My computer has so many wonderful features.  It’s not just solitaire and email; now I have even more with this great sidebar that shows me the weather, the latest news headlines, and a slideshow of all the family photos on our computer. 

I love the weather updates, especially the feature that shows me the week’s forecast. 

I am much better informed now about all the latest important developments in the world, like Tiger Woods’ rehab, Brangelina’s non-breakup, and the latest “used to be a celebrity” or relative thereof who has had a run in with the law.  With a twitch of the mouse, I can read the whole story and be “in the know.” 

I am entranced by the slideshow of family photos.  I can just sit and watch for hours - I often do - reliving those moments when the children were smaller, and so was I.

All this is very entertaining, and seems almost necessary.  However, as I am not the queen, nor even the court jester of self-discipline, it’s easy to see why I’m not getting any work done!

A test of my resolve to be cold and impervious to all salespeople and mail offers soon arrived in an impressive-looking envelope bearing the seal of the “Major Money and Award Reporting Office,” a division of the “Important Matters Ofc.”  The envelope had even been “sealed at time of enclosing contents”.  Clearly, this was official, and I had now won something big.  I chided myself for being so judgmental, and resolved to have more faith in people.  I even wondered if I could still use those vouchers. 

Inside this fancy envelope wasn’t just a letter, but a “Direct Contact Letter” about me winning the $2,100,00 prize.  Yippee!  As I read my Direct Contact Letter, however, I realized that nowhere did it say I had actually won the money.  It was full of statements that implied my winning, but all it really said was that I would now be “On Record as ‘Receiver’ of Prize Identification data now Confirmed.”   

I was feeling mighty peeved and deceived about the whole thing, until I noticed the capital C in “Confirmed”.  Then, when I read that this wasn’t just any old letter, but a “Real and Actual Notice,” I felt much better.  I mean, if they’re using capital letters AND underlining words, then it must be for real, right?  That’s when I noticed the letterhead. 

At the top of my “Real and Actual Notice”, was the following address:  “direct contact - main building.  headquarters building in some city, some state.”    Really.  I am not making this up. 

Maybe it was that address that made me decide NOT to send my $14.98 proceduring fee, or maybe it was the fact that they called it a “proceduring” fee.  Either way, I wasn’t falling for that old trick; I know better than to send money to try and win money.  At least not to a company located in “some city” of “some state” that makes up words and misuses capital letters.  Maybe if they had an actual address.  Or used proper English….. 

Ah, hope springs eternal.  Or maybe I’m an idiot.  I’m going with the hope thing, but maybe that’s just me….. being a sucker.

After the last episode, I called the sweepstakes company back to ask that my information be removed from their database.  But apparently, once I gave them my phone number, I was locked into the system, and it was impossible for a phone agent to take me out.  A polite gentleman gave me an address where I could send a letter with my removal request, but repeatedly asked me if I really wanted to miss my chance at $2,100,000?

Yep, I really did.  I wrote the company’s address on my “to do immediately” list, and of course that’s as far as it went.  Good thing I didn’t write to them, though, or I wouldn’t have gotten my next mailer from the Sweepstakes Clearinghouse Department of Notifications - with 6 checks for $400.00.  Woohoo!  Clearly, I had been hasty in labeling the whole thing a scam.  I would enjoy the $2,400, and readjust my outlook on life and prize letters.  From now on, I would live each new day in the hope of promising mail offers.  

As I worked into my new attitude, I began to wonder why they sent six separate checks.  Looking more closely, I saw that each check was marked “not a check”.  Huh???

These were credit vouchers, and could only be used to purchase the items shown on the enclosed brochure.  Such as a $779.95 laptop that would leave me with a remaining balance of $379.95, payable by check or credit card, or by using their convenient lay-away plan.  All this was explained in the “Official Directive”, otherwise known as a “letter”, in which J. Johnston of the Sweepstakes Clearinghouse Department of Notifications expressed that he was extremely happy to pass on this wonderful news.

Well, I would be extremely happy not to buy anything from his dumb old Sweepstakes Clearinghouse Whatever, so there.  How stupid did these people think I was?  (That is a rhetorical question, btw)  My next new attitude was going to be cold and impervious to all mail offers and salespeople.  It wouldn’t be long before I got to try out this new attitude; tune in next week for the fourth and final (yes, there is a God) installment of me not being such a complete fool after all.

After scaring the mail carrier, I made sure to stay inside the next day, and as I had predicted, the bills were delivered.  Oh joy.  I also received an “Important Delivery Letter” marked “Second Notice”.  I didn’t recall any “First Notice”, but went ahead and opened it anyway.  Thank goodness I did, because the Sweepstakes Clearinghouse Department of Notifications had been trying to reach me about my $2,100,000 sweepstakes identification number, and I needed to call them right away.

Not being a complete fool, I knew this was a trick.  I knew full well that I hadn’t entered any sweepstakes.  Furthermore, I knew that just making the phone call would put me on who-knows-how-many mailing lists for things like pleather umbrellas and self-folding socks.  I knew it was a scam.

So of course I called.  An actual person answered the phone.  This was a bad sign; any legitimate company would have at least put me on hold. But the young lady was very nice as she asked me to please identify myself and give my $2,100,000 sweepstakes number, so I did.  When she asked for my phone number, I hesitated, but then I reasoned that it was probably already on her caller ID, so I gave it to her.  She congratulated me; my $2,100,000 sweepstakes identification number was now confirmed.  Hooray!  Then she began to tell me about their special offers for people with confirmed numbers.

Well, I may not be the sharpest knife in the deck, but at this point I realized that I’d been suckered.  I walked the phone over to the front door, opened it, and said, “No, thank you very much; have a nice day,” and hung up.  Then I closed the door.  My practice had paid off.

Tune in next week for part the third of me being not a complete fool, but pretty darn close to it.

Maybe it’s just me, but does anyone else have trouble saying “no” to things?  Like salespeople?  Special offers?  Manatee adoptions?

Okay, the manatee thing was only that one time, but the other stuff is constant.  It’s like I send out a “Gullible Fool” signal. In flashing neon. It’s hard for me to balance being open and hopeful with not being a complete idiot.

For example, a few weeks ago, a lovely woman came by selling cleaning fluid.  I said no, but she didn’t listen.  Being the hard-nosed person that I am, pretty soon I had invited her in and we were chatting about our kids.   She was actually a lot of fun, but finally - just so she’d leave - I bought a $40.00 bottle of cleaning fluid.  Considering the dilution factor, I’m pretty sure it’s not as bad as it sounds, except for the fact that I don’t need it, and I’ll never use it because I’d have to learn calculus just to figure out the fluid/water ratio.

I wrote the purchase off as a learning experience, and started practicing a routine where I open the door, say, “No, thank you very much; have a nice day,” and then firmly close the door.  I’ve run through it several times now, and I can probably pull it off with the next salesperson.  Unfortunately, my timing on the practice sessions hasn’t been so hot, and I’ve now scared away three Girl Scouts, the Avon lady, and the mail carrier. 

But hey, we don’t really need the cookies, I’m going to wrinkle no matter what lotion I buy, and the mail would have been bills anyway, right?

 Tune in next week for Part B of Hope Springing - Eternally

Maybe it’s me, but is it possible that I have been unkind in writing about my family’s foibles?  Was it perhaps unwise to make sport of my nearest and dearest? 

Nah, I didn’t think so.  Lest we forget, what was it my husband said when I first started writing?  ”Well, as long as you get paid for it, then I can take it.”  I usually run most things by him at some point, though.  So far, he hasn’t been offended, but he did say that it might be good to ask him BEFORE I publish the article.   A point to consider, I suppose. 

The kids are okay with being mentioned, at least mostly, since I don’t use their names, and nobody really knows who I am.  Not yet, anyway.  I asked them what they would do once I made it big and became a well-known public figure…… Continue reading →

Maybe it’s me, but I really think that procrastination must be genetic.  I have evidence of a chromosomal cause; it runs in my family.  My mother has many wonderful qualities, but punctuality is not one of them.  It is not unusual to have several birthday packages arrive in one large box - one that covers the birthdays from March thru August.  And arrives in October.  My sister once sent us “winter gifts” in February.  They were nicely packaged in snowman wrapping paper, with a note that said that these most certainly were NOT late Christmas gifts, but rather they were timely “winter gifts”.  The winter-gifting season, she explained, is rather loosely held to be somewhere between January and March. 

As you can see, the family procrastination gene is linked to a rather creative rationalization gene. 

Much as I hate to admit this, I can top the winter gifts….. Continue reading →

Is it wrong that I don’t know how to cook a turkey?  Growing up, I only saw it done once a year, on Thanksgiving, and that annual family ritual didn’t provide the best of training. My father, who for 364 days of the year never entered the kitchen unless ordered to do so at gunpoint, would completely take over this domestic domain for Thanksgiving.  His mission:  to stuff the turkey. 

Now mind you, my mother still had to do everything else for Thanksgiving dinner, but she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen to do any of it until the turkey was stuffed.  And woe to the child who hadn’t eaten breakfast before Dad commandeered the kitchen, because we were no longer permitted to enter.  One year he actually cordoned off the area with ropes.  So we got pretty hungry on Thanksgiving Day.  This was good planning on his part though, because by the time dinner was served, we would eat almost anything, even his stuffing

The making of the stuffing was quite the production.  My dad would wear an apron, which was an endless source of amusement for us kids.  It wasn’t one of those unisex barbecue aprons; it was always one of mom’s, complete with flower-embroidered pockets.  It looked particularly ridiculous on a bespectacled bald guy wearing a starched shirt and pressed pants.

We didn’t hang around to be amused for long, though…. Continue reading →

An Ode to September

Oh how I dread the start of school,

It’s enough to make me act the fool.

Nay, it’s not the empty house I mind, nor even waking kids on time.

It’s not the morning rush to dress, not the carpool with its added stress.

The foulest element of back to class

Is the set of supplies I must amass.

Pencils and pens and binders - oh my!

Paper, erasers and markers to buy.

Oh, what a nightmare!  What a pain!

Oh, how I hate to shop again!

Lo, I spy the crowded aisles!

Behold the lines that stretch for miles!

I gnash my teeth as I hie yonder, wrestling with a cart that wanders.

Woe to me!  I find stock depleted, mostly of the stuff I needed!

I must hence get me out the door, to yet another supply store.

And then with dismay, go out once more, for what the kids forgot before.

PhoneCoPhobia - the Fear of Calling AT&T

This morning, there was a downed phone line in front of our house. My husband suggested that I call the phone company to report it, and I started to hyperventilate.

The last time I called to report a problem with the phone, I found myself kneeling in the rock bed on the side of the house, unscrewing the cover on a little gray box so that I could check the dial tone on the thingy outside - working as fast as I could, because if I didn’t get that cover off and press 1 if there was a dial tone and 2 if there wasn’t, I was going to have to start all over.  Thank goodness the box was the problem, because I was sure that the next automated instruction would be to strap on some climbing boots and shinny up the utility pole to check out everything up there.  I could only imagine what the little voice would want me to do for a downed line.

Seeing my panic, my husband suggested that I try reporting it over the internet.  That sounded much more manageable, so I went in and fired up the computer.

A few screens into it, I realized that this had some similarities to the automated phone process.  One, I would be significantly older before I finished.  Two, by the time I got through their trouble-shooting diagnostic process, I’d be qualified to hang out my own phone repair shingle.

Before the system would yield the top secret e-mail address for my particular problem, I went through eight screens of questions.  Finally, I got to choose ‘repair’.  Excited, I realized I must be almost there.  And then I got these three options:

• Open or check status of repair ticket online
• Help yourself: technical support -High speed internet
• Help yourself: customer support - Wireless Service

Now, do any of these sound like they apply to what I need to report?  I didn’t think so either.  And for crying out loud and heavens to Pete - why, after all this, are two of my three options to ‘help myself’?

Just when I decided that the phone line could stay down for all I cared, I recalled the priceless wisdom of a not-so-ancient philosopher/technician.

“Call the help line and keep pressing “0″ until somebody talks to you.”

It works.