On Many Subjects

My visit to the office was two-fold. Of course, I had to pay the monthly vig to the apartment complex owners, but I also went there to complain about my window screens.

OK. To be more accurate, to complain because I have NO window screens on my windows. This is not a new problem. I have had no window screens since I moved in 'way back in July.

Me: I still don't have screens on my windows.
Apartment Complex Manager: I will fill out a work order.
Me: You have filled out a work order for window screens every month since July. That is the month I moved in, you know.
ACM: Well, this time we will get it fixed.
Me: You said that last month.
ACM: I really mean it, this time.
Me: Of course you do.
ACM: See? I am filling out the work order now.
Me: Which you will throw in the trash as soon as I walk out of the room.
ACM: We don't throw them away.
ME: Whatever. Listen, it is not for me that I want screens on my windows. It is for the environment.
ACM: Excuse me?
Me: I want to do my part to stop global warming.
ACM: I don't get it.
Me: If I have screens on my windows, then I can actually open my windows and let the beautiful spring weather into my apartment. Without the screens, I have to run the air conditioner, unnecessarily, I might add.
ACM: But...
Me: Wait! I'm not finished. When I run the air conditioner unnecessarily, then I use more electricity than I would if I simply opened the windows to take advantage of the glorious breezes that waft through the apartment, removing toxins in the air, and, I might add, saving my lungs from contamination.
ACM: But...
Me: So, if you don't REALLY get screens for my windows, you will single-handedly be responsible for raising the world-wide temperature by at least .03 degrees Celsius.
ACM:....
Me: Do I get my screens or not?
ACM:....
Me: Well?
ACM:....
Me: OK. I am moving, then.
ACM: When?
Me: Just don't expect me to renew my lease.
ACM: What if we put screens on your windows?
Me: Then, the time I have left in the complex will be much more pleasant and you will get a personal thank you card from Al Gore.
ACM:....

Something is wrong with my brain. I have been reading blogs for over an hour to find something funny to write about and nothing is out there that even made me crack a tiny smile. AND you may have notived a gross lack of new post lately. I have a lot on my mind...

Okay, I will just go with it. Right now, KayFour will write a boring blog about nothing in particular. And even if every on Opera chimes in and tells me my blog is boring, well that is Okay, too. I can handle the criticism.

Truth is, life got really big all of a sudden. I am like, "Why does this always happen to me?" There has to be something cosmic involved. Anyway, as I was saying, my life suddenly got much bigger. I am looking for another job, I am looking for another apartment, I am looking for... well a lot of things that will improve my life. I am looking to acquire a TV stand, a coffee table, real bookshelves, navy blue bedroom curtains, navy blue dust ruffle... okay maybe I will move and then buy navy blue curtains to match whichever window will be my next window. I know that navy blue bedroom curtains will not GREATLY improve my life like a new job will, but it is on my list, none the less.

See? I told you this was a boring blog.

It all began last week when Digitaljon and I had a disagreement, a bit of a row, a quarrel, or whatever term you choose to use to describe a suddenly escalating situation that got totally out of hand because of misunderstandings, feelings of abandonment, and the hole in the ozone layer. Just like Global Warming.

We were FINISHED, I tell you. He was not coming back home from his visit to New Jersey and I was totally shattered... for three days, which is apparently a universal limit of some kind becuase everything always seems better after three days.

Anyway, the gossip-mill was in full swing. I talked to my son about what happened and he gave me some pretty good and sound advice, which I appreciate. Then he mentioned it to someone, who mentioned it to someone else... and well you get the picture. Before the weekend was over, every member of my family was aware of the situation.

The funny thing is, Digitaljon and I talked about it and discussed it and essentially "made-up" and are now happy as proverbial clams, once again.

I got a phone call from #1 daughter yesterday, because she had not heard that last bit.

#1: I heard what happened.
Me: What happened?
#1: That you and DJ have broken up.
Me: I SWEAR that no one in this family can have a secret.
#1: So, you are broken up.
Me: We are not broken up.
#1: But, Dad said...
Me: Wait! I didn't tell your Dad, my EX-husband, ANYTHING. You know how he is. He is the ultimate gossip monger. He is the ring leader of the gossip gang. He is the one who has to be the first one to know everything and then see to it that everyone else knows he was the first one to know. I didn't say a word to him. He called me to tell me your brother's wife had her baby before your brother had a change to call me and then spent the next hour doing the butter-dance because he was the first one to call me. I can't believe your Dad told you this. I said nothing to him.
#1: So you are broken up?
Me: No.
#1: You're not?
Me: Well, I was, for three days. But, we made-up.
#1: Oh, Ok. What happened?
Me: Well, I said some pretty stupid things and then everything got blown out of proportion and then I got an email telling me we were broken up... but then three, days later, we were on the phone and talking again. It was a quarrel. A disagreement. A spat.
#1: So, you survived your first fight.
Me: Yes.
#1: And it was because you said something that DJ took the wrong way.
Me: Yes.
#1: Well, it happens.
Me: What happens?
#1: People taking you the wrong way. Ummm.... how can I put this delicately? Now don't get mad at me. Mom, you can be a tench bit brash.
Me:...
#1: Mom are you there?
Me: A Tench Bit Brash? Tench is not a word.
#1: It is now.
Me: Tench?
#1: As in teensy, tiny. Tench.
Me: Tench? Rhymes with bench, stench, Grinch? Tench?
#1: Funny, you didn't get upset with me calling you brash.
Me: I was just wondering if you can say that fast three times? Tench Bit Brash.
#1: I so miss these little conversations with you.
Me: Call your Dad and tell him he is behind on current events. It will drive him crazy.
#1: Oh, that's right. This will be fun.
Me: And if I can avoid being a tench bit brash, I will call you in a couple of days.
#1: I am going to hear about this for a long time. I can tell.

Me: I am not going to work today.
Digitaljon: Why not?
Me: I don't want to.
DJ: That's it?
Me: Yes. That's it. I am not going to work today.
DJ: Ok
Me: I really mean it.
DJ: Ok
ME: I am not kidding.
DJ: I didn't think you were.
Me: I am totally staying home, today.
DJ: You said that.
Me: I know I have said this before and went to work anyway, but I really mean it today.
DJ: I know you do.
Me: No. I REALLY REALLY mean it.
DJ: All right.
Me: I am very serious.
DJ: I would be surprised if you weren't
Me: I am not going and that is final!
DJ: Ok.
Me: Final! I am not going to work!
DJ: Where are you going now?
Me: I need to take a shower because I have to get ready for work.
DJ: You are making me crazy.

I have a new household gadget that is impossible to live without: an iRobot Roomba. It is a cute little machine that merrily cruises around, vacuuming the carpets, the floors and rugs. It is about twelve inches in diameter and is about 3 inches tall. Not very impressive in its size as a cleaner droid, but it IS very imnpressive in its abilities.

If it finds a spots it deems as particularly dirty, it will travel in a circle right over the spot until it is cleaned. Then, it sings a quiet little victory song.

It's cleaning pattern is seemingly random until you really watch the little guy to see what he is doing. He criss-crosses the room until every inch of carpet is cleaned. This process takes about 45 minutes.


When he begins to get low on energy, he will go back to his home base to recharge.

Nearly every day, Digitaljon turns the little bot loose to allow him to go into his routine of systematically removing the cat hair that seems to accumulate in huge piles over night.

Before I tell you my humorous story, I have to point out a couple of things (and thank you to everyone who has hung in there with me this long while I get to the point of the story): First, I didn't give R1D1 his name. Digitaljon named our latest pet. Second, I live in an apartment with CHEAP apartment carpet and by the time all the loose nap is vaccuumed away (a phenomenon of new carpets everywhere) there will be no carpet left... just the backing. What that means is, my adorable little R1D1 has to be emptied VERY regularly. He tends to go back home to rest when his collection facitlity is too full AND we have to clean the carpet nap out of the cleaning brushes on a regular basis, too. R1 IS just a cleaning droid and not an R2 unit or a protocol droid. Thirdly, R1 has to be turned on to clean the room and will not automatically clean on it's own... I don't think. (Must look into this.) If he gets stuck on/under an object, he will cry and then shuts himself down until he is rescued. Lastly, he cannot understand the concept of "dust ruffle." Limited cognitive abilities, obviously.

The Story:

Digitaljon deployed R1 on a routine cleaning mission, after moving the furniture so the little droid could work unobstructed.

When I came in from work, R1 was acting as if he had lost his mind. He would run into a chest leg, back up an inch and run into it again. Repeatedly. Like he was stuck or something.

DigitalJon had noticed the little droid's dilemma and was already seeking a solution via the fabulous world of technology when I walked into the door. He had the iRobot website open and was reading the troubleshooting section of the owner's manual.

Me: What's wrong with R1? I am worried about him.
DJ: I am looking that info up right now.
Me: He looks demented. I mean he was never the smartest droid the Jawas ever sold to us, but really, this is ridiculous.
DJ: I have emptied his debris collection chamber and thrown the contents into the trash compactor. I have cleaned the brushes, thinking something got caught in there. He is still sick.
Me: He looks pathetic. I can't watch this much longer. I am going to cry.
DJ: I have the answser!
Me: Well, tell me! You are reading and I am simply standing here watching R1 run into furniture...over and over and over.
DJ: Apparently, we have to spank it.
Me:...
DJ: Don't look at me that way. Read it for yourself.
Me: It doesn't say SPANK. It says to smack the obstacle sensor briskly several times because the sensor is stuck.
DJ: Like I said, spank it.
Me: But, he is so young! Will he even know why we are spanking him?
DJ: There is only one way to find out. (Reaching for the sick droid)
Me: OH NO! If anyone is going to spank it will be me! Men hit too hard.
DJ: OK

So, I pick up the little droid and slap his obstacle sensor several times.

DJ: CAREFUL! The instructions said to smack it briskly, not to beat the hell out of it.
Me:...
DJ: Don't give me that look.
Me: I can't believe you would think I would do anything to hurt our droid.
DJ: Stop cuddling it and see if it works.
Me: (to R1) It's OK, little one. Mommy didn't mean to hurt you.
DJ: Oh, brother!
Me: Droids have feelings, too.
DJ: I am never letting you watch Stars Wars, again.
Me: YOU are the one who named him R1.
DJ: Just see if smacking him around worked while I look up information about droid abuse online. There is probably a twelve step program to take care of that.
Me: I did NOT abuse our droid.

I put the little droid on the floor, pressed his buttom indicating the beginning to a mission, heard his happy little song and he merrily continued cleaning the floor as if he had never been spanked.

Somewhere in there is a lesson to be learned. I am just not certain what it is.

I am on vacation this week and doing all the tourist things with my mom and dad who are visiting from Florida.

Back to regular blogging next week!

I get really passionate about some things and then I have to spend a few minutes discussing it here in blog-ville.

I have a very important job where I work... I do Search Engine Optimization, which means I get to write articles and I get to blog at work. So very cool. Every now and then, in between blogging about steel building construction, and water fowl on the Outer Banks, I can slip in my own blog where I can have some FUN. Well, not this week because I was too busy for that sort of trivial nonsense.

But, I digress.

Also part of my job is answering the phone. I wasn't hired as a receptionist/gatekeeper. I feel into the job because of my charming personality, my ability to make GOOD coffee, (I think the guys at work screw it up on purpose so I will continue to make fabulous coffee. Did I mention I am the only girl there?) and the fact that I have a charming phone voice, and excellent social skills.

Being a SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN company that designs websites for the rich and famous, we have a number of printed publications that arrive via US Mail to the office and clutter up the analog inbox. I sort through this pile of dead trees, keep ones that I may want to read on my coffee break and toss the others out. I think Bossman signed up for every free publication on planet earth... and a few other planets as well.

Again, I am digressing. I WILL get to my rant! Trust me!

Anywho, the owners of these so called FREE publications periodically out-source the task of contacting every recipient to ask if their information is still correct. I got six (not kidding) calls this week from six (not kidding) companies wanting me to verify my information.

Now, I have nothing against out-sourcing, but please, for the love of all that's holy, can somebody, somewhere out-source to a person who can actually speak ENGLISH? Is that too much to ask?

Me: Good morning, this is the SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN company. How can I help you.
Caller: I wish to speak with Ro...Ro....Rog...Ron....Rob...Ros.. Ross WilL...Roswall... Rosenthal... Rosencrantz...Reynaldi (All with a THICK Indian accent)
Me: Who do you wish to speak to?
C: I am very sorry. I cannot pronounce the name.
Me: Or any other English word, apparently.
C: Are you a manager?
Me: Me? Naw, I just answer the phone.
C: Who makes the purchasing decisions?
Me: Now that depends on what's being purchased. I choose what toppings will come on the pizza for our Office Wide Monday Afternoon Pizza Soiree and Business Meeting. Does that count?
C: Very good. Are you also the person who makes decisions about magazines?
Me: You mean do I decide which ones go into the trash? Yes. That is me.
C: Very good. I would like to verify your address.
Me: Fine by me.
C: This be business called SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN?
Me: Yes.
C: Is the number 1234?
Me: Is what number 1234?
C: Is the Room number 1234?
Me: Room number?
C: Yes. The number of the room.
Me: OH, THAT number. Thank you for clarifying.
C: Is that the correct number?
Me: If I knew what the number was really for, I could tell you if it is correct.
C: It is the number of the room.
Me: Is that just like a room number?
C: Yes.
Me:.....
C: Is the number correct?
Me:.......
C:.......
Me:.....
C: Is that the correct room number?
Me: You know something? This is a business and I have work to do, not being a real recpetionist who does nothing all day but answer the phone and dilly-dally with nail polish.
C: Very good. Is the number correct?
Me: Apparently, you don't listen in English, either. I got a two-fer. A person on the phone who cannot speak OR understand English.
C: Very good. Is the number correct?
Me: See what I mean?
C: Very good. Is the number correct?
Me: Is there someone there who can hit you in the back of the head? You sound like a stuck record.
C: Very good. Is this the correct number?
Me: That is a good tactic. Rewording the sentence will make me understand you better.
C: Are you the person who makes purchasing decisions?
Me: You already asked me that. Oh, crap, you went back to the beginning of the script. You know what? I can't deal with you right now. Thank you for calling.

And I hung up on the person, not realizing that the owner of the SUPER HIGH TECH WEB DESIGN company was lurking just around the corner.

Bossman: If that was a customer, you are so fired.
Me: It wasn't my idea to put me on the phone.
B: What did they want?
Me: Verification of a room number.
B: What room number?
Me: See? That was my question.
B: What was your question?
Me: What room number?
B: We don't have a room number.
Me: I know that and you know that but apparently the Out-sourced, no-English-language-speaking, sari-wearing, on-the-phone-mumbling, room number verifier doesn't know that.
B: And that is why I want you to answer the phone. So I don't have to deal with those phone calls.
Me: I want a raise.

I can't believe I missed this: Roy Scheider died last week.

Since he was on the top five five actors EVER list, I guess that means that all the other actors just moved up a notch.

Although I would not suggest waiting around for someone to die as a way to improve your acting skills.

Overheard in Starbucks:

Starbucks Guy: What's your name?
Customer: Craig
SG: Greg?
C: Craig
SG: Jeff?
C: Craig. CRAIG!
SG: Oh. One of those names with all the vowels.
C: I keep fogetting to use Jim
SG: You should. A name just for coffee.
C: A coffee name?
SG: Yes.
C: What happens if I forget my coffee name when you get my coffee ready?
SG: We will keep calling out your name until you answer.
C: But, it won't be my name.
SG: Yes, it will. It will be your coffee name.
C: Just give me my coffee.
SG: Ok. I put Jim on the cup.
C: But, my name is Craig.
SG: Not today.
Me (to customer): What's he going to do when I tell him my name is Sheila
C: Your name is Sheila?
Me: No, but I am going to tell him it is.
C: Why?
Me: I want to know what my coffee name is.
SG (to me): What can I get for you?
Me: Cafe Latte Grande
SG: OK. And your name?
Me: Sheila
SG: Oh no, not again.
Me: What's wrong?
SG: Vowels. Nothing but vowels.
Me: So, what does that mean?
SG: I am putting SAM on the cup.
Me: But Sam is a guy's name.
SG: It is now your coffee name.
Me: But, I don't want to be Sam.
C: Well, I don't want to be Jim.
Me: I just wanted a cup of coffee. Not a name change.