“Hey, is there any way you can milk yourself tomorrow and give us a bottle so you guys can go out alone?”
“Hey, is there any way you can milk yourself tomorrow and give us a bottle so you guys can go out alone?”
My laptop died today. It was deathly ill yesterday, but it just gave up the ghost today. I feel as if there has been a death in the family. Not an immediate relative but some distant very elderly relative that lived a good life, was kind to animals and small children, and was a great contributor to society.
I spent hours and hours on chat with the Sony technicial “Kevin” last night, who refused to just give me the phone number to cash in on my extended warranty. Not to be confused with when I was chatting with “Corey” about my laptop problems. Does Sony think I’m an idiot? OK, I am an idiot but how can Sony possibly know that? My sister said that Sony must be picking names from a baby book for their international technicians. No one could help me and Kevin even told me to open up the back of my laptop.
This, when relayed to supervisors on the phone today, resulted in hyperventilation.
Tech. Supervisor: YOU DID WHAT?
K: I did exactly what (insert dramatic pause) KEVIN told me to do.
TS: Um, you should never take your laptop apart.
K: You think I don’t know that? I couldn’t get the damn thing off and then I couldn’t get it back on right.
TS: You should never take your laptop apart.
K: Tell that to (insert dramatic pause) KEVIN.
TS: What kind of warranty do you have?
K: I have the “I hate this damn laptop so I’m gonna throw it out the window and Sony will still fix it” warranty.
TS: What’s the serial number?
OK, people. You are gonna love this one. The serial number is only found on a sticker on the bottom of the laptop. A sticker on the bottom of the laptop. The sticker that came off around 15 months ago and I said to myself, “self, I can’t imagine ever needing this again” and I threw it in the trash. So Sony can sell me a ridiculously priced laptop direct but no one ever thinks to write down the serial number? For what I paid for the damn thing, you’d think that serial number was engraved in a gold plate on the bottom of that thing.
TS: We can’t process the claim if we don’t have the serial number.
I could feeling Kristen, The Lawyer, rearing her ugly head. TS could apparently see me coming to San Diego to beat on her ass so she was all, “I’m so sorry. We’ll fix it right away.”
I’m a little sad to be separated from it for the next 7 to 10 business days and I’m really glad I backed up the 22 GB of pictures the night before. I probably should have been responsible and, I don’t know, BACKED UP MY WORK FOR MY JOB, but really, who has time for that anyway?
My real estate agent left me a message saying that when she talked to the agent who showed my house to one of his clients on Sunday, he mentioned that the house was “messy.”
Could I try and straighten up a little before I went out in the future?
I’m torn. We had cleaned the house before we went out. So should I be more pissed off by the “messy” reference or should I be more pissed off about the suggestion that I clean my room before I am allowed to go to the high school football game this weekend or to have my friend Marelle over to watch the Top Gun VHS just one more time? My mother will attest to the fact that any suggestion by someone other than my own personal internal monitor to “clean my room” will result in total lockdown whereby ants and other bugs will have free reign and not even a pair of underwear will be cleaned for weeks and weeks.
The kicker is, I know I should be leaving my house in immaculate condition 24/7 if I want one of the three people within 50 miles who will actually buy a house to pick mine to buy. And I kept my house in pretty good condition for the first 7 months it was on the market. I painted the rooms, lit the Jasmine candles before anyone came, baked banana bread before open houses.
Then I was too big, too tired and too over it to play the game. Maybe it’s all those times real estate agents cried “wolf” that has me down. All the phone calls I got about showing my house only to have no one ever come.
How about the time 5 weeks ago when I was all alone with my toddler and my 1 week old baby and a real estate agent called to say she wanted to come by in an hour to show the house? My toddler held his crying baby brother for 50 minutes while I cleaned the entire house–only to have no one show and the agent not answer her cell phone when I called to see if she was still coming.
Room-Floor apparently called my cell phone on Sunday but he never left a message. I didn’t get to the phone in time (shocking as all I am doing is lounging around my house ignoring my newborn and toddler, eating bon bons and staring at my “messy” house wondering when the maid is going to arrive) and it isn’t my practice to randomly call back unknown numbers that are on caller I.D. But I should be ready at all times just in case someone may show up at my house? It happened last night when I was steaming artichoke hearts in water with vinegar. You SO know those people are gonna wanna buy this house now that they have had the ever pleasant vinegar smell to associate with my house.
I am feeling a little tempted to call Mr. Messy back now. I know that it’s a “buyer’s market” and that owner’s should just stand there and take the beating that they deserve, but don’t I get a waiver for having a brand new baby AND a 2 year old who should be nicknamed “Tornado?” Am I asking too much here? Then I look over to see the child’s size 7 footprint on the wall. An.actual.foot.print.on.the.wall. And I think that maybe Mr. Messy is right.Share on Facebook
I have always wanted to use the prevalent blog “sigh.” It’s so powerful. You can just see my defeated shoulders hunched over, can’t you? But back to the show, kids.
This house has been on the market for 8 months. I know the market is crap, but if I had known how crappy it was, I probably wouldn’t have, I don’t know, put EVERY SINGLE THING I OWN into 2 pods in order to make the house look miraculously spacious. This would be for all the people that neglect to add up the square footage of each room of the house to realize that I live in a shoebox. With a man who probably still has his drawings from preschool somewhere in a box.
We filled up two pods full of our (read “his”) crap and sent it on its way to a warehouse at the end of the earth. Did we bother to remember what we put in there? Noooooo. Do we even know what crap is in which pod? Nooooo. We were going to sell our house in 2 months and buy a big fat house out in the boonies that would make even Ted Kaczynski proud in its remoteness. All the baby stuff? Ah, we’ll dig it out when we get to the new house. I didn’t even keep one crate of baby clothes. I have two kids, born in the exact same season, weighing only 1 ounce different at birth, and I’ve got nothin’ for #2 to wear.
So I have decided to retaliate and I want you good people of the Internet to help me. Nothing says “BUY ME” quite like spending copious amounts of money that will not even be remotely be recoverable in the sale of the house. You can vote for your favorite.
- I can allow Derek to build his dream shed. Coming in at just under $2,500, it would be built on a foundation, thus making it impossible to move to a new house. Translation–money thrown down the drain.
- I can allow the kind contractor to build that bedroom, bathroom and walk-in closet he has been dying to add to my house. I would have to sell both of the children to get the $51,500 to pay for the addition. With said addition I could probably ask $25,000 more for the house. While never a Mathlete in high school, I’m gonna take a guess that this puts me in the hole.
- I can have the same contractor enclose my screen porch off the side of my house for $4,500. This would add nothing to the value of my house and would mean that the grill AND the dog would be out of a home.
- I can allow Derek to enclose the screen porch. See above, plus add guaranteed divorce.
- I can have above-mentioned contractor convert my 1/2 bath that rivals a 737 lav in size into a full bath. That would mean installing a shower fit for a 2 year old.
- I could paint the dining room that beautiful blue I have been coveting for 2 years. Then my child can come through the dining room on his tricycle and slam into the wall repeatedly, scuffing up my blue wall beyond repair. I could paint all the other rooms in my house, following the ever-popular Pottery Barn/Restoration Hardware color theme. Said child could then ruin all those walls as well.
- Bring the pods back. It only took 2 weeks to pack them half hazardly. I’m sure it will be a snap to put 4,500 sq feet worth of stuff back into a 1,500 sq ft house.
So help me decide, people. What do you think we should do over here at Chateau Cookie?
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I have on occasion been called a permissive parent. I mean, if The Boy wants to try something, why shouldn’t he be able to try? Isn’t that what life is all about? But I’m thinking we may have gone a little too far yesterday.
It was his father’s brilliant idea to take him canoeing. I mean, the man has been longing for this moment since he was 18. And that was more than half his life ago. All he ever wanted was to have a son to take canoeing. What the heck, why not?
This is how they started out. Note the bike helmet. His father’s idea, but it’s purpose, I know not.
I called Jen because now that they were gone (thanks to me pushing the canoe off the sand and into the water, with a newborn infant under my arm), I was free to chat. We were talking about nothing when I started to freak out.
K: OMG, OMG, OMG.
Jen: What? What?
K: You aren’t going to believe what is happening.
Jen: What’s going on?
K: Derek and Ethan are canoeing in the lake.
Jen: Your two year old is canoeing? What is wrong with you people?
K: Yeah, but that’s not the problem.
This was the problem.
K: Ethan is moving to the front of the canoe.
Jen: In the middle of the lake?
K: Yeah. Did I mention that he is carrying a 4 foot paddle in one hand? Thank heavens canoes are so stable and that my child has such incredible balance. Do you think his father is asleep in the canoe because no good is going to come from this.
Jen: Why are you people always flirting with danger at your house?
K: Up, he got there safely.
And there he was. As if he was born to canoe.
When they got back to shore, I asked his father what had crossed his mind to allow our 25 month old son to go from the back of a canoe to the front of the canoe while on the water.
D: He wanted to.
Doesn’t that just sum up a father’s logic?Share on Facebook
Or any other of the 180 people who at some point held my baby. I would just like to say carrying a newborn is like having a black lab puppy. Not one person can walk past me without talking to the baby.
I left my brain at home and that is clear. I had a discussion with my table about Twitter and I said that even John Roberts, Presidential hopeful, Twitters. Liz kept saying, “who, who?” It only took me 7 hours and relaying the story to Jen that she brought to my attention that John Edwards Twitters, not Supreme Court Justice John Roberts.
K: I said John Edwards.
Jen: You said John ROBERTS.
I then had to go BACK to Liz to say that I wasn’t really a moron and I was talking about John Edwards. Nothing like screwing with a pregnant woman’s brain. She was very gracious.
And to think this was BEFORE Yahoo’s cocktail party.
With Yahootinis! Yummy, yummy Yahootinis. Which explains why all my pictures were really crappy.
This does, however, also explain why I lent Marc, a stranger, my lens and flash to try out on his new Canon XTi. If it makes you feel any better, this was AFTER my sister formally introduced us and told me that it was Marc’s party. Right after I had my hand and shoulder massage. I mean, Marc gave a party that had martinis a hot bartender made by running alcohol through the “Y” of Yahoo and a group of masseurs were giving hand and shoulder massages. Have you ever heard of a better party? I think not. The least I could do is encourage the further purchase of Canon equipment. It was my duty.
I was on my way to dinner with James, Stephanie, Jenn, Laurie, Laura, and of course the great Jen Lemen when I relayed this little tidbit of giving away most of my camera equipment to a veritable stranger to my husband.
D: You gave him the short lens, right?
D: Babe, you might want to skip the wine with dinner tonight.
I saw Emily again and convinced her that she loves me more than she loves Jen.
Emily was so kind to me at Blogher 2006 when I had a toddler running
around acting like a lunatic. She confessed to us that she doesn’t
have a sister and so we made her an honorary one. I’m not sure whether she’ll think that is a good thing when it is all said and done. WE LOVE YOU, EMILY!!!
Day 2 was just as great as Day 1 and I got an opportunity to talk to Jean of PBS Parents about the concept of blogs on their website. We are huge fans of PBSKids over here at Chateau Cookie so it was great to have a conversation about something that relates so much to the small world we live in over here.
I heart Blogher Business. Even WITH a newborn. I met so many fantastic people and had a fantastic time.Share on Facebook