It Makes Me Weep

A frustration I face almost daily is e-mail. I'm sure many of you feel the same way. There are lots of reasons why email is frustrating and this post will never end if I try to cover them all, so today, I'll focus on just one--email from friends with attachments. It's not that I have anything against e-mail from friends, or the attachments; it's just that my friends (not all of them, but a lot of them) do very sloppy attaching.  It's almost like a disease.

Maybe you know what I'm talking about--I call it  "forwarding the forwards" (I'm sure there is a clever term for this "condition" that computer-savvy people use--sorry, I'm not computer savvy).  Somebody sends you an email with an attachment that has been forwarded a gajillion times, and they never clean it up, so by the time you get it, it's essentially wrapped in layers of empty forwards: Fwd: Fwd: fwd:  Ack! Getting to the actual attachment's like peeling an onion. A nasty, lachrymose, electronic onion. What a waste of time.

Why do people forward the forward? I don't do that. I'm no computer whiz, but I know better than to send a bunch of useless garbage along with my email attachments. Urrrrgh! It is so annoying, it makes me wish that I could reach right through my computer screen and slap the sender silly. I had an epiphany about these sloppy attachment emails about a year ago--I decided to ignore them! By now I pretty much know which of my e-mail buddies is going to send me this crap, so whenever I check my mailbox and see that they sent me something with an attachment, I don't mess around-- into the Delete file it goes! I guess that sounds kind of harsh, but I simply don't have time for that crap. If they don't care enough to clean it up before they send it to me, I'm not interested in dealing with it. I'm tired of wasting time and energy peeling electronic onions!
Ok, rant over.

This Is What I Get For Not Paying Attention

Well, this is what I get for not paying attention to my blog for the past few days:

An award--wow, talk about unexpected! The Superior Scribbler Award was presented to me by April, author of the blogs Crazy Little Thing Called Life and The Story of Me. Thanks, April!

Being the recipient of such a prestigious award carries with it some responsibility:

• Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass the award on to 5 deserving Bloggy friends.
• Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author and the name of the blog from whom he/she has received the Award.
• Each Superior Scribbler must display the Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains the award. 
• Each blogger who wins the Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List.  That way, we'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives this prestigious honor.
• Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.    

Whew!  I need a drink.  I'm sweating already, and I still have to name five deserving bloggers!  For me, keeping to a short list isn't easy, but here ya go:

The Tortefeasor
Red Pen Brigade
Mighty Red Pen
Women Have Pet Peeves 
Armed with Vitriol

All are clever and entertaining--go check 'em out!  And again, big thanks to April for stumbling onto my little bitchy blog and, instead of cursing her foul luck, honoring me with this award!

Ok, rant over.

Red Devils

This time of year pomegranates start winking at us from the pages of countless cooking, home, and lifestyle magazines. The Dec. 2009 edition of Cuisine at Home encourages us to include these "culinary jewels" in salads and as dessert garnishes. The possibilities for these juicy little rubies, it would seem, are endless.

And all I can think is, are you kidding me? You actually want me to eat those nasty things?

I will admit that I am a fan of the flavor of pomegranate. Pomegranate products such as liqueur & juice & tea--they all get a big thumbs up from me. But the fruit--nuh uh. Were it not for the flavor and the fact that they are full of antioxidants and disease-fighting properties, I'd say the little red devils came from straight from Hell.

The first (and last) time I ate one was when I was in 4th grade. I had never seen one before, and I remember my Aunt setting us kids up outside (that should tell you something right there) at her battered old patio table, with newspaper spread out everywhere, yards of paper towels tucked into our collars and draped across our laps, and the admonishment to not spit the seeds at each other. "Ooh," I thought, "this is gonna be good, like watermelon!"

Wrong!

What a tremendous pain-in-the-ass disappointment that was (just in case you've never had the pleasure--ha!--of eating a pomegranate, allow me to share: the arils, aka the "culinary jewels," are not particularly easy to remove from the rinds/membranes, the juice stains like purple ink and I don't care how "edible" the seeds supposedly are, unless you like the feeling of chewing up and swallowing bitter little splinters of wood, you're gonna want to spit those suckers out)! All that work for what, a wimpy little teaser squirt of juice? I was absolutely bewildered--why on Earth did people think this wretched fruit was so fabulous? I never ate another one.

Until now. Nearly 40 years later, for no reason other than sometimes I just do stupid things, I decided to pick up another pomegranate and try again. I will say that I've learned a couple of tricks that make peeling them a bit easier (and far less messy). Sadly, that's where the improvements ended, for once again I found myself with a miniscule amount of enjoyable juice, and a mouthful of face-twistingly bitter chunks of wood (seeds). Bleeeech! They were just as awful as they were decades ago in Auntie's back yard. Why didn't I trust my memories from when I was 9??

And still, I remain bewildered. Seriously--how can anyone add these miserable little jewel-colored disappointments to their dishes? Do they honestly expect people to swallow those God-awful bitter seeds? Or do they provide a spittoon on the dining table (just run for a few seconds with that charming image, why don't ya?) when they serve them?

Keep yer damn pomegranates! I'll take the liquid version, thanks!

Ok, rant over

Can't You See I'm on the Phone?

Ok, explain this one to me, would you please? Because I see it happening all the time, in all sorts of establishments, and I simply cannot make any sense of it.

Why do ringing phones get the attention of service employees before the live customers standing waiting before them do?

On Monday I went to the bank and stood waiting in a longish line. After about 8 minutes I'd made it to the front. One of the tellers had just finished a transaction and the customer she had helped turned and began to walk away as a telephone rang. Just as I was starting to lift my foot to begin walking toward her now-vacant window, she answered the phone and simultaneously held out her hand at me, palm out, in the universal “Halt! Stay where you are!” signal. Never mind that I had been standing in line, patiently waiting for a teller’s attention for the better part of ten minutes—somehow, that person on the phone who had just called merited her attention more than I did. And before you say it, let me tell you that this was not a call that had been directed specifically to her extension—I clearly heard her say, “Thank you for calling Chase, this is Chris, how may I direct your call?” Of course the person on the phone needed more than simply having his call directed, he needed this teller’s attention long enough that I ended up waiting for the next available teller to see to my banking needs. Here I must point out that this phenomenon doesn’t occur in banks only, oh no! It happens also when I’m at the front desk at the nail salon, waiting to pay and book my next appointment; it happens when I’m at the Customer Service Window at Albertsons, waiting to buy a money order; it happens when I’m at Barnes & Noble, waiting to purchase books. The freakin' phone always wins.

So I ask you, what genius decided that ignoring live, in-the-flesh customers who have been waiting, in favor of on-the-phone customers who just called in seconds before, was the smart move? Do you think he ever considered how rude that is?

This makes me wonder—if I were to install a loud ringer on my person, would I then enjoy the timely attention that the phone customers receive? Ha, with my luck, they’d call security on me!

Ok, rant over.

Do I Look Like an Effing Shoplifter to You?

Well, this rant’s been a long time coming. I was hoping against hope that my friend Margo would step in and guest blog on this topic, since she offered some really rant-worthy fodder, but I’m tired of waiting, plus a recent trip to a certain warehouse store has really set my hair on fire—so here goes.
I have a ridiculous love-hate relationship with Costco. I love the prices. I love it that I can purchase inexhaustible quantities of motor oil, Sharpies, BeneFiber and madeleines, an RV and new kitchen cabinets all in the same place, at the same time, without having anyone look at me sideways. I love how easy it is to return stuff there. I love their rotisserie roast chicken and their pasta salad. If I think about it long enough I can come up with a few more things I love, but you get the idea.
Now I’ll share with you some of the things I hate:
#1--Costco has miserable little sample stations set up all over the food areas of the store (this is Margo’s contribution). Way to stop the flow of traffic, Costco! You know, a store that’s as cavernous as Costco, with its nice, wide aisles, really shouldn’t have as many traffic flow problems as it does, and it wouldn’t, if it weren’t for those miserable effing sample stations! In case you haven’t noticed, people go absolutely insane when they see free food—all logic and reason go out the window! They simply leave their shopping (and oversize flat) carts wherever the hell they happen to be once they catch a whiff and then they converge on the sample stations like wildebeests on a watering hole (and have you noticed that most of these people have asses the size of Greyhound buses? Good grief, they are the very last people who need to be munching on samples of anything!)! Excuse me, my super-sized fellow Costco member, but would you mind not abandoning your effing cart in the middle of the goddamn aisle, just because you can’t resist the siren song of Tillamook cheddar? And while you’re at it, how about moving those two giant sacks of dimpled Jell-o that you call a butt over to the side as well, because there still isn’t enough room for my cart to roll past! Ugh.
Margo has a great idea to solve this problem—Costco should dedicate some real estate in the store as a permanent sample area! God knows the place is big enough! That way the sample lovers can clog up the aisles (along with their arteries) as much as they want, then when they’re serious about shopping they can get a little exercise walking through the store to find the items they were snacking on. Meanwhile, there will actually be room for the rest of us to push our carts down the aisles. Brilliant idea, Margo!
#2 Costco is the hands-down winner of putting out holiday merchandise WAY too early. Artificial Christmas trees have been staring down giant vampire-bat door hangers in Costco since AUGUST—even Walmart didn’t have their Christmas crap out that early. Knock it off already!
#3 Costco (or, the one I shop at most often, anyway) just remodeled their store so that the pizza/food counter is accessible only from the INSIDE. Oh, bad, BAD idea! I understand that perhaps they no longer wanted to offer discounted pizza, chicken bakes, hot dogs, froyo, etc. to non-members, but come on! Couldn’t they have just required people to show their membership cards at the food window? Now I have to maneuver my way through a sea of abandoned, merchandise-loaded carts just to get from the checkstand to the ridiculous exit line! Stupid!
#4 Costco makes me stand in a ridiculously long line to EXIT the freakin’ store with my purchases!!! This is my biggest Costco peeve! I ask you, is it not enough that I have to PAY for the privilege of membership and that I have to wait in freakishly long lines to pay for the mountain of merchandise in my oversize cart? Apparently not, because in spite of all that, if I actually want to take home all that stuff that I just paid for, I am forced to stand in the absolute longest, worst line of all while they tacitly suggest that I’m a shoplifter by looking through my cart to compare its contents to those listed on my receipt!!! I am not a thief!!! I’d like to know, is anyone else outraged by this? This is how they tell me they value my business, by searching my cart for stolen merchandise? Costco--you'd better rethink that policy. It's insulting.
Ok, rant over.

Insurance Companies + Doctors' Offices=!@%$

Oh, am I STEAMED!
I always hate getting bills from medical care providers, but I really hate it when I get bills from them when it is totally avoidable.
A few months ago, my neurologist recommended me to a sleep disorder specialist. While I was in his office, his staff made the appointment for me. I insisted that I needed a referral. The clerk looked over my insurance card and told me that with my insurance, I did not. I insisted--I had needed a referral to see the neurologist, after all. So she called for the billing manager to come up front, she did, she looked over my insurance card, called some other person and inquired, and apparently that individual said a referral wasn't necessary.
So I saw the specialist, who then set me up for a sleep study. I told the scheduling clerk that I probably needed a referral. The clerk made a phone call and asked, and she told me that I didn't need one for diagnostic testing. That didn't feel right to me (in the past I have received bills from laboratories for blood tests), so I decided to take the matter into my own hands, and I called my insurance company to ask if a sleep study was covered under my plan. “It is,” the representative told me, “all diagnostic testing is covered under your plan.” Great. I had the sleep study.
Well, now I've received a juicy bill from the sleep disorder specialist's office. The EOB arrived a few days later indicating that I owed the specialist a nice chunk of change--ack! I called my insurance company and, you guessed it--they aren't covering the amount that they normally would because I didn't get a referral.
God DAMN it!
Wait--it gets better! I've also received a juicy bill from the sleep center because--are you ready?--the bill that my insurance company received from the sleep center doesn't say it's from a sleep center, it says it's from XYZ Neurology Group! Therefore, they will cover only a portion of it.
So now I get to spend the rest of my morning on the phone with the billing offices of these providers moaning, groaning and bitching because they effed up!
JOY!
Ok, rant over

Butt...Butt...Butt...

Sometimes I just cannot believe my eyes.
Yesterday as I was driving home from work I came to a stop behind a vehicle, the driver of which had his left arm dangling out of the window. Between his index and middle fingers was a cigarette--a lit cigarette, from which he was idly flicking the ashes. When the light turned green he just flicked the lit cigarette into the street as he drove off. I watched the little red-orange sparks fly as it rolled along the asphalt.
Hello? We're in Southern California, pal. San Diego County, to be exact. Aka Wildfire Country. Mean anything to you?
Ok, at this time I’m going to just ignore the whole “cigarette butts ARE litter” issue (which is a big one, and will likely fuel another rant sometime in the future) in favor of the far more pressing issue of fire safety. You’d have to have been living offworld for the past 5 years, or else be a complete idiot to not know that given our current drought, Southern California is at about the highest wildfire risk level ever. Yes, that’s right, Santa Ana season is upon us, tinder-dry vegetation is all around us, and dumbasses like the fool in the car ahead of me are out there flicking red hot ashes and lit cigarette butts out of their car windows! Can you say, “Stupid!”? I can. In fact, I can shriek it:
“STUPID!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Anyone with half a brain knows that all it takes is one little spark from that idiot’s nasty burning butt to float over to that empty lot full of dry weeds just 30 feet away from his car and poof! We have ignition! And all it takes is one ember from that little grassfire to float two blocks over to a neighborhood of homes with extra-dry, 25-year-old wood shake shingle roofs (God, you don’t want to get me started on the shake roofs. I canNOT get my head around the idea that somebody ever thought that covering a roof with tinder –I don’t care what kind of “fire retardant” treatment it was given--was a good idea!) and…you get the fiery picture. This is the part where we all turn to Mr. Butt Flicker and say, “Congratulations, jackass! You just started Firestorm 2009!”
Is it not enough that we have to contend with downed power lines, controlled burns gone completely out of control, illegal alien/homeless camp fires, and wingnut pyromaniacs starting fires? Do we really have to add careless, selfish boneheads to the list? Really? Well then, to all you Butt-Flickers out there, I say—think about someone besides yourselves before you flick your next butt out into the wild blue. Or better yet, think about it before you even light up. That is, if you’re even capable of thought. Your brain is probably so oxygen-deprived from all that smoke you’re sucking down it’s a wonder you can process anything.
Ok, rant over