I'm walking in AIDS Walk again this year for my 4th year in a row. I've raised close to $7000 for local HIV and AIDS services over the last four years via AIDS Walk San Diego, but they can always use more.
The event is on September 28th and I hope you'll reach down in your pocket and pluck out a buck or ten or twenty or whatever you can afford. Any donation is welcome. It would mean a lot. Thank you!
Joelle said in the early morning on February 1, 2008
I ran across this video on YouTube via my Google homepage this morning. I love it. It’s pointless and while we’ve all seen this sort of animation before, it’s a cute video. He did a good job with it and hey, it’s about pancakes. Yay pancakes! Ok, I just like the say pancakes (though I prefer flapjacks. It’s funnier). Other pancake things:
And now for something completely unrelated, but curious none the less.
So, polar bears. They can rip off your head with one swipe, but are they just not the cutest damn things? I love when they go up to the tour buses and stick their noses waaaaaay up in the air and *sniff-sniff-sniff*. But here’s my question — what are they sniffing for? Polar bears can smell things miles away, so what are they sniffing for exactly when they’re right up in there? Cancer? Are they deciding if they want to eat us? Like when you contemplate the mystery Tupperware in the fridge? Do they take a whiff of Gladys from Minneapolis and say to their polar bear friend, “Hey, Bob. I can’t tell if this has gone bad. Here, smell this...”?
Just one of the random things I think about while I’m waiting for the coffee to brew.
I have been putting off getting a real grown-up professional-type office chair for a long time now and I finally just bit the bullet and bought one this weekend. And I have one thing to say:
Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. *sigh* My back has never felt better. It’s got levers, knobs, pumps and sort of makes me feel like I should tell someone to open the bombay doors. And the seat… oooohhh, the seat. It’s like squadron of tiny cherubs is holding up my buttocks, anticipating my every move.
I love you, New Office Chair. Will you be my Valentine?
Speaking of Valentines, I was watching Rachael Ray last week and was presented with this item:
”Back massager.” Mmm hmm. With a creepy Mickey Mouse fist? *shudder*
I was going to write a very out-of-character political post about religious beliefs influencing policy, but I figured since it’s Super Tuesday, everyone and their grandma will be blogging about politics. So, I thought I’d talk about something, socially, far more vexing.
I’m talking about tea-bagging.
I’ll say it again: tea-bagging. Or tea-baggin’, as the kids say.
Now, for those not familiar with the term, Urban Dictionary’s first entry (and most, actually) declares tea-bagging as follows:
Tea Bagging
The act of putting your balls in and out of a persons mouth.
Well if ya didnt sleep with your mouth open I wouldnt have tea bagged ya dude
Indeed. Ok, well, I was always under the impression, as is mikey because we had a whole discussion about this yesterday, that tea-bagging is not as invasive as Urban Dictionary indicates. It’s merely resting one’s undergoodies on another’s forehead, as depicted in the fine feature film, Pecker by John Waters.
I originally was under the impression that it was some sort of desirable activity for both involved, though for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why. But, I’ve since been led to believe it’s an act of dominance, tomfoolery and/or intoxication.
My question, in either case, is… what the hell?
OK, let’s go with scenario #1: You’re *cough* “putting your balls in an out of a person’s mouth” and, as other definitions indicate, the recipient of your teabag is usually passed out unconscious. You like this… why? Is this a private fetish thing or a frat party trick? I’m seriously wondering at what point in the evening someone drops trou and says, “DUDE! Gather ‘round! I’m totally going to put my sack in this guy’s half-drunk piehole and hope he doesn’t wake up!” Yeah, good times. Put me on the VIP list for that soirée.
And scenario #2: The resting of one’s scrotum on another’s forehead. I’m trying to recall any time I’ve thought, “Man, I’d really like to wear that guy’s bag like a tennis visor.” but any such instance blissfully escapes me. Maybe it’s a guy thing. Gay men? Do enlighten me because they didn’t cover this when I worked at the GLBT community center.
So. Yeah, I don’t know where I was going with that, but I figured if anyone had insight it would be you fine people.
Joelle said in the early afternoon on February 6, 2008
For three days in a row I’ve received a phone call from an 800 number. I don’t answer calls from unknown numbers, but they never left a voicemail. Today, for kicks, I decided to answer it and find out what they wanted. After getting a pre-recorded message asking me to call back (??) I was connected with Mrs. Meyers representing Acme Agencies (not the real name). A quick Google and I discover they are some kind of a collection agency.
In the last five years, I’ve been very mindful of my credit and repeatedly check my credit report and am doing that “Oh, suddenly I’m a grown-up and should start paying attention to things like this” thing, so I signed up to receive notices about my credit report, etc. I’m totally abreast on what’s happening with my finances and credit rating as far as I know. And to the best of my knowledge, none of the three reporting agencies has this company listed on my report.
So, anyway, Mrs. Meyers and I are now engaging in small talk and she’s put me on hold at least twice to answer “her other line” before she can even tell me why she’s calling (something she frequently did throughout our conversation). Once she came back on the line, the conversation went a little like this, both of us using our best “bless your heart” tones. Anyone who has spent time in the South knows exactly what I’m talking about:
Mrs. Meyers: Ok, ma’am, I’m collecting a debt for ‘West Coast Phone Company’ in the amount of $660.80. Will you be paying that with cash, check or charge?
Me: I’m sorry, what? ‘West Coast Phone Company’? Seriously? I haven’t had an account with ‘West Coast Phone Company’ in…
Mrs. Meyers: This account is dated January 15, 1999.
Me: Ok, well. I find this surprising, but please send me the paperwork and I’ll review it and get back to you.
Mrs. Meyers: All I have here is a demand for payment letter.
Me: Ok, well, then please send that. But I’ll also require the account number at the time, copies of my closing statements saying I owe that amount, notes regarding attempts to contact me, copies of any notices that were supposedly sent out about this account… [she cuts me off]
Mrs. Meyers: Ma’am… uh, Ma’am! I’m not able to provide that information. Bu, I have a demand for payment letter!
Me: Is there an account number? Are there statements? All you’ve got is a letter… I’ll need more than that and I’ll need it in writing.
Mrs. Meyers: All I have is this letter. You’ll just have to accept, ma’am, that I can’t provide you any statements.
Me: Well, then I’m not able to provide you $660.80. Do you really think I’m going to just write a check to some random woman who happens to know I used to have a phone at my old apartment because really, Mrs. Meyers, that’s all you’ve got. So, if you wish to collect this debt, please just send me the appropriate paperwork.
[There’s a brief pause here]
Mrs. Meyers: Ok. [Then another longer pause. I was waiting for further instruction.] Well… ok.
Me: OK?! That’s it? I find it curious you haven’t asked me for my address so that you can send me these documents. I’ve not once received a notice regarding this in 9 years and you show up out of the blue like this and now don’t even ask me what my address is to send me the paperwork?
[Another pause, but she kept going, “hmm… hmmm… um...."]
Mrs. Meyers: What is your address?
Me: I’m not giving it to you now; I don’t know who you are! [I had her read off the address she had for me which was 2 addresses ago.] Go ahead and have ‘West Coast Phone Company’ send the statements and any other documents there and it will eventually get to me.
Mrs. Meyers: [Then, exasperated like I was a total loon] “‘West Coast Phone Company’ doesn’t keep nine year old statements.”
Me: Then, why in the hell, Mrs. Meyers, would they be collecting a nine year old debt? Don’t you think they’d be smart enough to know if they intend to collect the debt they should have some kind of proof other than one overly-xeroxed letter from nine years ago? This is exactly my point! Why are you even bothering to collect a nine year old debt with nothing more than a glorified memo? Do you really think I’m that gullible?
Mrs. Meyers: Well, we own the account now, hon.
[Now I was annoyed.]
Me: That’s fantastic, hon, but you’ll need more than just a demand for payment letter and my old address to get me to give you one red cent. I allegedly owed ‘West Coast Phone Company’ $251 (which is what she told me and if that is accurate, I will happily pay them their $251) in January 1999 when I didn’t even live here and which no one can prove because ‘West Coast Phone Company’ no longer has the records. And then you’ve taken the liberty of tacking on 9 years worth of fees and surcharges without ever notifying me and expect me to just write you a check? No, no thank you. Please send the demand letter and my attorney will respond in kind. Good day!
*click*
Suck on that, lady. First of all, I’m shocked that I owed the phone company $251, but if I do, then I do and I’ll be glad to take care of it, but if this woman thinks she’s just going to call me up with nothing but a piece of paper with no account number on it, no statements, no proof of any kind… she’s sorely mistaken. I realize she’s an independent debt collector for some other company, so it’s not her problem, but if they can’t send me something in writing and if, in nine years they couldn’t notify me of this outstanding debt, especially when I’m not that hard to find… come on.
Let’s say you’re in Target or Hallmark or somewhere where they sell greeting cards. Is it just me or if there’s at least one other person around, will they inevitably step right in front of the cards you’re perusing? This happens to me almost every time I shop for greeting cards, which is fairly regularly. I love to send cards. I’m not as diligent about it as Kathy is… usually I buy them and they sit on my desk. But I’m thinking of you, I swear.
Anyway, when I browse greeting cards, I do the socially respectful thing and stand back a bit from the cards, so that anyone else nearby can also view the same cards. One of my pet peeves is when people stand right up on top of the cards, like just a few inches away. Then you’re forced to do that half-circle dance around them like a terrier waiting for bacon, making little sighs and hums to alert the clearly oblivious person that you’re there. Sort of like “Hey, douche, move!”, but you know… nicer…
Is it SO hard to stand back? Stand back, people! There are other people in this world besides you. See one you like? Step in, grab it, step back, read and buy it or put it back, but get the hell out of the way!
I was in Target a couple months ago buying a birthday card for Reilly and there was a couple huddled around the children’s birthday cards. They would open about every 3rd card, starting at the top, mumble to each other, giggle and put it back. They were clearly enjoying themselves and I didn’t want to be a bitch, so I hoped that they would notice as I did the Bacon Terrier Dance, but they didn’t. Not even when I said “excuse me” and reached for one of the cards did they back up. They were inches from the cards to the point that I couldn’t even see them, so I gave up and left.
About 15 minutes later, I came back and they were still there. They were on the bottom tier now, but instead of crouching down to look at them, they still blocked the entire display. I’ve never seen two people so fascinated with children’s birthday cards in my life. I speculated that maybe they were newly pregnant and a bit overzealous, so I tried to cut them some slack. I just wanted the damn card with the dinosaur on it so I said, “I’m sorry, can you please back up so I can see the cards, too?” and the man turned to me without missing a beat and said, “Do you know how to get to the Wild Animal Park from here?”
OK?
So, I told him and they promptly turned and left. Just like that. It was like they scheduled it. “OK, hon. It’s Saturday. We’ve got a full day! Thirty-five minutes of children’s birthday card reading and then it’s off to the Wild Animal Park!”
Joelle said in the early afternoon on February 8, 2008
The phone rang yesterday afternoon while I was reading the comments on my post about the alleged “bill collection”. Irony dictated that it was the same 800 number with the same perky-voiced recording urging me to call for a “very important message”.
Of course, before the message even ended I’d hit “Talk” to call them back. A few moments later I was graced with a voice that only 30 years of Pall Malls can provide and lo, it was Mrs. Meyers.
Me: To whom am I speaking?
Mrs. Meyers: This is Mrs. Meyers with Acme Agencies.
Me: Oh good. Mrs. Meyers, hello. This is Joelle Reeder, we spoke yesterday? I asked you to send me any information you had by mail and never to contact me by phone?
Mrs. Meyers: [silence, then...] Yes, ma’am.
Me: Wonderful. Then you can imagine my dismay when my phone rang just now with yet another recording asking me to call you.
Mrs. Meyers: [already exasperated] It takes 48 hours, ma’am.
Me: 48 hours to what? Remove me from your database of potential scams? It takes that long to hit delete?
Mrs. Meyers: You know we can’t do that, ma’am. You’ll just have to wait to be added to the No Call List.
Me: I know an easier way. Do not call this number again, Mrs. Meyers. If I hear from you or your company again without receiving any kind of valid documentation by mail, I will contact my attorney. See how easy that was?
*click*
I’ll admit that was kind of fun. I wonder if she’ll call today…
For the last two months, I’ve been locked out of my MySpace account. Having the password resent would do no good, as they send it to the email address on file and that account was no longer active. I tried to contact their support to help me change my email address to no avail, so I eventually gave up. No one would even respond to my emails except to send me things that didn’t help me.
One day they put up some kind of political “skin” on their login page and ever since then I’d been locked out. I contacted their support for weeks, following all the instructions on their site and in the autoresponse emails they sent. But no one would ever help me. I tried being sweet. I begged. I bitched. I practically rubbed myself in sage oil, twirled three times, stuck a feather in my ass and sang Yankee Doodle in Mandarin, but still… no one would help me.
I went on a hunt yesterday morning to find some kind of contact phone number for their corporate offices so I could share my displeasure with the poor unsuspecting receptionist unfortunate enough to pick up my call, but after being sent from one disconnected number to another, from one “full” voicemail box to another… I cried “uncle”.
It’s not that I care so much about being “on” MySpace, I mostly use the account for promotional purposes and keeping in touch with friends. I didn’t like that I was locked out from my own personal information, yet any Tom, Dick n’ Hacker could break in and use my account for them spam/perv bidding, which has happened in the past, so yeah, I wanted into my account. It’s not too much to ask.
Eventually, an email came back with the same repetitive request for a “salute” even though I’d included salutes in every single email. (A “salute” is when you take a photo of yourself holding your friend ID on a piece of paper or whatever). This was my third one of those, so I snapped. I responded with the entire sordid story yet again and signed with a very pissed off, “If someone with a pulse does not attend to this matter or respond to this email, I will be contacting local and national media to spotlight you flagrant disregard for your members, their personal information and their identities.”
Who knew that was going to work! I’m a woman of my word, so my threat wasn’t empty, but seriously… what good is my local news scam-stopper going to do? I certainly wouldn’t think that would have an effect on MySpace, let alone my silly grumbling, but it worked nonetheless. Yesterday afternoon there was an email in my inbox from MySpace (when usually it would take about a week to get a response, if I got one at all) saying they’d reset my email on the account and forwarded me my password.
*happy dance* Now I can go about ignoring MySpace like I usually do.
Of course, I’m not advocating spouting off that you’re going to contact the media every time customer service sucks somewhere. If we did, there would need to be a Dateline just for crap service. Hm… Dateline: To Catch a Tech Support Person Who Actually Gives a Damn? No, that’s just too long… Dateline: To Catch a Slacker… *ponders*
Joelle said in the early morning on February 14, 2008
Five years ago yesterday, this blonde girl I met two weeks prior asked me if I wanted to do blog designs with her. I said, “OK” and next thing you know Kathy and I were The Moxie Girls™. Well, we weren’t TMG yet, we were just bloggers with a part-time gig called BlogMoxie, but we chose Valentine’s Day as the milestone for that particular event, since we’re old and can’t remember where we put our keys half the time.
Now five years later, here we are… our first published book, a thriving business (the redesign of which should be done this week — we wanted it done today, but we hit a development snag late last night), a handful of other amazing TMG productions coming this year and one of the best, best friendships I’ve ever had.
So, happy anniversary to the woman who shares my brain, my business partner and my partner-in-crime, Kathy Scoleri. I couldn’t possibly ask for a better woman to work with, drink with or get PMS with. You’re the ying to my yang and we both know how I love to yang.
Here’s to another five years! Start polishing your tiara for world domination.
And to the rest of my very good friends and of course, you fine folks… Happy Valentine’s Day! Especially you.
My well-adjusted Sony laptop with the pleasant disposition that I bought 2 years ago this month has been throwing me attitude lately. I’ll be enjoying a laptop sabbatical tomorrow as I need to take the ol’ girl in for a much-needed cleaning. There’s two years of crumbs and dust up in her bits, so her primping is long overdue.
Hm. I make my laptop sound like a poodle. With some kind of hygiene problem.
Anyway, she’s been running a little hot lately and the keys, especially the T, Y and R, have been sticking like mad. I makes me sa hings ha ae like his — and that’s not helping my productivity any. There’s only so much I can get to with my little can o’ air, so it’s time to deliver her to the professionals… also known as some kid who works at Frye’s Electronics in between sessions of World of Warcraft and masturbating to the Girls of Anime centerfold.
Hopefully when I get her back, she’ll be right as rain. If not, then I guess I’ll be getting a new one…
The cleaning of my laptop didn’t really help the sticking of my keys too much. I still have to really bang it in the sweet spot to get “T” to show up… “R”, too, or I have to backup and do it again. I had no idea how much I use T and R… I feel like I’m typing everything twice. I also can’t believe I just said “bang it in the sweet spot”.
But, lo… she is clean. In fact, when I went to pick her up, I exclaimed, “Whoa! I forgot it was that color!”. Seriously. It’s almost pristine. The keyboard could use a bit more love from a Q-Tip, I think, but overall, they seemed to do a great job. I don’t know if it was $70 worth, as I’ll probably need to get a new laptop anyway unless someone can fix these keys… but it’s nice to see a clean, cooler-running laptop.
Speaking of which, the guy who cleaned it out looked totally ominous when he handed me back my laptop. I cracked some joke about there probably having been enough crumbs in there to make a loaf of bread and he glowered at me. There’s no other word for it… he glowered. I was thinking, “I wonder what else he found in there that’s made him so disapproving...”. Unless, of course, he took a tour of my hard drive in which case I should probably monitor YouTube for potential indiscretions.
I kid. Maybe. Anyway, so there was that.
I hung (leveled and evenly-spaced!) three 30x30 mirrors over my couch yesterday… that was exciting. OH! And I watched a recorded Valentine’s episode of Oprah where she talked about the sweetest dog ever: Oogy. If you love animals, go read Oogy’s story because I sat on the couch and cried for this sweet, sweet dog. Good tears, but still… a wonderful story and a really, really cute dog.
In other news, I got a new phone! Hooray for new phones! My old phone was okay, but the battery was just crap wrapped in plastic and the photos it took made technology from 1999 look advanced. It’s only two years old, but I think I’d gotten one of those experimental beta models because it really just sucked. I never could get a signal, half the time I missed my messages, people would call and it never told me… etc. etc. etc.
I couldn’t really justify buying a new phone, especially since I’m not on it all that much, but Sprint reminded me that I was eligible for the full rebate on a new phone, so I could get a cheapy for free or a nicer one for a hefty discount. I went with the hefty discount and nabbed this baby: Katana DLX… it’s the 3rd version of my old phone and so far, I love it.
First, it’s actually pink, not like my old phone which claimed to be pink but was really more like a silvery dusty rose that reminded me of tacky frosted nail polish. The DLX is pink pink. Almost where I feel a bit adolescent, like I should be wearing sweats with Juicy on the ass, but who cares? I like pink.
Second? It has a 1.3 megapixel camera. I really assumed that all camera phones were the same, but it’s really a big difference. AND… it takes video! I can’t wait to start using that… beware fashion victims! I kid again. Maybe…
It also has a bunch of other stuff in it… I can watch TV, I can play mp3s...and of course, it vibrates, too. Now if only it could take out the trash and kill spiders…
Joelle said in the late morning on February 18, 2008
Since Kathy and I recently appeared on a gay-themed radio show, I’ve received a surprising amount of transgender, transexual, cross-dressing or drag queen (which are all different, by the way, kids!) friend requests on my MySpace account. The guest host on that show, the super-fabulous Hedda Lettuce (Miss Lettuce if you’re nasty!), honored me with a spot in her Top 8 and since then, my friend requests have been extra queer-tastic! I’ve met some really interesting and funny people.
A couple requests have been fairly unorthodox pick-up lines (no, I’d rather not suck your foot sweat from your pantyhose, sir), but most of the requests have been nice and complimentary. I say more power to you, ladies. Go on with your bad selves! I know and love some amazing people who are an assortment of the above and I think everyone should just be whomever they are and, not to put too fine a point on it, to hell with ‘em if someone doesn’t like it.
That said, I received this note in a friend request yesterday:
Honey, you look FIERCE!! Whos you’re doctor??/??
I’ll let the inaccurate use of “you’re” slide, but come on. Come on. Who’s my doctor? Um… Planned Parenthood? I’m flattered and yet… what the hell?
Yesterday afternoon, we got on the subject of Michael McDonald. Don’t ask me how, our conversations take bizarre turns sometimes. We could have been talking about chicken minutes before. Who knows? Anyway, we ended up watching this video. I, being sensible *cough*, stopped when the chorus kicked in but somehow, Ross endured the whole thing. Props to you, hon.
So later, I’m telling mikey about this hideous video and how I didn’t realize that Yah Mo B There was really the name of the song. I thought it was just some kind of speech impediment or garbling of lyrics that I just didn’t understand. (He, of course, found this hilarious… and I admit, so do I. How did I not know this?) I asked him what he thought it meant and he said it’s probably just nonsense like “Sussudio”.
So… I have to ask… has anyone ever figured out what the hell that means? Sussidio. Whoa-a-a.
Or, for that matter… Tenderoni. Tenderoni?! Michael Jackson uses the term in P.Y.T., I think and then there a whole song by Bobby Brown called Tenderoni. I seriously don’t get that one. It sounds like a dog snack. Sexy.
Because I couldn’t find a video of Tenderoni by Bobby Brown, I bring you this guy...singing “Little Tenderoni”. The lyrics are really special.
“My little Tenderoni,
You look just like a diva
My little Tenderoni,
you’re shaped just like a pony.”
OK?
Moxie Design Studios™