I am Not Making Political Statements

If one more person tries to make my mundane, everyday lifestyle choices into a political debate or tries to indicate they are a political stance, I might just stop biting my tongue.

I'm trying to figure out how what I eat, where I shop and whether or not I recycle is a political statement, and even if it was, why it's okay to make loud remarks about it to someone you don't know even casually.

I mean, really.

To be truthful, while my life used to revolve a lot around politics, most of my politics now involves campaigns to get Woodstock to use the potty or eat something green or to get Pebbles to realize that blowing raspberries at 3 in the morning was only cute the first 1,476 times she did it.

Yet even at the height of my political awareness, none of it had anything to do with politics, politicians or party affiliation (or not - since I haven't been officially registered with a party in 10+ years).

Yes, I have opinions, but no I am not subliminally declaring them by what is, or is not, in my grocery cart.

Rant over. I feel much better now.

The Whiny Chronicles of Other Pregnant Women

I somehow find it necessary to ocassionally torture myself by reading a huge website designed for parents and expectant moms. Ostensibly it's to provide support, but all it does is raise my blood pressure and make me understand why it is pregnant women get a bad rap.

A sampling of headlines/posts from recently (all from a group of people expecting in August 2009):

• I can't stand my mother-in-law because *sob* she's buying my baby's clothes from WalMart. My baby is going to be dressed wonderful, not cheap.
• I can't believe no one has offered to give me a baby shower! I mean, I still need stuff like bottles and things. - This said by a woman who is expecting her second child, which will be 18 months younger than her first child.
• *sniff* My [insert friend/in-law/sibling here] is throwing me a baby shower, and she refuses to listen to what I want.
• Multiple threads along the lines of, My husband/boyfriend won't do every single thing I ask and refuses to make me the absolute center of attention for 9 full months - he's being so selfish!.
• I am so tired of hearing opinions on the name we chose. (Hint? If you don't want to ear others opinions, don't share the name until it is inked on the birth certificate).
• I am only getting one baby shower - I guess no one cares about me..
• Offended by [fill in blank]

And on and on and on ... endlessly. Women whining about the brand of clothing someone bought their baby, or the fact that people aren't buying off the registry, or the fact that it's their fourth child and no one has brought up having a baby shower, or the fact that their mother-in-law (or mother) is out to get them, or the fact that so-and-so had the nerve to show her up by getting pregnant at the same time, or so forth.

For the record, I consider pregnancy one of God's greatest miracles. I am thrilled to be able to bear another child - when for years I thought I wouldn't be able to have one. I realize I'm among some very fortunate women and there are others who have to endure much more. That said, I don't particularly love being pregnant. This time, it has been much harder physically - there have been some complications, and I'm in pain almost every single day. I'm still losing my breakfast at almost 30 weeks. Yes, it's worth it, but yes, it's hard. Some days I'm a hormonal mess. Some days I can't get anything done. Most days I want to crawl into a hole and take a nap.

But I am profoundly grateful for a) a so far healthy baby b) a so far healthy pregnancy, all things considered c) a husband d) a family e) jobs f) the fact that I have everything I need for this baby - sure I need new bottles, diapers, wipes, etc. - but I've been picking those things up here and there, g) that my drug co-pay is only $150/month and not the full retail price of $4k and h) that there will be an end point to the twice-a-day painful self-injections and ugly granny socks. :)

I guess I'm just fed up with complete and utter self-centeredness - complaining about everything, "I must be treated as a diva and am going to act like a selfish spoiled brat otherwise," attitude. We're in the mist of a global economic crisis and it seems all that some can think about is how stingy people were at their baby shower or how few baby showers they are getting or so forth.

I just want to say, "Can we all just not be happy, blessed and grateful and focus on those who have far less than we do?" I'd also like to add, "It is your husband/boyfriend/partner's baby too, his mom is no less important than your mom, you are not the center of the universe, your baby will be fine whether you dress it in Goodwill or Dolce and Gabana, there is no perfect way to raise a child and chances are you'll throw out 95% of it and wing it anyway and for crying out loud it is RUDE to ask someone to throw you a party/give you gifts."

I'm no saint, and I do whine - sometimes more than I should - but heaven help me if I become so shallow and knock me upside the head and remind me of this post.

But wait ... there is more!

UTA Fail.

Remember this post? A mere two days ago? Well, it gets better.

I'm working from home this week - which means a perfect time, given my flex schedule, to take Woodstock to see the new Madagascar exhibit at the zoo.

Since I'm also trying to reduce my car trips this month and Woodstock LOVES buses and trucks, I thought we'd make a field trip out of it and we could go via bus. After all, the bus stop is across the street from my house and there is one across the street from the zoo a mere 4.18 miles away.

So I log on to UTA's website to find out which bus(es) I need to take. Boy am I in for a shock. Anyone want to guess how long it would take me to get the 4.2 miles to the zoo from my house? Anyone?

2 HOURS 49 MINUTES. FOUR Transfers. One including a bus ride 13 miles in the OPPOSITE DIRECTION (one way)to catch the bus that runs to the zoo. I could WALK there, pushing Woodstock in the stroller at an almost leisurely pace in under 1.5 hours for crying out loud!

Not sure how a 5.5-hour round-trip bus ride to/from the zoo leaves any time to actually SEE the zoo. My mind is so boggled I can barely fathom it.

I e-mailed UTA and begged them to PLEASE tell me the information was incorrect, because I'm having an awfully hard time seeing the logic in this one.

Dear UTA - Or Why I Don't Use Mass Transit

Dear UTA,

The other day, the news highlighted a story indicating that - surprise! - UTA ridership is down over last year - particularly among its express train "FrontRunner" service from north of The Frontier down.

Interestingly, the fuel surcharge - implemented when gas was $4.50/gallon last summer, was never dropped and fares hiked beyond that as well this spring.

I read the articles with interest. You should know, I'm a huge public transit fan - huge. I spent my first years in the DC metro area commuting via public transit and, in later years, used it for many non-commuting trips into the city - less hassle, less traffic, no parking issues - and it was convenient. I've seen more of underground New York and Boston due to the Subway and the T than I have seen above ground in those cities. I've even ridden the bus in Las Vegas (not really something I want to replcate, but still - I've been there, done that).

When I first moved to The Frontier, I took the bus (UTA, of course) several times to work. It was wildly inconvenient, the mapping system was wrong and told me my office was in a place that is smack in the middle of a golf course and an interstate, but ... I gave it the benefit of the doubt.

However, I no longer use mass transit here. Why?
*Time
*Money
*Convenience

In my not-terribly-scientific (or important) opinion, public transit must meet at least one of the above criterion in order to be useful - and widely embraced. In a small urban area like The Frontier, it's not likely to be convenience. Parking is generally abundant and inexpensive. Traffic congestion isn't terrible in most places (chronic construction on I-80 and north of The Frontier excepted). And, to be honest, the number of times one has to make transfers to go even a few miles makes the transit here horribly INconvenient.

Never mind that though - what about saving time and/or money? Unfortunately, UTA saves neither. I am participating in this year's Utah Clear The Air Challenge - trying to eliminate 4 car trips or more a week (success last week! I eliminated 4 trips. Thanks to my sitter's vacation this week, I'm telecommuting, thereby reducing a whole lot more trips), because I believe we spend entirely too much time driving solo in our cars. We could walk more. We could run across the valley less. I aim to do both.

But back to public transit ... I've looked into taking the bus to work (at least on the days I don't have to drop Woodstock at the sitter's). Let's compare:
Driving myself

• 19 miles round-trip, door-to-door - 60% of which are interstate, none of which have traffic of any sort.
• 32 mpg commuting, on average - which means a gas cost of $1.56/day (at $2.50/gallon)
• Total time: 15 minutes there, 20 back - total of 35 minutes/day commuting

Taking the Bus

• Same 20 miles round-trip
• Total fare: $4/day
• Total time: 55 minutes to work, if I want to show up to work 1/2 hour early or 1/2 hour late. 80 minutes if I want to show up to work right on time. Return trip would take 48 minutes, meaning a total time of 103 minutes commuting.
• Side note: The bus would take me a total of 48 BLOCKS (roughly 6.5 miles) out of my way v. a direct drive.

Summary: To be fair, I didn't include the cost of owning my car or the per-mile wear-and-tear cost of driving my car - but it roughly equals out in the end to about $4-$5/day - in other words, about the cost of taking the bus. If, however, I were to figure time cost into that commute - I would be spending THREE TIMES as long on the road - and going 6.5 miles out of my way every day to take the bus - and spending the same amount, saving neither time nor money.

We did look into it for Himself's newly-minted 80-mile round-trip daily commute - certainly the new FrontRunner train or express bus would get him there faster or cheaper, correct? Sadly, no. It would take 4 times as long and cost 3 times as much as driving himself - alone - to work every day. I'm big into saving the environment and reducing air pollution (especially on inversion days), but at what cost?

Seems to me there has to be a better solution - I love public transit because it is usually either convenient, cheaper or faster - any one of the three and I'm happy - unfortunately, UTA is neither. It's cheaper, faster and cleaner for me to drive or walk - even on the weekends.

I'll keep hoping.
Signed,
Someone who would really like to use the bus system someday.

Tales from the House Hunter

In case you ever decide to post a rental listing, let me give you some advice.

1. Post photos. Do you really want to waste your time showing me a place I could have said "no" to by seeing the photos?
2. When posting photos, post photos of the INSIDE. Yes, the outside is nice too, but I couldn't care less what the trees in the yard look like - or the swimming pool either, for that matter. I want to see the inside, particularly the kitchen and the bathroom(s).
3. Don't tell me to drive by it first and then call you. I can use Google Earth to view the neighborhood and do a virtual drive-by. If I call you, I'm interested
4. We're in a RECESSION. In one of the worst housing markets in 60 years. Don't ignore me. If I call you, I'm interested. Don't make it difficult. Don't play games. Don't take 5 days to get back to me. If you want to rent it, act like it.
5. Don't rave about the fabulous new kitchen, remodeled things or amenities and not include photos. That's like telling me I've won the lottery but forgetting to tell me how to claim it (sort of)
6. I've worked in real estate - I know the goofy terms people use when there is nothing else to say about a place. "Plush carpeting" and "sparkling pool" do nothing for me. Carpeting is carpeting. Pools sparkle if there is sunshine out. Tell me something not obvious.
7. Bonus points if you include the square footage in your listing - this eliminates me having to call you to ask, wasting both of our time if your 3-bedroom rental is only 900 square feet. Yes, I realize you can cram 3 bedrooms in that amount of space. Unfortunately, I'm not interested in cramming 4 people and all of our stuff into that space. Thanks anyway.
8. If your rental doesn't include something major - like, oh, a refrigerator - raise the rent $50/month and buy one for crying out loud
9. Don't act like there are renters banging down your door. They aren't. Promise.
10. Include an e-mail address. It's much more efficient for both of us to ask/answer initial questions (you know, the ones you forgot to answer in the listing - like whether or not there are W/D hookups and how big the place is) via e-mail. Goes back to me not wanting to waste your time or mine.
11. Do NOT, under any circumstances, tell me that my husband needs to come see it as well. We'll survive if only one of us has seen it. He rented the place on Malibu Palms (ghetto). I rented the Hobbit Hole (short ceilinged basement apartment). We're still married. End of story.
12. Don't make me wait until your open house. I won't be in town then. If you want to rent the place, rent it. If you want to only show it to people at one time, say it in your listing. I'll cross it off my list. There are hundreds of other options.
13. Know what the neighborhood rental rates are. Don't think that because I'm from out of town I won't find out your house/unit is overpriced.
14. Don't ask me how many children will live in the house, how old I am (you can get that on the rental application) or if I'm Mormon (you know, since I'm moving from The Frontier and all). It's technically illegal, and I really would rather not give a complete stranger my entire life's story before deciding on a house. You will get all the necessary information. You can't deny me housing as a result of my answers anyway. In return, I won't ask you about the crime rate, what the neighbors are like(specifically) or other things you aren't required by law to disclose. I have my sources.

I've only just begun the Great Housing Hunt, and I'm already fed up. It amazes me how many hoops a person wants one to jump through, how many assumptions one must make, how much time one must waste to find suitable accommodations in one of the most populated cities in the country. Egads!

Living in a Dream

It's officially official. We're moving. To San Diego. In 4-9 weeks, depending on which member of our household you ask (Himself will tell you 4 weeks, as that is when he needs to report to work; I would tell you 9, based mostly on an ill-contrived fantasy that I might actually have time at that point to find a decent place to live, pack and get my own job affairs in order).

That said, we've ramped up our housing search among the land of sand, sun and large-scale economic disasters.

I spent several years in the real estate industry - all of them devoted to marketing, messaging and customer satisfaction. I worked in the industry at the height of the craziness, and we still required our agents to call customers back within 24 hours - no exceptions. Even if they were crazy. Even if we were sold out. Even if there was no way that they could purchase a $500k condo on an $80k salary. No exceptions.

So it baffles me that we cannot get a SINGLE realtor to call us back. Not one. Granted, the commissions on a rental are much smaller than the commissions on a sale, but come on - it's 2009, the height of the worst economic downfall in 90 years, in a state where the foreclosure rate is among the nation's highest. Houses, even rental houses, aren't exactly flying off the shelf these days.

It's not just because we're out of town, because Himself couldn't get a single agent to call him back when he WAS in town. Not one. And yet, the same listings keep reappearing day after day - taunting us with their promise of fabulous living accommodations - if only you can doggedly pursue the rental agency, realtor or owner.

The market is SATURATED with houses - for sale and for rent. There are so many that the rental rates have decreased by an average of $300-$500/month over the last 12 months across the board.

Apparently, however, no one in real estate has received the memo.

Aggravation.

I AM NOT BUSY!

If one more person tells me they are not coming by this month (the monthly church visitors included), not calling me to make a meal for a neighbor or not inviting me to do something because "It's the holidays, and I know how stressed and busy you are...." I might just have to stop biting my tongue.

I am not stressed in the least about the holidays this year, and I am certainly not busy. On top of that, I'd like to make my own decisions - if I sign up to bring someone food, it's because I think I can handle it. If not, I will tell you. It's one of the best things I learned from my 9-month anxiety/depression saga after Woodstock's birth. I've stopped feeling guilty about some things. Right? Wrong? Doesn't matter - I haven't had a panic attack in months.

Do I get everything accomplished every day? No. Do I have laundry sorted in the basement but not washed? Laundry washed but not put away entirely? A bathroom that needs cleaning? Picking up after Woodstock to do? Of course. It doesn't mean I'm too busy. At the moment, what it means is that I've a)completely lost the desire to do it that day b) have chosen to spend time with people rather than things c)I didn't sleep well (that would have been yesterday's excuse) or d) have totally mis-prioritized, in which case it is my fault I'm insane, not yours.

Since I've opted to DRASTICALLY simplify my life this season, I'm not busy. Instead, I'm enjoying myself (as long as I don't look too closely at the clutter that needs sorting). Don't get me wrong - I like staying home in the evenings, snuggling with Woodstock and, occasionally, Himself (who doesn't like to snuggle so much). I am just irritated.

Now, if that person herself (or himself) is busy, fine. I can understand that. Been there. Done that. Trying to reform. But rather than using me as an excuse, just let me know what's going on. "I'm so busy/stressed/over committed this holiday, do you mind if I skip December?" I would likely say, "Nope. Anything I can do to help you out?" And for crying out loud, don't tell me you're doing something, but not going to invite me because "I know how busy you are." That just says "I'm doing X, but you're not invited, and I want you to know that." And that is just rude.

Don't tell me you're saving me from myself. Let me decide that all on my own.

And ... if you want to bake cookies on Saturday ... well, I'm baking and I'd rather not eat them all myself.

Dear Recruiter/Employer

My resume is hanging out in cyberspace. I haven't touched in in four months, but it's still there.

Every once in awhile, a recruiter/employer sifts to the bottom of the stack and finds my lonely, not-updated-since-June resume. A resume/profile where my last four jobs use the words "Director" or "Manager." A resume where one job uses the world "million" several times in relation to budgets, development portfolio value, etc. A resume that clearly states I have managed teams, processes and people. A resume that demonstrates I have been employed, full-time for all but a year of the last decade.

There is one title that uses the word "sales" - but if you read the title and/or the line items of what I do, one would quickly grasp that in addition to my mostly marketing-management tasks, I managed sales processes, sales training. I DID NOT SELL ANYTHING.

Also, random pet peeve and useful piece of information: SALES and MARKETING ARE NOT THE SAME THING! In a perfect world, marketing support sales and the two work closely together but they are not, nor will they ever be, the same thing. (While we're on the subject, telemarketing is not marketing either).

So WHY on earth I keep getting random calls/e-mails from recruiters or employers asking me to interview for ANY of the following positions is beyond me:

-Marketing Assistant. Sorry, I'm not interested in going BACKWARD down the career ladder to the tune of 7 jobs ago.

-Sales anything. I don't sell. I don't want to sell. You clearly have not read my resume even though your e-mail to me starts out, "I'm impressed by your real esthate sales experience." No you aren't, because I've never sold real estate.

-Telemarketing call center manager. Just because the words "marketing" and "manager" happen to appear in my resume, does not mean I'm qualified for, nor interested in, a job that would also add "tele-" and "call center" to my resume.

-Entry-level anything. I am not kidding when I say I have had two phone calls in the past four months regarding an employer wanting me to interview for a marketing position. Upon further discovery, I found out it was an entry-level position. What on earth could they possibly be thinking? The first woman was a bit startled to realize what my salary requiremenet would be. I can't imagine why.

You have not read my resume very closely if you still think I am in DC. I haven't lived/worked there in (gasp!) 17 months. I could be persuaded to relocate, but saying, "since you are in the DC area..." does not fill me with great confidence as to your reading abilities.

Telling me you're interested in me interviewing for a position, but how would I rate my ability to use the Internet doesn't win you any bonus points either. Let's just dispense with the obvious - I've worked for two "dot coms," and I've had four different positions where my SOLE responsibility was online marketing/pr/advertising. It is a fair question if you haven't seen my resume, or if you were talking to me in 1997. But you have, and it's not.

Contacting me about a job that is in the $25-30k range is not going to win you any brownie points either - unless it is a part-time, work-from-home, consulting gig. Then I might think about it. I don't even have to put my salary range on my resume - even though I was chronically underpaid (this is not just wishful thinking, this is a documented fact) for my first five years out of college, the words "manager" or "director" on my resume combined with anything remotely geographically connected to DC should tell you something. $25-30k isn't going to persuade me to take a job - even one in the middle of nowhere. I'm already there.

**End of Rant** Off my soapbox.

My apologies to Heidi, who is one of the finest recruiters/headhunters I've known. My apologies also to the other fine recruiters/headhunters with whom I've had the privilege to work. This is not about you.

Wandering In the Dark

In high school, when I briefly flirted with the idea of attending a small liberal arts school in Wisconsin, my father practically begged me to reconsider. Not because it was a known party school, not because the tuition was enough to feed a small third-world country for a day, not because the words "small and liberal arts" were used in the same sentence, not because I would be moving thousands of miles away to a land inhabited by roughly as many cows and bars as people. No, all of those would have been a sure fire way to get me to flee gaily to the cheesehead capitol and stay there whether I liked it or not, just to prove a point. Rather, he practically begged me to reconsider my musings because it SNOWED there. (To be fair, I'm sure the other reasons crossed his mind several dozen times, but he knew me well enough to deter me with my weakness rather than with his worst nightmares come true).

It's a well known fact that I hate winter. Unfortunately, Himself hates to be hot, so we're trapped in the middle horizontal third of the country where the summers are hot (hoorah) and the winters are frigid (you can see Himself hoisting his skis and singing praises at each new patch of snow that shows up on the mountains).

However, it isn't the snow or the cold or the scraping of one's windows that I hate as much as the lack of light. It is nearly physically impossible for me to function without daylight. Artificial light doesn't cut it. I crave real, honest-to-goodness sunshine.

For this reason, I loathe the week before Daylight Savings ends and winter officially begins (regardless of what nature says, winter begins when it is dark when you get up and dark when you get home). I left my house this morning at 6:34 a.m. to wander around in the pitch blackness that only winter can bring as Day 2 of Operation Fitness commenced. Unlike Virginia, where everyone is halfway into their 2-hour commute at 6:30 a.m., no one is actually up and out at that hour in The Frontier, this close to the city.

I wandered around in the dark for 45 minutes. I passed three people and maybe four times that many cars. It felt as if I was exercising at 3 a.m. rather than the more-than-sensible 6:30 a.m.

The entire time (while praying I wasn't going to be hit by a car or incapacitated by the uneven terrain caused by sidewalks that appear and disappear at random in my enighborhood) I contemplated how I could hibernate through winter or move to the southern hemisphere where it is now spring. No longer is my dream of being a snowbird and owning two houses good enough - now I want those houses to be in two different hemispheres so I don't have to deal with dark mornings and cold days any more.

Seriously, in the days of telecommuting, wireless Internet and automatic deposit, would it be so wrong for me to consider apartment hunting in, say, a small beachside town in South America?

View from the Board Room

For several years in my Other Life, I had a birds-eye view of the beginning of the financial nightmares addressed last night by President Bush and the major conversation point of all the talking heads.

From my view in the board room in DC - the real estate, financial and regulatory powerhouse good ol' boys club - what I saw didn't make sense. Of course, it was only me, the one who has had no formal economic, financial or business management education (though my longing for an MBA puts me at least in the "firmly interested, read everything" category). That should have given the world reason to pause - if I, the one whose solitary "F" on a test came in financial accounting, saw reason to go "what the...?!" things were already on their way south - and fast.

Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #1:
Year-over-year property appreciation growth of 17-20%. In Fairfax County, the median price of a single-family home in 2002 was $260k. In 2006 (the absolute peak of market), it was $500k. An increase of 92% in 4 years.

Dummy Logic: Something tells me incomes weren't going up 92%.

Reality '08: If it's too good to be true, and actually IS true, it won't last. And, funny thing, incomes didn't go up 92%.

Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #2:
I sat in a meeting one day where Countrywide lenders (bidding to be the "preferred" lender on a project) said, "We can get absolutely anyone into a loan."

Dummy Logic: Anyone? Seriously? Aren't there rules about this kind of thing? You are saying this on year 5 of a double-digit upswing, you're talking interest-only, no money down, variable interest loans - do you think "Anyone" will be able to pay that back in 5 years when the market has changed and his $1.5k/month payment has become $3k and his $80k job has become only $85k?

Reality '08: Countrywide. In shambles. Match. Set. Point.

Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #3:
I sat in a first-time homebuyers informational session (one of my marketing events) and listened to a lender tell a couple, "you think you can afford x condo, but we could get you into y condo ($100k more) for $7k down, interest only, variable apr - you can refinance in 2 years." Guess what the couple did? Went for the "we'll have a second bedroom, but nothing to put in it, ever, because every single dime we make ON BOTH INCOMES is going to be paying our INTEREST ONLY mortage payment. We'll sell it in two years and make a fortune!"

Dummy Logic: I'm not even going there. I nearly choked on my crudite.

Reality '08: Forclosure rates are up 27%.

Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #4: Companies buying old real estate (rentals) for ridiculous prices, raising the price to an even more ridiculous level (selling as for-sale condos) and then putting them up for sale to "get a piece of the action."

Dummy Logic: Huh? Am I the only one that thought that was a ridiculous way to do business?

Results '08: It didn't even take that long. By '06, pure flip conversions were slashing their prices by $100k. Is it wrong to say "I told you so?"

Things That Make You Go "Hmmm?" #4:Pseudo mortgage companies and developers - suddenly "experts" - enter the game to make a quick buck.

Dummy Logic: We're leaving the handling, sales, development and flow of capital to novices? And greedy ones at that.

Reality '08: Four words and an acronym: Bear Stearns. Lehman Brothers. AIG. The dominioes keep falling.

Given my "aptitude" (or significant lack thereof) for numbers, it makes me wonder if I am clairvoyant. More likely, the contract one must sign to make a 7-figure-or-more salary must certainly read: thou shalt not use common sense, thou shalt wring all the money out of a company as fast as you possibly can, though shalt run the company into the ground if need be to see 20% return on investment, and - oh yes - shareholders, common people, taxpayers and your grandmother living off her pension backed by mortgage securities be damned.

Seriously.

Bank Thieves

Anyone who knows me knows I'm picky about grocery stores. Probably annoyingly picky. There are three things that will make me love a grocery store forever:

• Fresh produce (as much sourced locally as possible)


• An in-house butcher - where they cut and package their own meat


• Happy people

It's also nice if they have a great international foods aisle and cheese section, but they are second-tier requirements after the above three.

You'll notice there is one thing that ISN'T on there and that is A BANK. I'm not sure why banks/grocery stores felt the need to combine, but for me, it is a big fat hassle. I am not going to start shopping at a grocery store because it has such-and-such bank inside. I am not going to start banking at a bank because it is inside such-and-such grocery store.

I never need the bank and the grocery store at the same time. Ever.

Case in point:
I bank at the largest bank in The Frontier. I have banked there for three decades (yes, since my first savings account was started at birth). I have had a checking account there through all of my moves. I don't pay a dime to bank there - even when I had to deposit my own paychecks (when I actually got them) at The Factory. I'm not interested in banking anywhere else. Reason stands that banking at the largest bank in the area would mean access to a large number of easily accessible ATMs and branches.

HOWEVER, the closest bank to my house? Inside a grocery store. The closest bank to my office? Same thing, although it least it has a drive-up window.

It wouldn't be quite as bad if they had outside ATMs, but no, the ATMs are inside the store. Meaning if I need to hit an ATM up for cash, I have to take Woodstock out of her seat, schlep her into the store, use the ATM (one-handed, always fun), schlep her back out of the store, buckle her back in the seat and then be on my merry way. Heaven forbid if I need to use the actual services of the bank - the bank-in-a-store-models have far fewer tellers, much longer lines and a feeling of general chaos.

It makes me hate the grocery stores the bank is in - every time I drive by I catch myself thinking,

"You stole my bank!"

In essence, it's the truth, because they gobbled up a bank, stuck it inside in the most inconvienient location possible and then essentially keep the bank from putting a respectable branch in the general vicinity because they "already have a branch in the store."

It does no good to change banks because every other bank in The Frontier appears to think putting a branch in a grocery store is a good idea. Hogwash.

Although, come to think of it ... my new job was just announced in the morning paper, prompting the CEO of the bank to send me a note, which someone (probably his assistant) hand-signed. And the last line says,

"Please let us know if there is anything we can do to help you."

I'm sure they are thinking "investment strategies, mortgages, corporate banking needs" but they did ask ...

How To Buy Razors at the Ghetto Wal-Mart

1. Coordinate (for the first time ever), Himself's (always surprising, because he waits until the most critical moment) revelation that he needs new razors with your plan to be in the same proximity as a store that sells them that very day.

2. Arrive at said store (Ghetto Wal-Mart) with Woodstock in tow, who is mildly cranky (very mildly cranky) after getting her polio and pneumo/meningitis vaccines yesterday.

3. Arrive in razor aisle. Thank heaven that Gilette has not come out with a new razor system, as Himself MUST upgrade each time they do. (Soon 5 blades won't be enough, they'll need 20 so it does your entire face at once!)

4. Go to take razors off the bar on which they are hanging. Except, they don't come off. Tug repeatedly. Investigate bar from which razors are hanging ... it is somehow locked, holding the razors hostage.

5. In the interest of time, investigate "lesser" (ie last year's models) Gilette razors, thinking you'll explain the dilemma to Himself who will (hopefully) happily take the lesser razors and be happy.

6. Discover that ALL razors are in LOCKDOWN - somehow prevented from coming off the bar on which they are hanging.

7. Wander the health and beauty aisles looking for a Wal-Mart associate to tell me I'm not crazy and they can rescue the razors from lockdown .... for EIGHT MINUTES.

8. Give up and head for customer service podium halfway across the store. Woodstock starts to get grumpy. It is dinner time. Wandering up and down the feminine hygiene, toothpaste and razor aisles has done nothing to deter the rumblings of her tummy.

9. Ask customer service lady why on earth I cannot get the razors off their bar. She indicates they've done it ON PURPOSE to prevent people from stealing the razors.

10. Bite tongue so as not to say "and what is to stop one from stealing them once an associate has rescued the razors from lockdown and they're in one's cart?" Associate must have read my mind, because she verbalizes my exact sentiment.

11. Firmly tell associate what I think of so-called razor policy, compounded by the fact that there are NO associates in health and beauty at all - and the only reason I even ventured over to the customer service podium is because this is DESPARATION. Himself has NO razors and three-days' growth and has to work tomorrow.

12. Proceed to then spend $100 on razors, spot remover, stain remover, baby yogurt, Woodstock's milk and a handful of other necessary items.

13. Leave Ghetto Wal-Mart vowing to never return. I do this every time, and I rarely go, but good grief - men's safety razors on LOCKDOWN? That is indeed the very last straw.

Paying Bills: A Story of Insanity

Every month for the last 8 years, I have logged onto a certain website to pay a certain bill.

EVERY SINGLE MONTH.

Same site.
Same username.
Same password.
No problems.

Until today, when I went to pay my bill (due tomorrow). Suddenly, it doesn't work. Rather, the website works, but it no longer likes my ridiculous combination of letters and numbers and special characters (no spaces, please!), case-sensitive, and please make sure it is at least 10 characters long.

I try again. No luck. Repeating it does not good. Neither dones banging my head against my laptop (or the desk).

I click on "Forgot Username or Password?" a chirpy little link that assumes I'm just stupid and haven't been entering my enormously lengthy password AT LEAST 96 times over the last eight years.

It informs me that "we're sorry, but we cannot retrieve or reset your username or password. Please set up a new account."

Desparate, I do. I immediately run into trouble.

• Account number. Check.


• Security word. What the...? It's been eight years - I don't remember even having a security word. Going with the standard financial security question, I enter my mother's maiden name.


• 3-digit security number. Check. Except, well ... it seems to have DISAPPEARED.

Of course it comes back with a bright red "please call us immediately or we're putting you in lockdown" error message.

A phone call, a couple of transfers and one aggravated self later, I manage to pay my bill and get a new online account and a new security code and security word. All of which ensures I won't remember any of them next month.

I move on to the next bill, which I have been paying online every month for the last SEVEN years. Last month they changed their login system and made everyone choose new usernames (case-sensitive, please!) and passwords (a long string of letters and/or numbers, no special characters, no words you can find in the dictionary - seriously!).

Of course, after seven years of logging into the system a particular way, there is no possible way for me to remember the username/password combo I chose just last month.

Repeat head banging.

They are a little nicer and actually send me my username and the option to resest my password.

Somehow I suspect next month is going to be just as much fun

Yes, Mr. Postman, There Really is a 2 at the End

There are some definite advantages to moving next door versus anywhere else:

* The move was (is) virtually free, other than the $40 in takeout we've spent because we haven't been organized enough to find everything to cobble together a meal, including cold cereal (since rectified last night by putting away 85% of the kitchen "stuff" at 11 p.m.)

* One only has to carry things once. No loading, then unloading the truck with large, heavy, bulky or multiple items. Just lugging them across the lawn is enough.

I've discovered recently, however, one big disadvantage:

* The post office fails to recognize a one-digit change in address and continues to deliver mail addressed to our new address to the mail box next door at the Hobbit Hole's address.

At the moment, it is nothing more than a general annoyance, because we're still technically paying for (and cleaning and schlepping stuff out of) the Hobbit Hole. However, upon the arrival of new tenants, my general annoyance will likely grow into massive consternation.

The Hobbit Hole's address ends in -50. Our new address ends in -52. Apparently the dear postman feels he's doing us a favor by delivering mail to the Hobbit Hole that was mistakenly misaddressed. (Just like he's doing us a favor by delivering our mail to the upstairs neighbors or vice versa, or delivering all mail to former occupants to our box to deal with).

Yesterday I went to the post office and asked that they please make a note that indeed we have requested our mail to be forwarded. No, it is not a typo. Yes, we really did move next door. Yes, I relize it's easy to confuse one digit. No, after a year of mail issues, I'd rather not wait and let this "sort itself out."

Until then, if you want to reach us, send us an e-mail.

Soap Box: Marriage

My parents and I tend to have a lot of conversations regarding life, religion, politics, women, education, etc. I like this about my parents, especially since they don't automatically hate me if I have a different opinion. And because they raised me to have an opinion.

On a recent visit to The Parents', we had a conversation about Marriage as a destination vs. a process. Earlier today I read an article that referenced a similar thought, it made my fingers itch to analyze it on a keyboard. (Disclaimer: By nature of my fundamental beliefs about life, families and so forth, here's where I get slightly religious).

We believe that families are forever - that two people can be married by one with the proper authority from God (in the temple) and that they, and any offspring born to them, are linked forever in the eternities. Heaven would be a very sorrowful place to spend by oneself.

As a result, we teach our young women (I can't comment on the young men side, I am never was one, nor have I taught them), that Temple Marriage is the key to eternal salvation. In a matter of speaking. The problem is, here's where doctrine and culture get all mixed up. Doctrinally, yes, eternal (ie temple) marriage (regardless of when it happens) is a key tenet to salvation. But it is not a guarantee. It is not the end of the road. Culturally, however, we teach it as such. People sigh and think happy thoughts when someone is married in the temple, saying, "Oh good. They've made it."

In reality (and doctrinally), marriage (of any kind) is NOT a destination. It is a stepping stone in the process of life. I fundamentally believe that a temple marriage DOES provide extra support and strength to weather the storms of life (internal to, and external of, the marriage). But it does not mean "you've made it."

I have been particularly alarmed of late noticing that young women see marriage as an endpoint. An "arrival" where all will be well if they have the right kind of marriage ceremony. I see those with whom myself and my siblings were raised - with variations on the same theme - and see a staggering pattern of young women who view marriage as a dependent relationship and as their ultimate life's goal.

There is nothing wrong with marriage. There is nothing wrong with having a goal to be married. What scares me is the view of a marriage relationship as a dependency and as THE one and only goal. Should it be a goal? Absolutely! But it shouldn't be the culminating goal on a life's "to accomplish list" - it marks the end of a solitary journey and the beginning of a journey together, which should bring with it an even longer set of dreams, hopes and goals - and work.

Case in point: My youngest brother knows someone whose sole desire in life is to get married, at all costs. In her early 20s, she is desperate to get married. Rather than putting energy into improving herself and building a life (and a persona) that is attractive to men, she dropped out of school, works a dead-end job and lives at home - and concentrates on pushing marriage on every person she dates.

She will achieve her goal of marriage - and probably even temple marriage - but I wonder what kind of marriage it will be? Where does she go from there? What does she have to offer her husband, future children, society? It's not just a lack of formal education, but a lack of life education - the inability to cook, be independent, take care of a household. Yet everyone will cheer for her success and say "all is well," because "the goal" has been reached.

Marriage is hard. It is wonderful and sustaining and fulfilling, but it is hard. It takes work. Neither love (nor a temple marriage) is enough to sustain a relationship. An enormous amount of love combined with work, mutual goals, continual improvement, charity, long-suffering, patience, more work, selflessness, tolerance, acceptance, companionship, and so forth make up a marriage, a long with a good does of reality, forgiveness and a sense of humor.

I cringe to see young women (and young men) enter into one of the most sacred, complex unions completely unprepared. One can never be perfectly prepared, for that would require one (and one's spouse-to-be) to be perfect. Yet, there is an amount of preparedness that one can achieve prior saying "I do" - in preparing oneself to be able to take care of, and provide for, oneself. Some are ready very young. Some are not. Marriage is not a surrender to "here - take care of me forever!" it is a joining of two souls with mutual goals and aspirations, vowing to care for, love and support one another.

I'm by no means an expert. I've only been married five years, and Himself and I are still a work in progress (something akin to how I see Jackson Pollock paintings). But as the number of marriages that fail continues to rise, as the world screams "if you don't feel butterflies, it isn't love," I wonder what kind of disservice we as a culture and society are doing to teach our youth that marriage is a destination, implying that what follows are years of effortless perfection, bliss and butterflies.

I pray I don't fall into the same unintentional cycle as I raise Baby Girl.

End of rant. Off my soapbox.

Out to Get Me

Himself and I have a friend who is a serious collector of German WWII artifacts, including manuscripts, books and other paraphernalia of Hitler (truth be told, I think it's more for the shock factor than anything). Since he was career military, he always sent his wife to buy things like Mein Kampf and instructed her to use cash, so it couldn't be traced (paranoid, much?) and the government couldn't come after him.

I feel like I must have forgotten to use the same amount of paranoid caution in my life lately, as I am up to my eyeballs in government-generated hate mail.

A sampling of what has awaited me over the past few weeks:

* A letter from the state of Virginia indicating that indeed I owed them for an ENTIRE YEAR's worth of personal property tax on my car, even though I changed my address and let them know I had moved as of 5 June 2007 (necessitating that I pay 42.7% of the tax, not the entire tax, like they are claiming). We are now arguing over my figure vs. theirs, which says I must pay through when everything was converted to a Frontier address/registration.

Why they hate me: Himself moved out here a full six weeks later than I did, never let VA know he moved, and converted all of his vehicle info to a Frontier address/registration the same time I did - and they only charged him through June.

* A letter from the state re: my application for Baby Girl's insurance, since mine is cost-prohibitive (to the tune of 25% of my take-home salary) and Himself isn't employed. The letter was to let me know I needed to contact them for an interview by January 29 in order to complete my application (which took me two hours to fill out).

Why they hate me: The letter was postmarked January 28. It arrived January 31. There are several things wrong with this, including mailing it the day before one has to call (and they are "conveniently available between 8:30 a.m. and 4 p.m. M-F") and the fact that I LIVE in the state capital, meaning the letter took 3 days to rattle around the city mail system before it got to me.

* A second letter from the state (see above), letting me know that I had missed my interview period and would now need to submit a new application. Postmarked January 30. It arrived January 31. Imagine the confusion when I opened this one first.

Why they hate me: This letter conveniently only took overnight to travel the 5 or so miles from the state office to my home. In a quirk of new physics laws, bad news apparently travels faster than good or neutral news.

* A memo from the Social Security Administration, regarding our re-application (for the SECOND TIME) for Baby Girl's social security card. It let us know that we had used up two requests already - and that there are only three allowed per year, ten per lifetime (including new card requests for marital name changes). In other words, in the first 20 weeks of her life, we've used up 20% of her social security card requests.

Why they hate me: We haven't had to request new cards twice because I've been sloppy or irresponsible. We've had to request them because they have never arrived to begin with. Not only that, I am still trying to see if her social security number has been used anywhere fraudulently

.
* A jury duty notification from the county courts.

Why they hate me: In 11 1/2 years of being a registered voter, I've received three jury duty summons - all in the last 9 months. One for federal court, two for county. The first arrived during a transitional job period where I wasn't sure where I'd be employed, I was also pregnant and puking and needed to eat every couple of hours. My OB wrote a true (but convincing) letter to excuse me. The second arrived mere days before I left VA and moved to The Frontier. The third arrived the week after Himself lost his job - I don't get paid if I'm out for jury duty, and I am the only income. The $50/day the county gives you for compensation isn't enough to pay the rent. The funny thing is, I'd actually LIKE to be on a jury - if they could call me at a point and time when I'm not in the middle of being pregnant, having an employment crisis or moving. Oh yeah, and I work primarily on a Mac - the website qualification application for jury service (or to request a waiver) only works in Explorer. Gaah!

I'm waiting for an audit notice from the IRS - it would be a fitting tribute to the rest of my 2008 hate mail collection.

I am trying to decide if I should feel popular, loved or loathed. What I do know is that I am irritated beyond belief.

All of our agents are busy right now ...

Baby Girl's social security card hasn't ever shown up.

Today, I finally had the half hour necessary to remain on hold to find out what I can do about it.

"Welcome to the SSA, blah blah blah about our website. For English speak/say one." Okay. Easy enough.

"Blah blah blah about our website and all the fabulous things you can do there. Let me go through some options."
It gives me a list of options for things I can do through the automated process or over the website. Locating your baby's social security card is not one of them. I hit zero, hoping I can cut through the automated nonsense and speak to a real live government drone.

"I'm sorry. That is not an option." At this point, I'm using my handsfree system in my car, driving up State Street on my way to a meeting. Frustrated, I yell, "I just want to talk to an operator!"

The voice-activated system says, "Just one moment and we'll transfer you to an agent." SUCCESS! Except, I forgot I was talking to the government - and the SSA generates almost as much red tape as the IRS.

"We're sorry. All of our agents are busy now. Let me blah blah blah about our website and everything you can do through the automated drone." Which knocks me back into the system I just left - which still doesn't have an option for finding out what happened to Baby Girl's social security card. I yell in frustration, "I just want to talk to an agent!!"

"We're sorry. All of our agents are busy now. Let me blah blah blah about our website ... if you would like to continue holding, please press or say 2."

Of course, I follow the command, which immediately says, "Thank you for calling the SSA. We're sorry we are unable to help you at this time. Goodbye."

At this point I'm staring straight at the state capitol and have half a mind to march myself in there (my meeting was across the street) and find out how on earth I can talk to a real, live government SSA drone. I refrain.

Two hours later, after the meeting, I try again. This time, miracle of miracles, I get through to hold music. Elevator music has never sounded so good in my life. Thirty minutes later, it's not sounding so good. Finally, a real, live government drone gets on the phone. I explain that Baby Girl has never received a social security card. (My comments, or rather what I would have LIKED to have said, follow the SSA drone's statements).

"Well, Baltimore issued her a number." Um, that's nice, but she doesn't have a card.

"Maybe you moved?" No. Not since she was born. What I'm really worried about is that the card was swiped and someone else is being Baby Girl and using her SSN. The nurses at the hospital told us that the postal carriers were not allowed to deliver to a mailbox that didn't have our last name on it somewhere, for just that reason.

"Well, ma'am, there isn't any way I can tell to where the card was sent or if it is being used by someone else. But I wouldn't worry about it. The envelope says right on it 'if this person doesn't live here, please return to sender'." Um, right, and that is going to deter someone from stealing someone else's identity. Who can I talk to to make sure it isn't being used?

"Ma'am, that isn't going to happen ... the envelope says right on it ... I don't know who would steal it." Um, I live on a BUSY, five-lane street. My mailbox doesn't have a lock. I realize it's a far cry, but it was supposed to be here WEEKS ago. You say it was issued and sent - so where did it go?

I resign myself to just trying to get her a new card and then worrying about identity theft.

"You have to request a new one. We sent you one, which you should have received if you gave the correct address. You have to fill out a form. It will take 6-12 weeks to arrive." Okay, but what if the SAME problem happens again? That's what I was told the FIRST time I filled out the form. I was told to call if it didn't arrive.

"Well, there is nothing we can do here. The card is issued in Baltimore." Fine. Can I go online and do it?

"Yes. Print out Form XYZ and send it in. But Baby Girl is going to need identification." SHE IS 12 WEEKS OLD - what kind of ID does an infant have? What about her birth certificate?

"I'm sorry. That is not an acceptable form of identification." It's her birth certificate - the only thing I own with her official name on it. I had to use MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE to get a driver's license (which, by the way, IS acceptable identification - unless you're 12 weeks old). I also used it to get my social security card changed when I got married (along with my driver's license). They didn't need ID the FIRST TIME I filled out the form (when she was 2 days old).

"I'm sorry. You'll have to provide some other form of ID." Like, what, exactly? "You can have her pediatrician write a letter, stating she's a patient, last seen on xyz. Make sure it's on letterhead." Okay fine. Whatever. Because my pediatrician has time to vouch for my child being mine.

"Oh yes. And since she's too little to request her own replacement card, you will need to submit ID." Okay, so I'll enclose a copy of my driver's license.

"Ma'am, we can't take copies." Um, you told me I could SEND it in. How can I SEND an original of my driver's license or other ID?

"Well, you can't send in a copy. You'll have to come to our office then." And then what? You can give me a new card?

"No. Baltimore issues the cards. You have to come in and show your ID and Baby Girl's ID and we'll send the form on to Baltimore." Do I need to actually bring my baby?

"Well, it would be helpful...you know, because you don't want anyone representing her fraudulently and using her SSN for identity theft..."

I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS. I am so not having this conversation again. *Banging my head repeatedly.*
No wonder new mothers go insane.

FWD:

Okay, it's Monday, the roads are still slick and winter has settled in for a long, comfortable stay. Therefore, I'm allowing myself the luxury of dragging out a pet peeve.

E-mail that starts with FWD: that comes from someone who never bothers to send anything else.

*Duck*

It shouldn't bother me, but it does. I, as a general rule, don't mass-forward anything. Generally, if I forward something, it's to the one or two people to whom it might matter. Or it's fun and interactive. Or it's a one-time lapse in sanity. And I'll hide your e-mail address.

I'm a cynic by nature, which means I don't believe in good or bad luck. I don't believe in coincidences either (for an entirely different reason). I don't believe that Microsoft or AOL or anyone else is going to give me money for forwarding an e-mail. I'm in marketing - if they were going to do it, the industry press would be all over it. There are bad people and bad stuff in the world, and I like to stay informed, but I prefer to get my news from reputable news agencies (okay, I'm willing to debate the word "reputable") rather than some person, usually Anonymous, who claims to know of a sister's, friend's, cousin's, grandmother's, aunt's, niece's, cousin's, friend of a friend who had x, y or z happen to them. Target is still not a French-owned company. I've been to the corporate headquarters in MN (okay, just the outside, but still ....). Shampoo is not going to give me cancer. Nigerians are not going to magically give me money by cashing a check for them or giving them my bank information.If a bank with whom I've never had an account contacts me about needing me to update my account information, it's a phishing scam. I am not an activist. I have quiet moments of outrage, contemplation and activism, but they are generally either a) generated by someone I know (as in directly) or b) my own philosophies and beliefs - not by a forwarded e-mail started by who knows who. I am paranoid by nature, which means I drive with my car doors locked, don't talk to strangers and run in the opposite direction from strange men (or try to). I shred my mail. I don't mail anything important from my mailbox. And so on ...

If I've heard from you once in the last year (whether via Christmas card or e-mail or phone or anything else), I am not talking to you. If I know the names of your last two kids, it's all okay. If you know that I moved thousands of miles and had a kid this year, you're probably okay (that lets anyone reading this off the hook, so you can all stop worrying if I'm posting to you ... in reality no one who does any of this even knows I blog). UNLESS ... you send me hundreds of FWD messages. Then I might have to think of something equally as annoying. Like signing you up for all those sweepstakes offers out there. :)

Okay, rant over. Back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Absurdity

There is a concert coming to town this week that I really want to go to. I've always wanted to see this performer in concert - Himself has, and has commented several times on how much he enjoyed it.

Himself and I decided that we'd go and call it the almost-three-months-late-birthday-present-I-didn't-get.

I find out tickets are $35 each - reasonable.

I go to buy them - there are still good seats left. Good.

Then I get to the purchase screen - there are TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS worth of fees! And, if I want to print my own tickets at home, I can add another $3 to that.

Why not say the concert tickets are $49 each and not tell me how much is fees? Funny - I might have purchased them at that point and chalked it up to a splurge.

But I can't justify knowingly paying almost another full ticket price in fees to go to the concert.

So I didn't buy them. I'm in mourning - I really wanted a date night with Himself - and Thursdays are the night our sitter is open late. More than that, I really wanted to see this concert. But all those fees? Am I supposed to clap my hands and jump for joy?

SmithTix stinks.

Stalked by a Vampire

I have a pretty high tolerance for stupidity, lack of common sense and plain old annyoing behaviors. For me, there is quite a distance between aggravating me and leaving me flat out furious.

The Red Cross has found, and crossed, that line.

Three years ago, in the spirit of helping out the daughter of a friend, I succombed to my fear of donating blood and sat with a needle in my arm for several minutes. I am not afraid of needles. Quite the contrary. I'm afraid of passing out. I have very low blood pressure and very low blood sugar - if you take a large amount of blood out of me, I wobble. But, I gritted my teeth and did it.

Turns out, I have O+ blood - I am a universal donor.

Guess what that means?

Yep. The Red Cross calls me ALL THE TIME.

It wouldn't be so bad - I didn't pass out that time, I enjoyed the juice and cookies, I didn't break out in hives from the bandage they used (I'm allergic to adhesives - go figure). However, nearly a year later I was diagnosed with a condition that now prohibits me from donating blood.

I have explained this, quite patiently, to the Red Cross in subsequent calls. Each time I have to re-explain it and asked to be removed from their list, I get an assurance it will happen. It never does.

Several months ago, the gentleman on the other end admitted there are SEVERAL lists - how I ended up on all of them, I'm not sure. I pictured the Red Cross gleefully sending my phone number and blood time to every call center they have, with a note that said, "Call her! She's got perfect blood!" (Of course, in my mind, the Red Cross is looking more and more like Count von Count on Sesame Street - maybe it's the season).

It was aggravating. This month, they crossed the line to furious.

For days I had been receiving calls coming up as "unavailable" on my caller ID. I didn't answer, figuring if they really wanted to reach me (they called only during the day, during which I would theoretically be at work) they would leave a message. They never did. I started charting the calls. I was getting 4-5 calls a day, some within just minutes of each other.

I finally answered. Silence. They use one of those auto dialers that only connects when you pick up. I waited. Still nothing. I hung up. They called back 10 minutes later. I didn't answer. No message. An hour later, they called again. I answered.

"Hello?"

"This is the American Red Cross calling for Sara"

At this point I am considering banging my head on the nearest solid object. I explain that I can no longer give blood and to PLEASE stop calling me. She again confessed there are more than one list. I explained that I have probably spoken with the Red Cross at least once a month for the past 2 1/2 years - that's approximately 30 times I've actually SPOKEN to them. How many more lists could their be?! She didn't know. Of course not. She is making $6 an hour at a call center in Timbuktu, far removed from the acutal Red Cross.

I won't boycott the Red Cross - I think they do good work. But I am searching for somewhere I can contact to stop them from stalking me.

I feel bad, I really do. But it makes me want to yell, "Watch out if you donate blood - you will be stalked by a vampire for the rest of your natural life," to anyone who is considering donating blood. Really. Could they limit their calling to once a day? That, at least, would be approaching something close to reasonable.