sour milk

Shea always worries about sour milk. He sniffs it before he drinks a glass and under no circumstances will he drink milk past the date. When we visit either sets of parents, he goes straight to the fridge to check the time stamp on the gallon - for no reason because they are totally NOT notorious for having week-old milk.

This month we've switched to Shatto Milk because we like local food, it tastes like milk candy and those glass bottles are completely adorable. So after dinner, Shea takes a gulp of said milk and spits it all out.

Shea: I think the milk is bad.
Me: The milk is not bad. We just got it four days ago.
Shea: Try yours!
Me: Oh wow. That milk is baaad.

So instead we made root beer floats (an obvious alternative to skim milk). As Shea is scooping the ice cream, he comments on how drippy it is.

And then it hit us.

Frantically, I stuck my head in the fridge and exclaimed "the fridge isn't running! help!" We tried switching the plug to a power strip. We figured out it wasn't a breaker. I called my mom. And then called the landlord who said he'd be over tomorrow, which means we still have a fridge and freezer full of food dangerously close to rotting, which I am now adding up in my head how much money is melting away, literally.

Luckily I have a master key to my work and with summer break starting, there is an empty, full-size fridge just waiting to be filled. So we threw everything in Target bags and raced the 30 blocks to my work.

The only casualties were chopped peppers, milk and my beloved chocolate soy milk. I weep.

It's like the epically bad day wasn't done with us. The oven and dishwasher are still working. It's only a matter of time now.

the first of many sacrifices

I had my 23-week doctor's appointment today.

Here's the good and neutral news:

• Baby boy is healthy with a heartbeat of 150 bpm 
• I only gained four pounds this month (13 total). Though my midwife did say "Whoa!" when lifting up my shirt and seeing my suddenly round tummy.
• Baby is still breech which is still OK but will make me more uncomfortable as the weeks go on.
• I have been told that for next week's move I am not allowed to lift any boxes. Win.

Then comes the first of many sacrifices that I am sure motherhood will bring. 

I've been getting dizzy with increasing frequency in the past week or two. Today I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and immediately got dizzy, which luckily I was on my way to see my lovely midwife. My blood pressure is fine. My weight is fine. Nurse: "Hmm..we haven't done your glucose yet but yeah..."

Long story short, I'm on a diabetic diet til Monday to see if that helps my dizzy/hot flashes/tiredness episodes. The diet isn't that bad - just not overloading on carbs, avoiding sugary desserts and drinks, drinking lots of water and eating more protein. Oh, and eating six times a day. If it's not better by Monday, I'm in for an early gestational diabetes test, which has to be repeated at 28 weeks regardless of the outcome.

I have no Type 2 diabetes in my family. I'm not overweight or old. I didn't gain too much weight in my first tri, in fact I gained zero. Here's hoping a good diet fixes the problem and there are no finger pricks and bans on Yogurtini in my future.

Because it's almost summer. And I want my frozen yogurt.

a sad story about sugar

Very nice coworker brings me a cookie from local bakery.

I eat cookie following veggies, fruit and cheese for lunch.

I start to feel really warm and queasy.

OK, now not just warm but H-O-T. Cheeks and ears are on fire.

I race outside to "check something" and let the thankfully colder than normal day wash over me.

I come back in and get hot and queasy again remembering this is exactly how I felt last time I had a blood sugar yo-yo something going on. Plus now I am so tired I lay my head on my printer.

I get on the Google horn and discover this is normal for some preggos. I'm thankful for my doctor's appointment tomorrow. The talking to my midwife part, not the scale.

Freak out that I will fail next month's glucose tolerance test. And my baby will be 11 pounds. And I do NOT want an 11-pound creature coming out of my body. Even if it's my adorable son.

I cry.

I decide that feeling like this is worse than giving up sweets so I pledge to eat no more cookies and other tasty desserts. Except frozen yogurt because it's almost summer and I'm not delirious. Just hot.

I cry.

postal hell

After considering leaving my newly repaired wedding ring at the post office to avoid the horrors of actually going to the post office, I relented. However, my strategy was in place.

{not my actual post office, but similar torture scene}

Tip #1; Avoid lunch time, and closing time
Smartly I thought, I went at 2 p.m., avoiding the business lunch crowd - "Hi, I'd like 45 rolls of stamps, and then I'd like to mail this with delivery confirmation, tracking, signature required, expedited and YES, there is something liquid in this. By tomorrow."

Tip #2; Avoid the elderly
The strategy continued as I pulled into the parking lot and saw an elderly couple with two huge boxes. I booked it to avoid having to stand behind them in line. However, unrelated elderly man stopped me by grabbing the side of my coat and yelling "you must have been in the service." Me: "What?" Elder man: "Yeah! From the way you walk, you must have been an Army girl." Me: "Oh. No. I am just in a hurry." Elder man: "Well there's a huge line honey, you won't be going anywhere." FAIL.

Tip #3; If you are going to stand in line, enjoy the crazy company
I walk in to find 14 people in line. How many employees working? One, of course. Within five seconds, the following scene occurs:

Man with red scarf: "Where's the complaint form? I want to speak to a manager!"
Woman next to me: "Psst. That guy wants to fill out a complaint form. That won't make the line move any faster."

Man with wife tugging at his jacket and sshing him: "Is anyone else working here?"
Poor employee: "Yes..well, yes there are people here."
Man with wife now hanging head in shame: "I don't see them! Where are they?!"

Tip #4; Avoid people who have not mailed a letter since 1940

Poor employee announced to the current customer that this location was out of Forever stamps.

Crazy woman in line: "YOU ARE OUT OF STAMPS? THE POST OFFICE IS  OUT OF STAMPS?!

When crazy woman gets to front of line she then is very confused about the 44 cent stamp. Does it take one stamp to mail a letter? When are the Forever stamps coming back? Those are clearly less confusing then those regular stamps with numbers on them.

Bottom line, I got my shiny ring with all the diamonds in the right places and all the prongs checked. I have to go back tomorrow to mail my passport application. I feel a migraine coming on already.

i'm a citizen, really.

I love my passport. It's evidence of all the places I've experienced, expect for the one time I went to Paraguay in the back of the van - no passport stamps there!

However, I have a beef with the State Department. My current passport was issued in 2004, meaning it still has a good four years left. But, my name has changed. If my passport would have been issued within the last year, it'd be a FREE passport update. But since it's been six years, I have to pay $110 for a new one. $110 to prove I am a U.S. citizen!

Not only that, but I have to give up my cute, smiling picture for a no makeup, no jewelry, no smile, white background, crappy camera photo that makes me look like I've single-handedly raised 10 kids and not slept for three months. Joy.

And my quest to fill all the pages of my passport will fail despite the fact Argentina seems to give a stamp every time you cross the street. Let's hope Belize and Guatemala are also liberal with their stamping.

On the plus side, I do appreciate the fact I can drop off my application and horrifying photos at the post office instead of mailing them to Philly - that saves me five bucks at least. Bargain shopping! You can find a passport acceptance facility near you here. 

saying nothing

I went to the doctor yesterday for my week-long saga of nausea, dizziness and generally feeling awful. As is the trend, my doctor assumed I was pregnant. Even though I explained the timing is not logical.

We did determine my blood pressure is too low when I am standing. More on par with numbers for small children or professional athletes. No cure, just "hang onto something when you stand up."

I am then escorted back to the lab where I ask to lay down for my barrage of blood work since needles and staying conscious seem to be a problem lately.Then I had to ask for water so that I could eventually pee in a cup (high maintenance patient here).

When I am done, I walk to another room and put my pee cup in a sink. I have to sit in a chair while the lab tech does the pregnancy and UTI test in front of me. She's joking about the machines doing two tests at once and casually rustling her papers around. I'm reading a letter from God to his children typed in comic sans pasted to the wall. I am positive that my God would never send letters in such a disturbing font.

When it's done, she says nothing.

I have to walk with her to a copy room where she tapes the test results to another sheet and makes copies. She says nothing. We walk back over to the doctors office together, and she hands my results to the nurse saying, "here are your answers." The nurse walks with me to the exam room and says, "I'll show him these results, and he'll be back in to talk to you about them." She says nothing about the actual results.

Now I have to wait 10 minutes before the doctor returns to tell me I am not pregnant, which I already knew but was starting to feel borderline-crazy about.

So now I am waiting for blood work results. I'm hoping for a nice infection that requires just a few pills to make me feel brand new but assures Shea that dressing me in my pajamas when I fall asleep at 8:30 with a computer on my lap wasn't just a ploy.

full of letters

Dear tourists and law-breaking neighbors,

There are crosswalks with lights every two blocks (at least) on our street. When you cross in the middle of the road and expect me to stop for you as you lollygag in diagonal formation it makes me want to hit you with my car. It is especially maddening when you STOP in my lane to look at your map or swig your beer from a paper bag. Knowing I still have to stop for you, even though you are in my car's space, makes me want to cry.

Dear long runs,

You are kicking my ass. My pace is getting a tiny bit faster and my confidence soaring as I am running farther each week than I've done in my entire life. However, the sore muscles in my back, hips, hamstrings, and bottoms of my feet on top of the fact my intestines turn into a Boy Scout-quality knot after each run, is making you way less fun to party with. Catch up, please!

Dear Johanna's apartment pool, 
Thank you for such sweet relief this past weekend. I wish we were closer.

Dear Kansas City summers,
I really really love you. But lately you've been acting a bit unlovable. Lows in the mid-80s and heat index of 115? For more than four days in a row? Pushing your luck a bit don't you think? Don't make me wish for fall. I beg you. Please. Just stop.








Dear people who smoke along the jogging path,
SERIOUSLY? Do you see what I am trying to do here?

Unexpected running casualty

So I'm running this morning, almost done with my fast three-mile run for the day, and I see a lady with her little yippy dog. I usually cross the street to the other side when I see unusual-looking folk. However, this woman was nicely dressed, coming out of a very large house and on her way to work with curly white yippy dog.

Bad judgement on my part. The dog sees me, pulls himself away from his owner and proceeds to attack my ankles and not in Mac's "omg I love people!" kind of way. Instead, it was more like, "I will destroy your ankles, rip out your Achilles tendon, you stupid running girl running near my big house."

The owner was mortified though it took her a good three minutes to contain her dog. Instead of kicking the dog to outerspace, I calmly yelled "it's fine!" while doing a little two step dance trying to prevent further bites. As I ran away, I was first annoyed that my fast run would not have an accurate time because how does one account for such an event? Then my legs started stinging, and I began considering the effects of rabies.

Here are the worst two, which I think look less painful in pictures than in real life:

 

Seriously though? Other runners worry about shin splints, sore knees, black toenails. Me? I'm now scared of an eight-pound (terrifying) ball of fur. And some kind of infection. Scared of that, too.

things i'd like to dislike on facebook

In the big judgment cesspool of Facebook, I am not clear why there is not a "I hate this" option. Or even a "when you say this I judge you" button. As if there was any other reason to patrol Facebook. Plus, when you get married, you now have two Facebook friend pools to troll.


Now that Facebook is giving me the option of liking every single comment if I so choose, I still don't understand why I can't "dislike" a few.

Overuse of the ellipses. "I love ice cream..." AND WHAT? Why are you trailing off? Ellipses indicate a word left out or a pause in speech. You love ice cream and cookies? Why can't you just say that! If you are trying to show me you're pondering your love of ice cream, why not just be bold and say, "I love ice cream." Show some courage in your dessert choices.

Whiny parents. I know that because I am in my late 20s, a lot of my friends will have children under five. But what's with the whining? Surprise! Kids are a lot of work. And when I have them, I am sure I will want to complain, too. But not on Facebook. But really, it makes me sad to see statuses day after day of the horror of parenting - the screaming, the crying, the lack of sleep, the grass stains. In 99 percent of the cases, it was your choice to be in this condition. Deal with it. Alternative: I would like to hear the funny things your kids say. I really love your kids and their funny antics make my day great. Or if you're pregnant, post about your cravings for olives and peanut butter. I might even bring you some.


References to chain restaurants. That's from the hubs who gets hysterical at comments like "I can't wait to have the chicken fingers at Chili's tonight!" He would like you people to get out of your comfort zone. I remind him that for a few of my friends, Applebees really IS the nice restaurant in town. That's a viable excuse. But if you do go there for dinner, you probably shouldn't advertise it. It is no longer America's favorite neighborhood restaurant. Unless your house is in a strip mall.


- Vague status updates. "Joe is waiting." "Amy is trying to decide." Hello call for attention. As my friend Jo says, "You KNOW you are being evasive when you post stuff like that, and you just want everyone to be all 'WHATTT?' If you are not going to explain yourself, don't post it." Amen. 


Too much information. Facebook statusing is a delicate balance not to be messed with. If you are talking about a part of your body that is covered by a swimsuit, you're over the line. This includes references to breast feeding and poop. Also fights with your spouse/friend/parent/relative. Especially if they are on Facebook, too, and you're just using your status to fuel the fire. This makes me uncomfortable and day dream back to middle school, which is an unhappy time for all of us. (think frizzy hair and flannel shirts) Using Facebook as a manipulative relational game  = lame and immature, especially if you're doing it to me.

Exclamation points. These are meant to be used when something is being exclaimed. (exclaim, verb:  to cry out or speak in strong or sudden emotion)


Appropriate usage: 

• My hamster just got run over by a semi!
• I am pregnant with triplets!
• The sky is literally falling!

Inappropriate usage:

• I am eating peaches in the summer!
• I am doing homework!
• My phone just rang!
• I DONT WANT TO WORK TONIGHT!!!!!
• Eclipse is the best movie ever made!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Adjust your usage accordingly.


For more Facebook mockery, visit Failbook.


What drives you crazy?

at a stalemate

Maybe it's a slow recovery from wedding activities or the insane jealousy I feel that I will not get to have another honeymoon.

Or maybe I'm getting sick because even though its June, I have a sore throat and sensitive sinuses. It's my body punishing me for eating Oklahoma Joe's (still the best barbecue on planet Earth) and Town Topic burgers in a 24-hour time span.

Or maybe it's the fact the temperature is hovering near 90 degrees and there are nine straight days of thunderstorms in the forecast. Added stress since I have no idea where I am supposed to go when the tornado sirens go off.

Or maybe I'm just a big fat whiner.

But, I am EXHAUSTED.

I ran Monday and haven't been back to the gym since. The best I have managed to cook is spaghetti and tonight the plan is the ever-so-gourmet baked potato. We had church small group Monday, grocery shopped Tuesday (an all evening event) and had missions committee meeting Wednesday. Tonight, after cleaning our mess of an apartment, I am going to fall asleep while the hubs watches Shutter Island.

Now go watch this video and you'll be convinced reading all that whining was worth it.

LOST characters + Bruce Willis --> OMG, we're dead.

Obligatory caveat: I know that I am in the minority for saying that I think LOST is a terrible, terrible show. I'm glad most of you find joy in it. Yay for you! The comments in this post are not meant to attack you personally so don't get all defensive and call me an "other."

I am snobby when it comes to TV shows. My favorites are West Wing and Gilmore Girls because of their fast, snappy dialog. I tried LOST. The first season ranked somewhere between my love for Cake Boss and reruns of Boy Meets World. I stopped watching sometime in Season 3, and surprise, did not have any withdrawal effects. I've never felt incomplete not knowing what was up with the jungle whispers, the smoke monster or weirdo Jacob. Nor did I miss the incredibly intelligent dialogue; "I'm going to kill you. How? That's a surprise."

But alas, I love my husband more than I hate LOST so I attended a finale party. (I got a free t-shirt that I am auctioning off. $5 anyone?) We had the displeasure of sitting in front of a family who loved LOST and didn't understand the difference between a private living room TV watching and public viewing.

They were a script writer's dream filling in the dramatic silences with "uh oh!" "Go Jack!" "you go girl" "bottoms up" and "he sure doesn't look happy." 

My favorite, though, being when Jack opens his father's coffin and annoying mother yells, "It's empty!!!" Really? You didn't see that coming? Has Jack's father not appeared in various degrees of aliveness throughout this entire stupid show? Not only is he "OMG alive" but he eventually exits the church through Jesus-like rays of sunshine. Death, resurrection...that's been done.

Speaking of light. As our hero Jack was lying on the side of the mysterious light which is never to be explained  and seems to have little significance because surprise, we all died anyway, I got the incredibly strong urge to yell "DIE, Jack, DIE." So I wrote it in big letters on my napkin. Which as a fan of the show, I am sure Shea really appreciated my support.

Then the dramatic ending with all that hugging, smiling and deadness. Thank goodness the hugging fest only went on for the last 10 minutes of the show because I was getting a bit worried for the lady next to me whose shoulders were convulsing as she was gasping for air through her tears. I hope she hasn't watched The Sixth Sense yet, because (spoiler alert!) Bruce Willis is dead, too.

It's all over. *Tear* I'm so pleased that the island did not fall off into the ocean due to the fact Jack placed the giant pistol back into the hole of light. And I'm extremely relieved that every character realized they are in fact dead, and they are in some parallel reality. Or are they? Is there really a "now?"

Now we can start planning for LOST: The Lost Years!

P.S. I genuinely enjoyed the Target commercials. Props.

Crowded awakening

This is what my side of the bed looks like when I wake up. And this is probably 35 percent of the bed, rather than my allocated half. My body goes between those furry things. I only get half my pillow if I am lucky.

Sometimes Shea throws a leg over, too. Six days out of seven I wake up sweating bullets. At that point, why even go to the gym?

I am living a very unfair life.

Friday morning thoughts

- Our gym has a bunch of old treadmills that shake when you run, and then two good ones. We always get the good ones because no one else apparently likes running at 6 a.m. However, this morning a new couple walked into the cardio room as I did and took the good ones. And then proceed to "run"only eight minutes. This is deeply irritating.

- As I was driving to work, the Starbucks near us had over 10 people in line at the drive thru and only three of the regular parking spots were full. I guarantee half of those people could have gone inside and gotten their coffee faster if they'd just be willing to use their legs. This is lazy.

- Every morning this week and next week I have to put out treats (cookies, cupcakes, rice krispie bars) for our students who are taking final exams. Then in the afternoon I have to put out granola bars, chips, nuts, fruit snacks and more chips. This is very, very difficult to resist considering I get an intense salt craving at 2 p.m. This task has proven to be very detrimental to my health.

- I would really like to stop hearing about the Tea Party movement.

- Trader Joe's is opening in Omaha and not Kansas City. Ridiculous. If it came to KC, I would be a frequent enough shopper to keep them in business. Just please don't go to the 'burbs.

- I hate when people ignore that racism exists. Evidence in Arizona and Missouri today.

- It's Friday, which is a great way to end a fairly wretched week. Tomorrow we are gardening at a battered women's shelter, shopping at the Farmer's Market, and going to an art fair. Happiness.

Please Jackson County, just take my money

I was appalled when I moved to Minnesota and found out I had to not only buy one new license plate but TWO. And, currently owning a Mustang at the time, had zero ways to attach one to the front of my car. So I kept it in my glove box.. "Sorry officer, I am new here!"

Now moving to Missouri, I have been working on my new car tags for two weeks and still have Minnesota plates.

1. Read long, long web site for new residents on all the ways Missouri will prevent me from getting new plates. Snobs. (20 minutes)

2. E-mail Jackson County office and express my confusion. (5 minutes)

3. Find out that I do not have to have a safety inspection because my car is new enough, however they will only give me tags for a year because next year I have to get one. But, I do have to have an odometer validation check. (5 minutes of real frustration)

4. Search for Minnesota title, registration, marriage license to clear up that whole last name confusion thing, utility bills and paychecks from past two years. (45 minutes)

5. Go to county courthouse and prove I did not live in Missouri in January 2010 or January 2009. Achieved by printing off two years worth of gas bills. Also have to show my Minnesota title. (1 hour, 5 minutes)

6. Show up at Hank's Auto Repair, an official MO inspection site, at 7:45 a.m. for odometer inspection. Hank only does inspections between 7:45 and 8:30 a.m. Other places near my work that would make for a nice lunch hour errand? Four hour wait for a 5-minute inspection. While Hank is doing 5-minute inspection, find out that he only takes cash for this. So I have to run in my skirt and heels three blocks to a rundown "grocer" (who I am pretty sure only sold candy and cigarettes) to get money out of an ATM. Run back to Hank's, pass man with beard to his waist pushing grocery cart. Pay Hank $10 - keep in mind that a full inspection involving wheels being taken off and things under hood inspection is $12. (25 minutes)

I still do not have my license plates. I get that joy tomorrow - standing in line with everyone and their brother who waited until the last three days of the month to turn in their paperwork. It's hard work getting Missouri to take your money!

To be continued...

Hole-in-one for moral hypocrisy

I do not care about Tiger Woods and frankly, I'd like to stop hearing about him.

I do not care that he slept with over a dozen women who are not his wife. He's a snake. A bad person with clearly no self-control or morals. Not just one mistake, many many many mistakes that show just how little he regards his vows. John Edwards, Tiger Woods and many others have tricked us into thinking that because they care about inner city kids, poverty, and charities that they are somehow good people. But, it's really easy to look like a good person when you can direct 100 cameras your way when you smile at a baby.

Not only do we get to hear daily analysis of Tiger's (p.s. did you know his middle name is Tont? That makes me giggle.) behavior but how his wife Elin is dealing. The Today Show relationship analyst (is this really a job?) called her approach "revolutionary." As if she has developed some recipe of coping for all cheated upon wives. "She's not supporting but still standing by him at the same time." Pause while I rinse the vomit from my mouth.

I don't care if he returns to golf. Or records more silently-staring-at-the-camera commercials. Nice try, Nike. I wonder what Earl Woods would really think of this campaign.

Perhaps golf fans should redirect their outrage and overzealous interest in Tiger toward the fact that the Augusta National Golf Club, where one of the most prestigious golf competitions is held, STILL does not allow women to become members. Instead, the club's chairman who has called the struggle for women's rights a "distraction" is saying this about Tiger: "Our hero did not live up to the expectations of the role model we saw for our children."

Really, Billy Payne? As for my children, I hope they don't grow up in a world where clubs, private or not, are allowed to discriminate against Blacks long after the civil rights movement. I hope their role models are not white men who think they can chastise black men for mistreatment of women while publicly defending gender-discrimination policies. I hope that my future daughters grow up in a world where they can become CEOs and play golf alongside their male colleagues at the club if they so choose. If the powerful social and corporate circles meet on the course, and men find it distracting to see a pretty face among them, then maybe it is they who should stay home.

I recoil at the thought that many of this nation's powerful, rich and elite are most comfortable in places where half the population, including their mothers, wives and daughters, are banned from entering. Yet, millions watch the Masters oblivious to the club's policies. Payne says he will admit female members eventually, but on his timetable. Payne's timetable didn't allow Blacks to play golf with the white folk until the 1990s. Hopefully he lets them drink at the same water fountain, too.

The time has come. Women are running companies, traveling to space, running for office and having seven babies at once. They can damn well handle swinging a nine-iron while wearing a collared shirt.

A letter of desperation

Dear AT&T,


I don't expect you to take this letter seriously since the dozens of hours I spend on the phone discussing our relationship apparently mean little to you.

Our relationship went to the next level in January when we requested your Internet services. Since then, we've had a lot of disappointing dates. You've given false promises, left our needs unmet and frankly, the romancing has left much to be desired - the free month of Internet for a service that does not even work is like giving us wilted flowers and a half-eaten box of chocolates. You tried to show your dedication by showing up in person with your fancy doo-dads.

We thought we had worked out our differences. We even tried to renew our relationship's strength by upping our speed to the highest you offered. We wanted to take full advantage of all your wonderful gifts. We called Monday and Tuesday, yet you said it would just take time. When we called Thursday after no communication, you promised to get back to us by the end of your day. You did not.

So, our loyalty to this relationship began to weaken despite the fact that in your sea, there are very few fish. We called Friday, begging that you make this relationship work. Please give us priority. Please consider the emotional turmoil and frustration you have brought into our lives. We never thought it would happen, but you've even caused us to yearn for our ex, Comcast.

You told us that you in fact did understand all this and that we would get another month without the burden of a bill. That you still cherished our loyalty and the on-time payments we have to offer. You swore you would call us back with an answer. Again, you did not.

On this Easter weekend, we will try our best to forgive. But we implore you, please treat us with more respect. Show us you care. Allow us to take this relationship to the next level of speed without another week of begging.

We promise if you keep up your end of the deal, we'll stop the constant phone calls and tears.

Love,
Your wishing-we-were-satisfied customers

Perspective on and off the court

“Next to my son, it’s probably the worst thing to happen to me in my life,” Sherron Collins said between bursts of tears.

I've been mad about this quote since I read it Saturday night after KU lost to Northern Iowa. I grew up 80 miles from University of Kansas, I get that KU basketball is big. I feel very passionately about my K-State sports, having attended basketball and football games since I was six years old. I've cried when K-State lost to Texas A&M in the 1998 Big 12 Championship. I cried happy tears when Ski Jones scored 62 points in one game. (more on this Thursday)

However, there is no way my love of K-State sports would be on the same playing field as my family.

In the above quote, Collin is referring to his newborn son who died during his freshman year of college (refraining from judgement here). In this Kansas City Star article, the writer points out that Collins also grew up in a gang environment, has an imprisoned father, and lost custody of his son. Yet losing a basketball game is worse than those events?

It hurts to lose, and the way KU lost is no doubt extremely devasting especially when evaluating the game they realized they didn't show up til the last two minutes. But please, get some perspective.

Again with the customer service

Once I start my job I will have way less time to rant about customer service. Specifically how the AT&T corporation is collectively trying to ruin my life.

I was promised that someone with a resume that includes dedicated problem-solving skills and unwillingness to ever give up would arrive at my apartment today between noon and 4 p.m. Right now it’s 3:03 p.m. and I have heard nothing. Leaving me in this limbo of being forced to call customer service and make sure he’s coming or spare myself the torture, have him not come and then have to take off work next week  to sit on my couch for four hours once again.

What I have never understood is this four-hour service window. It’s like the doctor’s equivalent of making you change into a backless hospital gown for a strep throat test. It leave you vulnerable, unable to move around freely and uncertain of what will happen next. Yet, even doctors make appointments. With actual times.

Update: Calling AT&T

3:39 p.m. Call tech support. Automated evil man will not let me talk to tech support until I make a payment on my bill even though I should not owe a cent because IT DOESN’T WORK.

3:42 p.m. Hang up. Call customer service line. You have 18 minutes, people.

Me: Explain situation with both bill and the fact no one of authority is standing near my modem.

CC woman: Would you like to make a payment today or just talk to tech support?

Me: Well, first I would like you to zero out my account because I have been assured we would pay nothing for something that doesn’t work. Then, I want to talk to tech support and make sure someone will be at my apartment in the next 15 minutes. (And, I would like an allowance for emotional damages, but that’s for another time.)

Success on bill. Transferred to tech support. More upbeat, taunting music. After seven minutes of music, goes to evil automated man who tells me to first try going online for help. This is super helpful.

3:50 p.m. Tech support tells me to “please wait.” No music. No irrelevant ads. Just “please wait” every 20 seconds.

3:57 p.m. This is a joke. My life is a joke. I hung up after SEVEN minutes of “please wait.” Called back, talked to billing inquiries b/c I can’t get to tech support except through them because of my FAKE past due amount.

4:02 p.m. Billing inquiry woman: Well you can talk to tech support if you have a past due.
Me: NO, it won’t let me get through. PLEASE transfer me.

At this point my voice is getting shrill and I swear I might just burst into tears for effect.

4:14 p.m. Just now speaking to tech support.

4:17 p.m. Now referred to line department in St. Louis, Missouri. This man tries to tell me it’s because our speed is too fast. WE HAVE DOWNGRADED THIS THREE TIMES. “It looks like it didn’t go through.”

Me in my head: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I have called about five times to confirm this and complain since they supposedly downgraded it weeks ago. I talked to three different people in a span of two hours last week who all confirmed it was complete and my speed was lower. Lies, all lies!

4:47 p.m. Hang up phone. Conclusion: Something else is wrong. Again, shocking. Tech support will be here first thing in the morning.

1 hour and 8 minutes later, and I definitely feel like I’m sitting in a paper gown in a drafty room.

Mr. Wonderful and my latest encounter with AT&T

Our AT&T DSL service still doesn't work. Shocking, I know.

So today I had to call AGAIN to tell them that although I haven't called in a week, it doesn't mean my Internet is working for more than three continuous minutes at a time. So "Shawn" from the great state of India and I had a chat.

Shawn: How are things with you today with you ma'am?
Me: Frustrating with your internet service but otherwise fine.
Shawn: Wonderful to hear ma'am. I am sorry to hear of your frustrations but I assure you, you are in wonderful hands and I will fix your problem.
Me: Um, wonderful.

Shawn: Well, I'd like to run some tests. Can you please unplug your modem?
Shawn: Wonderful, wonderful. Hmm, ok. Is your modem located on the carpet?
Me: Look, Shawn. I appreciate the fact you have a process for each call, but I have called no less than 10 times in a month and my modem is not on carpet, it is not filtered with a phone line, it does not have green lights, it is not interfering with a burglar alarm, and no, restarting my computer does not fix this two-month problem.
Shawn: Haha, wonderful. However, I do have to go through these questions. Is your modem on carpet?

10 minutes of tests later.

Shawn: Well, I will send a technician out. I have escalated the problem and we will send a line maintenance worker to your residence. What days and times are you available?
Me: Today, tomorrow or this weekend. We both work next week all day.
Shawn: Wonderful. Ok, how about 12 p.m. - 4 p.m. Monday?
Me: That does not sound like you are escalating my problem, Shawn.
Shawn: OK, how about noon tomorrow?
Me: Wonderful, Shawn. Just wonderful.

Somebody Get Jack! (Why LOST is not the best show ever)

We’re almost done with the second season of Lost. I admit it’s quite addicting but I also get eye strain from the need to roll them so much.

1.    Punching, poison and torture. There is so much of it. Why the reactive behavior? Those who don’t punch, shoot. There is heroin addiction, prisoner torture, kidnapping, intentional poisoning, cutting off fingers and legs. This is grossly out of proportion for 40 people, even stranded on an island.

2.    Black smoke monster. I don’t even know what to say about this. It’s ridiculous and completely unbelievable. I do not appreciate any part of this show that involves magic.

3.     Jack the doctor. This man has it rough. The punching, poisoning, torturing, kidnapping, shooting, spearing, chopping off body parts. They all end with “SOMEBODY GET JACK.” Luckily he’s the most emotional strong, intelligent, medically proficient, and brave person on the island. Just once, I’d like Jack to get shot in the stomach and see someone else step up and drain their own blood into his veins using a hollow twig while simultaneously pulling the bullet from his intestines with their teeth.

4.    Weak dialogue. SO dramatic. This is no Aaron Sorkin script. “There is a man. A man in the hatch. I beat him. I beat him badly.” Why are you talking in short, short sentences, Zahed? Why does your story end with …” dramatic pause….and you were strung by your neck and left for dead.”  Why are your pupils always so dilated?

5.    Inquisition. Or lack thereof. No one on this island is curious. Someone gets shot, and is bleeding profusely from the neck on a journey to the black rock, which you’ll note is not a rock at all.
               Supposed normal person: “What happened?! You are bleeding profusely from a major artery!”
               Profusely bleeding person: “Everything will be fine now.”
               Supposed normal person: “OK, cool.”
               Trek through jungle continues as normal.

6.    Music.  To keep with the theme of totally unnecessary drama, plunging musical chords strike with every vague comment, capture or discovery of a missing door/hatch/medical lab/stupid countdown clock.

7.    Back stories. Again, how could all 40 people have such dramatic stories? A mediocre rock star with a drug addiction. A torturer straight from Iraq. A man with a mysteriously cured paralysis. A magic 10-year-old. A mother with an ominous fortune reading. A petite murderer/arsonist. A heroin-smuggling priest. A morbidly obese lottery winner.

I will keep watching because I do not have cable. But I hate this ridiculous show more every day, and I hope that 108 minutes pass without notice and the whole island blows itself up.