NaBloPoMo 11.27 - Twitter

I love me some Twitter!

Twitter is active 24/7. It's perfect for those nights I'm waiting for Sleep to arrive. I can scroll through messages from news organizations, movie stars, musicians and random people from around the world. How cool is that?!

I joined Twitter a couple of years ago because, well, everyone was doing it. Twitter was the new 'thing' and I just had to be there. Of course, I had no idea WTH I was doing. Realizing that this was no place for the mundane Facebook status updates, I asked a lot of questions. People were cool, helping me learn the lingo and rules. Finding people to follow was easy - I followed people because I liked a tweet (message) or the person lived nearby or because other people were following (read: lemming) or they're people I know in real life (IRL). Recently, I looked at my following list and thought "Why am I following this person?"

As much as I love Twitter, I am utterly bothered by RT requests. RT is Twitter 'speak' for "retweet" (read: re-post). Suppose someone you follow posts a news story, funny comment or a piece of advice you really like. By retweeting, you then share that post with all of the people who follow you. That is all fine and dandy. What bugs the crap outta me are the people who request a RT - "Hey ! Can I get a RT ?" Why does this bother me so much?

One person I follow has had quite an impact on me. His name is @BlackCanseco. I've followed hiim for quite some time and I've learned quite a bit. His posts tend to deal with race issues. And, that was part of the draw to follow him as I struggle with race and identity. I started to get into a whole thing...but I deleted it...perhaps this will be a future blog post...moving on...

Again, I've lost my train of thought - ACK!

Let's see...ok...I love Twitter :)

NaBloPoMo 11.18 - Rant: Carpool Lane

I fell into the middle of a conversation between two co-workers about riding in the carpool lane. She was raving about how great it is to speed along the 134 in the morning and at night - "Everyone else is stopped and I cruise right on by!" I asked if she carpools with her husband or with people from work. "No! It's me and the kids!" I shook my head. My other co-worker asked why I was shaking my head. I told him I think carpool lanes should be for 2 or more licensed drivers. "Carpool lanes are for two or more people! Me plus my kids. Yay!" I was a driving school instructor for four years, I'm well aware of the law. I just disagree with it.

The carpool lanes are designed to lessen traffic. If Soccer Mom zooms by with a van-full of kids, how does that help alleviate LA's gridlock? The kids are not licensed drivers. My co-worker says sometimes she sends the nanny to pick-up the kids, so that helps. Huh? How does that help - you just put another driver on the road. There was no real debate, just me stating my position and my co-working chanting "Well, the law says 2 or more...the law says 2 or more..." So, I fell out of the conversation just as quickly as I fell into it since my mindset wasn't too popular.

What are you thoughts about the carpool lane? Should pregnant women be allowed to use the carpool lane?

Dear Lane Bryant...

Santa's good.

Two days before Christmas, I received an email from Lane Bryant heralding their day after Christmas sale. Bras and jeans on sale. I made a mental note because, really, when bras are 'buy 2 get 2' I'm all over it.

Lo and behold on Christmas Day, what does little Reesie get? Gift card to Lane Bryant. Well played, Santa!

So, off to Burbank I go the day after Christmas. I know, I know. Crazy Reesie out with the other crazies at the maul mall. I got into Lane Bryant by 8 o'clock that morning. I was out of the mall parking lot by 9:15 a.m.

I was the lone crazy person shopper in the store. Kid in the candy store, money burning a hole in my pocket, I looked around, wide-eyed at all that lay before me inside Lane Bryant. Like the responsible adult I am, I tell the girl I need bras and jeans for sure and maybe something fun if there's enough leftover.

I get measured. I try on. I select. I set aside. Moving to the wall of jeans, the gal asks my size. "4 yellow tall" [Lane Bryant has this 'Right Fit' way of measuring for jeans based on your shape]. "Oh, we don't carry talls in stores anymore."

You don't carry talls in stores anymore?! Huh? Wha?

"How am I supposed to get jeans?"
"Just go online and order!" She was a bit too cheery about this.
"How will I know if the jeans are long enough?"
"You can return the jeans to the store if they don't fit."
"So...I have to BUY jeans, WAIT 4-8 business days to get them, then TRY THEM ON?"
"Yes!"
"No!"

I have to buy jeans that may or may not fit, wait for them to arrive, then return if they don't. That just doesn't seem right. And, I tell the girl. Sorry for her. Why can't I go into the store and try them on, ensure they fit, then purchase? I was livid. The sales gal had me try on 'average' size jeans "for the fit" and then guessed how long the talls would be. Ai yi yi! A lot of stores increase the rise of the jeans and call them tall. Uh, my legs are long. I need length!

Later that night, I found Lane Bryant on Twitter (@lanebryant). Dear @lanebryant, Why did you take tall jeans and pants out of your stores?! I got a DM (direct message) saying all I had to do was order online.

Dear @lanebryant, I have to BUY jeans that may or may not fit?
Yes, then return if they don't fit you. Thanks!

Are you kidding me?! What a tremendous pain! These messages went on for 3 or 4 more rounds, each with a line that has nothing to do with anything, really - have them shipped to the store! There is no demand for talls! You can easily return to a store!

I have to spend money in hopes that the jeans fit? I've shopped like that for most of my life! Many is the number of times I've been tremendously disappointed when something I adored in a catalog didn't fit. It's frustrating. It's disappointing. And it pisses me off!

NOW where am I going to find tall jeans?

*sigh*

Dr. Laura and the N-word

What is up with everyone using the N-word?!

Dr. Laura used it on her radio show...it's okay because you heard it on HBO? Oh, come ON. "Everyone else says it, so why can't I?" Ugh. Seriously? We have a black president now so it should be okay?

To me ~ doesn't matter WHO says it: Whoopi, Flav, some 15-year old black kid on the football field or some 15-year old white kid replacing "-er" with "-a" - the word is hate-based, degrading and intended to hurt.

No doubt the word is thrown around in homes, smoke-filled recording studios, amongst friends. In private. John Mayer tossed it out to a reporter of a national magazine. Dr. Laura said it several times in a short period of time to dozens(?), hundreds(?) of listeners nationwide (I don't know much about her show).

Have you ever been called that name filled with all the vile meaning and hatred intended? I have. My dad has. My mom has (she's Hawaiian!). My family has. Sticks and stones don't hurt as much as being called that name.

I know many in the music industry throw the word out there for shock value yet under the guise of "taking back the power." It's so pervasive and accepted; which is why white suburban kids don't understand why the word riles.

Don't tell me it's "just a word"...Dr. Laura said the caller had a 'chip on her shoulder' and had the fucking nerve to say "If you're hypersensitive about color and don't have a sense of humor, don't marry out of your race." Unbelievable.

2010.

I can't even get words straight in my head.

For the LAST time...

Yep, I'm tall.

No, my parents are not really tall, too.

You feel short next to me because, quite frankly, you are short.

Yeah, I bet you wish you were tall, like me.

And, I wear heels because, quite frankly, I rock the shit out of 'em.

Please. Stop. Thanks.

NaBloPoMo 7.5

I came across several blog posts and comments about compulsive hoarding. Like the impulse to pick at a scab, I read the blogs. As it turned out, most were nothing more than the hoarding entry from Wikipedia. The comments, however, were no copied paragraph. And, yeah, I read those, too.

A lot of the comments were professions of "I'm the complete opposite of a hoarder!" Quite a few were "Oh, I watch that show [Hoarders] and feel so sorry for the families that have to deal with hoarding..." Then, of course, there were the negative comments that got me all riled: "They're just lazy!" "Just throw that shit out!" "How can anyone live like that?"

Well, I am a compulsive hoarder and I am not lazy. If it were as easy as 'throwing that shit out,' I would have done it years ago! I wouldn't have agonized over four fucking handbags in the middle of my fucking apartment, wondering if I'd really get the fucking guts to send them to a friend. Yeah, this is exactly how I want to live my life! When I was a little girl, I dreamt of living in an apartment so cluttered that there would be goat paths leading to the bed, kitchen and bathroom. Yep, I imagined piles of clothes everywhere; imagined every flat space stacked with mail and magazines. My big dream of having no one visit my apartment - absolutely no one inside - has come to fruition. How many people can say their biggest dream has come true?

Hey thanks - your compassion is overfuckingwhelming.

Creative Writing Homework 04.06.10

Homework assignment - our character experiences an epiphany that alters his/her life. This didn't turn out how it was supposed to...

I've been writing my homework for three days. It's not coming. Well, that's a half-truth ~ words for my homework are not coming. Words for what's rolling in my mind are coming fast and furious. It's this damn clutter! Clutter, mess, compulsive hoarding, piles, piles, piles, mess. I've stopped making progress. I was content to sit back and accept what I had accomplished and call it done. I was content to test myself, ensure I could maintain, not undo what I had done. "I'll just lay this sweater here. I'll hang it up later/tomorrow/this weekend." That sweater was covered by this shirt and that scarf and this jacket and this sweater and these magazines and this jacket I wore because that other jacket is is somewhere in this pile. OK, hang it up. Okay - moving forward. Aw crap! Now it's wrinkled! I have to iron it/take it to the cleaners. There's a pile for that over here but it's too high, so I'll leave it in this pile so the clothes don't fall and create a mess. All the clothes are wrinkled so I'll just leave them where they are. And that's what I do. That's how I think. Twisted, right? Yeah, it is. You can say it. And, as I clear out my living space, I've noticed the weight gain. Losing protection in one area, transferring ti to another. I started to tell myself that it's focus - focus on my apartment now, focus on me later. Then I realized what I'm doing - the protection thing. The overeating is causing some minor health issues that scare the fuck outta me. Yet, I continue to overeat. Most of the time, I stop myself. But the emotions need to be quelled and food is what does it. Sadly, I can't have the final Creative Writing class at my place. I wish I could see it as a goal instead of feeling it as pressure. Then Mom called upset that I won't let her help me. She doesn't understand why I will allow my friends to help but not my own mother. Shame humiliation embarrassment. That's why she can't help.

Rant: Smooth Away

I really should not be allowed into Bed Bath & Beyond without supervision.

I hit up Burbank's BB&B to purchase one thing. Shoulda known that was impossible. All I needed was a shower caddy. Found that section and their selection, no problem. Turned around to see a pillar covered in Smooth Away boxes *and* a TV infomercial on endless loop.

Have to admit I've seen the product advertised...and wondered how 'crystals' could make hair removal instant, easy and pain free. Painless isn't exactly a term used with hair removal - whether it's waxing (physically painful) or Nair (painful frustration - and smelly, too!).

I watched the infomercial loop for several minutes, grabbed a box and checked out.

Sucker. I know.

Inside were two different sized rubber 'applicators' and several 'crystal' pads in two different colors. I prepped my skin according to the directions and used the recommended light pink crystal pad on my upper thigh. Clockwise 3 times, counter-clockwise 3 times. Repeat until hair is gone. If that didn't work (it didn't work), instructions said to switch to the dark pink, more coarse, crystal pad.

Clockwise 3 times, counter-clockwise 3 times. Repeat several times. All I got was sloughed off dead skin; not much hair removal. I admit there was some hair removal. Just not sure how it works - is hair removed by the twisting or by removing so much dead skin that the hair falls out?

I'm sticking to my razor.

it's been a long time...

Writer's block.

That's the problem. Writer's block.

I haven't blogged since April. I know! I haven't really written since April. Which, coincidentally, coincides with my last writing class. So...maybe I was just on a break.

Yeah, that's it - we were on a break.

Writing class has started again. Our first in-class assignment (15-20 minutes to write on a particular topic) was to write about something that happened to us in the 8 weeks since our last class. Below, is mine:

I turned 42. And I wasn't even traumatized. No, I'm serious! I was not traumatized.

OK...me, 3 girlfriends, birthday weekend plans ~ road trip to San Luis Obispo (SLO), wine tasting, birthday dinner, English Beat - yay! A couple of weeks...plan, plan, plan. Excitement grows. *My* plan? Fly to Sacramento on my birthday to see the English Beat (yay!), then meet the girls in SLO.

B backs out on week prior - ok, fine. D and J decide we should all drive up to SLO (3 hours) together - stop at a winery or 3, nice leisurely drive up the coast. Ok, fine. I buy a one-way ticket back to Burbank, book a hotel and watch a chunk of my birthday money go bye bye.

It's Friday, my birthday. Me. Sacramento. The English Beat. Birthday song. Birthday hugs, kisses and wishes. Birthday shots. Yay!

Fast forward to Burbank Airport - me still riding high on my birthday night festivities. I walk off the plane, through the airport, out to D's car. No J.

"Ready to go?" I ask.
"No. I'm sick. I don't want to go."
"Wha?"
"I don't feel good at all."

Silence. I only spoke to give her directions to my house. I get out of her car. I get into my car. I yell 'Fuck!' a dozen or so times. Then, I cry. Do I go? Do I not go? Fuck! Fuck it. I'm going!

Before I can stop crying, a call comes through: a problem at the hotel in SLO with the suite I booked. The sweet girl at the Marriott - so apologetic - can we move you to another room? Sobbing, I said "Put me in a tub witha pillow and blanket - I don't care! It's my birthday weekend and all my friends just bailed on me." ::sniffle:: She stammered. "No, we have a room for you..." ::sniffle:: Ok, fine.

On the 101, I blast Rage Against the Machine for over an hour, yelling, screaming, raging. Then, I was done. By the time I hit the hotel, my makeup was smeared, my hair was indescribable and I wanted a bed.

When I gave the gal my name, she let out a little gasp. Then, her manager stepped forward - do you have plans tonight? Well...nooo...since my friends bailed, I need to find a place for dinner, then I'm going to the Downtown Brewing Company. "We would like to treat you to dinner - here's a $50 voucher to our hotel's restaurant. Happy Birthday! Enjoy!"

And, I did!

how much aluminum foil does it take to wrap a plus-size chick?

A lot. Listen up, Shoppers/Buyers for stores: Big girls have a tough enough time finding clothes that cover our arms or give us a (illusion of) waist or that look somewhat trendy. We do not need aluminum foil masquerading as a shiny party dress.

AND this atrocity party dress is at Nordstrom.com :::shiver:::

DWB

It's 5:45 p.m. on a weekday evening. As the Honda Accord pulls out of the apartment complex driveway, the driver notices the police car parked on the side. The driver goes through four STOP signs then sees the police lights in his rear-view mirror. He pulls over and places his hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel.

Is something wrong officer?

License, registration and insurance.

I am taking my hands off the wheel to unhook my seatbelt. :::unhooks seat belt, hands back at 10 and 2::: I am taking my hands off the wheel to reach into the glove compartment for my information.

Where do you live?

Riverside.

What are you doing in Pomona?

I go to school at Cal Poly.

Why are you in Pomona?

I live here while I go to school.

Who owns the car?

My mom.

If I call this lady, she'll say 'Yes my son has this car?' If I call this lady, she'll know you have this car?

Yes, sir.

After 15 minutes, the officer comes back, returns the cards to the driver.

You were pulled over because one of the bulbs in the lights over your license plate is out. Have a good evening.

The driver is my nephew. This is the second time he's been pulled over in his 23 years. It is also the second time he's been pulled over and given the same reason "light bulb burned out over license plate." Both times he's been alone. The first time, he was pulled over by three cop cars and made to get out of the car, spread-eagled against the hood, then made to sit on the curb with his hands behind his back while four police officers went through his car and trunk and all things in them. He was scared to death, even after they officers told him to go home.

Oh yeah - no burned out light bulb.

Me. Last night. Yay!

Little Dragon, Take and Anomie Bell ~ 11/21/08 @ the Roxy

I'm just putting this out there now: I am in love love love with Yukimi Nagano of Little Dragon! She is totally adorable.

Moving on...

Last night's Little Dragon show at the Roxy in West Hollywood was great. DJ Jason Bentley wasn't there. Boo! However, his replacement, DJ Take? Rocked it out! Yay! He's got mad mix skills and his original beats had everyone movin' 'round the floor. I was quite impressed ~ check him out on myspace!

The opening act was Anomie Belle. Meh. Her musicianship (keys, violin, MacBook) was impressive, no doubt. I just wasn't impressed by her vocals. Now, her vocals mixed with her two background singers was somewhat melodic. Their vocals were much stronger. Anomie Belle is totally adorable and looked genuinely touched when she received audience applause; I just wasn't digging her scene.

Little Dragon. Damn. I was groovin' all night! And am paying for it dearly today. God bless Aleve. Their show is like watching a jam session or band rehearsal...Yukimi plays a lot to the band; which was irksome at first, but it's a mutual admiration society, so I was ultimately okay with it. The sly looks between her and the keyboardist had me thinking maybe there's a little somethin somethin going on there...

Yukimi has strong vocals and dances around like a mad woman on stage. She even put her shoes on, jumped off stage and danced through the audience. I think she was strongest on 'After the Rain' and 'Wink' - both of which had the audience singing along. My absolute favorite of the night was the 'Constant Surprises' encore - everyone was singing along. They ended with this jam of drums, drum machines, keys, bass and percussion that was stellar. I really wanted it to go on and on and on and on...

I'm seriously considering checking 'em out Tuesday night in Orange County...they were *that* good!

Incident at Four Points Sheraton Northeast Philadelphia

The Incident:

I needed a shirt pressed for Lys' bday party. According to the dry cleaning form in the room, same-day service is available if items are left by 8:00 a.m., Monday-Friday. Cool. Done.

I handed the dry cleaning bag to Todd when we left for dinner Thursday night.

On Friday evening - about 6 o'clock - I stopped at the desk to pick up my shirt. The girl, Anita came back empty-handed.

We don't have it.
You're kidding me, right?
No. We don't have it.

I stand there, hands in my hair, as Anita and Todd look in the back room.

No, it's not here.

She stands, looking at me. I walk away, thoroughly pissed. In that state, I can't talk; I have to walk away. In my room, I'm pacing - is it lost? Has the dry cleaning company just not come by to drop off stuff yet? Did the dry cleaning company simply forget and they're coming back? What the hell am I going to wear to the party?! I grabbed the other dry cleaning form, reading their liability statement - something about six times the value of the service. I don't know. I went back downstairs.

At the desk, waiting to be helped, Anita says "We found your shirt - the bag fell behind boxes." She goes into the back room and presents me with a bag. The same bag in which I dropped off my shirt. It never went out! Grr!

And that was it. She said nothing. No apology. No explanation. No other options offered. Nothing. Ohhh, I was seething. Again, I just had to walk away.

Later that night, I told my tale to the manager on duty. He apologized on her behalf and offered me complimentary breakfast (which I declined).

On Saturday, I was still bothered by the incident. Well, bothered by her lack of customer service in comparison to the customer service received from the other hotel staff. Todd even approached me earlier in the day, asking if my shirt had been cleaned and offered up apologies for it not being handled. And that was a day later! Anyway, still bothered, I wrote a letter to Mike Moran, the General Manager. Not sure if he'll get it; and, if so, not sure anything will be addressed.

Overall, if you have business that takes you to Northeast Philadelphia, I cannot recommend the Four Points Sheraton. Which is really too bad. (read this post for the nice things I said about the hotel)

**UPDATE 11.13.08**

I called this morning and talked w/the new GM, Tom Murray. Apparently, Mike Moran was 'interim' GM; Tom started with the Four Points on Monday. The letter was no where to be found. Surprise, surprise. I told him what happened. He apologized (of course) and said her behavior is unacceptable. It was ironic that I called with this story because he's having a staff meeting today and it's going on his agenda; as well as talking with Anita directly. He asked me what would rectify the situation. Told him I don't want anything as it wasn't like the shirt was lost or ruined or anything; I just wanted to know that someone heard me, that the person involved would be talked to and that customer service is discussed with the staff. Done, he said. And, if I ever have the occasion to come back to the property to please call him directly and he'd help me out. Appreciated.

Sigh

California's Prop H8 + Keith Olbermann

Keith Olbermann @ MSNBC comments on Proposition 8, gay marriage, love + more.

1. viewerservices@msnbc.com
2. letters@msnbc.com
3. countdown@msnbc.com

Four Points Sheraton Northeast

Four Points Sheraton Northeast
9461 Roosevelt Boulevard
Philadelphia PA 19114

*Sigh*

My stay here was okay. There are several things I like about the Four Points Sheraton Northeast; however, one incident overshadowed my 3-night stay.

Let's hit the YAYs:

• the room ~ quite spacious for a 2Q room, I was pleasantly surprised. Flat screen TV, lots of pillows, closet but no dresser/drawers.
• the bathroom ~ nice, perfect for one. The decor reminded me of Bath & Body Works. I liked the basket of towels, though the towel rack was located under the sink making it difficult to actually dry your towels. The shower head was high, God bless you Four Points Sheraton and your overhaul!
• Henrietta and Todd ~ Henrietta checked me into the hotel. She's lovely - excellent customer service, knowledgeable, friendly. Todd - the only one who asked about the 'incident' and the only one involved who offered an apology.

Let's hit the BOOs:

• the location ~ far, far away. I now know not to stay out that way if everything I'm doing is in the City.
• the business center ~ one computer. In the bar area. Better than nothing; but when the term 'business center' is used, a totally different picture is painted.
• the kids in the hall ~ there were 300 kids in the room next to mine. They were running up and down the hall, yelling like it was a school hall or something. I was annoyed when they were yelling at 2:00 a.m. I didn't call down to the desk or report anything. My bad. Truly.

The Incident:

I needed a shirt pressed for Lys' bday party. According to the dry cleaning form in the room, same-day service is available if items are left by 8:00 a.m., Monday-Friday. Cool. Done.

I handed the dry cleaning bag to Todd when we left for dinner Thursday night.

On Friday evening - about 6 o'clock - I stopped at the desk to pick up my shirt. The girl, "A" came back empty-handed.

We don't have it.
You're kidding me, right?
No. We don't have it.

I stand there, hands in my hair, as A and Todd look in the back room.

No, it's not here.

I walk away, thoroughly pissed. In that state, I can't talk; I have to walk away. In my room, I'm pacing - is it lost? Has the dry cleaning company just not come by to drop off stuff yet? Did the dry cleaning company simply forget and they're coming back? What the hell am I going to wear to the party?! I grabbed the other dry cleaning form, reading their liability statement - something about six times the value of the service. I don't know. I went back downstairs.

At the desk, waiting to be helped, "A" says "We found your shirt - the bag fell behind boxes." She goes into the back room and presents me with a bag. The same bag in which I dropped off my shirt. It never went out! Grr!

And that was it. She said nothing. No apology. No explanation. No other options offered. Nothing. Ohhh, I was seething. Again, I just had to walk away.

Later that night, I told my tale to the manager on duty. He apologized on her behalf and offered me complimentary breakfast (which I declined).

On Saturday, I was still bothered by the incident. Well, bothered by her lack of customer service in comparison to the customer service received from the other hotel staff. Todd even approached me, asked if my shirt had been cleaned and offered up apologies for it not being handled. And that was a day later! Anyway, still bothered, I wrote a letter to the General Manager. Not sure if he'll get it; and, if so, not sure anything will be addressed.

Overall, if you have business that takes you to Northeast Philadelphia, I cannot fully recommend the Four Points Sheraton. Which is really too bad.

Can he really do this?! WTH?!

originally posted by beatgirl 10/28/08

- unbelieveable -

I cannot believe what I witnessed today...

I was at the downtown [Portland OR] Rite-Aid, standing in line at the pharmacy.
There were two girls in front of me and one was picking up her prescription.
I over heard the cashier say "Your prescription is ready but you wont be able to pick it up today. You will have to wait until tomorrow"

The girl was confused...as was I over hearing this.

The girl said "If my prescription is ready, why cant I pick it up? I need it today. "

She was a little frantic.

She said to the cashier "Its Plan B. I cant wait until tomorrow. Whats the problem?"

The pharmacist approached the counter and said "I have your prescription. I will not dispense it to you because it is against my religious beliefs. There will be another pharmacist working tomorrow. You can pick it up then."

My jaw hit the floor

Who the fuck is this guy? Who is he to impose his personal beliefs on customers? What if this girl was raped? Who the fuck cares what the reason she needed it for...who the hell does he think he is? Besides in the wrong profession.

The girl turned to me with a shocked look on her face and said "Can he do that?"

I said "I dont think so" I then gave her directions to another pharmacy in the area.

I proceeded (along with several of my girlfriends) to call the Rite Aid corporate offices and complain.

They were mortified. They said they would contact the store and find out what happened.

We then received a call from the pharmacy manager of the downtown store. She said that although she apologises for me overhearing the conversation that should have been more confidential, that the pharmacist has the choice of whether to dispense medication based on his beliefs.

WTF????

I went off on the manager for awhile and then told her that I will never step foot in Rite-Aid again.

And I wont.

This is not over.

~ Can he really do this?? I am stunned. I need to google this...

Mean Girls ~ they're not just for high school anymore

90% of the time, I consider myself a confident person. I stand up for myself, defend my opinions, put myself out there to meet new people and am the first to laugh at myself. Last night, however, I was thrust back to high school and those insecure and inferior feelings washed over me.

Dinner with friends - easy enough. Making the last-minute decision to run home to change clothes would make me late. Not "L.A. time" late, but late nonetheless. Faded jeans, grey sweater over white tank top and black chunky heel loafer shoes - nothing fancy, casual, perfectly fine for drinks and dinner. Or so I thought.

I arrive, greet the girls. Looking fabulous, I admire key pieces ~ Great bag! The patent shoes are tres chic! Those boots are reason enough to have The Surgery!

You didn't have to get so dressed up for us. Looking me up and down.

These are my best faded jeans, I said with a laugh. And I remembered to match my shoes to my bag.

It's no wonder you don't date, Reese. You don't take your appearance seriously. Blink.

Clinton and Stacy wouldn't ambush me on Ventura Boulevard.

They would certainly stop and think twice.

The 'Bash Reese' portion of the show continued for 20 minutes ~ my appearance, my dating record, why I'm not going to the gym, why I stopped wearing contact lenses, my body language. I felt smaller and smaller with every word. I don't know where my confidence was hiding...smaller and smaller, sadder and sadder, feeling more and more like my 15 year old self than the actual 41.

And, tears fell. Not rushing, blubbering, splatter my glasses crying. The welling, the filling and a couple falling.

And, you always wear heels. I don't get that. Men are intimidated by tall women. You know that - you hardly date tall men.

I couldn't retort. I couldn't say anything. I wanted to laugh it all off. I really did! But the words just hit...the sting, the venom, the hurt. I didn't get it, didn't understand where it came from. Didn't understand why I was having dinner with the Mean Girls. And I was completely baffled why I was so affected. I'd had such a great day! The 15 year old self was so beat down by it all...but 41 showed up just in time to save her.

I stood, said thank you, grabbed my faux Marc Jacobs and left. I shook and cried out the door, down the street, in the car and all the way home.

This morning, I have two voicemails, several text messages and a raging headache.

The thing that sticks with me is how easily I was affected.

It's been seven hours and fifteen days...

OK. Maybe not quite that long. But, long enough!

I haven't had internet service at home for ten day. TEN DAYS! That's like...an...era or something. Good grief I'm going crazy! It is truly debilitating (okay, a bit Debbie Dramatic, but I'm making a point here, people). I'm in my office typing this...

Started with my modem going belly-up on 9/24. The telephone tech came out, checked my outside phone line and pronounced everything "A-OK!" (Verbatim. Seriously.) He wasn't able to hear my DSL line or any static, so he ordered me a new modem ~ covered under warranty, thankyouverymuch.

Modem arrives on 9/29. Great! Hook it up. Great! DSL light is green. Great! Ethernet cable light off. Not great! I flip the cord, make sure everything is in its place, connect the power. DSL light is green. Great! Ethernet cable light off. Not great! Grrr. I try mixing the cables from the original modem with the new modem. Nothing. Fine. I leave it alone.

On 10/1, I call AT&T DSL customer service. I go through the whole rigamarole with the dude - checking the connections, switching the cables, rebooting. I even endure the "Are you sure your power cord is plugged in?" nonsense. Finally, the dude says "You have a defective modem." What?! Are you kidding me with that?! Defective you say?? Huh. The dude orders me a modem to be overnighted to my home. I kindly request a new modem, not a refurbished one. "We do not send out refurbished modems, ma'am." "Huh. Then maybe you shouldn't print the word 'refurbished' on the invoice in bold capital letters." Just saying.

Not home Thursday. Get home Friday - no modem. Surprise, surprise. I call the DSL customer service line again. Go through the whole rigamarole with Louie, who transfers me to Justin, who makes me go through the whole rigamarole with him twice. "Justin. I just want a new modem please. I've been through this. The cables, the lights, the this, the that. I just want a new modem. How is a girl supposed to set her Fantasy Football team without the internet?" This got Justin's attention, so we talked FF for a minute. Then. Ohhhh, then..."Ma'am, we can send you a new modem but you'll have to extend your internet service agreement for one year, okay?" I laughed. I did! I laughed. "Justin. You looked at the notes, read that a new modem was supposed to be sent two days ago. YOU told me the order wasn't placed. NOW you want me to tack on an additional year to my service plan - by the way, I have no service - so I can get a modem to give me service? You might want to rethink that situation."

So, I'll have a new modem "by Tuesday at the latest."

I also called Billing. Joshua was lovely. He credited back one month's service fee, bundled my phone service options so that I save $35/month and made sure my account was noted with the 'order new modem/send new modem' comments. I like Joshua, he's nice.

In the meantime, I can check email on my cell phone but can't reply. I can send tweets via text, but can only read direct Twitter messages. And, I can check football scores but can't check my fantasy league status.

Oh dear Internet...like Robin Thicke sings: I'm lost without you.

the best laid plans...

The plan was simple: get up early, work on the apartment, go into the office for a few hours, drive down to Solana Beach for the English Beat show.

Uh, yeah. Not so much.

Finished with stuff at home, I was ready to head to the bank then the office. However, my car wasn't cooperating - dead battery. Sigh

Call AAA.
Wait 25 minutes.
"Yep, you need new battery."
"OK, fine."
"How will you pay?"
"How much is it?"
"Only $125."
"MasterCard."

Out $125 but the proud owner of a new battery, I drive over to the credit union near the studio. Mind you, this is 2 freeways and several city blocks from my place. Do my banking. Back in car. Car starts quickly; however it stalls.

Hmm.

Start.
Stall.
Start.
Stall.

WHAT THE CRAP?!

Fine. Get AAA back on the phone - "Yeah, not sure what happened; just got new battery less than 30 minutes ago and my car is stalling." Grrr!

About 25 minutes later, another AAA battery truck shows up.

"Blah blah blah, computer something, I'll call a tow truck, blah blah blah, I know a good mechanic."
"Thanks, just take me to the dealership on Lankershim." He was appalled. Visibly.
"The dealership? Why? I hear they rip you off." Yeah, I'll bet you 'hear' that.
"The dealership knows my car. I know them. It's fine."
"You don't have a mechanic?"
I mention the name of a female mechanic who is well-known in the Valley. Again with the visibly appalled thing.
"Well, I know a really good place right there on Cahuenga..."
"The dealership is fine. Thanks." He walks away.

40 minutes later, the tow truck shows up. Right out of the gate he's on me about mechanic versus dealership; full-court press! I walked away.

"The dealership costs an arm and a leg. I know a really good guy..."
"Just take me to the dealership please. Thank you."
"You know they take advantage of women. I had a lady right before you who paid $6,000 for a new engine at the dealership. My guy would only charged $3,000. Dealership charges women more."
"It's a good thing I don't need a new engine."
"Are you su..."
"Look - I may not know a lot about cars, but I do know what I want. I want you to take me to the dealership. Thank you."

It was a long and silent ten minute drive. Until we made the turn into the driveway.

"Here's my card. Find out how much it costs, then call me. My guy will do it for half and I will tow you for free." He must get a good kickback from his guy...

Two hours and $99 later, I got my car. It also cost me frazzled nerves as I talked myself out of the drive down to San Diego for The English Beat show.

Let's see what tomorrow brings...

Grr!

I am livid!

I bust my ass to make a name for myself within the Company. I bite my tongue and put on the appropriate business face when every single fiber of my being is shaking in response to some things going on. I am a damn good employee! And I'm getting passed over, ignored and shafted at every turn; while others (some of whom are not even full-time employees!) are having rules bent to the point of breaking to accomodate situations. What do I have to do?!

I started looking for job opportunities outside of the Company. Yeah, shocked me too.

(This rant was much, much longer with names and everything. After several revisions, this is all I had left. The rage isn't quite as evident...but it is there. Believe me. It is there.)