Oh how I hate thee,
Thy stupid asshat of a company.
Oh how I hate thee,
Thy annoying, useless customer care operators.
Oh how I loathe thee,
Thy spineless, pretentious supervisor.

But oh how I love thee,
Thy wonderful cable man who gave me back my Internet and credited me money.

Can I tell you, no Internet and no TV for five days—enough to make the insider spit some nails.
When I left home, we set up a seasonal disconnect and I was told that when I got back, I should call and they’d come out and take the disconnect off the line.

I called Saturday. On Monday, someone came out, decided that something was wrong with a grounding wire and left—without a) knocking on the door, b) giving me a call or c) leaving a note.

Two hours later, after I got home from work, I called Evil Minion Co. and asked why my Internet wasn’t working.

“There was something wrong with your grounding wire and so we need to set up an appointment. You need to be there, and how’s a couple of days from now?”

“Um, no. First, why didn’t he knock? Someone was here. Second, why wasn’t I called and told about the problem? And third, a couple of days—are you kidding me.”

This went on with her, a technician, a sales rep and a supervisor—ALL were ASSHATS.

Finally an appointment was set up for today, between 1PM and 3PM.

So, at 130PM I called Evil Minion Co. and asked them for an ETA.

“Oh, he’s at a stop now and you’re next.”

Alright, that’s fine.

At 258PM, I called again.

“I can’t file to talk to the dispatch until he’s late—and it’s not 3PM yet.”

“OK sure ::doodoodoo:: hmm, my clock says 3PM—what does yours say?”

“Well yes, now I can file.”

——Dear sweet mother of mercy, are you FREAKING KIDDING ME?!

A few minutes pass while I’m on hold…

“OK, he should be there in less than 20 minutes.”

4PM

An hour has now passed. I have started drinking vodka and I’m still putting together a damn armoire from uber-insane IKEA. (Mind you, due to anger and drinking, I’ve managed to: nail the back onto the front—thereby leaving holes down the front, put the top and bottom on backward, pinch my finger, cut my foot and gain two blisters.

I call them back.

“He’s not there yet? Well huh. I can’t imagine why.”

“Listen, neither can I. Look, if he doesn’t come today, I swear to god I’m switching to [other cable company].”

“Oh now he’ll definitely be there today—hopefully very soon.”

415PM heralds the arrival of the cable guy.

He parked, popped his ladder, climbed up to the pole, took off the disconnect and LO AND BEHOLD, Internet and cable.

All in less than five minutes.

He came inside and I explained what I had been told—and he rolled his eyes, shook his head and apologized profusely.

“It was probably a contractor who came out here—I’ll look at your grounding wire and ground it if I need too.”

Later he said he was giving me a $20 credit for being late and agreed that the Evil Minion Co. where he worked sucks. Apparently they had sent him out on X number of runs today and doublebooked him on almost every single one.

I might have called them asshats and I told him that I was literally two seconds away from switching companies—I had just gotten off the phone with their sales rep getting a quote.

“Well I’m glad I made it here in time. It’d be awful hard to ‘pretend’ to come fix your cable if you aren’t with my company anymore.”

Then he winked and told me to have a good day.

And that, people, is how a disastrous, irritating day from hell becomes a fraction less disastrous.

Well, that, a double vodka, The Unit and a perfect (kinda) new armoire.

Lovely isn’t it?

I made it home—my Internet access won’t be set up again until sometime today (before 7PM—wtf kind of timeframe is that?).

I have much to share, but I’m working a half day (hopefully, lots to do), so I can go home and shop with my mom.

Quick rundown: a Spring Break boychild on the plane hit on me (that was disturbing), my one cat is having some sort of anxiety issues and wakes us up every morning at 3AM crying (grrr) and we went to IKEA yesterday… sweet lord do I have bruises.

It was great fun. 🙂

I’m packing.

Apparently I’ve managed to accumulate twice the paraphernelia that came with me. Granted, two suitcases are filled with books and old photos from my boxes in the garage—my mom decided to do a little spring cleaning (read: she made me go out and dig through the scary garage).

In between packing, I’m working—which is always loads of fun.

(Shut it wendy all of you— 😛 ) (geez)

So I had my final blood test today and the results came back completely and utterly normal. My bilirubin is at a .9, my AST and ALT are both under 30, my albumen is 4.4 and my bags are packed.

Which means.. home, home, home, home, home!

Woot!

My mom and I went shopping today (and dragged my father along).

I had her try on a tanktop with a built-in bra, lol, and while it was cute, it did show a little bit too much.

Her response? “I can’t wear this! Your dad would kill me—it shows my tits.”

Whereupon I proceeded to laugh hysterically… my mom said tits. Oh man.

At dinner, I was telling my dad about it and somehow we got onto the subject of the size of the boobs in our family. (Please don’t ask, lol.)

My mom and I were laughing and said something about my sister’s being the largest (hi K! ::waves::) and I commented to my mom that at least she wouldn’t sag (like my sister will.. ::waves again::).

My mom kinda pouted and my dad said… “When it comes to boobs, you only need a mouthful.”

Hysterical. laughter. ensued.

Granted, we had both had a drink or two, but dear sweet lord… MY EYES AND EARS!

I couldn’t look either of them in the eye for the rest of the meal. My parents thought it was hilarious.

I think this is going to be one of those stories we tell for years.

::shudder::

Ever since I got here, my cats have been “guarding” the heating grate in my room. My dad was certain there was nothing under the house, but finally, one dry day in February he crawled under the house to look. Mind you, this was after he put on three layers of clothing, including old army gear, booties for his shoes from surgery, a hat from surgery on his head and a high powered flashlight.

And said he found nothing.

This morning my mom and I have been making jam and cobbler—and we ran out of sugar. So, cobbling together a grocery list, we sent my dad to the store.

On his way out, he commented on the trash bag my mom had stuck outside the front door this morning (thinking my dad would take it out on his way to get a haircut).

Apparently a cat/bird got into the bag and scattered his bacon-grease-laden paper towels across the porch.

My mother was fit to be tied, so I went out to clean it up and she stayed in the kitchen, cleaning the jam mess we’d made.

After picking up trash and sweeping, I grabbed the hose and decided to wash down the front porch. Realizing that going back inside would mean letting water get into the house (and did I mention mom was cranky?), I walked around through the backgate. On my way in, I paused to start the grill (dad was getting chicken).

I started the gas, flicked the starter a few times, groused and flipped open the lid.

And A GINORMOUS, GROSS mouse/rat scurried its way across the grill.

Whereupon I screamed bloody murder, slammed the lid and started yelling for my mom.

Who laughed until she cried.

Then commented that they probably are under the house and your father is in deep shit.

hehehe…

Dad’s still at the store… we can’t wait until he gets home.

Libby court papers: Cheney said Bush OK’d intelligence leak

Is anyone surprised? No.

My darling (read: irritating) cat sat on my phone and somehow, somehow, managed to turn it to “Driving Mode.” It has taken me 10 minutes and searching around to turn the damn thing off.

All was not lost, however, as I stumbled across these gems in the news…

3 arrested at Mass. baby shower brawl—funny, yet sad (particularly the part where a five-year-old drinks beer.)

Couric to become sole news anchor—she’s moving to CBS. Tell me why I hate this woman.

Professor’s remarks on overpopulation stir up a furor—because he thinks we should knock off a few million people to save the Earth. Not that I agree with that at all… ::moves frantically behind blog curtain::

Le Will’s pics are up…

A very good friend just called me—the drunk-dialer—and he was sober and less than an hour from my house back home in the East.

He took a cross-country trip (as he is moving to FL) and wanted to go to dinner and catch up.

I. am. still. on. West. Coast.

grr