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the thankful post

I read Camie over at Wild Spirit all the time (favorite blog alert)…

…and one of my favorite things that she does is her happy list posts. Things that make her happy on a day to day basis, which is something I don’t do enough in my life — acknowledging how good I have it. So, in honor of the amount of turkey and potatoes and pie I’ll be eating tomorrow, I decided to put together

.a thankful list.

Because I am really, really, thankful for a lot of crap.

1. the Boowho gives me a reason, everyday, to keep going, to be a better person, to be the best person I can be for him, for his life.

Tada, it's a giant hole.

2. Coffee, and the Keurig machine that my mother donated to my office so I won’t spend as much on coffee.

3. Singing. Singing with my Dad. Snapchatting Car-aoke to GoldDust and Poof. My out of tune guitar. Music of all sorts.

Concert Singing with the Paternal

Concert Singing with the Paternal

4. the amazing, astounding, irreplaceable group of ladies: Alto, CoSi, FunSized, GoldDust, Poof, and SoccerGirlfor being the best supporting, texting, BFFing, shopping, coffee-ing, snapchatting group of girls I have the privilege to know and love.

All dressed up

5. Writing. Journals and blogs and letters and tweets and everything that gets me out of my head and onto something that listens and responds and accepts.

6. Photos, cameras, snapchat, and the DSLR my sister gave me that I don’t know how to use, and the giant arsenal of memories that I have because of all those things. Mainly the memories, because of all the other things on the list. But it’s nice to have a tangible memory too.

7. That family group of peoplethat I appreciate more and more the older I get — how lucky I am to have a loving, weird, dysfunctioning functional family.

8. Soccer. I don’t even care anymore that I’m not really that good, and probably definitely never will be. I have fun playing, and I have amazing friends that have come out of this team and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

9. this $1 zit stuff that actually really works. It’s make up of some sort. It kind of stings. But it totally works. Yay, working! Yay, clear skin!

10. Snow, and winter, and the whole, yay, magical season. I should be like this year round – more appreciative and thankful for everything around me. I really should, and I mean to be. But ugh, you guys. The snow falls, and it’s all magical and beautiful and shiny and I don’t even mind  that I live in Michigan and everyone, and I mean everyone drives like a chatchnugget. DON’T EVEN MIND. Michigan, you’re gorgeous.


On that note. Here’s to an excellent and overstuffed Thanksgiving tomorrow, for whoever and however everyone is celebrating.

Oh. But.

-1. Christmas Music. I am not thankful for Christmas music until after Thanksgiving is over.


It’s not me, it’s you (you being people involved customer service that aren’t really nice at all).

My least favorite part of the holidays is that everyone in the service industry just decides to fall off the holiday bandwagon. With so many people flooding the stores with issues about this/that/the other thing, part of me understands…after all, I was a retail whore for years. But, even though I hated ALL OF YOU, I still attempted to at the very least, because that’s what you should do, and being an asshole isn’t really going to help anyone out.

Tis the season to NOT work retail.


My father called me last week from his cell phone, which he really only uses for e-baying clocks and playing sudoku.

Me: Hey Dad.

Dad (in a very “Mom-like” voice): Hey Bunso.

Me: …Mom?

It was a little like the scene in Zoolander where Zoolander thinks God must be calling.


My mother had, unbeknownst to me, taken my father’s phone when hers bit the dust. She was the proud owner of a very nice HTC EVO. That is, until the thing decided to die, quickly. She took it to a Sprint store for a solution, and they sent her on her way with a new battery. That lasted for a week or so. Until the battery started dying again — and then just wouldn’t turn on at all.

She headed to the store AGAIN and told them what was happening — and again, they just told her it was the battery, everything was fine. Not only that, she complained to me later, the store employees had been ridiculously rude and condescending to her.

Did you lower the brightness of the screen?

Did you change the battery?

Did you charge the phone?

Did you push the “on” button?

I told her that I’d go to the store with her, because I’ve been the grumpy customer service person having to deal with everyone’s problems (Hats off to Macy’s for two years, Forever 21 for a year, and Meijer for a year. Oh, and American Eagle. I worked there too.), and I feel like I can try and relate. Especially at the holidays, since I understand that people (the customers) can suck to deal with. But given that the situation was not my mother’s fault, and given that I’ve dealt with the pleasant cell phone people before, I figured I could possibly help. PLUS, there is always the possibility  I can always bitch someone’s head off for being an asshat to my mother.

Case in point:

When Boo was born, as a proud new mother, I took zillions upon zillions of pictures of his little baby face, and toes, and when he opened one eye the one time, and when he was TOTALLY smiling even though it may have just been gas…and I texted all these photos to people all over the place.

Apparently, I texted thousands of dollars of baby-gas-induced-smiles.

Me: We just received a bill for ridiculously large amount of money that isn’t correct at all.

Representative: Mmhm. And what was your question?

Me: It’s not a question. That’s not right.

Rep: Well, I’m looking at your account, and it looks like the bulk of your current bill is from internet charges.

Me: We don’t use the internet on our phones.*

Rep: Well, it looks like you used internet connections to send photos.

Me: No, we have unlimited text and picture messages.

Rep: Yes, but the photos actually were sent using an internet connection, not messaging, so there was an extra charge for every photo you sent.

Me: For. Every. Photo?

Rep: Yes, for [abnormally large amount of money].

Me: We weren’t aware that it was send through the internet. We pay for unlimited picture messaging.

Rep: Well, sometimes we use the internet connection to send the pictures because they are larger files to send.

Me: Then why would you have offered us unlimited picture messages?!

Rep: I’m sorry if you’re displeased with our service, if you like, I can connect you with a customer service survey to relay this.

According to this “customer service” representative, we had “misunderstood” their policies — that unlimited picture messaging did not mean unlimited picture messaging. It meant “words free, picture extra.” Then, by three different customer representatives, I was told that it was our fault for thinking that unlimited actually means unlimited.

After some odd hours on the phone, they finally reversed the charges, but not after being complete jerk-offs to me — and blaming me for not understanding “[our] definition of unlimited.” That’s a direct quote, by the way.

Maybe it’s just that all these cell phone companies are exactly the same and completely rude to, and disrespectful of, their customers. Maybe they’re just that unhappy with their lives, so they’re taking it out on us. 

After all, tis the season to be a customer service asshat.




Winter, snow, and other things that are coming.

I drove to Target yesterday to pick up some food and things for the office. Coffee creamer, chicken pot pie, random stickers from the dollar know.

I was driving through the parking lot, enjoying the end of the nice days, sunglasses on, windows down. Right as I was about to park, a car pulled out in one those really nice spots that make you feel really important and incredibly lazy.

“Rockstar parking,” I thought to myself. “Score. Lucky day. Winning. Etc.”

I was about to pull in when I saw another car. Creeping and the like. 

I knew he saw me. The spot too.

We were about the same distance away. We met eyes and it was just like a scene out of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

“You can’t have my spot, you yellow banana car’d man,” I said to myself. “I saw it first.”

Cue tumbleweed.

But then, the nice man in the yellow banana car smiled at me, holstered his imaginary shot gun, and mentioned to me to take the spot.

I parked and walked into the store. I was perusing the dollar section when Banana car man came up to me.

“Hey,” he says.

“Oh hey,” I respond. “Thanks for the spot.”

He grins at me. “No problem. Just so you know, in a month, I’ll run you over to get that spot.”

That reminded me. This is the last week of calm driving and normal traffic. The last of normal people not high strung from holiday music, stress, cocoa, and shopping deals. The last of polite lines in Target and not having to wait a half hour to buy a gallon of milk. The last of the rockstar parking.

And that’s about when I decided to do my holiday shopping online.



17 days to figure out how not to be alone.

Well, the month is winding down, kids. It’s been exciting. You’ve been reading [and not commenting a lot, but I won’t judge] and I love you all for that. Has 2k12 been good to you so far? Yes? Well, get ready to get bumblefucked if it has.

In seventeen days, the hallmark gods take over. They send flowers that I’m possibly allergic to, and chocolate that I’ll probably get zits from, and cards that will give me papercuts.

Yes, kids. It’s time for Valentine’s Day.

My goal for the holiday? Survive. Actually, my goal is this:

Yes, I would like to go a hockey game with my BFF and a bunch of men.

NeighborGirl and I entered the contest with a great speech about how the only red we want to see is blood on the ice. It’s touching how much I love hockey.

Now, in case this epic matching making game of hockey proportions doesn’t work out, and I end up spending Valentine’s day with a bottle of chocolate w[h]ine, or if YOU end up spending Valentine’s day with said bottle of chocolate wine, I have a cure.

Dating Woes of the VS.

Who loves my sister? Besides me, of course. Well, you will, after this.

Date 1

“This man,” VS tells me. “He was just so depressing. He was full of sadness. I don’t want to date him anymore because he just makes you feel terrible. He radiates sadness.”

“That’s so sad,” I say. “Why did you date him in the first place?”

“His online profile didn’t seem so sad.” She shrugs. “In fact, nowhere in his profile did it say that he was Droopy.”

Radiating Sadness

Date 2

“I hate those guys. You know, the ones that just have to control everything?”

“Alpha males?” I guess.

“Exactly. He ordered my food for me. As if I wasn’t capable of doing so.” She’s scoffing at the memory.

“Did he know what you wanted?” I ask. “Oh, no, did he order you meat?” *VS is a vegetarian.

“No, but that’s not the point. I can order for myself. I know how to order food.”

She does, in fact, know how to order food.

“Later, he kissed me, and he grabbed the back of my neck.” VS sounds horrified at the memory. “It was like he was saying he was going to kiss me now and I didn’t have a choice.”

The Ultimate Alpha Male

Date 3

“I didn’t think he was so old.” VS ponders over her initial reaction to the man. “He didn’t act old at all. He’s at the same place in life that I am.”

“How old did you think he was?” I ask.

“Maybe his early 30s?” VS guesses. She’s 26, by the way.

“How old is he really?”

“Well, you know how there are like stages of life that you go through? I feel like at my age, this is what you should be doing. Grad school, good job, something like that. So I just figured that’s where he was at.”

“He’s your age?” I’m confused now.

“…He’s 39.”

“But you said he was at your stage of life.”

She sighs. “It’s like he just took some time off, then came back to life, and got back to it.”


“He’s like Rip Van Winkle.”

“I hope you know,” I tell her. “That I will be blogging this. And after the part about Rip Van Winkle, there will be a picture of Wishbone as Rip Van Winkle.”

What's the story, Wishbone?

17 days, kids. As Queen puts it, “Can anybody find me somebody to love?”

Oh, and just in case you don’t find somebody:

“I’m going out with some girls for Valentine’s Day.” VS tells me.

“That’s always so depressing,” I lament.

“No, it’s empowering,” VS argues.

“Oh yes,” I say. “A toast to our empty vaginas!”

VS shrugs this off. “We’ll put chocolate in them.”

Happy Hunting, Valentines.