And that's that. If you have an international check to cash or deposit, please, for the love of all things holy and sacred, make sure the person you are dealing with knows what they are doing; ask to speak to a manager and have them double-check it. No one wants to deal with this kind of headache.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
A Nigerian 419 Letter Response - aka - American 117 Letter
Who doesn't get these things? I was bored today and decided to write a pithy response and here it is. And no, I did not mail it back to the moron in question.
His email has been put as a link - send him something cute while it's still up.
His atrocious grammar, god-awful spelling and general massacring of the English language have been left as is. My responses in italics; enjoy:
You may be surprise to receive this letter from me,since you dont know me personally,
Not really, no. I get this kind of shit all the time.
I am Richards Mumbah. The son of Dr. Smith Mumbah, Who was recently murdered in the land dispute in Zimbabwe.
Really? Nice to meet you, Richards. I'm Princess Sophia Isadora Magdalena of Whisklick, Pluto, and heir to the throne of Whisklick and my grandfather's prized unicorn horn collection.
I got your contact as i was searching for a reliable and reputable person to handle a very confidential business which involve a transfer of fund to a foreign account and i decided to write you. My late father was among the few black Zimbabwean opposition party rich farmers murdered by the agents of the ruling Government of president Robert mugabe,for his alleged support and sympathy for the Zimbabwean opposition party controlled by the white minority,
Whoa there, padre. Way too much information. I really don't need all of this boring backstory. Let's get down to the nitty gritty - what the fuck do you want?
Before my father death,he had taken to johannesburg and deposited the sum of twenty five million united state dollars (US$25,000,000)with a security and financial company,
Your father must've been one damn good farmer. That's a lot of dough for a farmer, even a rich one. Exactly what was your father farming, Richards?
The money right now is in (EUROPE), as if he forseen the looming danger in zimbabwe. The money was deposited in a box as valuable items to avoid over taxed custom clearance.
He "forseen" it, eh? So he was physic, too? If he "forseen" coming danger why didn't he get the hell out of dodge rather than hiding his money? Not a lot of common sense, that physic oddly rich farming father of yours.
This money was allocated for the purchase of new machinery and chemical product for Agro-allied farms and for establishment of new farms in lesotho and swaziland.This land problems arose when president Robert mugabe introduced a new land act that wholly affected the rich white farmers and some blacks vehemently condemned the "modus operandi"adopted by the government.
*Yawn* B-o-r-i-n-g. You are boring me again, Richards. Let's move this bullshit along, shall we?
This result to rampant killings and mob action by the war veterans and some political Thugs,precisely more than three thousand( 3,000)people have so far been killed.Heads of government from the west, especially Britain and united states have voice their condemnation of Mugabe's plans.
You're probably one of those people that take 5 minutes longer than normal at the drive-thru window, eh? I really could give a shit less about the struggles of your country, your people, your family and, least of all, you. Would you get to the POINT already?
Subsequently, south Africa have development community(S.A.D.C)has continousy supported mugabe's new land act.
Can I interrupt you for just one moment here to say that your English skills are extremely lacking? You'd think if you were going to send a con letter to someone filled with lots of backstory bullshit and ridiculous requests you'd at least take the time to find a decent English translator so you don't come across as the illiterate, half-witted, treacherous, worthless sack of shit scam "artist" that you are.
It is against this background that my entire family who are currently residing in South Africa have decided to ! transfer my father's wealth and south Africa's government seems to be playing along with them.I am face with the dilemma of investing this money in south Africa for fear of encountering the same experience in the future, since both countries have almost the same political history.
Damn. Poor you. Can you hear my little violin?
Moreso,the south African foreign exchange policy does not allow such investment,Hence i am seeking for(political asylum) AS a business person whom i entrusted my future and that of my family into his hands, i must let you know that this transaction is 100% risk free and the nature of your business does not necessarily matter.
So let me get this straight. You, who can't even speak proper English, want me, whom you don't know from Adam, to help you with your money? Oh sure, that makes perfect sense. 100% risk free, you say? Well, hell, why wouldn't I want to deal with someone who randomly emails strangers asking them for help in handling millions of dollars? It sounds perfectly legitimate.
For your assistance we are offering you 20% of the sum ,70% for me and my family,while 10% will be mapped out for any expenses that we may incurre during this transaction.
20%, eh? Nah, I want 40%. Shit, while we're at it since this is all COMPLETE BULLSHIT, let me ask for 100%. I want it all, baby. As the Princess and heir to the throne of Whisklick, I demand it.
We wish to invest our money on commecial properties based on your advice.
Well, I know of a nice, big golden-ish bridge you might be interested in.
Finally, i will demand for assurance that you will not sit on the money when it gets to your personally account or comp! any account in your country, If this proposal is accepted please confirm your interest by sending this above to email@example.com
It's a little early in our relationship for you to be "demanding" anything of me, Richards. I've got a demand, though. How's this, you quit emailing me this asinine crap and I won't forward your little email addy on to the US Secret Service's Financial Crimes Division, Netscape whose email account you are using for illegal purposes, or any of the embassies of the country you purport to be from, eh?
No, thank you, asshole, for the entertainment. Your badly written bullshit and pathetic attempts at scamming were a hoot to read.
God Bless You,
Richard Martins Mumbah.
Go Fuck Yourself,
Princess Sophia I. Magdalena
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Okay, two posts in one day you know I'm pissed off.
So tell me, why are people in Baton Rouge completely fucking STUPID???!
Let me tell you the saga of the international check. This is a great tale and one that the higher-ups of my particular banking institution will no doubt be thrilled to hear about in the scathing letter I will send about the ineptitude of their dim-witted employees. It's a long tale, but please do stay until the end and share in my frustration and displeasure - do not let me suffer this outrage alone, I beg of you!
I received an international check - i.e. it is written in pounds not dollars - some time ago. I went to one of my particular banking institution's (henceforth referred to as MPBI) branches to get said check cashed. Apparently international checks are an anomaly in this city causing banking employees to get rather confused. This particular jaunt to the bank took over 2.5 hours - most of that time spent while the person helping me tried to figure out what to do with an international check (I swear she whipped out a manual). She informed me that the check would have to be sent to their international-department to be transferred into dollars. Okay, no problem.
A few days later the nice lady called to tell me there was a problem with the check (wrong date). She would look into it and call me back but they were likely going to have to send the check back to the sender. I told her okay.
Two then three weeks went by and I'd heard nothing - I assumed she'd forgotten to call me and the check had been returned. Then I remembered Blank's Law and I called the bank. The nice lady told me, "Oh no, we didn't send it back. It's sitting here in my desk. I'm waiting for you to come and get it.
I took three deep breaths before answering, "I assumed you'd sent it back. No one ever called to tell me to come and get it."
"Oh. I didn't call you back?" she asked me.
I wanted to say, "No you dumb bitch. Don't you think if you had called and told me my approximately $500 check was collecting dust in your fucking desk I WOULD HAVE BEEN THERE TO GET IT BY NOW?!" Instead I said, "No, you didn't call me. I'm on my way to get it now."
I had to get permission to leave work and drive down and get my check. I contacted the sender and faxed him a copy so he could see the wrong date. He apologized profusely and immediately sent out another - which coming from England took some time to get here.
When it did, I took the check to another of MPBI's branches because this one was closer to my house. I walked up to the teller, even though I'd been told at the first branch the first time around a teller could not do this for me. But since they didn't really know what they were doing, I figured I'd give it a go. I told the woman-I-now-know-IS-AN-IDIOT behind the desk, "I have an international check that I need to deposit."
She looked at me as if I'd just announced I wanted to deposit a few $4 bills and $0.29 coins. It's an international check not a fucking unicorn. It does exist but apparently she didn't think so. "Let me see it," she says.
I hand it to her. "It's in pounds not dollars," I tell her (this is important later on).
She calls to a lady behind the counter, "Can we deposit international checks?" Remember, they're not used to those in this city. She is told yes and she goes ahead and makes the deposit, hands me a slip and says, "Thank you."
I give her a perplexed look, "That's it?" This took over two hours the last time at the other branch. She said it was and I went home.
Now here is where I screwed up - I trusted the teller and the bank to be smart enough to do their jobs. I didn't look at the slip she handed me - for if I had, I would have seen that the genius had deposited two-hundred-and-fifty-eight dollars into my account. The check is for two-hundred-and-fifty-eight pounds which is the equivalent of approximately $500. She's a teller at a fucking bank - a well-known banking institution, I might add - and she does not know that pounds and dollars are not the same thing.
Furthermore, I assumed they would know what to do with the check when they got it. That when they calculated everything up at the end of the evening they would look at this international check written out in pounds and send it to their international department. But no, of course they didn't. I know this now because this morning I checked my online banking account and saw the deposit of $256 (dumb bitch) and then a chargeback of the same amount and a chargeback fee of $4. The check didn't go through because they are bunch of incompetent fucking morons AND THEY'RE TRYING TO CHARGE ME!!!!!!!
I don't even fucking think so.
I have called the bank and someone is "looking into it" for me. He is very nice and seems just as baffled as I that the teller deposited the money as dollars.
He asked if I knew her name, I did not. I do know what date and time I went in, though, and that she was the only one at the counter. I hope she gets fired. And I'm not being cute, I really hope that. There are honest mistakes and then are instances where you are obviously not cut out for this line of work and if this isn't one I don't know what is. I even TOLD her it was in POUNDS NOT DOLLARS. She didn't know the difference.
I am so tired of dealing with this entire international check business that I could fucking scream. I cannot believe how unbearably impossible it has been to get this very simple thing done that people do all over the world every day except obviously never in Baton Rouge.
And now I have to contact the sender again and say (again) how sorry I am that this is taking so long and apologize for the fact that I live in a backwards city with a bunch of backwards-ass fucking morons who couldn't find their way out of a paper bag with both fucking ends cut out.
And let me tell you something else MPBI's main offices WILL hear about this. And as much as I will praise the nice gentleman who is looking into this (he just called again and got me to give him the teller's initials off of the deposit slip) I will condemn and bash the morons who have caused this migraine headache and this unbearably long post that I have forced my beloved readers to muck through. Someone has to pay for all of this suffering!!!
I will keep you posted as to who will burn....
My life is a constant irony.
Yesterday I was working on a post telling how much less stress I'm under now that I've changed my work hours. I leave an hour earlier and go home an hour earlier than before and that one hour has made such a difference in the traffic that Baret has noted a marked difference in my attitude when I come home.
I still have my problems and run-ins and aggravations, but it is much less.
So I had this post knocking around in my head yesterday but I didn't have time to get it out - I intended to write & post it when I got home.
Here's where the irony comes in.
I was almost in an accident coming home from work yesterday.
A car started coming over in my lane - I was laying on the horn but the car kept coming over (surprise, surprise). All I could do was swerve sharply to the right and floor it to hurry and get past so I wouldn't get hit. As I zoomed past, the front end of the car (thankfully it was coming over at a snail's pace) nearly grazing my back end, I looked in my rearview mirror to see a little old lady behind the wheel. She could barely see over the steering wheel and she was, just as slowly, easing back into her lane - she hadn't heard my horn and hadn't seen me, apparently, until I was almost completely past her. I watched and she then slowly began inching back over into the right lane still not looking to see if anyone was there. She didn't even glance in her mirrors.
I got home upset and shaking badly - it was that close. Isn't it ironic, don't you think?
I found my Beth Gibbons CD! It wasn't in the freezer (and I did check), but behind my driver's seat. I never saw it. Baret rode with me somewhere this week and he found it (without even looking, of course). That figures because then he gets to give me "the look" as he shakes his head chidingly; the look that says "you silly, absent-minded little girl, you would lose your fingers if they weren't attached". Sadly, it's true. I would.
Since tomorrow is Good Friday and that is a holiday, today is officialy pseudo-Friday - which is just as good for me. We're having boiled crawfish at Baret's family's Sunday - the first this year, and I CANNOT WAIT. I talked to Mom yesterday and she asked me what our Easter plans were. I said something along the lines of, "Well, we're going to Baret's family's because they are boiling crawfish. And I love you guys and everything, but I will choose crawfish over you." Actually it was all good; they were planning to have Easter around our schedule so we'll be having another Easter dinner/supper with them. Hopefully talk around the dinner table will be as colorful this year as it was last - let's put it this way, conservative folks would not want to have dinner with us.
Hope everyone has a Happy Easter weekend!
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
To The Person Who Found My Website by Typing "ashlee simpson's ass cleavage" Into a Search Engine:
You are fucking sick.
Monday, March 21, 2005
I was going to post yesterday and wish everyone a happy Palm Sunday, Ostara, International Astrology Day, Sun-Moves-into-Aries-Today (yes, it was all of those things) since I was stuck at home anyway, but I prefer not to post in a hydrocodone haze.
Last week the temperature dropped rather suddenly and quite dramatically. In other words, it got freakin' cold. Then it started raining. My damn leg froze up stiffer than a board; it was so stiff it felt as if it was going to snap under me when I tried to walk on it. I took off of work Thursday and laid in bed with lots of heat on it.
By Sunday I was no better. I had to cancel my plans and stay in bed with a hot ThermaCare bandage wrapped around my leg, popping pain pills every 4-6 hours just so I could move around and perform basic human functions like hobbling to the bathroom.
Then I realized it was Ostara, the Spring Solstice and I felt a sudden urge to work in my garden. Saturday evening my best friend (and new neighbor) had pulled up two rose bushes from his patio that he's fixing up and had planted them in mine at my request. I popped a pill and hobbled outside and trimmed everything in the garden, getting it ready for spring.
It took a very long time, and I had to pause and wait for the pain to pass at times; others I had to pause and shed a few angry, frustrated tears, but I did it. I've got big plans for that patio this year and it made me feel good to do something constructive with my day rather than sit with my leg propped up in front of the computer trying to make my Sims graduate from college.
I'm hoping for warmer weather so I can get back to working this leg again. It's really been too stiff during the cold months to do anything with it. Baret says he'll even start going to the gym with me.
And I'm also happy to report that I got my package from Adiago Teas in - absolutely delicious teas & the ingenuiTEA pot is awesome. I even got a handwritten thank you note for the link along with the package. Thank you AT!!
Back to the grind.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
I have nothing nice to say so I'm not going to say much at all. If you're really interested in seeing what kind of a horrible, pissy mood I'm in you can read my LiveJournal entry where I kind of...went off. I warn you, it isn't pretty. I thought I'd try to blow off some steam there so I could come here and write a more well-thought-out rant, but now I'm just out of juice.
PMS is a bitch. Extremely over-sensitive impatience caused by PMS is an even bigger bitch. Welcome to my world.
I literally banged my Nextel against my desk today because my boss would not stop talking on the other end. He'd go on and on, and then come back a few minutes later with something else assinine. When he got to a point where he beeped through and started off with, "And this really isn't important, but..." I lost it. Thank goddess those things are durable.
Then I had this gem to deal with:
Person-calling-in: I can't get into my email-program-we-use.
Me: Ok, what error message are you getting?
At first he didn't know the error message (they never do). I waited while he tried whatever-he-was-doing again to make it come up.
PCI: It says Error 619, Invalid user name or password.
Now I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is the error message that comes up when you cannot dial-in - which you have to do to get into the email program. Users like to tell you what they'd like to do rather than what's really not working.
Me: You're not having a problem with email-program-we-use. The problem is that you can't dial in.
PCI: But I can't get my email.
No shit, idiot. But you have to DIAL IN to get to the email program and since dialing in is what you CAN'T DO - THAT is the problem!
Me: Okay, whatever. That error message means you're typing in the wrong user name and password. What did you type in?
PCI: I typed in "password" for the password. What it's always been.
I love how they argue with me and try to tell me how it is and how it's always been. If they're so damn smart, why in the hell are they calling me at all?!
Me: It's not "password" and it has never been "password". When we set your dial-in accounts up we gave you a password, it was 8 digits and alpha-numeric. Do you have it written down anywhere?
I don't know why I ask, they *never* do. Heaven forbid you keep pertinent information around.
PCI: No, I don't have it.
Me: (Curious) Why did you change the password anyway? The password is saved - you shouldn't have to change it, just hit "Dial".
He didn't answer. And why? Because obviously he hasn't dialed in in some time. Otherwise he'd know the password is saved and already there. That's what all those little stars in the password box and the check mark in "Save Password" mean, genius.
Thing is, if he isn't dialing in every day, he isn't doing his job. They have to dial in and download their work onto their laptop - every day.
What's the worse thing about dealing with stuff like this? These people make way more than I do.
And that right there isn't reason enough to be pissy-as-hell, there's the PMS to boot. Lucky me, right?
Monday, March 14, 2005
Last night I played Everquest 2 with my boyfriend, my brother and my sister (who just bought the game). It was geeky-gamer heaven. We all started new characters and wrecked havoc on the world of Norrath as a band of badass Wood Elves (can a Wood Elf be "badass"?). It was fun.
In my other gaming obsession, I have not yet been able to get a student to woohoo a college professor for better grades in The Sims University, thought I read it can be done. It's good to have goals in these games.
I had one non-stop weekend. Early Saturday we were off to start partying for Baton Rouge's annual St. Patrick's Day parade. Lots of beer, sun, and cool people; a good time was had by all. By 5pm we were back home and in bed - too much sunlight and alcohol doesn't make you feel on your best.
Sunday I attended my goddaughter's 8th birthday party. She's eight - wow. I was watching her run around playing and remembered the day she was born - I saw her not seconds after she first came into this world. How could that have been eight years ago? My "Little Fish" may be the closest thing I ever have to a daughter, and that's fine with me. Both she and her brother have my heart.
Yeah, sometimes I have a heart. Don't get used to it.
Today is Monday. Three cheers - woot. I mean that facetiously.
Though it's almost bearable for the simple fact that it's fucking gorgeous outside and I can smell the hint of coming spring in the air. That really lifts my spirits like nothing else can; the changing of the seasons.
Shit, there I go being sappy again.
I'd better just end this post now before I lose my bitchy blogging edge that you've all come to love & expect (at least, I hope you do).
Friday, March 11, 2005
It's Friday night.
I am supposed to be out having dinner with my charming boyfriend.
I am, instead, sitting here listening to a Mitch Hedberg CD (thanks Lance), and poking around with my stat counter.
I guess it could be worse.
Lucky, too, for you, since I found a few blog-worthy oddities that I felt like sharing.
You know how a link to your page on a Search Engine will have little sentences from your page/site underneath it in lieu of a description (b/c I'm usually too lazy to write one)? I found this stringing together particularly hilarious:
... Paris Hilton is ... is not supposed to be that color... She looks like a ... one-legged, hunchbacked, hair-lipped gnomes with psoriasis ...
I also found an interesting search query. Apparently someone is worried about the negative effect that McDonald's having on the family unit:
mcdonald's tearing apart families
"Define cuntrag" is still there as a used-to-find-me query, but if you try to type it directly into Google I'm not even on the 2nd or 3rd page now. Wtf? I don't understand how that works.
There was a query that came in via AOL Search but it was [encrypted by AOL]. So I clicked on it and the exact search page came up with the query term typed in the search box. Nice encryption there, AOL.
I am slowly starting to realize how very difficult it is to type a blog entry while there is a comedian going on in the background. Not b/c I'm listening to the jokes (I've heard it 3x's already tonight - thank you, Baret), but b/c it's hard to think straight while someone is talking in the background. So if this entry makes no sense and is lacking in pithiness, blame it on Mitch.
The Tale of the Missing CD
I don't get it; it makes absolutely no sense.
Wednesday evening my new CD, Beth Gibbons's Out of Season arrived in the mail. I listened to in the background as I did a few other things, played some Sims 2: University. I liked what I heard so far.
The next morning (which would now be yesterday) I decided I wanted to listen to the CD at work. Until I get used to a new CD I like to have it playing in the background so I can, without even realizing it, get into all of the new sounds. I grabbed it off the desk and slipped it in my large knapsack I carry to work every day.
I got to work and it was gone. No CD anywhere to be found in the sack. Wtf? I figured it must've slipped out in my car or didn't make it into the sack when I thought I'd slipped it in there earlier that morning.
Last night I got home and couldn't find it. I have searched my office at work, my car and the area surrounding my desk (the only place in my house it ever was) and NO CD!??? It has simply ceased to exist.
I searched last night, & this morning. I cleaned off my desk and the area surrounding it, Baret looked in my car as well. I've shuffled everything around in my office and on my desk more than once - no CD.
I don't know if I'm going crazy or what! Damnit, I want to listen to that new CD! I'm at a loss. I'm honestly beginning to think some prankster sprites or a spirit trying to get my intention have run off with my CD! In the 10 minutes from my house to my office it vanished out of my knapsack.
This is not a way to start the day.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Did you know that Google thinks this is the definitive place to learn the definition of "cuntrag"? Apparently I alone am keeper of this illustrious definition because if you do a search for "define cuntrag", this blog is the first thing that comes up.
Now if you just type "cuntrag" I'm about 3rd on the list (still impressive). Apparently I'm quite an authority on the word - just because I used it in a sentence or two. Or three.
It comes from one of my infamous road rage rants wherein I called a woman who almost hit my car a "stupid fucking cuntrag whore"; I do have a way with words when I'm angry, don't I? And I called her this not once, not twice, but third-time's-a-charm-thrice. Because she pissed me the fucking hell off. Oops, sorry.
Cuntrag. 'k&nt 'rag, (n)
A person, usually of the female gender, who cannot drive and proves this by swerving into your lane and almost hitting you despite the fact that your blaring horn should be alerting her that she is about to cause an accident.
Also, simply, a woman who cannot drive. Can also apply to females talking on the phone and driving poorly because of it.
Wanna know about cuntrags? See me.
(11 March Update: A day after writing this I was no longer the #1 find for "cuntrag". Such is Google-fame: so short-lived).
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
In the random blog-bys that I do some mornings (randomly clicking on links, checking out new blogs, throwing in a comment when I feel moved here and there), I read that Adagio Teas is offering a neat deal - link 'em and get free tea.
I'm not selling out. Trust me, I wouldn't help just any company get a higher Google-ranking simply because of the lure of getting something free. But I love tea, and Adagio tea is good. So there. Free tea for me. Tea for you? Link it up, baby.
That made absolutely no sense, did it?
My day, in terms of i.t.-ness, has gone from bad to worse. I sat around all morning waiting for someone who obviously thinks it is my job to sit and wait for him to come and pick up his laptop. Like I have nothing better to be doing.
In fact, waiting around on him put me hours behind going clean up yet another virus-ridden computer at our office. Why "another"? Because our employees don't have the surfing-sense god gave a goose. (Ever seen geese surf the Internet? Amazing, I tell ya).
If something pops-up on their screen offering free ANYTHING - screensavers, rebates, horoscopes, dental work, #2 pencils, cat litter, curly straws, doughnut holes, earwigs, hairballs, you-get-the-picture-ANYTHING - they click on it. Install - download - bam! - you have spyware and/or viruses. This is the third in less than a week. One computer was so full of viruses (over 20) and spyware (in the hundreds) it took me a day and a half to clean it out.
I have taken it to the higher ups and intend to start punishing these people. After I teach them the no-no's of Internet surfing and clicking. You see, I don't feel right punishing people when they truly don't understand what they're doing. Do you know what every single one of them said to me after I begged them NOT to download/install anything else off of the Internet on to their work computers?
"How do I know if I'm doing that? How do I know if I'm 'downloading' - I don't understand."
After the class I am putting together and that I will give to the entire agency, they will. And after that, if I find Ebates Moe Money Maker on one more goddamn machine they will feel the wrath of this computer geek.
And for the record - and the sanity of whoever-your-i.t.-person is - do not call and complain about a problem (ANY problem) without first trying to restart your computer. Thank you.
Now, as she whose link I finally fixed on my blogroll, aka Kat, suggested I am going to go home and have a glass of wine and drink away the day. Glory be to Bacchus. Halleluiah. Amen.
You try troubleshooting a computer problem over the phone with someone when they don't have any clue what the following terms mean: "desktop", "icon", "minimize", or "link".
I mean when you say, "Okay, open up Internet Explorer and click on any link on the page."
And they go, "Uuuhhhhh....Shanna, I don't know what you mean. Link? I...I don't know what that is. Click? How do you....? I just don't understand what you're asking me to do."
And he then starts naming off his Favorites folder to you...
...it's pretty much beyond any help I can give.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Spring is coming. I know, I heard the springtime birds chirping Sunday evening and it filled my heart with joy and hope. Goodbye wet, cold winter - hello sunny, breezy spring!
And hello new blog design. Do you like it? My friend had stored some things at our apartment that he didn't want his parents to see while they helped him move into his new house. He came to get it the other night and I saw this lovely photo album in the box with this picture on the cover.
"I love it!", I told him. "Can I borrow this so I can use it on my blog?"
I call it "Women & Wine". Hee.
In less cheery news, I would like to state that I am taking care of the grumpiest patient on the planet. They say men are babies when they're hurt or sick; "they" were right.
Baret has what appears to be the flu, or a very bad cold, and is so irritable and grumpy despite my best attempts to comfort, take care of and dote on him that I'd like to lock him in the bedroom until he's feeling better.
All of my concern and assistance is met with snappish answers and miserable groans. I'm trying to remind myself that he just isn't feeling well, but I can't help but get riled up when he acts like that. When I snap back he gets even more irritated and yells at me, "What?!"
Tonight I'm just going to go home, get some work done on a web design project and ignore him. It is for times like these that I bought the headphones that I keep at my desk.
In closing, I'd like to leave you with my main i.t. pet peeve of the last week. I'll give you a synopsis of the problem & all of the calls I received; yes, this happened more than once:
Person-calling-in: Something is wrong with my computer.
Me: (thinking: Whoa there, buddy. Too much information. I might actually be able to fix this problem if you were more specific. Wouldn't want that, now would we?) Well, what is it doing?
Person-calling-in: I'm trying to open/install whatever-program and it's giving me an error message.
Me: Okay. What's the error message?
Person-calling-in: I have no idea. I didn't read it.
Me: Well I need you to try and install/open it again and read the error message to me. I really can't help you if I don't know what the error message says. (thinking: DUH!!??)
Happy Tuesday, ya'll.
Monday, March 07, 2005
This Is My Life
Yesterday was a lazy, untroubled Sunday; my favorite kind. We lounged around the house and didn't change out of our nightclothes, and there was a yummy, comforting meal simmering in the crockpot filling the entire house with a delicious aroma.
However, around 6pm I decided that I wanted a Coke. There was no Coca-Cola of any kind in the house, so I decided to venture out and get some. Then I realized there were a few things we needed, and with Baret feeling a bad cold coming on, I knew I should stock up on some Echinacea, zinc and Vitamin C pills and tea. I made a little list, and headed out the door.
As you might imagine, shopping isn't exactly "easy" for me. I do the best I can. I take my time, and rest when my legs demand it. Usually I use the shopping cart for support. The more I do it, the easier it gets and it always makes me feel really good when it's all said and done; to know I can accomplish such things if I push hard enough. However, by time I get home I am aching terribly, am usually flushed and sweating and then have to tackle hauling the groceries in from the car. Life is a barrel of monkeys for the mobiley-impaired, folks, let me tell you.
So after shopping, bringing in and putting up all the groceries I was hurting like hell, but rather proud of myself. The crockpot dinner was ready and I was in the best of spirits until I realized something...there was no Coke.
A look at my receipt shows that, yes, I did pick up and purchase the cola that I had originally made a trek out to the store for, but somehow or another, I failed to take that 12-pack of red cans and place them into my buggy after they were rung up. Because this is my life, and this is how it goes.
Every time I try to do something for myself or by myself, I manage to screw it up royally. Like when I went to the movies, and locked the keys in the car. Or when I went to the doctor's office, and went to the wrong one and locked my keys in the car. Really, I'm not that ditzy!
And to think, I make fun of others' stupidity. I suck.
It's not really stupidity, though. I am not stupid. It's a very healthy dose of Blank's Luck, which I've told you about. (Insert my-last-name for "Blank"). If it can go wrong, it will. If there is a way to screw it up, no matter how obscure or rare a chance it could happen, a Blank will screw it up. Or as my Dad so perfectly phrases it, "Blank's Law is 'Murphy was an optimist'." It's my legacy - I was born into it and there isn't a damn thing that can be done about it except to accept it and go on.
Or go have a cigarette on the patio and throw your lighter at the door so that it smashes into a million pieces all over the ground. That works, too.
Welcome to my world.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Kat brought up a good question in comments yesterday, asking what a particular "spamish" (as I call it) word was actually supposed to be.
Since I've made it sort of a hobby of mine to wade through my spam email's and record their subject lines to poke fun at, I've garnered somewhat of a knack for figuring out the strange language of "spamish".
I believe that sometimes the misspellings are intentional in an attempt to bypass spam filters (other times just because the senders are morons or don't speak proper English). Because of this, there are some misspellings that seem to be the "rule" in that they are always spelled incorrectly in the exact manner every time they appear.
Because I have nothing else to offer you right now, I decided to do up a little spamish-guide to help you translate your spam subject lines into English.
Because you give a shit, right?
Spamish to English Guide
pohoto - photo
hettsot - hottest
werhoes (also whroes) - whores
psortitute (also porstitute) - prostitute
roeslution - resolution
inncoennt - innocent
awmseoe - awesome
caroton - cartoon
stranegr - stranger
hleos - holes
hrony - horny
mmos - moms
wemon - women
ermxete - extreme
See, you learn something new every day.
Let's make a sentence in spamish, just for shits & giggles:
Did you see that high - roeslution pohoto of those awmseoe wemon doing ermxete sports?
Let's hear yours.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
And the Mother of the Year Award goes to...
Teacher Margaret De Barraicua of Sacramento, CA for having sex with a 16-year old student in her car while her two-year old son sat seat-belted in the back.
Really, there are no words.
See for yourself:
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
I'm still amazed, though I shouldn't be, by the number of people that find my blog and site simply because they cannot spell.
The number of hits from searches for things like "porstitute", "housewires", and "werhoes" grows in number every day. And, of course, I still get the occasional hit for "coffee anima". I'm going to rename my blog: "anima - the blog you find when you can't spell what you're looking for".
I have lunch-phone duty today. Let's see if we can make it through the hour without getting yelled at, bitched at or hung up on. The odds are not in my favor.
People seem to have a real problem with other people eating. Nine times out of ten when I say "Everyone is out to lunch right now; you'll have to call back in an hour" the person on the other end of the line is going to say something like this:
"Everybody? There's nobody there that I can talk to?"
Because apparently the word "everyone" leaves room for confusion.
Most of these geniuses actually get angry - with me. As if it is I that has deemed everyone in the agency is allowed to leave for lunch between 11:30-12:30. As though I purposefully sent everyone away just at the time this person decided to call; my powers amaze even me.
I had one guy who had actually come in go off on me, throwing his hands up, yelling that he'd never heard of anything "so stupid" - as people going to lunch? He really should get out more. He ended his tirade by telling me that I was "useless" and storming out of the building. I have to admit, that day my ability to tap my heels three times and make everyone reappear at their desks wasn't working; I completely see his point.
I had one woman that just couldn't seem to grasp the concept. She asked me no less than three times, in an incredulous voice, "You mean to tell me that every one - every single person - is out to lunch?" Yes, I really don't know how much clearly I can say it.
Last month a foreign man called. After stating why he was calling & asking to speak to someone in a particular section, I gave him my spiel, "I'm sorry, sir, but everyone is out to lunch right now - you'll have to call back after 12:30."
To this, he laughed - like I'd just said an unfunny joke - and then repeated his query and asked to speak to someone in a particular section.
"They're out to lunch," I repeated, slowly. "No one in that section is here - you'll have to call back."
Then he said, "O-kay" like he was humoring a small child and repeated his request.
"No," I told him, thinking he may understand that word. "You can't talk to them - they aren't here - they are at lunch. Call-back."
He then sounded confused, as if he'd just gotten it but still was unsure, "Oh, um..ok. Call..back. Bye."
Who knows what insanity awaits me today?