Dear Universe:

I appreciate that you are going out of your way to provide me with incredibly bad customer service at every single opportunity – really, it’s very refreshing to be unable to get a straight answer out of anyone whatsoever, regardless of the company they work for. I love being stuck in limbo in four different places. It in no way is causing me untold amounts of rage and sneezing.

My UMPC is broken. I am trying desperately to get it fixed so I can tell you all the cool things it does and the wacky wireless adventures I have with it – but I can’t get it fixed. Samsung was absolutely no help; it took five phone calls, four support forms filled out, two bounced-back emails, and a desperate plea for assistance before I was able to get anywhere. Where’d I get? Well, I was given the direct contact information for the company Samsung uses for repairs. Great! They can tell me where to send my toy, and soon I will have it back as good as new!

Oh, how foolish and simple I was back then. I have made contact with the repair company – in fact, I’ve spoken to them once on the phone and four different people have emailed me to promise they’ll help. Hooray! Oh, but wait. The last communiqué came on March 15th, and there’s been nothing but radio silence since. I emailed a different person, the one I’d talked to on the phone – nothing. No answer. Was Texas swallowed by el chupacabra? Is there some sort of national holiday I am unaware of? I’m willing to pay to have my Q1B fixed. I have a US address that it can be shipped from and to. I’ll do whatever it takes – I just need someone to TALK to me. Too bad I ask for the out of the question! Hah on me!

I bought some clothes online. I received the shipment today, and something is missing from my order. Strange, because I didn’t get any kind of notice saying that something was backordered, nor did I receive a refund because the item is no longer available. I’m actually just guessing at the backorder thing, because there’s nothing in the box that indicates a backorder except for the item in question being highlighted in yellow on my packing slip. Wacky! Even though the website specifically says:

“If the delay is due to backorder, you will receive notice and be given the choice to remain on backorder, substitute to another item, or cancel your order. Prices and availability are subject to change prior to shipment. Should this occur, you will be notified by email or phone, and given the option to accept these changes or cancel the order.”

Oh, that so did not happen. I’d be fine with it, if I had been told – these things happen. Now I have to play email tag with the customer service department and find out why the hell I wasn’t told I wasn’t going to get my full order. This fucking sucks. I am tense and sneezing with rage.

For some bizarre reason, we have a great number of domains registered at RegisterFly.com. That is a bad thing, because the former boyfriends/co-owners are fighting and as a result there is fraud and investigations and the losing of ICANN status at the end of this month. Since I live with my head in a box, I’m just finding this out today and as such get the extreme delight of trying to transfer my domains off RegisterFly and onto GoDaddy. Dealing with either of these companies makes me want to cry and sneeze all over myself; dealing with them both at the same time is likely to make me suicidal and incontinent with sneezing.

Fuck.

Oh bloody hell – our bank account got skimmed. A couple of things we tried to purchase yesterday were declined, which I just assumed was due to the wacky American debit system. Just to be safe though, I decided to check online banking this morning.

What’s this then – two withdrawals totaling $800, leaving us about .50 away from cardboard boxes under the Lions Gate Bridge. Well, fuck. It definitely wasn’t either of us, so it’s off to the bank tomorrow morning to deal with all the lovely things that come with being anal raped via ATM.

Too bad for the crooks, though – they hit up the machines *after* we had gone on a wild spree of cotton and underwear at Target. If they’d been a little more proactive in their thievery, they’d have gotten a lot more than $800. Instead, I have a new skirt and Ed has some work clothes and hah all over them.

Still, I hate having to go into the bank. I always think they’re looking at the secret bank information on their monochrome monitors from 1983 and thinking “Christ girl you are poor and seriously does anyone really need to spend THAT much money at 7-11?” We now have two things to take care of – the stolen money and the fact that the bank refuses to acknowledge the two times that Ed has gone in to upgrade our account to unlimited transactions for a flat fee instead of what we have now, which is a charge for every single card use. That charge for 89 uses at .50 a pop really doesn’t sit very well with me, more so than the crime itself because it’s the bank’s damn fault. Last time he went in to have it corrected though, the bank sent us a $25 Starbucks gift card by way of apology. Maybe they’ll double it this time – it’s going to take a lot of chai to soothe the angry.

Stupid crime, I hate you.

Awesome: groceries! I love doing groceries. Having food in the house and planning yummy meals is an excellent thing.

Not Awesome: losing groceries!  Sometime after we got home we started to put away the stuff we bought. It was then I discovered that we were missing 5 things – three packets of red thai curry paste, and two packets of taco seasoning. What the fuck! That’s $10 worth of seasoning goodness, PLUS the thai paste came with free magnets! This sucks. I want my missing groceries!

BAD. MOOD.

The lot I park the Mazdabator in was full. I of course discovered this AFTER I paid for parking, meaning I have a $6 ticket that won’t allow me to park anywhere. I had to park on the street outside my office but it’s crazy busy out there due to all the damn construction. I finally found street parking, but I had to circle around twice before I found a spot. I plugged the meter with all my remaining change, but it’s only good for another hour before I either have to try the lot again or find a lot more money because the metered spots are $2/h. I was already late for work and all this just made me later and gave me ass marbles the size of Australia, and when I opened the door to the office my space boss jumped out and yelled BOO at me which made me jump and now I am SUPER DUPER CRANKY MEGA EXTREME with GIANT POINTY ASS MARBLES.

Fuck.

Hey, Kimli! You’re exactly four hours away from the start of your period and wearing white underwear with light coloured pants, and have completely forgotten to bring any sort of feminine protection to work with you! What are you going to do?

I’m going to go to Disneyland to bleed all over the damn unicorns, that’s what.

The bloat has made me crankier than usual, and being nitpicked at work is not helping. I am not six. I do not need my every move checked up on. Additional ass marbles are not a gift with purchase.

Could someone please explain to me why all my recent dreams have been sex dreams, and why these dreams are flavoured by my conversations throughout the day? Last night everyone in my dream had a Russian accent. It was kind of hot, until I came into the office and realized that the people I had naked dreams about are the people I work with. That is just wrong and very disturbing.

Thanks for playing along and de-leurking yesterday! For those that didn’t, there’s still time – say hello! Fame and fortune can be yours!

I need some new tattoos. Anyone want to get inked with me? Bobbie, don’t we have a date? It’s a stress-reliever, I promise!

Okay, working now.

I fought the turbids, and barring any nasty complications involving parasites and blood transfusions, I seem to have won.

Last night I was utterly fed up with the water restrictions, so I had a bath – turbids be damned. I didn’t exactly want to look at the water, especially if it had that pee-like tinge to it, so I used an excessive amount of bubble bath to hide any nasty things that might be lurking below. I soaked and relaxed and said “OW OW OW” a lot due to the series of really nasty self-inflicted scratches on my right leg that I’m starting to fear are becoming infected. The hot water and floating turbids really irritated the scratches, but other than that the bath was very nice. I might even do it again tonight. I am totally living on the edge.

Every once in a while I climb down from my Soapbox of Musical Snobbery and dabble in the things commoners listen to. Usually I can, to some level, appreciate the catchiness and angst-free beats of some of the more commercially viable songs. I’ve been known to listen to some truly awful music (all in the name of irony, of course) and privately shake my booty to pop songs that, officially, I am far too cool to ever listen to.

Lately, I’ve been guilty of listening to some of Fergie’s solo stuff. I was briefly intrigued by the sheer audacity of her shiny packaged street cred, but then started to “enjoy” the songs when taken with a smirk and a wiggle. Then I heard the title track from her album, “Fergalicious”.

Throughout the song, the Black Eyed Peas dude is spelling things in the background rhythmically. One of the things he’s spelling is “delicious”, which I can appreciate for obvious reasons. The other word he’s spelling is “tasty”.

Except he spells it “t-a-s-t-e-y”.

This fills me with rage, so very much rage. I turned to the internet for an explanation for this glaring and horrible lapse in basic grade 3 English skills, but I found only this quote:

will.i.am is repeatedly misspelling tasty t-a-s-t-e-y in order to, according to Fergie, “keep it stupid”.

Oh. Oh, oh no. Given the amount of rage I fly into when faced with wandering apostrophes and misused quotation marks, intentional spelling errors make me feel as though someone has punched me in the box repeatedly and without mercy. It hurts. A lot.

This song is everything that is wrong with America today.