Automate This

Let me tell you the terse tale of my Monday.

It started like any other Monday: there was grieving, and massive amounts of coffee. I relaxed and planned the week. My daughter got up and ready for school with little fanfare.

After running to Walmart, getting my hair cut, and running my filthy car through the car wash, I proceeded to the fairgrounds to pick up my daughter’s ribbon-winning drawing. Slightly proud mamma here. It was all going well: I even managed to avoid being hit by rabid fork lifts and other fairgoers picking up their items.

My employer called the day prior but because technology is imperfect, my phone never recorded the message that the assistant manager left. All I got was a message that wouldn’t play on my voicemail from an unfamiliar number. Turns out I was supposed to start work yesterday. Oops.

No biggie, I was assured. I can start work today instead. I called the counseling center regarding an appointment that I can no longer attend because of work. Was greeted, naturally, by an automated system. Got a real person on the line, and things went pretty smoothly.

Then I noticed some weird xfinity messages on my email saying someone with my email address had ordered a wifi pass. One was to verify my email address and another was to confirm my day pass to a wifi hotspot. I don’t have an account with them but naturally I suspected phishing, went directly to their official website online, and tried to log in for funsies. Someone who typed in my email address appears to have set up an account. They even set up a security question so that I could not log in through the “forgot password” link. Interesting.

Concerned, I called Comcast. I have heard so many horror stories about calling this company. I even heard a call once between a customer and a horrible representative who would not let him cancel his service. So I wasn’t expecting perfection. The first representative did not do an adequate job of checking to see if I had a fraudulent account, IMO. He ended by telling me to disregard the emails. I got off the phone with him because clearly this was getting me nowhere. 

The second representative was also pleasant but useless, she tried at first to transfer me to the technical department. Then between three holds she had changed her mind and transferred me to the abuse department. 45 minutes later, I got a rep who said it most likely was phishing and not fraud, but he didn’t check to verify whether my email was on file with the company. He did, however, give me an email address to forward the information to.

So, with high hopes, I forwarded the emails. I detailed my concerns. I was dismayed by the automated reply: we don’t have enough information regarding this issue. Why don’t you try one of there helpful articles that REQUIRES LOGGING INTO THE ACCOUNT YOU DON’T HAVE.

Paranoid now, I called my insurance company to verify that I had some sort of identity theft coverage. I got nowhere on their website. I was transferred to the wrong department, I just wanted to learn more about the services and did not want to file a claim. She told me she would transfer me and that a person would answer, and instead I was transferred to the automated system. I hung up.

Albertson's had also called through an automated system to verify that my prescription was ready. I called them back to verify that both of my medications were, indeed, ready, since I was lacking the new prescription number. They said that they were ready, and gave me some completely useless information about how I can track their readiness through an app. Thanks, if I had the damn prescription number in the first place, that might be helpful. I could have bypassed talking to another regular, seemingly incompetent person in that case.

When I arrived at the pharmacy later in the afternoon, YOU WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT EVERYTHING WAS READY. Another hour of my wasted time later, I finally had my pills that I’d already waited five days for.

So now I have a new pharmacy and, potentially, a fraudulent account with Comcast.

FML.

On Being Substantial

Thick is as thick does.

I matched with a local radio DJ once on a dating site. We chatted for a bit and then exchanged numbers, it seemed harmless enough. He wanted a picture of me, so I complied with a selfie of my face. Then he wanted a sexy picture of me, and well, I didn’t really have any. I had one where you could see my legs, but it was still pretty conservative.

He wondered why I didn’t have any sexy pics (apparently a bikini or underwear would have been more to his liking). He then asked, “Are you thick?”

This immediately put me on the defensive. I have had an issue with weight around my stomach and posterior since the birth of my daughter. “Are you thick?” I retorted. He denied having an issue with his figure, though his pictures online indicated otherwise. He then conveniently lost my number and “unmatched” us on the site.

Now, this wouldn’t anger me so much, but it seems a bit of a double standard. Especially with this viral post of a man who loves his curvy wife going around.  Some comedian acquaintances of mine were making fun of the post, and it inspired me to share my own experience. I also don’t understand why this man’s message is being seen as so inspirational. Basically, he’s criticizing his wife and getting lauded for it.

Another person shared this hilarious parody of the letter.

I’m kind of hoping that the wife in this so-called “heroic” letter writes a response. In it, she describes his perceived imperfections, pointing out, for example, his abundance of chest hair and his scrawny ass. Or his habit of drawing mass attention to the size of her booty. Or his inability to write anything truly sensitive.

I’ve dated men who others might consider unattractive: to me, true attraction isn’t a weight measurement or a beauty contest. Balding men, men who might be considered overweight: I’ve always considered the personality before the mane or body type. This hasn’t helped me to find a suitable mate yet, but I’ve gained some extraordinary friends in the process.

I’m hoping it’s just my undeniable crazy that’s scaring them off.

But for this, I certainly don’t tout myself as being some sort of relationship martyr. Just taking one for the team, ladies, no need for alarm.  If I wrote about how great it was that my man was less than perfect, I would get laughed or trolled off the Internets.

For myself, I fluctuate from body positivity to wanting to lose all the weight and become some sort of ancient pin-up model. For my health, and for my daughter’s benefit, I am going to attempt to lose the extra 40 pounds I am now carrying around. I’m not doing this to attract a man: any man who doesn’t appreciate me for the nutty cat lady I am, unexplainable ego and all, can go find some normal, boring, perfect looking arm-candy.

Anyone who doesn’t want me based on my present appearance or all the things I am, is truly is thick.

Following the Felines

I said goodbye to my fourteen-year-old cat the other day.

I miss Nermal terribly. She was feisty up until the very end but unfortunately, her digestive system wasn't working anymore. I held her in my arms for at least 30 minutes after the vet euthanized her. This was mostly because if I moved her out of my arms after she was dead it would have broken my heart.

It was also because no one at the vet's office bothered to tell me to notify the front desk when I was done. No one bothered to check on me either. "Oh, well, we usually give you as much time as you need," the assistant explained as she removed my cat from the room. "You're supposed to let us know when you're done."

Blame my lack of experience killing cats.

Moving on in so many ways, the new kitten, Starlight, is attempting to prove the old adage about curiosity. Though there are three dogs upstairs (including two rambunctious wiener dogs), she insists on prancing up the stairs ten times a day. So, my recent chore was to find a gate wide enough and tall enough to cover the entrance to the stairs.

This new cat is nothing if not a destroyer of worlds. She claws carpets and furniture constantly and knocks over random objects in her pursuit of bugs or cat toys. I made the mistake of opening my window for her: she proceeded to latch onto the screen and break it. It swung outward with her on it. I ran out front just in time to prevent her from running away.

The joy she brings my daughter is immeasurable, and she is a sweet little thing. I haven’t had a kitten in so long that I’m not sure whether this cat is truly crazy or I’ve forgotten the extent of the psychosis kittens seem to suffer from. She keeps us up late or gets us up incredibly early, she is hungry all the time and mostly for human toes.

I am going to emulate the cat, except for the eating toes thing (and the whole crapping in a box thing). She runs around all the time like a little maniac and she’s definitely not of the chubby variety. She seems to have joy in the sheer business of movement despite her frequent falls and fails.

To cope with my depression and mood swings, I need exercise in my life. Do I believe it’s a cure for mental illness? Absolutely not, but it’s definitely a combatant. As ya’ll may or may not have been aware, I tried Beachbody. And I liked it, and I lost some weight, but it’s just not for me. I may still use the abdominal workouts, but the lunges are too much on my knees at this weight.

Other than consistent movement, I’m going to struggle to make healthy choices, every day. Will I miss my cheese dip, sourdough bread, and multiple incarnations of the potato? Absolutely. But I am going to shop for fresh produce every few days and (gasp) eat it instead of chips. If I ever manage to go on another date, I will choose something somewhat healthy from the menu (adieu, bacon burger and fries. I hardly knew ye).

Though I am a crazy cat lady, I will not adhere to a diet of Friskies. I tried that once, it was a childhood “open your mouth and close your eyes” situation. Never again.

So I have written my resolution. Now, to put it into motion.