Joy. Rapture. Bullets.

So here it is Wednesday afternoon ~ late ~ and my phone service still hasn't been fixed. I am once again at the library which sucks because I have (unusable) internet at home, but I'm thankful that I can get some blog time at all... besides, they have a T-1 line, so baby, I'm flyin'!

As far as my home service goes, must..resist..urge..to..kill we have changed out the complete phone line and box and all that crap on our end only to find out that it's in Verizon's line. Yay. So I called for service and ya know what I got?!?!? ...a promise that it would be fixed by 7pm on Friday the 22nd. Uh... Hell*fucking*oh!!! Did you just say FRIDAY?!? This was when I called on Monday the 18th.

Pissed doesn't even begin to describe it, especially since despite living in the middle of nowhere, we are (what qualifies for out here) neighbors with the local Verizon repair guy and I see the truck going up and down my major thoroughfare about 3 times a day. But I have to wait till &*(&*%^&*&*()()^%^&*(^%&*(&^*%&T& Friday?!?!?!?

Thank God Boo's drowning of the cell phone was not handled by Verizon's tech support, but by Sprint's. We called them on Friday and had a brand spanking new replacement phone on Monday... by noon. With hubby being home, I can actually receive (after 7 or it costs out the wazoo) and make calls to people... or Verizon tech support, who could not possibly have heard me over the buzzing in my line if I'd called from their line home.

Apparently Verizon ~ aka The Network ~ you know, the network with commercials showing thousands of people whenever their "customers" brag about being able to survive the dreaded 'Dead Zones' they're warned about by sun-starved-black-eye-bag having pseudo-zombies to make the point of how resillient and strong their network is, does not hold this to be a requirement of land-line service.

They must have all their techs busy chasing around behind and showing-off-en-masse for the cellular customers...

Therefore, I must warn you in advance that this Friday's LMFAO may be a bit late, since I only get two hours at a clip on a library computer... but for y'all I'm going to do my best to run out the clock and work on it Thursday if at all possible. Because y'all mean that much to me. You're welcome.

You see, on Friday morning, I'll be three towns over trying to beg steal and borrow my way into a semi-helpful amount of food stamps, cause this afternoon I finally got my "we need to see you in person" letter from them. Ya know, over two weeks later now that I'm out of everything and paying out of pocket again for luxuries like milk and eggs...

My hey-we-know-you're-a-white-American-citizen-so-you-get-contacted-dead-last letter says that I have to show up at Oh-Early-Thirty on Friday morning and if I'm late they'll see to it that I'm deported to California and I will have to give them my first born if I ever want to think about applying for help cause who the hell do I think I am applying in the first place, I'm lucky they didn't just laugh in my face and shred my application because I'm obviously filing a fraudulent claim, and they know sure as they're breathing that I've got millions stashed away in my mattress and I'm just being greedy or some such shit, cause we all know what a joy it is to deal with the welfare department in any state; but it's especially Degrading. Infuriating. Frustrating. wonderful in Texas because welfare is only for the illegals. Decent white folk should go beg at church with a sob story or grow some damn food and quit taking up the coffee break time of the sanctimonious welfare workers.

So yeah... things are peachy here. Dealing with Corporation-Couldn't-Care-Less-ness and Burecratic Bullshit all in one week.

Joy.

Rapture.


Bullets...