It’s Friday! Pour yourself a grown-up drink and proceed with the happy dances. Also, sit back, relax, and join me for this week’s Fantastic Friday Five.
1.) In this day and age, I’m not what anyone would consider a “techy”. Normally, my cell phone is the freebie that you get each time you upgrade and nothing more. BUT…this time I decided to join the rest of the world and find out what the hell is so fabulous about having all that crap on your phone. Last night, I got an Evo Shift and I have no freaking clue what the hell I am doing. There are apps for everything. Need to know how to wipe your ass? There’s an app for that. Need to break up with your boyfriend? There’s an app for that. Need a hit man? Apparently, there is an app for that too. Is there an app that teaches me how to use these apps? Just wondering…
2.) My daughter has been busting her tail selling Girl Scout cookies. She has sold nearly 200 boxes. Her goal this year is 600. The first day I took her out her hair was in pigtails. Now she is convinced that the pigtails are what is selling her cookies. So she asks for me to put her hair up each time I take her out to sell. She went to one house and she asked the man that answered the door if he wanted to buy cookies and he declined. She turned to me and said, “I KNEW he was going to tell me ‘NO’.” The guy ended up buying 8 boxes. Part of me wanted to give her a fist bump but I didn’t want her to think guilt was the appropriate way to reach her goal although it was obviously effective.
3.) My husband made a HUGE mistake. Never, EVER, tell a woman to purchase clothes and shoes for herself and add “I don’t care what it costs.” I don’t feel bad, though. I rarely shop for myself so this was quite a treat and since he is coming home in a couple of weeks it will be a nice treat for him as well. See? I’m not selfish. This benefits both of us since it stands to reason that the happier I am the happier I’ll be able to make him. Logic…plain and simple.
4.) Gas is effing expensive! I know I don’t need to say it but it’s true. I put $25.00 bucks in my truck the other day and I didn’t even get a half of tank. Today, I noticed regular unleaded was $3.08. This is not a good sign for summer.
5.) Lastly, I’ve been wondering…where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? She owes me money.
Well, another week down and another week closer to seeing my husband. Yay! More to come soon…
Like I said in the last post, things have been absolutely nuts around here and Daylight Savings Time was no help either. I must give you fair warning though. This post is like a few posts wrapped into one. try to keep up.
My laptop died. I got the evil blue error screen of death. Yes, it was archaic. Yes, it was running slower than an obese man on a treadmill. But I loved my little laptop. Even with the missing keys courtesy of my nephew and his little toddler fingers. Even with the finicky optical drive that just to run a disc I would find myself holding up my laptop and tilting it in all sorts of directions just to get it to read.
With the hubby gone, I was relying on it for communication purposes. I'm not ashamed to say I came close to a melt down thinking about not being able to talk to him. Ok, not being able to blog, upload pictures to Facebook, or play the freaking Sims upset me a little too. Shut up! I need an intervention.
Any who ha....
I took the laptop to a local computer repair where I left it for a few days. When I finally heard back I was told the hard drive was shot as was the optical drive which, of course, came as no surprise. For repairs it would cost about $200. Instead, I dropped off my external hard drive and asked them to do their best to transfer my files from the laptop to the external drive which would run my about $50.
Then I skipped to Office Depot and purchase a new laptop. Hooray! My husband suggested I give the old laptop a proper funeral a la Office Space style.
Since then I have downloaded Skype. Let me just say, Skype is the bee's knees! Previously we had been using Yahoo Messenger to communicate which resulted in lots of frozen faces in unflattering moments. Skype has minimal freezing which is great when the husband talks to the kids since they are usually hopped on sugary goodness...especially lately thanks to Halloween and the generosity (aka Satanic worship) of all the neighbors and such who will be burning in hell with us for particpating in the devil's holiday. You guys rock!
So this is my plug for Skype...I deserve commision. Dowload Skype and you will live a long and properous life full of decent video footage and smiles. La la la!
Next topic on the agenda...scouting updates...I can tell you're excited. You should be.
My babygirl had her Investiture Ceremony which was very informal aka unorganized. I guess I am accustomed to how the Girl Scout troop I was in as a child was run. My leader, Susan Reynolds, was a beast! That woman organized everything to the tee or so it seemed when I was a kid. Ceremonies and awards were handled with precision and formalities. It made us feel special...or at least that was how it made me feel. I suppose that's the Leo in me. I like to be made a big deal of.
Anyway, anyway...
This ceremony was so casual it almost made me feel like babygirl's troop leader didn't give a fuck. By the book, the ceremony consists of the girls reciting their promise and law. This is a ceremony for welcoming new Girl Scouts into the age appropriate group. At this time, each girl recieves the Girl Scout pin. Now I must tell you this ceremony has already been pushed back three weeks...it was supposed to take place near the beginning of October. However, the girls never received their pins. Why? Because the leader ordered them too late. Back to Susan Reynolds...she would have ordered those bitches MONTHS ago. Sigh...I guess I'm spoiled.
Ok...now let's go on over to left field...my brain seems to frequent there often.
Recently, Dr. Atkins and I have gotten reaquainted. I am what you would call a carb addict and I'm not found of excercise. When people start talking about how much fun they had on their morning run or their last visit to the gym, I seriously want to punch them in their ovaries. And, no, men are not safe. Use your imagination if you want to know where I would like to exert pain on them.
For the life of me, I cannot begin to understand those weirdos that say crap like, "Man, the elliptical kicked my ass today. I am hurting all over. I feel grrrrr-eat." Yes, those idiots make me think of Tony the Tiger trying to peddle me Frosted Flakes. I call them "idiots" but really they'll probably live longer then me since I believe bacon is a food group all on it's own. It's so crunchy and if you wrapped a sweaty jock strap in it, I'd try it at least once. It's like strips of heaven.
Speaking of heaven, I feel sorry for people of the Jewish and Islamic faith. Not eating bacon would make me sad. Maybe just maybe...the "tree of knowledge" from the Bible really grew crispy, delicious bacon. Maybe God got pissed because, after all, now Adam and Eve KNEW bacon fucking rocked. Now those two mooches were going to eat it all and God was not going to share. I would have kicked them out too. Nobody better touch my bacon!!
In lieu of my latest dieting pursuit, I have also stopped gnawing on my fingernails. It's been a little over a month. Hooray for me!!
BEEP!
Did you hear that?
The other night, I was tearing the house apart because something was beeping. I would walk in one direction and hear it and SWEAR it was coming from the other direction. I walked into the kitchen and thought it was coming from the living room. I was putting my ear up to each and every electronic. I dumped out my purse. I looked like a freaking looney. I was even standing on chairs trying to see if the smoke alarms, the doorbell box, and even the freaking light fixtures were the culprits. At one point I was even listening into the air vent thinking maybe just maybe it was coming from in there.
I'm glad I wasn't drunk or high or something. I'd probably think there was bomb hidden in my wall. I finally ended up located the source of the noise. It was coming from a drawer in the kitchen. It was a smoke detector that we had taken down when we first moved in and replaced with our high tech one. We didn't throw it away since we rent and plan on putting it back up when we move. I was completely frazzled afterwards. I had to take some melatonin just to settle down so I could go to sleep.
Finally, I must brag a little. One of the blogs I follow has a caption contest and I was last week's winner. Knowing my luck, I was probably the only person that entered. Anyway, here it is:
And if you want to join the fun, follow Leigh vs. Laundry. She's pretty damn funny.
Lastly, I told you in the last post about shit mountain I'd be back tomorrow to give you the rest of the insanity. Well, I kept my word. I even put a bow on it to make you feel special. I bet you didn't even notice. Now I'm off to eat a cucumber and pretend it's fresh baked chocolate chips cookies.
Ok. So I know it has been about a week since my last post. I can't lie. I think my brain shut down. I kid you not. I've kind of been walking around like a zombie these past few days. Speaking of zombies...if you aren't watching The Walking Dead series on AMC, you suck.
Seriously though, dudes and dudettes, I have so much stuff to blog about. There are pages of notes and some random paper products stuffed into the notebooks where I jot down my awesomeness. If my kids would stand still long enough they'd probably have notes on them as well. I promise I will get to all of it in due time.
Recently, we had a plumbing issue. The toilets wouldn't flush properly and when everything would finally go down the other would make gurgling sounds. When I'd plunge one, the other would have water seeping out from underneath. Murky ickiness was backing up into my shower. What's worse was the toilet paper and shit mountain that was building up in my backyard where it was all coming out of PVC pipe. It was gross. So gross, in fact, that even the dog didn't want to be anywhere near it and normally he is all about some nasty.
About a month ago, the genius that is this blogger had a serious brain fart. For some unknown reason, I deemed it accpetable to flush a tampon down the camode. Don't ask me what possessed me to do this. I never do that (anymore). I'm telling you. It has to be the lack of sex.
Anyway, I flush one of the period plugs and later I'm showering and I notice the basin filling up. After, I finish I decide to get my plumber on and plunge the hell out of it. Nothing could have prepared me for the horror that would begin to fill the shower. As I watched the water near the drain bubbled, the black muck started to gurgle out into the basin. All I could think was "Charlie Murphy! Darkness! The darkness is spreading!" It was so inky that I could no longer see the tile of the tub. Among the funk water was little floaters that once they leave your body, you have no wish to see ever again.
I called the landlord and when the plumber came out I was informed that the culprit was the lone tampon I had flushed. GREAT! I heard a whooshing noise in my head...it was the sound of me flushing money down the toilet.
So now, once again we are having plumbing issues. I SWEAR I didn't flush anything this time. This time the landlord stopped by and stood next to shitty TP mountain and declared that he believed it was roots in the plumbing causing this issue. He called a plumber and told me someone would be there in the morning. ALL DAMN DAY I WAITED! No plumber. Around four o'clock, I called the landlord to let him know I was still having potty issues. He called the plumber again and was told that he was still coming but that he was just backed up...no pun intended.
That night my husband and are discussing the difficulty of getting a plumber out to the house. My husband was concerned that there was some sort of plumbing epidemic and all of the city's plumbers were called out to battle the pipes. Apparently, no other plumbers are as skilled as our town's very own conquering heroes.
The next morning, I called the landlord again to inform him that a plumber still had not shown up. He ended up calling another plumber and said, "If this guy doesn't show, I'm going to come out there and snake it myself." Now, I wish for the sake of blogging he would have. To give you a visual, my landlord reminds my husband and I of Bill Cosby. He is very energetic and expressive. He uses his entire body to tell you a story and the man is funny. He probably would have snaked the line and then offered everyone some Jell-o pudding pops.
Remember I mentioned roots in the plumbing? This is all too familar. Years ago, we lived in an older house that had the same issues occasionally. The worst was when I was hanging clothes in the backyard and noticed they didn't smell too hot. That's when I found out the sewage was backing up into the washing machine I doing laundry in. NICE!
Back to the present...
The plumber finally showed up. It was the same guy as last time. The first thing he says to me is "You din't go flushin no feminim hygeine pro-ducts down the drain, did yer?" Apparently, this guy knows too much. I may have to have him assassinated or something. In the very least, send him a christmas card.
You know, Mr. Fix-it was in and out in less then 15 minutes! I waiting over 36 hours for him to bolt through here like nothing was ever wrong. That was looooongest 36 hours of my life...well except for the bus trip. Seriously, I had to keep convincing myself during that time that I did NOT need to go to the restroom.
Now can you understand why my brain turned into oatmeal this week? This isn't even all of it. I'll try to be back tomorrow to fill you in on the rest of lunacy that seems tobe my life. In the meantime, don't flush tampons down the toilet...even though the specifically say FLUSHABLE and BIODEGRADABLE. It's all a lie people!
Apparently in Nigeria I’m not very smart. To be more specific, I am an idiot. If you haven’t read my previous blog post, Some Nigerian Isn't Getting Paid Today, you may want to read it before you proceed any further. I do not intend to do much recapping...mainly because I'm lazy and selfish.
Today as I pulled out of my driveway to run some errands, I got a phone call from Nevada…a number I didn’t recognize. Upon answering, the man on the other end with the very heavy accent identified himself as “Mr. Smith calling on behalf of his wife, Patricia Smith”. He wanted to know if I had cashed the money orders yet. I told him they were confiscated at the post office. He demanded to know why I took them to the post office in first place. "Because that's what you do when they aren't real, silly.", I told in my most condescending mommy voice. You could tell he was getting agitated with me. I was giggling on the inside because let’s face it pissing people off is what I live for.
He yelled and said that he instructed me to take them to my bank to cash them. Gee, all this time I thought I was getting email instructions from his beloved wife. I asked him, "Why on earth would I do that since, you know, they were fake and all?" He played dumb and told me he didn’t understand how they were fraudulent. I explained that the post office has this magical 800 number in place that smart people, like myself, are able utilize so that we aren’t scammed by people like him who are too lazy to get an honest job. Then he called me an idiot. As a matter of fact he called me an idiot a few times and I’m pretty sure he called me a few other colorful things in his native tongue as he ranted and raved over what a stupid thing I did.
I did something “stupid”…by not allowing this con artist to scam me, I am stupid. If you look up stupid in the dictionary, you will see my face and the following: n. person who does not get fooled by phoney money orders and enjoys poking fun at irate con artists (i.e. Ashley Coleman). Yep. Sounds like me in a nutshell. I guess I should try to be smarter next time.
Mr. Smith told me there was a mistake with the verification system and I should cash them anyway. I couldn’t control myself any longer. I just started laughing. I was laughing so hard I seriously had tears in my eyes. On the other end of this phone conversation, Mr. Smith is yelling and cursing. Poor, poor little con artist. Things not go your way…awwww!
I was slightly tempted to wire him a dollar. Too bad you can’t wire coupons. That’s it! I’m going to collect all the coupons I can find: 10% off your next oil change, $1.00 off of hemorrhoid cream, free month of Netflix, etc. Then I’m going to mail all of it to the two addresses that I have in California and Florida. Apparently, these scammers are hard up for cash so I’m going to teach them how to save money.
I’m also going to blow up their email accounts with links to money saving websites that offer coupons, discounts, and freebies. There is nothing that pleases me more than being a smart ass. Like I said I live to piss people off. What better people to annoy than a bunch of conmen (and possibly women)? Seriously, I welcome any ideas from my readers aka minions. MUHAHAHA! But, please, remember to use small words because I am, after all, “stupid”.
Hopefully, I will blog again soon unless I get assassinated by the Nigerian mafia or some other equally scary group. You may see me soon on a grainy Taliban-like home video with a sack over my head. Criminals don’t like to be made fools of. No, they prefer to do it on their own.
On a serious note, the postal inspector I spoke to today told me to notify my bank because depending on how good this person (or persons) is there are ways that just by having my name, address, and telephone number they can cross reference accounts to locate banking and credit card information. So just FYI for any of you out there that sells on eBay, Craigslist, or any other online store.
Ta-ta for now, fellow blog addicts. I’m off to ride the short bus where my favorite crayon flavor is blue and the third window on the driver's side tastes delicious.
I’ve heard the horror stories. I’ve seen the Judge Judy episodes. (That bitch is hardcore, by the way.) It’s one of those things you think, “That will never happen to me.”
Yesterday, I skipped happily to my mail box. The birds were singing in the trees. All the while, I was humming Lisa’s favorite tune…”Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows”.
Upon opening up my mailbox and pulling out the ridiculous pile of bills that keeps my mailman working, I saw a Flat Rate Express envelope addresses to me from a return address I did not recognize. I brought it inside, set it on the coffee table, and stared at it contemplating anthrax and pipe bombs. Eventually, I opened it and dumped it’s content onto the table. All that fell out were two money orders, both for the amount of $829.99. If I were a cartoon character, my eyes would have bulged out of my head with dollar signs on them.
What? I like money.
Right away, I poked my head into the envelope. Surely there must be some explanation inside but there was nothing. Then it dawned on me. I should check my Avon emails.
About a month or so ago, I received and email from Avon saying a potential customer was requesting I contact them. I sent a very generic email to a person named “Pat Smith”. The response I got back was way too good to be true.
This Pat Smith person wanted to order Avon products…like $400 worth of Avon products. However, Pat did not live in America. She supposedly resided in the UK. She wanted me to order the products and then she would send me a money order it. Then she says she would set up to have the items picked up from me from a shipping company and then mailed to her.
I’m no fool. It sounded like a crock of shit to me from the beginning. I basically told her to send me a money order and I would let her know when the money orders cleared. I didn’t think anything would come of it.
But yesterday…lo and behold…SPECIAL DELIVERY!!
I had not had any email correspondence with Pat Smith (or sometimes Patricia Smith) for over a month. So, imagine my surprise when two money orders for nearly quadruple the amount of the actual Avon order showed up in my mailbox.
At first I was confused. I really did not connect the two together. Later, I checked my email and there were two from this Pat Smith. Both had very interesting instructions. “Pat Smith” wanted me to cash the money orders at my bank and take the money for the Avon products out of it. Then she wanted me to proceed to Western Union where I would be sending the remaining money to a Tamara Oliveira in Paloma Beach, Florida. Supposedly, this Tamara person was P. Smith’s trustee who would handle all of the shipping etc. The email said I would need Tamara’s address in order to send the wire the money.
I decided to call the post office to see what route I should take with these money orders. Obviously, I wasn’t going to be cashing them. Don’t get me wrong, though, for a split second the thought crossed my mind. I was instructed to take it in to my local post office and turn it over so that it could be handed in to the FBI for further investigation.
Later that night, I googled the address for Tamara Oliveira. It did not exist. Oooo…big shocker!! The return address and the payee listed on the money orders were not Pat (or Patricia) Smith either. It was someone named Bogden Circec. The package came from The Halifax Company in Cupertino, California. I searched it by name and by address. Nothing! I wasn’t surprised.
I, then, googled “fake postal money orders” and found an 800 number on the USPS website where you could actually verify the authenticity of postal money orders by entering the serial number, postal code, and amount all listed on the money orders themselves. It did not shake me in the least to find out neither of them were found in the database. I breathed a sigh of relief to know that I was smart enough not to cash them.
I found out that these particular scams are frequently called "Nigerian Scams" because that is where they are believed to have originated. I also read stories of some of these victims who were not as bright as me. Toot! Toot! Do you hear me tooting my own horn??
Another thing I found out was that many of the arrests that the FBI makes in connection to these fraudulent money orders are the people that actually cash them. Again, how relieved do you think I was that mama didn’t raise no fool?!?!
Today, I got up and headed to my local post office. I not only turned in the two counterfeit money orders but also the packaging it was received in and all of the email correspondence so far. The man who actually deals with fraud was not there and wouldn’t be until Monday morning. The postmaster on staff took the paperwork from me along with my telephone number and told me that the fraud guy would be in touch with me soon. I bet the fraud guy looks like Newman from the show, Seinfeld.
So, I guess now I sit back and wait. I haven’t responded to any of the emails from Pat Smith since I received the money orders and I have no intention to do so until I hear from whoever is going to handle the fraud case. Like I said before, I never in a million years thought I would be caught up in anything like this. I’m just glad I used my brain and didn’t run off to deposit anything in my bank. Let me pat myself on the back now.
UPDATE: Seriously, Mr. Nigeria called me!! See part two to this twisted tale.
