Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Phone Company BULLSHIT

Over twenty-two minutes on the fucking phone with the stupid fucking phone company just to cancel my wireless Sprint PCS Vision. First, there's the automated bullshit of speaking to a computer: state your name, state your phone number, state your business. Of course, it doesn't understand "cancel pcs vision". It sounds like you want repairs! NO, Mr. Computer. It doesn't understand "CANCEL". It also doesn't understand, "fuck off and die -- get me a motherfucking human being on the phone."

So of course, I have to go through verifying my name, rank and serial number with some woman who then transfers me to some guy named JOE who also needs to verify my name, phone number, and address (did I not just do this? What the fuck? After verifying all of this with the woman who transferred me, did I hand the phone to some nefarious entity who doesn't know my name, phone number and address? I don't think so.

So since Joe wanted me to repeat everything I already told the other woman, I made sure to tell him EVERYTHING I told her, including, "I know it's not your fault but that automated system is really annoying and didn't understand the word 'CANCEL' *plus* it's really annoying that after verifying this information with one person, I have to go through it all over again with you." I can tell Joe thinks I'm an unreasonable bitch. So now Joe says, "and I see it's been a year since we've verified your credit information. What's your work phone number?" I'm like, "why do you need to know this?" Whatever, I tell Joe I work for myself. He wants to know the phone number. I tell Joe he already has my phone number since I work at home. Joe says, "no I don't!" Yes you do Joe. You have my phone number right on your fucking screen and I've verified it with you fuckwads twice already.

Then Joe wants to know what I do. I tell him, "I'm a pornographer." He pauses. "You're a WHAT?" A pornographer Joe . . . and a sex worker. Joe donned a bitchy voice, "well if that's what you do, that's what you do." Yes it's what I do moron, and it's none of your business. Then he needs to know where my boyfriend works and what his phone number is (and he totally didn't seem to believe me that his phone number is the same as mine).

Of course, I couldn't get off the phone with Joe until he tried to sell me on a new long distance plan, DSL, and DirecTV. He scoffed at my choice of internet service provider, and must have thought I was lying when I told him that we don't WATCH television. Then Joe and I argued some more about the ridiculous nature of all of this bullshit, and what I think is so fucked up is that these people will DEFEND the corporation's ludicrous methods of invasive harrassment when you're just trying to cancel a simple service. A call that should take two minutes suddenly is almost a half hour. That is FUCKED UP. And people complain about porn sites being hard to cancel. BULLSHIT. These automated systems, crossells, and information collecting things are just BULLSHIT. It makes me just want to unplug from the world and all of it's fucked up nonsense. I've been paying my bill with this phone company for fourteen years. They do not need to know what I do for a living, and they should believe me when I say I don't want to buy anything else today I just want to GET OFF THE FUCKING PHONE. Joe was a monstrous little prick and I hope he has fun in the break room talking about what a bitch he had on the phone today. Face it, Joe -- your job sucks ass.

Sunday, September 04, 2005

Crusty Cast Iron

I fucking hate washing cast iron frying pans. I hate scraping, I hate the grease that runs off them to coat the sink, I hate the whole "to use soap or not to use soap" dilemma, I hate the curing and the bullshit and that they are TOO FUCKING HEAVY FOR ME TO LIFT with my weak little pansy-ass wrist.

They look so quaint and rustic, but I have no more use for them in my life. I wonder if my boyfriend would notice if I threw them away while he's gone?

I suppose the main issue is just that I hate most types of manual labor and resent every second spent doing something so mundane and repetitive when I could actually be doing some kind of work that actually gives me pleasure and produces something different than the last thing I produced. When you finish with the pots and pans? Anticlimax. And the depressing awareness that they will just get dirty again and that it's a thankless fucking task you only do to prevent yourself from winding up in squalor, filth, and mold without a clean thing to eat. I fucking HATE it.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Sallie Fucking Mae

I hate these fuckers. I haven't gotten any information from them -- no bills, no updates, no tax forms, no nothing -- for about six years because they make it so fucking hard to change your address. Instead of all the old-fashioned ways of verifying your identity (date of birth, mother's maiden name, etc.) they want your old address, your old email address, your old zip code, your old phone number.

Perhaps this would be less problematic if I had changed these things immediately upon leaving my husband, but there really seemed to be no point considering that Sallie Mae took my payments automatically out of my bank account. Without a sense of urgency, I procrastinated on it until I no longer had my old address or phone number on the tip of my tongue (seriously, I can barely remember how old I am or my current phone number, let alone all of the numbers associated with a place I lived six months, a year, or six years ago). Why would I remember one of six email addresses I had with aol eight years ago??? Seriously fuckers . . . what a ludicrous idiotic method of verifying someone's identity. It's tragic.

Finally this poor Indian s.o.b. on the phone just went ahead and updated my information. Those poor poor saps. Am I the only one with these problems? I told him I knew it wasn't his fault, but that Sallie Mae is really really really really stupid. If my old address, my old email, or my old phone number still meant anything to me I wouldn't need to change all of that information. Jesus H.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Wet Sleeves

Oh my god it drives me nuts when the cuff of my shirt's long sleeve gets wet. Ewwwwww -- that clammy damp cloth clinging to my wrist drives me totally insane.

This happens to me most often when I fill my hot water bottle (for my feet because I hate it when they are cold) and some of it dribbles onto my filling-arm. Gahhhhhhh!!

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Children at Play

I fucking hate the summertime in the Pacific Northwest. Few of us have air-conditioning in our homes because the rare high(ish) temperatures do not warrant it. Instead, we open our windows.

And what do we hear?

Potlucks, picnics, and summer vacation. Children at play. The bounding terrified sound of hoarse hollers while running. Threatening games of tag, sudden screams of pain. Their bloody fucking laughter.

I resent that there are communities for senior living, but no communities specifically set up for adults of all ages who simply hate children. I resent that there are happy assholes who are charmed by the sounds of children at play and claim to feel emotionally improved by the intrusive sounds of youngsters shouting.

Shut those little bastards up!!!

Monday, May 02, 2005

Anti-Theft Devices

I fucking hate the anti-theft wrapping they put on dvd's. They've got impossible-to-open cellophane tightly wrapping the entire thing, then they've got fucking THREE unbreachable sticky anti-theft doohickeys on every side of the case except the hinge side. Fucking COME ON.

Someday I hope to have a maid or a slave I can toss these at, because I fucking hate trying to open these SOBs. It's ridiculous when you buy something on the internet and they ship it to you with all of that stuff. Who am I going to steal from? Myself? Fucking give it a rest.

Then again, I make the process somewhat harder than necessary by refusing to simply slice through the stickers with scissors. I could do that, you know, just make the package openable . . . but I *can't* abide leaving that crap on the dvd case. It's so ugly.

It wasn't like this when people bought RECORDS. You know? Nice big album art, and none of this plasticized anti-theft CRAP.

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Overpopulation of Submissive Women

I'm going on a shooting rampage if I see one more sex blog by a submissive woman, detailing how hot and horny she gets being overpowered by a man (or men).

What the FUCK??

Seriously, I have as much imagination as the next sex worker, so I can empathize with the allure of submission even if I rarely or never find myself wanting to be dominated to the extremes these women enjoy. I hate to be judgemental of other people's sexuality, so I try to remember that just because *I* am disgusted by most forms of female submission that doesn't mean I can't respect other women openly embracing their desire to submit.

But. I do not understand why the majority of female sex bloggers seem to be subs. The lack of variety really freaks me out . . . there's no BALANCE in the sex blogosphere; very very very few dominant women maintain explicit sex blogs (and that's another "issue" for me: the penthouse letteresque or graphic erotica style of blogging which I have a hard time identifying with in and of itself).

It boggles my mind that so many women are submissive, and that so many of them are only interested in telling that story of themselves. That's really the only story you want to share with the world? It's almost as bizarre to me as women who have nothing to talk about but shopping. I hate shopping, but I've got to tell you -- I'd rather be shopping than submitting myself sexually to a man.

This crazy disproportionate sub to Domme ratio begs the question: are all of these submissive bloggers TRULY women? I hate delving into that whole internet gender doubt game, but really . . . you have to wonder. And yet, most of these sub chicky blogs are so flowery and verbose that I tend to think they're girls.

Again, I'm not doubting the fact that many women are truly submissive and get their rocks off that way. What bothers me is how they seem to be so much more visible than truly dominant women (and women who are switches or D/s neutral) and seem to outnumber us. What the fuck is up with that?

I also find it curious that all of these blogs seem to be written by mostly-straight women, or women who only want to be topped by men.

Back to the issue of their STYLE of writing (constantly sexually-charged); perhaps that is the key to the imbalance. Maybe there's a drive to write in that over-the-top manner and to be completely consumed by submission that is lacking in dominant women. Sure, there are plenty of over-the-top femdom websites, but as far as personal blogs, I don't see any of that. Maybe I'm just not looking hard enough, though.

P.S. The other thing that drives me crazy is wondering . . . where are all the submissive women who like to be dominated by other WOMEN? Where are all of the submissive MEN? I know they exist in high numbers (particularly the latter), so why do women who submit to men seem to be the only ones in this crowd with blogs? Well, I take that back . . . I *have* seen a few blogs/LJ's written by dominant men which I find annoying too.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

Shoe Size Discrimination Follow-Up

Remember me bitching about how hard it is for me to find shoes for my itsy bitsy feet?

Well, I ran across these "cute" (and relevant) posts from one of those fashion terrorist types:

Tiny Feets
More about Tiny Feets
From the Archives
Advice for the Small-Footed

This entry doesn't really count as a bitch rant, but I wanted to make sure I don't lose these links. I would love to be able to afford my own personal shoemaker to outfit me with unique perfectly-fitted works of foot-formed art.

Broken News Links

One of the major benefits of the world wide web is *supposed* to be the ability to store lots and lots of information and make it easily accessible to people. Now, it's not surprising to me that individuals' and other indie websites are full of misinformation on unreliable hosts with changing domain names, etc.

But. It's disgusting to me the way huge news sites fail to understand PERMALINKS. You know, providing a link to news articles that will remain unbroken over time? I do not understand Yahoo's system of making news stories disappear, but even more I do not understand a newspaper or a news network refusing to keep each news story in one location under one name from the time it appears to . . . forever. If bandwidth and storage are too expensive, I *can* kind of understand making the archives for subscriber's only. But just deleting them or moving them somewhere unlocatable is fucking MADDENING.

What exactly is the purpose? Are they trying to make you search around so that you'll see more of their advertisers' banners? I don't fucking get it. These people are fucking clueless about the way the internet works (and how it should work in its ideal state). What a bunch of morons -- thanks for the "news", fuckers!

This is particularly annoying to me on my blog, Domestic Terrorism, which links to sick crime stories news articles. What is the point of blogging if your archives are full of broken links? Or, more specifically, what is the point of PROVIDING a link to another (commercial) site that refuses to respect the traffic you send and makes all of your archives empty of content and worthless? What is the point of respecting copyright when the only option you really have is to duplicate the article in its entirity lest you risk NEVER BEING ABLE TO FIND YOUR SOURCE MATERIAL AGAIN??

I hate these stupid pricks and their stupid news. Thanks for the memories, assholes. It's amazing to me that giant corporations are so fucking ignorant and/or disrespectful of their audiences.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Shoe Size Discrimination

I am so sick of stores and catalogs not offering size 5 shoes. Apparently no one in this god forsaken country is smaller than a size 6. I'm tired of big people and their big fucking feet while we petite tiny people get stuck making do with children's shoes or stuffing too-big shoes with fillers to keep them from slipping off.

Wearing too-big shoes (even when you layer them with two or three insoles) is painful. PAINFUL. They rise up too far around the ankle, scratching and rubbing the fuck out of your tender ankle skin and bone. They come up too high on the heel, cutting into your tendons.

Aren't there enough itty bitty asian girls with shoe fetishes in this country to warrant offering a wider range of sizes? I am so fucking sick of of this crap, especially since my feet are actually even SMALLER than a five, it's a compromise even wearing those. Once upon a time, though, fives were the beginning of the range of women's sizes damn near everywhere you looked. Now people don't even pretend to cater to us.

I hate normal-sized people and their giant fat clodhoppers. Fuck off and die, size six and abovers. You take up too much space.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

Car Alarms

I hate car alarms, and I sneer at the self-centered materialistic pricks who utilize them.

Our society is clearly fucked up when possessiveness over a hunk of metal supercedes courtesy to others. When an individual thinks his personal automobile is more important than other people's sleep, than other people's eardrums, and simply the preservation of an atmosphere free of loud ALARMS . . . god, it's so fucking insane and selfish I don't even know how it's legal.

People have been stealing cars since cars were invented. I don't think the problem is crime worsening, the problem is materialism worsening. If your car is so fucking precious that insurance won't cover your loss, please . . . buy a less expensive car or keep it locked up in a garage. I can't believe car alarms are legal . . . I just can't. It's revolting.

Whenever I see some chubby little prick with greasy hair taking one last look and aiming his keychain at his stupid fucking SUV or whatever the fuck, issuing forth a chirp or mini-alarm, calling attention to his asinine self before walking away from his precious fucking vehicle, I just want to laugh in his face, slap him, and throw shit at his car.

Everytime we ride the ferry, there is some fucking asshole who sets his or her stupid fucking alarm on the car deck before heading up to get a coffee out of the vending machines in the passenger area. And every time, one of these asshole's alarms goes off because THE FERRY ROCKS, THE FERRY ROLLS, THE FERRY SHAKES AND SHUDDERS. And listen . . . no one can steal your fucking car when it's on the water in the middle of Puget Sound anyway, so fucking relax for a half hour (or stay in your car if there's something so priceless in it that you fear someone will break in). There is a vanity, a selfishness, a materialism, and a paranoid insecurity exhibited by car alarmists that revolts and sickens me so deeply, I barely feel capable of relating to my fellow men if this ludicrous practice of rigging your automobile to sound extremely loud and obnoxious ALARMS is not only tolerated, but perfectly mundane and acceptable. More people should be fucking OUTRAGED by car alarms and the assholes who employ them.

Our Loud BITCH Neighbor

She is an inconsiderate BITCH. The middle of the night, and I can hear her sitting outside, bitching on the phone. She's probably in her late twenties or early thirties, and I have devised all sorts of theories about her. That she doesn't have custody of her little brat child. That the reason for that is she's a BITCH. That she's probably abusive to him (I heard the kid screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night once). That she loves the cock. She loves the cock of abusive men. That guy with the old light blue chevy pickup with a brown dog tied to the truckbed with a rope he easily could have strangled on. The man left the dog out there to yip fearfully. I wanted to kill that man, and kill our BITCH neighbor.

I heard her arguing with her father. Screaming at him for interfering. For ruining her life. I imagined that he was trying to tell her she's not only a bitch, but a STUPID bitch.

I think the cock has left her, so once again her solace in life is sitting on her deck/balcony talking on the phone. Actually, BITCHING on the phone, loudly, in the middle of the night. You'd think the February cold air would deter her from sitting out there like the dumb obnoxious twat she is, yakking her bitch face off so that all her neighbors can hear her . . . but no. She is an inconsiderate bitch. I want to tell her to shut the fuck up.

In general, I can't stand watching or hearing anyone gabbing away on a telephone. It's especially bad when the person clearly holds phone conversations as one of their sole sources of entertainment in life, as though it's a big priority and one of their principle pleasures. These people lack imagination, and they lack the courtesy, self-awareness, and humility to recognize that a) everyone can hear their loud unceasing chatter, and b) other people may not WANT to hear them blabbering and shouldn't HAVE to hear their nasty fucking noise pollution.

Shut the fuck up, bitch.