Ravings of a Textual Deviant

“Am I overdressed? Emily Post was not at all helpful on the subject of appropriate attire for returning a kidnap victim or a hostage. I checked.”

The amount of time it takes me to finish what I’m working on is inversely proportional to the number of times I’m instant-messaged and asked “is it done yet?”

Our cable modem and cable TV have been down for a week now. Ed’s been unable to get through to a customer service rep, and keeps getting a recording. Today, he sent them a polite but firm email. Then he told me this:

“Verbally kicking Comcast felt oddly gratifying. My bosses kick me, I kick Comcast, Comcast kicks the dog, the dog bites the cat, the cat bites the mouse, the mouse bites my customer… circle of life.”

Looks like Ed and I are going to be substitute housemonkeys for a while. I’ve only ever had fish, and they all died, so the cat’s owner has been warned that he’s taking a certain risk. On the other hand, I’ve been thinking about getting my own cat for years, on and off, and this is a great opportunity for a test drive.

“We have to talk to the AAs or they’ll kill us; other than that we don’t have to do anything.”—F.

“Does Barbie know you’re wearing her clothes?” —Ed, to me, referring to my recent need for smaller sizes.

“I am so glad that I’m not my replacement, and not just because of the existential crisis that would cause me.”

It’s not my story to tell; I’m just supporting cast in a lot of the more recent stuff that has been hitting the fan. (Is it too much to ask for one thing to clear the fan before the next one hits? At this point, that would be enough. Really.) The short version is that a couple of months ago, someone put a lot of time and resources into helping me help a mutual friend. At the time, I said “If you ever need help that I’m capable of providing, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be there.”

Over the weekend, I got a call. Help was needed. I was there, with the cavalry no less. I did my best, but results were not entirely satisfactory. But I kept my word—and was happy to do it—and I did everything I could. I hope it’s good enough.

But not for lack of trying.

I tried to get dressed for work this morning, and discovered that the kinda-too-big pants I’ve been wearing anyway are now way-too-big and even a belt doesn’t help. This wasn’t even a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen; it was like it was somebody else’s wardrobe entirely. Not a single pair of pants fit; the smallest (size seemed to be at least two sizes too big. Even the size-4 jeans I bought last week were too big; not that it mattered because I can’t wear jeans to work anyway.

The clock was ticking, so I found a skirt that would stay on without multiple safety pins, and made arrangements to resolve the pants crisis after work. I had a budget, a good parking spot at the mall, and two hours before I had to be elsewhere. Fortunately, I hit the jackpot on my first try. I ended up buying every work-appropriate pair of pants in my size in the entire store—only five pairs, but hey, it’s a week’s worth. I also scored a couple of pairs of jeans. Furthermore, I was amazed to discover that “my size” is now a 2. OK, I’m familiar with the store in question; their sizes tend to be generous. (I’ve gotten into the habit of buying inexpensive clothes anyway, as I can’t see the point in spending a lot on stuff I can only wear for a few months, maximum.) But I decided to see exactly how lucky I could get, and ended up in a higher end store (meaning the small sizes really are small), where I was still a size 2.

It’s come full circle. In grad school, I got stressed out and put on a huge amount of weight almost without noticing. Now, I’ve gotten stressed out and taken off the weight almost without noticing. Yikes. I have got to start paying attention!

According to Ed, if you say “goddammit” to the voice automated HP help line when it asks for your product name, it will ask if you have a “Compaq server.”