you ought to be ashamed of yourself

I meant to write this Friday, but was too lazy and tired to do it. Plus these days, by the end of the week, my fingers are curled and bent from five day's worth of carpal tunnel and I can use my right hand for little more than clutching my first post-work Screwdriver. Thankfully I am ambidextrous when it comes to drinking, and if worse comes to worst I can skip the worry altogether and get my alcohol hands-free with a straw.

So. Here I am with semi-fresh tendons at the start of a new week, but still bitter about Friday's turn of events. I'm talking, of course, about my trusted financial institution going under. I knew Washington Mutual was in trouble, but I had no idea things would happen so quickly and how much it would piss me off. I mean, there's a reason I chose WaMu (and I shorten their name with regret -- I'm against all silly corporation nicknames in general but laziness prevails here) as the organization to safeguard my massive fortune. Wells Fargo horribly screwed up my checking about five years ago, and I figured any bank with free checking AND free smiles was worth holding onto my monthly net profit of $3.47.

But people have proven me right once again with their stupidity, and this time, it's affected me. A couple weeks ago when news of WaMu's instability got out, the idiots flooded the banks and immediately withdrew gargantuan amounts of money, preferring to horde their savings in their homes rather than trusting the FDIC and the bank to protect their money. Now, I understand that amounts over 100K would not be insured if the bank went under and no one stepped up to buy the accounts, so it makes sense to spread your money around should you be lucky enough to have that much to need to protect. But for the rest of us hard-working, middle class bank customers, running to Washington Mutual to pull out all of your savings results in only one possible outcome: you are speeding along the very effect you're so worried about! Over a ten-day period, the very same people who bought generators, duct tape, and plastic sheeting after September 11th took out their life savings from Washington Mutual and stashed it in safes, lockboxes, and cookie jars throughout their houses, collectively withdrawing over 16 billion dollars. The end result? WaMu no longer has the money to back up their debts and they go out of business. Congratulations, panic stricken Americans, you were right all along. Meanwhile, all the smart burglars out there are casing your house and getting ready to steal that money that was so unsafe at the bank but will never be noticed behind the peas and under the ice cube tray in the freezer. Real smart.

The thing I'm most annoyed about in all this is that now I have to remember all the things I have electronically debited from my account and at some point in the future, change this over to either my new account with JP Morgan (who I am worried don't offer smiles for free) or my old account at the credit union. Washington Mutual, rest in peace. I enjoyed you while you lasted.

part of this balanced breakfast

I didn't go to bed exceptionally late last night. I wasn't drunk when I hit the pillow. And I am not on any medications. So it was surprising, when, this morning, I woke up to a room filled with the light of the breaking day and looked over at my alarm clock to see "7:52" splashed across the screen. I looked away as I always do to make sure I'm not lying on a Sheba turd she may have left for me in the night, and then it registered and my head flew back to the clock. Seven. Fifty. Two. That is 30 minutes AFTER I am supposed to be in my office, at my computer, pretending to get my work done.

After all was said and done, I was over an hour and a half late getting to work today, and I'm still pissed off about it. Nothing puts you in a bad mood like waking up realizing you're already behind. But on the bright side, I didn't have dog droppings all over my sheets, so maybe things are looking up after all.

wtfimt, inspection, at&t, electrocution, the vet: a week in review

Today was a busy day. My boss was playing with formula race cars all day, and I was left to man the ship, but after the shitstorm that was last week, I consider myself lucky that the worst that happened today was being told a tenant found mouse droppings on their conference room table. A good day, indeed.

So where shall I begin with last week? It should be a good indication of how crazy it was that I am just finding the time to complain about it now, but I will start with the beginning. Last Monday. And you get headings.

WTFIMT??
Monday morning, Hector left as usual around 7AM to go to work for the week, and I was running a little late so I quickly took Sheba out to go to the bathroom and then came back inside to feed her and leave. As I was putting her food into the bowl though, I looked up and noticed something was off in Shelly's tank. As in, Shelly wasn't in it. Now, Shelly is not a large turtle (about the size of a cheeseburger) but she is pretty obvious in a tank that contains a bowl for water, a fake palm tree, a thin layer of dirt, and a Shelly. Sometimes she hides behind the palm tree but since she is not flat, I can usually find her fairly easily. But this morning, Shelly was nowhere to be found. At first I just slowly looked around, expecting to see her shell peeking out from under the water dish or sticking up over some dirt. But lazy eyeballing soon gave way to frantic pushing of the dirt when I still couldn't find her after three minutes. I forgot to mention that when I take Sheba out every morning, since it takes five minutes tops to get her to use the facilities, I never lock my door. So after searching for at least six minutes for Shelly, I finally came to the conclusion that Someone Had Stolen My Turtle. I realize how ridiculous that sounds, but honestly it was the only explanation I could think of, since Shelly can't scale glass. I left for work because by this time I was late, but I called Hector on the off chance he might have decided to take her to work to help prevent wildfire. He hadn't, so I told him that someone had come into my apartment, ignored my purse by the door, and taken my turtle. He's experienced firsthand the dementia of my neighbors, so although he might have laughed at me, he bought it and sounded worried too, which was all I needed to panic even more. All day my stomach was unsettled, thinking someone had come into my home and removed one of my animals. By the end of the day, I was certain that when I went home Sheba would be missing as well. Long story short, when I got home Shelly was in the open next to her water dish where she usually is, and although I'm still not convinced that whoever took her didn't just break back in to put her back, I am open to the possibility that she might have gone completely under her water dish, since I never lifted it up. But it's unlikely.

Inspection
The Friday before last weekend, the apartment management had put a notice on my door saying they were going to inspect my unit on Tuesday. Normally, they perform inspections once a year to check on the renovations they've installed in the apartments, but when they do that, they do a whole range of apartments. This time, it was just mine, according to the notice, and it was being performed by the "Community Compliance Committee". To me, that sounds a little ominous. The maintenance guys had been in here working on my bathroom before the notice was sent out, so I could only assume they were the ones who had tipped the management off about something, but I couldn't figure out what. It's not that I didn't know because I haven't done anything wrong, I just didn't know which violation of my lease they had noticed. How was I supposed to fix it by Tuesday if I didn't know what they were looking for? My first thought was Sheba, who isn't illegal per se, but I technically should have notified the management before I bought her and am supposed to pay a $500 deposit for. But then also there was Hector, whose stuff is all over my apartment and I am not supposed to have any guests over three days according to my lease. I can't be legally held responsible for the bondage gear and extensive lube collection, so those were the two items I thought might be checked up on. I tried to hide everything I could see that was Hector's in my place, but as I was trying to do that, it made me realize how even with his toiletries, clothes, and guitar hidden, it still kind of looks like a man lives here. I have a huge Mohammed Ali poster on my wall, a man's razor in the bathroom, and the only edible things in my refrigerator are a hot dog, month old nectarines, and some pickles. Laura agreed to watch Sheba on Tuesday, so Monday night I was running through the house trying to remove evidence of my dog as well as my boyfriend. It was much, much harder to do the first one (sorry, Hector). I hid her bowl, her blankets, and her bones, but the layer of hair that has settled over my entire apartment was a lot harder to get rid of. I vacuumed twice, which pretty much only served to push the hair around, kick it up, and then allow it to settle in different places. So I spent two and a half hours on my hands and knees around the apartment applying and ripping off packing tape to the carpet. And of course, during this time, Sheba was assisting me by running around after me and losing half her coat in the process. I'm not sure how the inspection went or still even what they were looking for, but when I got home I noticed that I had forgotten to remove the giant bag of puppy pee pads that was on top of my refrigerator. So, either the game was up at that point, or they think I am incontinent and prefer to urinate on my carpet.

AT&T
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were all nonstop days at work. I barely had time to eat and use the restroom, let alone do a crossword or look up the comic of the day on Natalie Dee. We are finally getting set up on our new server, which made Monday a wonderful mixture of "why doesn't anything work" and "where the hell is my email?" and "oh look, I get to reinstall my entire hard drive!". In addition to that, my boss was transferring his phone from Verizon to AT&T. Meaning, I was transferring his phone. Of course, it couldn't just work like it was supposed to according to the easy setup guide. And if you don't already know, I am technically brain dead when it comes to anything IT. So me coupled with the Blackberry Curve and something called a Blackberry Enterprise Server would have been a lethal combination even on the best of days. I called AT&T to see why the phone wasn't working and had to have them activate it remotely. Then I had to call back an hour later because although it was on, it kept turning itself off. So after "solving' the problem with one technician, I had to call back in another half hour when it happened again. That guy told me I would have to go into the AT&T store and have them plug my battery into a new phone to see if it was the phone that was defective. I went to the closest store in Palo Alto, waited for 45 minutes in their ridiculous line, then spoke to a barely legal salesperson who told me that no, he could not put the battery into another phone to test it, I would have to do that in their special customer support store in San Jose. At this point I was ready to chew his eyeballs out, but there really wasn't anything he could do to help me, so I was forced to drive the 30 minutes back towards home to go to the special store. I waited there for another half hour, but after that, the guy gave me a totally new phone that didn't have the issues the other one was having. I get back to my office three hours after I initially left it, triumphant with new phone in hand, and call our IT guy, who decides this is a good time to tell me that the internet package I ordered with the phone is not the right one, and I would have to call AT&T again to order the right one (which he had never told me about and was not on the website to purchase in the first place). It is never a simple procedure to speak to a representative at AT&T. I think the fastest I've ever gotten a live human on the line was ten minutes. But I finally talked with someone, made the change, and got bossy's cell phone up and running, all in a mere 6 hours. So imagine my ecstasies when my boss tells me Tuesday that since I'd now "gotten the hang of" dealing with AT&T, I would get to order this complete wireless system for his dad's ranch near Tahoe. I won't go into it too much because my hand is starting to cramp, but there went my Tuesday. AT&T goes to great lengths to ensure that not just anyone can order service on your account, which I suppose is a good thing, but I figure if someone has my social security number, address, and mother's maiden name, which you need all of to get into the cell phone account, then the last thing I really need to worry about is them trying to add unlimited text messaging to my phone plan. By Wednesday afternoon I had finally made my last call in to AT&T, and I hope I never have to call again. But I know better.

Electrocution/Vet
Hector got off work Thursday morning, so he was home with Sheba for a bit Thursday. When I got out of the gym, he gave me a call saying I needed to come home because Sheba's eye was so puffy she couldn't see out of it. So I sped home thinking she was on death's door, and when I got in the house, she looked so pathetic I wanted to cry. Her whole left eye was swollen shut, since she had been scratching at it pretty much all day. Wednesday Laura put some aloe on her stomach cause she was scratching and biting till she bled in some places. She's done this on a lower level since I got her, but only this last week was it getting way worse. I gave her a benadryl Thursday night, but to be safe I made an appointment for Friday for the vet since I had no idea why all of a sudden it was getting so bad. I started making dinner late because our plans to go out to eat fell through, and it was when I was plugging in my rice cooker that I got electrocuted. When the stupid planners for the renovations at the apartments designed the new kitchens, it was someone's bright idea to install under-cabinet microwaves in all the units. That's great, except they block the one useable outlet on the counter line. In order to plug anything else in my kitchen, I have to contort my body and squeeze my arm into the 21/2 inch space between the microwave and the wall. This is normally not an easy process, but when your fingertips are slightly damp and you are just jabbing away in the general area of the electrical socket because you can't see through a microwave, what happens is you get however many volts that normally power those appliances coursing through your body instead. I heard the pop, saw the flash, and screamed pretty much all at the same time, and then my hand was out without my realizing I had pulled it from behind the microwave. I had scratched myself down the lengthof my arm though because instead of pulling out at a right angle like I had gone in, I just went straight out and along the sharp bottom edge of the microwave. My finger was still hurting the next day, but on the plus side I am waiting for my superpowers to kick in.

The best part of the week was when my boss told me I could "work" from home the rest of Friday after the vet appointment. Unfortunately, I really did do work. At the vet, we learned that Sheba is highly allergic to either food or her environment, and we got a nice arsenal of pills to put her on for the next two weeks till we have to go back for a checkup. The visit was $216, most of which Hector paid since I had no money. Happy Birthday to him! It took them 20 minutes to check us out since they couldn't seem to work their billing software properly and then I had to go back ten minutes after I'd left because they forgot to give me the hypoallergenic food Sheba has to eat for the next six weeks to see if it's food she's allergic to. I didn't sign up for this. Deaf, sure, I knew about that. But a pill-popping, allergy riddled dog who can't eat anything but low allergen dry food and can only handle the outdoors after a dose of benadryl followed by an immediate bath? Sheba may have to accidentally "escape" one of these days.

So that was my week. After typing all of that, I think the next thing to go wrong will be full blown carpal tunnel. But then I can wear those cool wrist braces, so really it's not all bad.

artsy fartsy

Last night I attempted to watch "The Tracey Fragments" which I had rented from Netflix. I think I lasted about 5 minutes before I had to turn it off. I believe I have mentioned before that I can't stop any movie or book once I've started it, no matter how badly it blows or how lame its subject. I finished "The Next Best Thing," for god's sake.

But this...this was unwatchable and infuriating. The movie (at least the first five minutes of it) consisted of 4-5 squares on the screen with different, but related scenes playing out in each of them. So your eyes have to be all over the place to get a feel for what's going on. I wonder how long they figured it would take the average viewer to realize, "oooo I get it! Fragments! Like the poor little heroine's shattered life! How symbolic!" and then praise the director for his masterpiece in innovative movie design. It took me one to hate it, then four more to fight the urge inside me to immediately hit eject.

Bruce McDonald: just because something's never been done before doesn't mean it's the good kind of avant garde. Symbolism isn't supposed to be so literal. And maybe if we were spiders and had four times as many eyes, this would work. But with only two, neither of which care to look at any of the crap you put onscreen, it doesn't work.

Instead, I watched Kenny vs. Spenny, which Hector bought last week and I had never even heard of. I watched the entire DVD and was cracking up all by myself in my house. Now THAT is some fine television.