yule yarg
Today is the last day that I physically have to be in the office until January 8th. I "work from home" (picture air quotes on purpose) tomorrow, which really means I will be logged into the network and will periodically check for new e-mails or IM's, but really I'm going to be cooking, waiting for the FedEx guy to deliver the lobsters (de liver de lobsters de sooner de better de later de lobsters de madder I getter!), and wrapping presents. All without getting dressed. Because that's just how I roll. Then I'm on vacation for two glorious weeks. Weeks which will be filled with, well, glory. At least, they better be.
Yesterday was a Very Bad Day. I was Stressy McStresserson at work and had to work until 6:00 when all I wanted to do was get busy on the stuff piling up to be done at HOME. Calvin was not having a good day either, so what prompted him to go Christmas shopping for me at the MALL at 5:00 on the Wednesday before Christmas is beyond me. He rode off on his motorcycle while I was on a teleconference (having come home in time to take it in my jammies). I finished up and was in the process of making Walnut Chews in the kitchen when he came exploding back into the house. And I do mean EXPLODING.
While trying to pay for my gift, his card was declined at the counter -- in front of everybody. Now, nobody enjoys this particular experience, but for Calvin it's just about the worst, most embarrassing thing that can possibly happen. The card was declined because the bank detected fraudulent charges against his debit card number, so they shut off the card. Without informing us.
How rude. I mean, I appreciate them putting the brakes on after a whole three dollars and seventy-four cents got charged against our account from someplace in Maryland. But they could have at least called us to let us know. Especially since its, you know, Christmas, and the use of our primary method of, you know, paying for shit, should be, you know, accessible.
So Calvin comes busting into the kitchen, grabs the phone and dials up the bank. He gets the automated "press or say x" fuckbot nonsense that for some reason automated telephone system developers think actually makes things easier. More convenient. Faster. Except that all of that? Not.
He goes through several machinations, loud repeats, and cursing which confuses the automated phone fuckbot. He finally gets a representative. Who tells him to repeat all of the information that he already told the fuckbot. What followed was not pretty. Calvin kind of went off on the customer service chickie. Or maybe it was a guy? I'm not sure. When he was asked to confirm a bunch of charges and continue to repeat himself, he said, "This is bullshit."
The customer service chickie hung up on him. Calvin held the phone away from his ear, looked at it, looked at me. He turned red. He turned white. He started breathing in huge heaves. I could hear the dial tone from where I was standing on the opposite end of the kitchen.
Calvin very, very carefully put the phone down on the receiver. He turned around, walked across to the patio door, and exited the building. I have no idea what he did out there in the back yard to calm down, but five minutes later he came back in. Breathing normally.
Duuuuuuuude. I thought his head was going to pop right off his shoulders.
We have both decided that we hate Christmas, more and more with every year that goes by. This whole year has been a pisser, and we feel like we're just going through the motions of the holidays for the kids, who take turns between being deserving and being not particularly so. Next year we are going to be COMPLETELY OUT OF THE STATE when December 25th rolls around.
Fuck this noise.
Yesterday was a Very Bad Day. I was Stressy McStresserson at work and had to work until 6:00 when all I wanted to do was get busy on the stuff piling up to be done at HOME. Calvin was not having a good day either, so what prompted him to go Christmas shopping for me at the MALL at 5:00 on the Wednesday before Christmas is beyond me. He rode off on his motorcycle while I was on a teleconference (having come home in time to take it in my jammies). I finished up and was in the process of making Walnut Chews in the kitchen when he came exploding back into the house. And I do mean EXPLODING.
While trying to pay for my gift, his card was declined at the counter -- in front of everybody. Now, nobody enjoys this particular experience, but for Calvin it's just about the worst, most embarrassing thing that can possibly happen. The card was declined because the bank detected fraudulent charges against his debit card number, so they shut off the card. Without informing us.
How rude. I mean, I appreciate them putting the brakes on after a whole three dollars and seventy-four cents got charged against our account from someplace in Maryland. But they could have at least called us to let us know. Especially since its, you know, Christmas, and the use of our primary method of, you know, paying for shit, should be, you know, accessible.
So Calvin comes busting into the kitchen, grabs the phone and dials up the bank. He gets the automated "press or say x" fuckbot nonsense that for some reason automated telephone system developers think actually makes things easier. More convenient. Faster. Except that all of that? Not.
He goes through several machinations, loud repeats, and cursing which confuses the automated phone fuckbot. He finally gets a representative. Who tells him to repeat all of the information that he already told the fuckbot. What followed was not pretty. Calvin kind of went off on the customer service chickie. Or maybe it was a guy? I'm not sure. When he was asked to confirm a bunch of charges and continue to repeat himself, he said, "This is bullshit."
The customer service chickie hung up on him. Calvin held the phone away from his ear, looked at it, looked at me. He turned red. He turned white. He started breathing in huge heaves. I could hear the dial tone from where I was standing on the opposite end of the kitchen.
Calvin very, very carefully put the phone down on the receiver. He turned around, walked across to the patio door, and exited the building. I have no idea what he did out there in the back yard to calm down, but five minutes later he came back in. Breathing normally.
Duuuuuuuude. I thought his head was going to pop right off his shoulders.
We have both decided that we hate Christmas, more and more with every year that goes by. This whole year has been a pisser, and we feel like we're just going through the motions of the holidays for the kids, who take turns between being deserving and being not particularly so. Next year we are going to be COMPLETELY OUT OF THE STATE when December 25th rolls around.
Fuck this noise.
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