Tag Archives: leave me alone

The World Expects Way Too Much Remembering

I can’t find my photos of my cucumber plants so we’ll do hedge whacking instead. Look how nice and sunny it was that day. That red line in the bottom left is a new extension cord. I accidentally whacked the old one. Flames shot out. It was pretty exciting.

Has anybody calculated how far away are we from needing to hire people to manage our privacy and security preferences?

This stuff wears me out. These sites that want you to create a login just to look at something. Nope. Not doing it. Too many logins. Too many rules. You couldn’t use the same password for everything even if you wanted to.

This makes me so cranky.

I’m tired of customer service surveys, too. That’s gone way too far

For customer service surveys my time is billed at $60 an hour, one hour minimum.

I just went to download something free and they wanted my credit card. Nope. Can’t have it. (It’s a legitimate company, not some scammy thing but I’m still not giving to them just so they can have it on file and then one of their dopey CEOs can go to happy hour at Hooters and leave his laptop in the car to get stolen.)

At the office, we changed companies for computer protection and I keep getting these emails from the old company reminding me that Your! Virus! Protection! Has! Expired! Your! Computer! Is! Not! Protected!

Except that it is, by another program. So I went to unsubscribe from the emails which was an Alice in the Rabbithole clusterfukian adventure in time-wasting. Everything I did just opened a new window and went in a big circle until I was back where I started only with a million windows open.

So then I started up the chat help with “Steve.” [Aside: I actually enjoy doing chat help for purely entertainment value.] Steve was a robot and he kept opening more windows for me to tell me what to do. And explaining how I just do this, then this, then this and then click on the button that says this and I won’t get those annoying updates.

First of all, I shouldn’t have to click more than once to unsubscribe to anything. And second, my computer wouldn’t do this, this or this nor did it have a this button.

So I wrote a toasty complaint email which I’m sure was sent directly to the CEO where it was printed on gold-plated toilet paper for his morning constitutional. Then I made a filter to send the messages straight to trash.

I almost forgot to take the “after” photo so the sun was down when I ran back out there. I took it from this angle to hide how crookedy it is. I’m too short to get the top very well and also my arms get tired.

One of my financial institutions sent me a long thing about my privacy settings which mostly said, “Hard cheese, not much you can do about us sharing your info,” except there were two things that you could ask them to leave you out. But of course you had to call. So I called and it wasn’t automated it was a person. And then we had to go through about 10 rounds of account number, social security number, describe one of your last three transactions. I got all cranky about that. Is there really a lot of fraudulent canceling of sharing information going around?

So then she said we could set up security questions so it wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass next time.

And all her suggestions were for favorite things. I don’t have favorite things. And anything that’s my favorite now is going to be long forgotten by the time I have to remember it. Then we decided on first car. But then later after I got off the phone I realized I gave the wrong car. So hopefully I’ll remain permanently confused about my first car.

Thanks technology. You’re awesome when you aren’t killing me softly with your logins and passwords.

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Let the Cheer Begin

My feelings about the holidays change from year-to-year. I’m not really a holiday lover but not a hater either. I like the holiday cheer part but hate the big crowds and traffic jams it creates.

Last year we had an unusually busy holiday season and tons of events. We’re not big social people and while I love visiting with family and friends, I find it extremely draining to be in large groups of people that I don’t know.

Also last year my family was here so we did a lot more going out to movies and restaurants and stuff than Bob and I might normally do. At the end of last year I totally hit my breaking point and refused to attend our last function and instead spent the day puttering around the house in my sweats with my hair uncombed.

So as we started the slow descent into this holiday season I was preemptively stressing about getting overbooked and Bob reminded me that we don’t have as many events and we’re going away for the holiday to a quiet place where three cars is a traffic jam and the only people we see are family and friends so nothing to be exhausted about. (Assuming the weather cooperates and travel goes smoothly.)

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In Search of the Gullible

Last night someone knocked on the door about the time I was sitting down to dinner and my fresh disks of The 4400 (season 2) that I have to power through before the new season starts on Sunday. This on top of my very heavy soccer watching schedule that begins tomorrow for World Cup. (Bob was not home.)

It’s my general policy to ignore it when someone knocks on the door because unless I’m expecting someone, it’s NEVER anyone I want to talk to. Plus, I was half in my pajamas because I’d spilled something on my pants and shucked them off then and there and tossed them in the wash. But stupidly, I answered the door anyway.

It’s a guy who based purely on appearance and demeanor, seems to be a regular type guy. There is a truck in the driveway with a guy sitting in the passenger seat, looking like he wants to go home so it at least seems that they’re not going door-to-door.

Guy: You been having problems with your roof leaking?

Me: No.

[A number of years ago during a huge storm parts of our roof blew off. I was going to link to the story but apparently it’s not here anymore. I’ll put it back up later. The damaged part was replaced with different tiles so we have what Bob refers to as a “two toned roof.” I knew this was what he saw but we’ve had no problems with the roof since then.]

Guy: I noticed you have the new tiles up. We’re working on your neighbor’s roof, Mr. [something]? Driving by. Thought we could help you out.

Me thinking: The old “we were just driving by” coupled with the old “we’re working for your neighbor”, who I’ve never heard of, ploys. I try to think if I’ve seen a new roof go up lately.

Me: We’re not having any problems with the roof. There was a storm and part of it blew back.

Guy: How much they charge you for that?

Me thinking: I hate it when sales people ask how much I pay for something. There is no reason on the planet that you need to know that unless you’re going to use it against me as part of your sales script.

Me: I don’t know. (also true) Insurance took care of it.

Guy: (dubiously) You the property owner?

Me thinking: Yes Cletus, I am the fuking property owner.

Me (a few sparks flying out of my ears): Yes.

Guy: I could fix that for you make it look real nice. $8,000.

Me (sparks are now little flames): Why would I fix something that isn’t broken?

Guy: I noticed on the other side that its aging. That’s why it blew off.

Me thinking: OH! So now we’ve gone from “did you have a problem with a leak?” to “I know the entire story of your roof which I have observed from your front yard.”

Me: (flames erupting from ears, nostrils and a general halo of flames around my head.) That’s not why the roof blew off. Did you want to leave a card?

Guy: I gave the last one away. I’m licensed and bonded.

Me thinking: congrad-u-fuking-lations.

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Grumpy Lady Speaks

There was an article in the Oregonian living section recently that was so stupid you wished you had the 3 minutes it took to scan the article back. (And speaking of wishing you had time back, have you ever wished you could have the 5 minutes back that it took to watch the trailer of a movie? This happened to me recently when I saw the trailer for a movie that was something about Winn-Dixie, a lovable little scamp of a dog and a wide-eyed adorable child who bring joy back to their small town or some crap like that.)

But back to my curmudgeonly assessment of this stupid article. The article was about 20-somethings living downtown in the trendy district in condo-buildings with a lifestyle that’s just like dorms only it’s grownups. They run around between condos organizing happy hours, TV watching parties, dinner parties, and mocked if they don’t open the door for social time. Those poor kids. What kind of fecking 20 somethings can afford to buy a $300K condo by themselves in the first place? That’s what I want to know. Yeah, poor things, losing sleep because they’re too busy socializing. Let me collect myself. I’ve got a tissue. Now I can continue.

The article mentions “observers” who see this lifestyle as an attempt to stave off adulthood (huh?) vs. others who view all this partying as a positive thing creating communities.

When I was in my 20’s I went out about 6 nights a week, seeing bands on the Sunset Strip. Was I staving off adulthood? Was I building a community? Shit-howdy: I was having a good time. Who wouldn’t? Where’s the article about me? Oh yeah, we got a movie.

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