So what are you, the flying nun?

Now I'm a child of the 80s. I remember the last half better than the first, but I was born in 81, so that's 9 years. I love learning 80s trivia, the outcome of the stars, rewatching the movies and listening to the music. Oh, yes. As cracked out as the 80s were, at least they weren't the 90s, which brought the lumberjack look into mainstream.

So, of course I'm interested in A&E's show, The Two Coreys. I mean, come on. Everyone knew about the Coreys, especially their dumbass moves. Haim, for the win! Ahem. Anyway, I did some looking and bless Wiki for the information that it brings.

You see, it linked me to his official page. Oh, yes. He has one. And a thrilling one it is! The news looks like it was cobbled together by a writer for Bop or Tiger Beat. And clearly all his fans must be in drug-induced hazes. Now, doing some looking around, I noticed a section called "Artwork." Oh, you know where this is going, don't you? It seems he's got some art in museums over in Europe (what they did to deserve that, I'll never know). They say he's got a Picasso feel. Now, I'm not fan of Picasso, but you know, I somehow doubt that Haim's in the same category as movement's founder and all. But I digress.

From his website, the entire blurby thing.
When COREY isn't busy filming, one of the things that he enjoys most is painting! Already an accomplished artist, COREY currently has seven pieces of his artwork displayed in museums in Sweden, Switzerland, and Germany. In fact, he recently sold one of his paintings in Bruges, Belgium, for $7,400!

Much like COREY's favorite painter, Pablo Picasso, his style is very unique. Using a thick texturing of acrylic paints on canvas and his gift for intuition, COREY can create an abstract visual that is very pleasing to the eye!

COREY is now offering the opportunity to own one of his paintings -- an original work of art created just for you! He will need to know what size painting you want and a little bit about your personality. Let him know:
1. Three (3) of your favorite colors (in order of importance or preference)
2. What a few of your hobbies are -- or a few keywords to the feeling or mood of the painting you want, and
3. Whether you prefer black or white!

Now, the prices. For a 16"x20" painting, it'll be $788. For a 18"x24", it's $988. Now my question is how much coke did he snort that he's willing to offer his painting talents to anyone that'll pay nearly a grand for them? Seriously. What is it with child stars? Do they like not pay attention to many generations before them and not get an accountant while wildly successful?

Sorry, that's my useless post for the week. I was just amazed that you can spend nearly a grand for a famous person's artwork, and it reads like ordering fanart requests. I'd prefer to buy the fanart, honestly. After all, I know what to expect there, don't I?

Death By Chili

The other day, my godmom and I went to Steak N Shake, as we usually do once a week or so. Ate some food, grabbed three or four cans of chili to go.

Skip to now. I'm looking something up for my other mom, bread that has metal in it or something. She didn't hear because we were talking on the phone. Bopping along on our ABC affiliate's website, scouring but couldn't find it. And what do I find under the consumer report?

Castleberry Hill's recall on botulism. And guess what? There's been a recall on Steak N Shake chili with the 195 lot. Yes, that's right. The same lot we ate. Lovely! My godmom said it tasted funny. Was it the taco chips? No, we'd just opened them a week before. Guess we know why it tasted funny, huh?

Bad Moon Rising

Since Augs was feeling down, I decided to tell a tale on myself....from high school. Yes, the place that always makes you feel stupider than dog shit and twice as unimportant.

Now, I had a friend named Patricia, who in an interesting turn of fate had the same name as that friend that decided her best friend wasn't as important anymore. She says, "Hey, the guy you're dating? Hit on me." That is one thing that will turn me into a screeching harpy. Hello, look at my family for reasons why. So, I'm of course gonna believe her, cause she's one of my best friends. Anyway, I confront him on our next date (which, for the record, was really only like our third/fourth, but you know high school dating). Long short, we break up. I'm upset and stuff, right?

Well, we have a business class, either keyboarding or more indepth of learning MS Office, can't remember which. I decide on the final day, where we actually took finals, to dress up in a dress, tights, and heels. Of course, I'm not a skinny mini, so I wear those girdle things. You know, the ones your grandma wears. Yeah, those. So I wear that with a dress. And I hate dresses, so much. Cause, dude, that requires tights/hose and those are bitch to deal with.

So I'm done with the final, and I need to go tinkle. I get a pass, go the 100 feet to the girls', do my thing and come back. I sit in my seat and when the bell brings, I'm ready to go. I've done the whole "Dude, you totally fucked up" thing girls do. As I'm walking to next period, and halfway there, some girl runs up and goes "You're dress is in your panties."

Oh, yes. Folks. I was showing my granny panties to the world! I was so embarrassed, I wanted to die. And I wanted to choke some females that hadn't told me. Not so great on a 10th grade ego, you know? I pull it down, right there, not caring because hello, I'm showing the world what I'm wearing, and I'm just so mortified. Because of all the work of finding a dress that I looked good in, was all jazzed up about making him pay...and all for nothing. I ended up looking like a fool. That's not very good with me. I don't suffer personal foolery well. Like, at all. So I'm hoping the day ends soon because it's like three days before break and I really, really don't wanna be remembered as Showgirl Wonder.

And the kicker? I found out in the end that he didn't make a pass at her. She was just lying cause she was jealous. I was not pleased when I found that out. I think if I'd been in a more pissed off state of mind I'd have smacked the girl all the way to Kalamazoo, as in the Michigan city, y'all. Of course, he did end up dropping out of high school the next year, but still! Damn it, that was my fellar. Bitch.

Burn, Baby, Burn!

Vick was told he can't go to pre-season training camp. I wish he wouldn't get paid, but I'll take what I can get.

Do you know how much this makes me giddy?

Oh, my god. If I could, I'd invite everyone over and have some serious alcoholic drinks. Cause hot damn, there's a little justice. Especially added with the Commissioner's statements. *boogies*

Summer Storms

So, in case anyone missed it: I'm afraid of thunderstorms. Like, I hate them. Not as much as I used to, but still hate them. This morning about 7:45 thunder shook the house, and woke me up from sleep. Disoriented, I managed to unplug my computer and DSL, then unhooked my godmom's laptop.

Why do I hate thunderstorms? Hell House. You have random bolts come all wily-nilly in your house and tell me you wouldn't freak the fuck out. And I had that happen from kindergarten until freshman year of high school. Yeah, and lightning? Blew out all the outlets in the house. Like, Mama had to replace all the televisions, have the wires checked out. Thank god for beachfront insurance policies.

I did fall back asleep, though. I'd only been asleep like 4 hours, so I needed more. Plus, I'm way lazy when that sleepy. I just ignore everything else.

Welcome to summer storms in Atlanta.

Boring, Miss Boring.

Just so you know, I have no intentions on leaving the intrawebs because of HP7. Heck, I couldn't finish the 6th, so what the hell would I read the 7th for? Apparently I will be driving all over god's creation on errands tomorrow though. For the record, I don't mind anyone sane, but lord, the batshit Potter fen scare the crap out of me. Just ask the NYT.

Oh, and we so fired the real estate agent. And now she's emailing, after telling my mom she wasn't serious, even though Mom got a bank letter for the loan and everything. And she wants to help, blahblahblah. That was of course after she basically called my mom a liar. There's a winner for you! Oh, and she doesn't think she did anything wrong, so she doesn't know what our problem is. No, seriously, she put that in email.

Jenny's still around. *shudders* Saw her at the grocery the other day, and yesterday she knocked on door. We pretended to not hear. We're smooth like that.

Okay, that's all. I'll post something more interesting than paint drying someday soon. Maybe. If I remember.

Oh, hey, added like 14 hours later...I found this on another blog and well, I liked it. So I made my own. Pretty much me in a nutshell. Though, when I was younger, I was more of a INFJ/INTJ.

Hell House

Pug Mom and Augs Casa requested it, so I'll write about the Haunted House from Hell. No, really, totally one.

My godmom bought what she calls The Beach House at Murrells Inlet, SC. Oh, yes. Right at the edge of Lowcountry and on the beginning of the Grand Strand's haunting area. She was brilliant. Like me.

So, she and her mom (my other godmom) move in. It's a three stories, plus the garage, with a little room off that leads to the back porch. It went: garage, living/dining/kitchen/breakfast room level, two bed/bath level, then the master suite on the top floor. And it was a master. Jacuzzi tub, double vanity, separate shower/tub and toilet. Two long closets. That was just the bathroom. The bedroom was big enough for a queen-sized bed (room to spare) and a sitting area. Entertainment center behind closet doors. Overall, the house had 3.5 baths and 3 bedrooms. There was an elevator to go on all four floors, too.

We realize pretty soon that we're hearing voices, specifically from Nona's room. Nona being my elder godmom. So, we listen. The ghosties sat the end of the bed, talking to each other. Clear as a bell. There was two men and a woman. One of the men's name was Harold. He was the bastard of the bunch. Obviously the woman was awesome. What with having ovaries and all. They were pirates, the men anyway. Not sure about the woman.

You see, that area was the pirate dumping ground. Before they got to Charleston, they dumped their dead along the inlet. One of my godmom's neighbors did a background check on the area. There's a lot of history in Horry County. Actually, my godmom chose a Garden City Beach address, even though they were on the inlet. See, it was right the cut-off point. People could choose. She thought Garden City Beach sounded better. I tend to agree.

At least one person in the town homes died, miscarried, went crazy, nearly had an appendage chopped off. Poor Tommy almost had his dick chopped off when his previously turned off boat motor got him right when the leg meets torso, when it started without the keys in the ignition. He had to be in the hospital for awhile. Gigi miscarried. Bill, the swindling builder, ended up dying of cancer. Those are just the ones I can remember offhand.

I won't go into all the history of the area, but Alice Flagg is one of many stories. One day I'll tell you all about the visit to Alice's grave. Murrell's Inlet official site.

Now, it's been established the house was haunted, what with having non-coropreal men in the room and all. Never mind all the times lightning went in one window and out the other, straight through the house. Or the way it would rain on one side or the other. Strange, strange house.

As for the elevator on fire story.

Oh, yes. It happened. My godmom (I really need to give her a nickname besides Mama don't I?) was coming up from the kitchen to her bedroom (the master). Halfway between the kitchen and next level, the elevator stopped suddenly. She hadn't touched the buttons, or opened the gate or door. Nothing. She smelled the air a little, and hey, it's on fire. Smoke starts coming in under the door. She's freaking out because the doors won't open, at all. As she's trying to figure out what to do, she hears the female ghost's voice go "Harold, they've had enough. Let her out." A couple minutes later, the door buzz (which is what happened when the door into the elevator shift was open), releasing the gate. She pushes and crawls up, like they do in movies with the bellycrawl type thing. Nona's been talking to her for those last few minutes, trying to figure out what was going.

The next morning, the elevator people come to the house. They're like "You couldn't get out of there." Mama's like, "I beg to differ." The bottom of it scorched, still stuck in between the floors. Neither woman uses the elevator for a good week after. Which means the poor 70-year-old lady has to walk up and down three flights of stairs if she's going up to visit Mama. And the ghosts are still talking on her bed. Rather loudly.

That doesn't include the moving man that had a heart attack in there. But that's another story for another time. Along with the flying newborn, painters that shot up the house....oh, yes. This is just one of many, many stories.

Eight Facts

I was tagged by Misty Dawn, so here's mine.

Here's the rules:
1) Each player must post these rules first.
2) Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3) Tagged people post their eight things and these rules.
4) End your post by 'tagging' eight new people to play.
5) Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog for these instructions.

Here We Go...

1. I'm scared to death of sleeping in the dark. I always sleep with either the TV on mute, or a night light so my rooms not completely dark. I got in the habit after living in the haunted house from hell. You hear boots tapping on the floor above you and a pirate ghost wanting you gone, sitting on the side of your bed at night, and tell me you wouldn't freak out either.

2. I was almost named Misty Morning. Yeah, my dad didn't go for it either. It would have been ironic since I've never been a morning person. The most interesting things happen at night, damn it.

3. In kindergarten, I nearly broke a guy's finger for kissing me, or trying. He didn't succeed so well. Especially after he kissed my best friend not 10 minutes earlier. He kept trying until the teachers learned to keep us apart. Wasn't my fault that he had cooties.

4. I compare myself to a weird Faith/Cordelia/Lilah hybrid. Whedon characters for those not in the know. I'm screwed up like Faith, got the bitch-meets-mother Cordy attitude, the no nonsense, practical outlook from Lilah. I'm also a strong woman, which each of those have in spades.

5. I have very little self-esteem and confidence, but a wealth of self-worth. It's strange, I know. I may not think highly of myself, but I know I'm worth than being the mud on someone's shoe. I'm worth more than most people I know because of who I am. I just necessarily think I'm special, as in a rare find. It's an odd problem, believe me. I don't hold myself as a particular brilliant or funny person either. I consider myself average.

6. I don't believe in true love. Love, sure. But true love? Crock of shit in my opinion. Love changes, alters. Rarely have I seen that stand the test of times. In fact, I never have. At nearly 26, I've been in love once and it's not something I care to repeat. I was in love with him, while he thought of me as a friend. So, yes. Bah to that. Part of me is still in love with me, stupid heart that I have. Damn loyal bones. I'll stick to being a loner. For me, the two things are intertwined. But unfortunately most people in love that I've met turned on serious blinders to the other person's fault...and that can't be healthy. Cynical should be my middle name, I swear.

7. I'm happiest with a good book, romance or scifi/fantasy being genres of choice. I generally don't like people. Can't trust them not to fuck you over. My experience anyway. However, that doesn't mean I don't mind being around people I enjoy. I have friends I see, or talk to, and they make me laugh and forget my life. True friends. Ones that have the same interests and don't mind mocking that we're geeks about it. Those I can handle for long periods, but not general people. Being a people person doesn't mean you necessarily enjoy the masses.

8. I was on phenobarbital from 11 months to six-years-old for seizures. Before I was a year, I had a seizure that stopped me from breathing. Recent studies (as in less than ten years ago) show that pheno can lower a kid's IQ and make cognitive skills less developed. Yay. Go '80s doctors handing out pheno like it was candy.


Tagging anyone who wants to do it.

I completely give up

I love my godmom, I really do. I put up with her bullshit because I do. But this for the birds! The real estate agent she has is making big promises, and then insults and talks down to us. I don't mean a snappy comment here and there. I mean, full-on. Like, I look for condos in the market because my godmom asks me to. Since I have a computer, why not? I can find things, since I know what we like. Especially since our real estate agent doesn't listen to a damn thing we say.

It's like being between two passive-aggressive fools and a hard place. You see, my godmom wants to fire her, but doesn't want to hurt her feelings. EVEN THOUGH, said agent has said phrases like "FMLS has all the condos with your criteria. All you are doing is making my job harder," when I find something we might be interested in. I didn't have the MLS number. I got it off Craigslist. But, it was listed by another agent, so it should be in the database. So I thought, hey, she can call and ask. I gave all the info I had. There were three of them. She's also said things "I am going to send you everything from 200K to 250K with your criteria. THIS IS EVERYTHING. You are wasting your time searching Craig's List. Everything I am sendng you is ALL THERE IS." I later found the one we were more interested in by doing a quick look on the site that was referenced on Craigslist. If I can do it, she can spend 10 minutes looking up like I did. And this is her usual conversational speed when being an agent, apparently.

Now my godmom called earlier, trying to say "Hey, we don't like being treated like crap." Agent pretended to not hear her. At all. So she emailed me through my godmom's email since that's what we're using as the main one, "I am a Certifed Real Estate Appraiser and know the value of things." And later on in the email, she said, "Every time you make out a rent chck you are losing money." You can see why I'm fed up with this lady. She doesn't listen, makes those smarmy comments, and it gets old. Fast.

My godmom still wants to use her, but goes, "I feel like I'm in a hard place between you and her." I'm sorry, what?! I'm sorry I don't want you treated like a doormat because the agent wants a quick sale fast and is telling you, full stop, what you want and don't...and is unwilling to take you to the locations so you can see for yourself. She's done it from the beginning. It's giving my godmom ulcer problems for the past three or four days. We have another agent lined up, and she's like "Well, there's no reason we can't use both." Well, other than the fact the current one is telling us to take the first one we saw that we liked, on the first day, without looking at any other comparables, sure. And the fact she ignores everything you say, bullies and bosses you around. Tells you that your daughter's diabetes and elderly dog's care should be a second or third priority to getting a condo, absolutely. Why not believe she has your best interests at heart.

I finally just said "Fine, then don't take me into consideration." I'm sorry, I'm tired of getting four-five emails a day not listening, having to repeat the same goddamn statements of why we don't like this or that condo (like it'll need 15k in work before it's livable for her needs), and we keep getting shown the same thing and hammered to buy one that she can make quick money off of. Gee, that's a good reference. I'm so over that, though. Because she's making my mom physically ill. And my godmom just takes it rather than rock the boat. I'd rather rock the boat than be spoken down to like that, especially by someone that will earn a hefty commission check. Now mom's in another snit. Considering she never seems to get out of those, whatever. I'll just deal like I always do. But I'm not apologizing and backing down this time. I don't think it's wrong to expect your real estate agent to treat you some courtesy.

But what do I know?

Save Us! Save Us!

So, does everyone remember Jenny? Well, she's baaaaack. She lives here now. I know, scary. Not with me, hell no. But with her sister's ex upstairs. Her kids, too. I think. I didn't speak to her, Mama did. So, that's my news. White trash is moving in. Is moved in, I guess.

Thank god we're looking at condos now. We're so better off. Although, I've considered homocide multiple times. Between the bossy real estate agent and my godmom's "I'll look at the condo flyers when I'm done" that the agent sends to us. Because apparently I don't have a life and don't need to do other stuff.

Oh, and my former best friend? Has been emailing once a day. Oh, joy. Lucky me!

Cyanide Cookies For You

Now, I had planned to tell the Jennifer news yesterday, but I got sidetracked. I'll post about that in a few minutes.

Once upon a time, I had a best friend. Someone I had known for 20 years, since she was two and I was four. We hadn't always been best friends, but friends. My godmom and her mom were friends. Actually her mom wanted to marry my godmom's son, but that didn't happen. Anyway, you get the idea. I ruined my GPA over her. She wasn't planning to go to college, so I went four hours away to junior college, couldn't drive yet so I was at her mercy. I had to leave my finals without taking them, same with my midterms, actually. She couldn't be bothered with waiting for me. Her way or no way. And let's not mention the FOUR HOURS of Billy Joel, The Carpenters, and occasionally burned CDs. Every. Single. Weekend. That's to and from, so eight hours round trip. And I loved all the artists before that. We went to a place where she could rent her grandparents house, and I paid 150/month for a three bed/one bath home.

I did have some fun there. Just so you don't think I was all bad. It was awesome having the only two screen theater in the tri-county area. And? We got in for like 3 bucks. Who cares if we were like 2 months behind on the shows. We got 'em. And midnight at Wal-Mart's will never not be funny. For the record, that was my second college. I flunked out of the first due to early symptoms of diabetes, not that we knew it at the time. Never mind I'd gone to the school clinic thing a couple times trying to figure out what was going on. Was just told I needed more sleep. Bitch, please.

So my best friend met a boy at her job, the junior college bookstore at our hometown where we both went to after she fucked our GPAs all to hell. Actually, he was her boss and like seven or eight years older than her. Also, her only boyfriend...as in ever. So they dated and didn't tell anyone. Then, two or three months after that, she finally told me. Which explained where the hell she went. See, we used to talk like two hours a day, because of our extremely fucked up lives. Good bonding experiences, that. Then she disappeared. So, I'm hurt but I talk to her anyway. Then she drops a bombshell. If she can't tell her boyfriend about her past, could I? Oh, yeah. Just what I wanted to do. But I tell her I would, because hey she's my friend. That's what I do.

Fast forward like a year. She hasn't spoken to me. Hasn't made any contact since she got the boyfriend. And then? She's engaged! Am I a part of the procedures, being her friend and all? Nope. Not a one. She was bubbling and I didn't have the heart to say "Bitch, take that and shove it up your ass, please. Kthxbi!" And how do I find out? Through IM. So then a couple months later, hey, we've got the wedding invitations. Do I get a special one, or even a little note in it? Hell no.

So it's April 2006, we go to the wedding. Why, I don't know. Maybe I'm just a sucker for punishment, or more than likely, I just wanted to see my best friend (former at this point) happy. Hey, just because I'm treated like shit doesn't mean I don't want other people to be happy. I'd prefer to keep that karma away from me, or reserved for my mother and stepmother. Whichever. We go. Her mom is glaring at me, acting like I pissed all over the cake and blew chunks in the food. And it hasn't even started yet. I see Friend in her dressing area. Yippee. After the ceremony, I finally meet the goddamn groom. Barely. You know that quick in line thing. Still being frozen out by the family. So is godmom. Fuck that shit. We skipped the reception.

Cut to a couple months later, I just send a "happy birthday" message to her. Then cut a couple months after that, I get a "happy birthday" message to me. Great, we're barely friends. Wonderful. The person who's known me the longest, and who's mom offered to let me live with her while my family figured out what the fuck they wanted. So, I go over and have dinner at their house one night. It was actually pretty fun, and her husband cooked the dinner. Okay, so I met him, actually spoke to him. Damn, he's boring. Seriously, y'all. Bor.Ring. Which makes him a perfect match for her.

Now, that was the last time I spoke to her...until yesterday. Oh, yes, Augs, she shares a birthday with you. Lucky you. Anyway, she emailed me, just chattering away. This leads me to think What in God's Hell does she want now? I was right to question it. I got all caught on family gossip I could give two shits about since I'm not considered part of the family. I got an email earlier, asking if we looked at apartments today (please note: we're looking at condos, not apartments, which I clearly stated last night), and if not, were we doing anything? I tell her no, that was tomorrow. Today we're doing some packing and sorting so when we do find a place, we'll be ready to go. Haven't heard from her since, and that was about 3 hours ago. She was bored and wanted me to come over. Please note, I'm only important when I can do something for someone. At least with her.

Be interesting to see the reply I get. If I get one.

"Leave Me Alone, Mama!"

So, I'll be posting about White Trash Woman, aka Jennifer, later because apparently my story wasn't done yet. But! First I have to share my cat pic. I took this a couple weeks ago, and well, she's just so cute. Ahem. Oh, come on, we all know I adore my cat. The light of my life. The thing that puts meMama in the poorhouse.


She usually sleeps on my bed, curled up like that. But the flap over her eye is just so cute. Like she's mimicking how I put a pillow over my face when the light is too bright in my room (yes, I sleep with a night light, so sue me). So adorable, the little shit.

What? No, really, what?

Oh me, oh my. What a day. I woke up at 9:30, getting ready to go into town (Atlanta). About 10:30, I meet my mom in the kitchen, after eating breakfast and bringing it back in (she makes it). She goes, "I saw this lady crying on the stairwell, and talked to her, while taking the boxes out to the car." We were going to run to the storage room while in town. Now, not so much.

So, the lady ends up knocking on our door. Apparently she'd been in a fight last night and walked about 5 miles to get here. Can we take her back to her house? Sure, we say, since my godmom asked earlier. I get dressed to take her. We (me, godmom, and lady) get in the car, she starts talking about what happened. The usual routine of "I was bruised, had a fight, I had to leave my kids." Right. You get the idea. Turns out, she knows of my mom. Right. That's a terrific recommendation, except totally not. So she keeps talking, and mama and I get keep getting a bad feeling.

She's living with her family, who are drug addicts and dealers. Greeeat. Go mama. Her mom had custody of her kids, but she died, so it reverted back to Jennifer, the chick. Riiight. Because they just took the kids away all willy-nilly. Me, I'm level-headed and I kept her from socking all the people she hated throughout the time. It comes from living with my family, I guess. She's calling the cops, DFACS (family services), her (ex-)boyfriend, her sister's ex (who was the one that let her in here), 911. We were there for 2 hours.

Let's see, her ex-husband, who is the father of two of three kids, was there next door. He had tried to break the fight up last night, and was pushed aside. She said, according to not!Depp (he looked a lot like Sparrow, which is kinda scary), that her kids were bastards and she didn't want him so he could have them. Her grandmother was gone, getting a TPO against her. Oh, yes. Her brother, the sex offender, was there in the house when he wasn't supposed to be. Her pregnant younger sister was there. Oh, god. It was a clusterfuck. Three cop cars, though one was a niiice truck. The truck was a deputy sheriff, the one she'd called in. Jennifer's screeching and acting like the fool, so the cops eventually get tired of her and threaten to take her to jail if she doesn't shut up. They're not really talking to her, so you know she was fucked up in the records department. She had a warrant out on her, too. Wonderful. My mom can land us in the strangest situations.

Long story short. After two hours of sitting with a chick we don't know, with some slight talking to the cops, we're really tired of this shit. Seriously, she's so white trash. Her ex-mother-in-law showed up, she started screaming at her, while I'm keeping an eye on my Blackberry that she's borrowing to make calls (thank god for 5000+rollover minutes). The cops have this look of "Oh, god. Let's just go home." Unfortunately, they can't. They're over this drama, like most sane people. The situation was fucked, a very vendetta all around thing. Jennifer and crew had the altercation last night, and she kept trying to bring that up, while the police were like "We can't deal with that." Oh, yes. These people were bright.

She had to go pee in a cup. Drug test. Thank god. She was getting on my nerves, to be honest. Even my infinite patience can be taxed out by druggies and trying to keep someone you don't know from slugging someone else you don't know.

One of the cops goes, "You don't have to stay here. Since you're just transport. You can just vamoose." And go we did. First we gave him our info. God, he was funny. He had hung his head down when Jennifer kept blabbing. Like "well, shit and damnation." You got the feeling he wanted us to leave, for safety matters. These folks were crazy. Though, both cops were all kinds of hot. I'd have gladly brought one home to keep.

We left her crap by the mailbox, where the cops pointed to. And we skedaddled, quickly. Had Arby's for lunch. Well deserved. We're having pizza for dinner, since we didn't unfreeze anything for dinner. You know, what supposed to be in Atlanta and all.

So that was my adventure. I was thisclose to landing into some white trash drug hell. *snort* I need to febreeze the hell out of the car, too. And take a long shower. And wash our clothes.

I forgot the best part! She was 30, had more than a few grey hairs, and had grandkids. Seriously. Grandkids that were like 2 or 3. *blinks* So how old were her kids that were having them? Thank god we dropped her off and fled.

It's drunk day!

Happy 4th, y'all. Wanna beer *shudders* or something with an umbrella in it? I'll be making my cosmo. Now, I celebrated. Right there. You saw it.

People have been celebrating since the 1st around here. I know because I've heard the fireworks going off around us. And tonight Lenox'll be full of fireworks. Hmm, naw, not worth the drive. Seriously. I wouldn't get home until like 4am. Yeah, no thanks. I'll just watch it on the television. I'm cool like that.

I woke up around dawnish, sitting straight up, legs facing my door...on the bathroom floor. Okay, that? Not so unusual, considering I used to sleep in the empty tub, on the toilet, in a closet, on the couch. And all the while not remembering how I got there. The fun part was trying to stay awake for 5 minutes to make my feet move the 15 feet to my bed. I kept dozing off. Thank god I don't snore or drool in my sleep. Finally I got up and got to my bed, walking like a drunk man, or Robert Redford in Barefoot in the Park. Take your pick.

It's sad when you're totally not surprised by these things. I was just thrilled I wasn't stuck in the tub this time.

And, as it turns out, I needed another nap. So I spent like an hour sound asleep in the tub while bathing.

Flipping That Switch

Soo...my temper? Is pretty hard to get up if you work in customer service. I'm awesome about talking to representatives, cashiers, bank tellers, wait staff...whatever. Because I was raised to be polite since they're doing you a favor. So, because of that, it takes a lot to get me yelling on the phone. Wanna know the top way? Pussyfoot when I'm asking a direct question, and trying to explain that, because my city so damn special, Bellsouth only has three cities in the country with my kind of DSL. I know this because when it was getting set up, the BellSouth people told us..repeatedly. Therefore, I'm not a complete dumbass, even if I'm not a computer tech major. When I tell you four freaking times, pay attention. Don't give me instructions that DO NOT WORK. Especially when I tell you this, time and time again. I'm sorry if you're not qualified, but hey, you're Tech Support. Therefore? Pay attention to what I'm saying.

I dealt with this from 11am-6pm last night. Seriously. Off and on, all day. First time, "oh, we're doing a network fix [except, he didn't use fix, but fuck if I can remember what it was called]. Call back after 1:10 if it doesn't work." This was after being hold for 15-20 minutes, with the lady recording going, "all our network representatives are busy" EVERY 15 SECONDS. Y'all? I had heard that the night before last when the storm knocked our DSL out in the first place. So I had to listen two times in less than 12 hours. Oh, and they use voice activation. God, that shit is awful. I can't even get a live operator. Seriously, they do not exist IN THE TECH DEPARTMENT.

I call back at nearly 3 since it still wasn't working, listening to the same damn lady talk every 15 seconds, with me adding lots of threats like, "If I hear you one more goddamn time, I'm going to kill you." 15 seconds later, "No, seriously. Gonna kill your ass dead." My irritation went ratcheting up higher and higher every time she spoke. 15 minutes later, I get to talk to someone. Who once again acted like I had helium holding my head up. Again, don't talk down to me. That'll press my bitch button quicker than she-who-gave-birth-to-me asking me to go get her liquor because she's too drunk off her ass to drive. Actually, that just makes me sad, since it's happened more than once. Either way, he was talking to me like that. Didn't turn out well for him. I started yelling. As referenced, I don't yell at people who are doing their job, because that's just not right. Talk down? Oh, hell yeah I will. Especially since I was again telling these yahoos that our DSL isn't like everyone's else and we don't have a company router because the company doesn't make them. We have to use LinkSys. (But when I set up LinkSys, the BellSouth people were nice enough to help me out, setting it up.)

Oh, right. BellSouth was bought out by AT&T not too long ago. Fuck me with a chainsaw, y'all. AT&T in Atlanta's a joke. We were thrilled to be out of their area when we moved out here. Now we're back in hell since it has the Atlanta monopoly.

Anyway, after finally flipping my shit, he still talked to me like I was a three-year-old. Bubba, don't even try that with me. I will fillet your ass and hand it back to you on a silver platter. He kept saying, "it's your computer." Uhm, it might be? But that's why you have tech guys come out and see. It's the crazy thing people are doing now. I got so frustrated that I handed the phone to my godmom, and went, "Here! Talk to him before I do something bad." She had no idea what was going on (she pays for the service, I'm the tech person on this end when listening to people who actually know what they're doing) but backed me up. All the way. And he started talking to her like he was me. I could tell by the expression on her face. That did it. I was sitting there, yelling about a foot or two away. "Don't try and pacify us." And he kept talking to her like he missed JESSIE FLIPS HER SHIT 101, and finally, when she was asking for his supervisor, he got downright rude. That's when I screamed, "GET YOUR BOSS ON THE PHONE NOW." He heard me. Because when the supervisor got on the phone line, I railed hardcore. He said, "I'll put an expedite order on it. It'll be two hours before he gets back to you." I was telling him that I wanted a tech out here last night, even if it was the last stop, because this was fucked up. I wasted all day, listening to tech advice, when he could have been out at one. Oh, and the tech, only works 1-5. Okay, whatever.

So I help my mom around after hanging up, because I had two hours. Turns out? Not so much. More like half an hour. I look at my cellphone at 4:30, and he had called an hour ago. Okay, fine. I call the number back, trying to get a hold of him. Not so much. You can't call it back, even though it's a work phone. You have to have a password to get in touch...with the TECH. Okay, whatever. This is why I hate and loathe AT&T with a passion. I finally call the tech support number AGAIN, get the same lady recording. Scream at the phone in frustration, call the main residential service, but she handed me BACK to the recording lady. I find out that the tech said he'd talked to me, and he totally hadn't. Still trying to figure out why he called on my cell, instead of the regular phone, since you know, that was fine. (Which is another mess for another day.)

Okay, so he was going to be here between 1-5 today. At 2, he arrives. Turns out that the lightning storm that hit about 100 feet from our house fried the networking card in my computer, only he replaced it, and hey, STILL didn't work. Fucking hell. So in the next couple of days we have to go to Office Depot and get it checked out.

Oh, and kicker? This is the second computer that this apartment has fried of mine. Same outlet, since it's the only close to the phone jack (well, the jack that works). The wiring in this apartment is fucked over. One phone jack can't be used, the other one in my room, because it kills the phone line. Then we have the various electrical outlets that we can't use anything with the power of say a vacuum because it'll either catch on fire, or cause half of our apartment's electric to stop working. Not to mention when they had to rewire in lines over the pantry (phone lines), by going into the ceiling and tying to make the wiring less fucked up. And the phone lines in the hall closet, where they all meet, is so screwed.

Oh, yeah. These apartments were well built. So that's where I was the past two days. One can only watch The Deadliest Catch so many times, by the way. I was so bored it was unreal.