Immajust going to leave this here, since I found it in my Inbox and don’t quite know what to make of it.
“room for rent with utilities includedight and sunny apartment for rentoversized and new family home great income pot live rent free inwood wash hts” lcd p isymphony hdtvmonitor gilbert,phoenix,http:phoenixcraigslistorgevlelehtml,, :: PM”got a tech? all boroughsand new pool tables central flaartist’s retreat dramatic penthouse in historic schoolhouse parking charlestowngreat bedroom bath gymindoor basketball court saugusfree recycling of the following pdx metro sw washgorgeous sq ft home in country club lexington nc heating cooling repair west valleyaffordable painting services low prices great service off paint all areasweekly rates from furnished studio – free utilities cable tv fairfield vacavillepool home with beds and baths fort myers beachluxury bedroom bath w fireplace north bethesda mapsublease master bedroom no deposit nw th st and th avetimber loft river north rooftop deck new kitchen stainless chicago river northft officewarehouse space concord north business park concord pleasant hill martinezft person all inclusive available now aventurahuge bedroom dog friendly community free rent north suburbs map”
I’ve studied the situation, and believe that the dichotomy represents a juxtaposition of man’s inherent value versus his inhumanity to his fellow man.
Or, someone drunk e-mailed me.
Definitely one of those.
I understand that billions and billions of my hard-earned tax dollars had to go into research and space exploration.
I understand the need to reach out and touch another world, to see firsthand what lies upon the surface of the planet that most resembles our own.
To answer the age-old question, is there life out there?
Perhaps I just expected more from such an epic journey of discovery than this:
What’s so “fun” about a fun-sized candy bar?
As far as I can tell, they’re only big enough to a) piss you off or b) make you go on an EAT ALL THE CANDY binge that leaves you comatose from the sugar overload lying in a corner in the fetal position and praying for morning…erm…so I’ve heard.
So, as Ricky Ricardo used to say…..”Looooooosee…chew gah sun splainin’ ta do!”
The definition of “road trip” includes a good deal of time viewing the world through a windshield.
So, during the Epic Road Trip of 2012 we did just that covering some 2600 miles in the process.
We missed a couple of things, but we did get creeped out in Arkansas, crossed off one of hubby’s bucket list items, got some laughs at the snooty’s expense, and spent some quality time with baffling coffee dispensers and stale donuts.
One more thing we were witness to was a Weeble car.
Remember how they wobble, but don’t fall down?
Yeah, pretty sure we saw a weeble-car on the highway somewhere near Birmingham, Alabama one night about 11:00.
This beater of a car was in the left lane and ahead of us a short distance. He changed lanes and was now in front of us in the right lane. His car moved over, then wobbled…a LOT…for a LONG time.
He accelerated, and when he did the wobbling got more pronounced.
He changed lanes again and the wobbling got to the point where it really looked like the tires on either side of the car were leaving the pavement with each successive wobble.
I turned to hubby, “What is wrong with that car?”
“Nothing,” he replied, “I’m pretty sure that guy is drunk.”
“No wa-” I said, but then I looked.
The weeble-car was being driven by a weeble-driver with the distinctive Weeble wobble to his entire body going on.
“I think I should call the Highway Patrol, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yes” said hubby as he skillfully managed to keep a safe distance between us and the Weeble; which was difficult given the driver’s erratic speeds and constant lane changing.
I looked down to rummage through my bag for my phone and when I looked up the weeble-car was gone.
“He exited back there.” hubby said, the relief in his voice obvious.
“Damn. I didn’t get the car’s make or the license plate or anything.” I said, worried now for all the other drivers in the weeble-car’s path on the farm road he’d just turned on to.
I don’t know what happened to that guy, but I do know that as far as I could tell the ads were true – Weebles Wobble, But They Don’t Fall Down.
In the span of TEN short minutes today I was witness to the following:
1. After standing in a looooooooooooooong line – due to the fact that there was only ONE clerk working the busy post office – for what seemed like an eternity, the gentleman in front of me presented a package that clearly didn’t meet the postal regs. He kept being told he needed a “bigger box”…no, I don’t know why…to which he would look over his shoulder at the box display and say, “This is all you have here.” This happened like three times and the clerk finally said that making sure the proper supplies were provided to the postal customer in the post office lobby was “…not part of my job.” Yes, Mr. Clerk, it’s not your job – as the only person in the building we could see who could possibly have access to the supplies we need. Of course it’s not. Frustrated, the gentleman gave up and walked away.
2. The next gentleman in line had a poorly constructed and poorly packaged shipment and the clerk had no issue with that part, but when they guy clearly said “Parcel” the clerk heard “Priority” and when he quoted a $26 price and the customer nearly fainted and asked why “Parcel Post” cost so much, the clerk began to argue with the customer that he said “Priority” when even the woman behind me was muttering, “No, he said parcel post”. This exchange ended with the customer getting it changed to ‘Parcel Post” as the clerk said, and I quote, “I don’t care what you do, just don’t say “priority” when you mean ‘parcel’”.
3. Another customer approached another clerk at a now-opened second counter, but only for inquiries and pick-ups, and asked about the location of her new PO box. After going to the back for some moments, he came back and told her that everyone with access to that information on the computer was gone for the day. So, tough lady, I don’t care that you came here when it was convenient for you, you are now being introduced to the USPS version of “convenience” and it translates to – “Service – When We Absolutely Have No Other Choice, We Will Begrudgingly Put You Off Till Tomorrow” I think t-shirts should be made.
My transaction went fine, but I did have to wait while the clerk fumbled with putting new tape into the machine and then loudly bitch about how he had to do “everything around here”.
Yeah, right…just don’t ask any questions, expect any supplies to be stocked in the lobby, or have time constraints that make coming to the post office inconvenient for a postal worker, and we’ll get along just fine.
….the USPS – that’s “US Postal Service” for those of you in Guatemala.
We have a fantastic service called “Hold Mail”.
It means the post office will hold your mail for up to 30 days when you are gone from home, and then deliver the held mail on a specified day when you return.
It’s so convenient, except when it’s not.
Then, it’s frustrating and hilarious…or hilariously frustrating, or frustratingly hilarious, or all of the above.
My “Hold Mail” was scheduled to end on July 9th, and the carrier to deliver all the held mail on…guess when?
July 9th, right.
It’s July 11th and no mail.
I called the friendly USPS customer service line and was informed they’d “…open an investigation into this matter…”
I felt like I was trapped in a CSI:Myhometown episode.
USPS: When did you begin the hold mail?
ME: On June 25th
USPS: When did you end the hold mail?
ME: On July 9th
USPS: Have you received any mail?
ME: Yes, just July 9th and 10th…but…
USPS: So, your held mail has not been delivered.
USPS: Please hold while I launch an investigation.
*lousy muzak plays*
USPS: Do you have a pen?
USPS: Write down this case number – XXXYUYYblah, blah, blah
ME: Got it
USPS: Someone will contact you within 24 hours.
ME: Do I need a password or something?
ME: Never mind.
Later that day…my phone rings…
Local Post Office: I’m calling about your “Hold Mail”.
LPO: It seems your carrier is out on vacation and the temp must not know what to do.
ME: You mean he/she doesn’t understand the concept of delivering mail?
LPO: Well, there’s a lot of it and you have a package.
ME: Yes, and our parcel boxes are COMPLETELY empty and have been for the last two days.
LPO: Well…ummm….your regular carrier…
ME: You already said that.
LPO: *nervous laugh* Yes, well I guess we could deliver it today…later..or tomorrow?
LPO: Okay, and you say your parcel boxes are…
LPO: Okay, I’ll have the carrier bring it out.
ME: Are you sure he/she understands the concept?
LPO: *nervous laugh* Yes, ma’am.
ME: Good, because I could explain it to him/her…
LPO: *sounding agitated now* No, that won’t be necessary.
That, my friends is your tax dollars at work. Doesn’t it make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?
Yeah, you heard me…take this:
домики для феи
I have no idea what that is, but a search for it brought someone to my site.
And that rawks…like..totally.
Unless that’s some alien form of communication, and I’ve somehow begun an interplanetary war.
In which case it still totally rawks.
I’ll be in my super-secret bunker if anyone needs me.
Since I’m on a rant about the loss of gentility in the world, how about we discuss that insanity known as…
Really? Really people?
Do I absolutely have to know that you had oatmeal for breakfast?
Or that you pooped today?
Is that the legacy you wish to leave?
Is this your tombstone?
Here lies Mortie Schnozzola, he pooped today. And then he died.
GAAAHH! I don’t need to know this, and I’m pretty sure that 40 million other people don’t need to know either.
Now, I use Twitter but only to tweet a new post. For advertising I find it a useful tool. I have no idea if I have “followers” or even what a “follower” would be doing following me…unless they have some obsession over my personal habits or breakfast preferences or fangirl crushes. And, I don’t follow people…or if I do it’s inadvertent and I’ve no idea how to stop…because I don’t remember my Twitter password and WordPress is set up to auto-tweet when I put up a new post.
Other than that, call me a twit but I don’t tweet.
I think my hubby is trying to off me in some kind of spectacularly weird way that will in no way implicate him.
Or I’m just paranoid.
Definitely one of those.
You decide after reading the following text convo between us earlier this week, and keep in mind the man never texts anything more than one or two letter words…and here he is having an actual conversation with me.
I haz a suspicious.
Hubby: Guess u should know I told baby girl and her hubby we’d watch the kids if they wanted to go out of town this weekend.
(they have two girls – aged 4 and 2 months, and the 2-mo. old does NOT sleep through the night yet)
Me: This weekend?!?
Me: But aren’t we also having other grandson’s third birthday party at our house this weekend?
Me: Are u just trying to kill me? Cuz if u are u should know I canceled that insurance policy.
Hubby: What insurance policy?
Me: Oh don’t act like u don’t know what I’m talking about. Anyway, this is a waste of effort.
Hubby: Did u really cancel the policy?
Hubby: No reason..besides u used to watch 4 little ones when our kids were young. What happened?
Me: 30 years!!!!
Hubby: So, about that insurance……..