30 June 2010

Dear people who keep using my email address:

Please stop it already. This is my email address. You cannot have it. Stop registering for websites using it, because getting this in email

is not funny.

It's not!


28 June 2010

I stopped at McDonald's during my walk today, as I usually do; I want the a/c and the $1 giant-assed drink and a chance to sit for a few minutes before pushing on. As I sat there sipping on my Diet Coke, a kid across the dining room kept staring at me, intently focused on my lower legs.

Now, I have fat calves. I know that, I'm okay with that; they've always been big, even when the rest of me wasn't. But it was a little odd to have this kid just staring, like he'd never seen someone else's shins before.

I got up to refill my cup, and as I passed he said, seemingly puzzled, and with a thick southern accent, "Yo right laig is bigger'n yo left laig."

If I'd taken a sip right then, I would have choked on it.

He wasn't trying to be mean or rude; he seemed truly curious about why someone's legs would be differing sizes.

And you know I kept looking at them on the rest of my walk, trying to figure out if the kid was right.

I think he might be.

Mah right laig, it's a mite bigger'm mah left, Ah think...


24 June 2010

I sat down tonight to pay some bills as I am wont to do every couple of weeks; for some reason when you own people money, they want it paid back. Go figure.

Like millions of other people, I pay most of our bills online; I pulled out the checkbook, pulled up the URL for the Spouse Thingy's credit card, and typed in the user name.

No such user exists.

Must have made a typo. No biggee.

No such user exits.

Now, he's had that account for over 25 years; he's had the account user name for as long as we've been able to pay the bill online. That user exists.

I tried once more; a customer service chat window opened up asking if I needed help. And obviously I did, since a nearly three decades old account apparently vaporized since the last time I needed to make a payment. I said I did indeed need help, and I answered all the requisite questions.

"I'm sorry, but I don't find an account with your name."

All I wanted to do was make a payment. The more questions she asked (OK, so maybe it was a she...she said her name was Natalie...) the more uncomfortable I got, and the less info I wanted to impart. Yes, those were things a customer service rep would need to know to find the freaking account, but online? Not answering those questions.

I said I would just call the number on the back of the card.

"If you give me the account number, I can provide you with a direct link to the account."

Um. No. Not clicking any link, thank you. Because, you know, you might have hijacked my computer and you're going to suck all the information up and I'll get a 35 billion dollar statement next month.

(No, I didn't say that but I wanted to.)

I closed the chat window, set the bill aside, and went to pay my own credit card.

No such user exists.


I didn't even try to get help. I set it aside, thinking I would left the Spouse Thingy call them both tomorrow and sort it out.

I went on to other things, still annoyed.

I looked at the statements again. What the hell? Did they change the account numbers again? They've done that before, but they gave notice.

I muttered "B of A sucks" under my breath, then looked again.

The accounts are with Citibank.


Somewhere, there's someone claiming to be Natalie who works for Bank of America, and she thinks the Spouse Thingy is paranoid. Because, you know, it was his account so I totally claimed to be him...


19 June 2010

I pass by this place a lot on my walks; it's someone's back yard, which butts up to the bike/walker's path I often wander down. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I had no idea that there was a yard in which small children, cars, and twin engine planes could be lost, but there were some stiff winds that blew the fence down, and they "fixed" to with chicken wire.

I don't mind natural landscaping, but this is a little too natural for even my tastes.

It should make the Spouse Thingy feel better about the odd times when our grass is about a half inch too long.

In other news, I'm trying to kick my fundraising into a higher gear (alone with my walking; I did 10.25 miles yesterday, tankeweveddymuch) and have upped the You-Want-This ante.

Thanks to a generous friend, if you donate to my Susan G. Komen 3 Day Walk for the Cure fund, you have a chance to win (among other things) a Kindle e-reader.

Yep...a brand new, unregistered, very spiffy Amazon Kindle. Valued at $250.

Jump on over to A Wabbit Walking or Rocking the Pink for the details, and to see the other nifty prizes.

My goal for this walk is to raise $2300; I'm not quite halfway there, and I really would like to be by the end of July. The training for the walk is coming along nicely--I'm hitting the distances I need to and I haven't croaked--but I haven't gotten to the super-mileage days yet.

They're coming...


15 June 2010

The nice thing about living in a small town is that you can cover a lot of ground on foot, and for the most part you don't have to worry about the people you encounter. Ninety percent of the people I pass while I'm out walking are out doing the same thing: they're sweating their way from point A to point B.

Many of them are taking their dogs along, and I'm starting to notice the same paired people and dogs quite often.

Something else I'm noticing...Dixon smells a lot like dog poop.

I have to admit, I haven't witnessed someone out with their dog not cleaning up after it, but there are obviously a whole lot of pooches pooping randomly with no human scooping up behind them. There's a lot of poop on sidewalks, a lot just off sidewalks, and with summer settling in and the heat stinks.

I like the town, I love the (for the most part) nice wide sidewalks and the quiet and relative safety of this place, but damn...eau d'doggy droppings is not the aroma I would like wafting by me as I amble around town.

Really, hard is it to scoop?


10 June 2010

More shameless self promotion. Or begging. Kind of.

I'm still walking. If you ever peek in at A Wabbit Walking, you've picked up on my whining about the miles. But, I'm doing it. And I still need donations.


I like to dangle incentive in front of my potential donors! And with a really cool anonymous donation, there's a really sweet prize up for grabs.

A GoWear Fit Lifestyle and Calorie Management System AND a GoWear fit Display Device. It's like the technogoody worn by contestants on The Biggest Loser...theirs is a Body Bugg, but this is the same thing, basically.

This is a $260 prize, peoples!

Visit Rockin' The Pink for more details.

$5 peoples...every $5 gets you a shot at it!


6 June 2010

Bear in mind I am night blind...

After I'd headed off to go to bed last night, I realized I was pretty freaking thirsty, and bathroom water was not going to cut it. I wanted something ice cold, so I headed for the kitchen. Now, I didn't turn a light on because 1) I know the way and 2) there was enough light bleeding trough from the front porch light.

I got to the kitchen entry and blocking my way was a stubborn black kitty.

I asked him to move so I wouldn't step on him.

He didn't budge.

I asked him again.

Not a twitch.

I told him to move or I would pick him up and dip his feet in the water bowl.


So I bent over to pick him up and consider dipping at least his tail in the water.

I was threatening a black Walmart shopping bag.

Just to get even, I kicked it.