Riding the Bike with One Pedal.

Category: Don’tMessWithMe (Page 3 of 3)

Avoiding Profiling While Trying to Stop A Rapist

Is it possible to do? I dunno.
I’ve had numerous conversations in the past 36 hours, on the phone, in person, over email, with women who are horrified and terrified. One person told me that this suspect has been ‘known’ to the police for some time – that his history of assaults started on the East side of Hwy 71, against black women. Now that he’s crossed into a more dominantly white neighborhood, the police have stepped up their game. I pray that that is just a rumor, because rape is rape, no matter what your skin color is, where you live, or how much money you make.

I heard that a man matching the police sketch was spotted walking down Gregory – and someone phoned the police to check it out. It made me think how much it must suck to be a BMW these days – Black Man Walking – or driving, and it caused me to examine where the line inside my brain and heart lies, between social right-ness and a desire for justice. Do you start pulling over any black men who are driving in Waldo after dark? What about just the ones in the car model people have been reporting they’ve seen? What if that results in catching the guy and stopping the list of victims? It’s the definition of profiling, and the ends don’t justify the means…. Intellectually, I know this. Viscerally, my gut wants to cut this guy’s dick off. Part of me thinks, hell, ok, if some serial fat white chick was terrorizing South KC (targeting restaurants and snack shops), I guess I’d put up with being pulled over and checked out. I would, however, like to get some sort of “Cleared by the KCPD” pass that I could produce for future stops, do those exist?

I imagine that anyone even in the ballpark of resembling this guy is drawing longer looks, closer scrutiny, at the grocery store, the QuikTrip, the local bar. (A tweep of mine said they haven’t been to a bar in Waldo in months b/c even though he doesn’t resemble the sketch, he doesn’t want the hassle.) That’s rough. It’s also rough feeling like you can’t be safe in your own home, no matter what side of 71 you live on.
In the email conversations, different types of self-defense came up. Mace, tasers, guns. I am not here to say they don’t work. I am telling you, though, should you head down that road, to think long and hard about it. Self-defense items like mace and tasers require you have calm control and the ability to not only use them properly, but not have them taken from you and used against you. Handguns require the ability to be a damned good shot. This is why I have a shotgun: I can take your ass out from a comfortable distance, and if you’re still coming when you hear me rack it, I’m prepared to kill you. That reads really scary, typed out? But it’s the truth. And I know how to use it. That is crucial. James had a family friend who lost her life because she didn’t know how to use the shotgun, but got it out anyway, was overpowered and it was used against her.

But if I were surprised, in close quarters? I’d rip that motherfucker’s face off, right after I collapsed his windpipe and broke his nose. (Actually, at that point, I’d be creating distance between us, but it’s a vengeful fantasy to think I could cause him just a fraction of the pain he’s dumped on these survivors.)  I have taken a couple of self-defense courses, and I have already coached myself, in my head, as to what I would do. Feeling vulnerable and scared is no way to live. Because I think it’s always good to refresh – I’ve registered for a T.A.K.E. Defense course that’s being held in Lenexa the evening of March 9th. Suggested donation is $12; this is put on by the Ali Kemp Foundation. My friends have registered as well – I encourage any woman who is feeling fearful to do the same. I can tell you, firsthand, these things give you great information and a sense of control. I averted who-knows-what when I lived in Minneapolis and was being followed, late at night, and I credit the self-defense class 100%.

See you there. Let’s hope he’s been caught by then.

OH the other snow thing I forgot to mention.

We have GOT to get some parking guidelines established. That was another thing we had in Minneapolis – snow emergency got declared, and you were hustling to make sure your car was parked on the correct side of the street, because that’s how they got stuff plowed properly.  You can see how this works on their website. And I can hear the whining already. WAAAAH I don’t know what day of the Emergency we’re on WAAAAAH which day is odd?!WAAAAHHHH well, call the waaaahmbulance (you can probably meet Crazy Cat Lady, she’ll share a ride) because it works. And yeah, if you ignore it, you get a ticket & can even get towed. But the streets are driveable. And that makes it worth it!

Don’t Let The Door Hit Ya On The Way Out

I know, like many other people, that I will be very glad to see the door close on 2009 tonight. Can’t say that I feel that way about the entire decade, of course, because countless wonderful things have happened in my life over the past ten years. I just see 2009 as a year that brought more challenges and strife than I cared to have. I shut the door on people (some shut the door on me!), I lost my job (but gained another!), and had lots of job stress and a couple really scary health scares (bronchitis, my eyes).

All of that said, though, and some of my negative thoughts about the year, I will say that this has been the year of contradictions. My job (that I lost) depressed me beyond belief – but then I got a new one that renews and energizes me.  Unemployment depressed me, but I reconnected and made new connections and feel more ensconced with fantastic, smart, creative people than any year before. And the mack-daddy depression of them all, the grief that never leaves me, my father’s death, that got better. I no longer feel like I am the lone ox, pulling the yurt with a tribe of nomads trampling it as I strain to put one foot in front of the other. There are days with great sadness, melancholy, and some tears, but there isn’t the sense of toppling over the edge into an abyss. Time truly works wonders.

I know that in time, some of the anger and frustration I absorbed and carried this year will also fade. But now, in the moment? I’ve got a special Fuck You to a few people, and while I don’t think they read my blog, but if they do? They should be bright enough to know it’s meant just for them. Enjoy, motherfuckers. Karma’s a bitch.

As for the rest of you twatweasels I know, love and look forward to laughing with next year? Happy New Year, and I love ya. Thanks for reading and all the comments. 2010 is gonna rock.

Are You Always & Forever With Your Cell Phone Provider?

“Always and Forever” (LaFawnduh’s Song)
(by Kipland Ronald Dynamite)

Why do you love me?
Why do you need me?
Always and forever

We met in a chat room
Where love can fully bloom
Sure the World Wide Web is great
But you, you make me salivate

Yes I love technology
But not as much as you, you see
But I still love technology
Always and forever

Our love is like a flock of doves
Flying up to heav’n above
Always and forever
Always and forever

Yes, your love is truly great
Always and forever

Why do you need me?
Why do you love me?

I, like Cher once sang, am a half-breed, only of the nerd variety. I am a wannabe, I have some skills, but let’s face it, I can’t hack or code, so I’m just slightly elevated above a good Googler. And I love technology. Which, every time I even think that, makes me think of the wedding scene waaaay at the end, after the credits, of Napoleon Dynamite (lyrics above). Only right now, I hate it. So much so, I’m beginning to feel a little unabombery inside. Specifically, I hate my cell phone.

I was perfectly fine a month ago. I was getting sick with what would become bronchitis, but my attitude towards tech and gadgets was untouched. Shiny things! I love them! And then the wheel fell off my Motorola RIZR, and I tried to re-attach it, but instead rendered the wheel useless and immobilized. Awesome. Little did I know the cell phone wheel falling off would serve to be a huge metaphor for the following MONTH.

So, I look at my options, and basically, a cell phone company, say one that rhymes with G-Foible, as long as you are under their contract, they will let you tweeeest in the weeeeend. Even the option to upgrade my line while renewing my contract for another two years would result in paying a Shitton of Money for another phone. And of course, I’m looking at upgrades all the time. I’m not going to replace a nice phone with a bag phone. So I turn to …eBay. For an unlocked phone. Oh! It’s a Maurice Sendak novel of cell phone gadgetry! Yes! But you must read the fine print, and then continue to check what it would cost to buy a new one of the same model.

I buy a Motorola RAZR. I know. I should have asked someone first. Since I began screeching about my hatred, it’s like an entire underworld village of RAZR-HAYTRZ rose up through the dirt to answer my screams. First off, the language for text was defaulting to Italian, which took me a while to figure out how to fix that, but hey, I could handle it. I’m the Network Administrator for our home computer network, after all! Oh, and forget storing any sort of application on this thing, it has no memory. OH and did you want it to actually get reception outside of work and home? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Plus the bonus feature I didn’t even pay for: every time I plug it in to charge (which is often, since the fucker dies every 48 hours if I don’t), it changes the ring style. I plug it in, and on the tiny window appears something like this: “RING TONE CHANGED: LOUD.” And I spent every night trolling through forums, because I needed to set up all of the actual components so it would connect to G-Foible’s network. Like, inputting data addresses and setting features, things one normally has on a branded phone. Whatev, that’s small potatoes, and I even discovered later that the phone companies have it so you can message yourself with the data & apply it to the phone. OK. It still does not change the fact that I want to fling the phone against a wall or out the window, every. single. day. I hate it.

After going to the lake, and having no reception and no web access on my phone, I hit the wall myself. So I bought an unlocked Blackberry Pearl. Which I really liked. I even upgraded the web plan so I could make it into a work device – I had felt a little Short Bus Syndrome when we’d traveled on that wheel-fell-off-trip, because everyone else had iPhones and Blackberries and oh, Jennifer, you don’t check your work email on your phone? No. My phone has a wheel. It was like a caveman holding a torch while everyone skittered around with their GPS voice-activated gadgetry in sleek speed-skating suits. And I had thought the RAZR would be a step up, but instead was unwittingly rocketing back to 2004. Which, in techno-years, is like the Dark Ages.

So, the Pearl. Yes! I’m legit! Bona-fide. I switched to the data plan, and I call the Wo. “Hello?” he says. “Hello? Hello?” Hangs up. Mind you, I’m responding. He calls me back. “Hello? Hello?” Heeeeey. The microphone doesn’t work. I abuse several co-workers with testing different options. Back to the forums. Perhaps a software update is needed. Okey-dokey. I attach the phone to the computer with the cable. Nothing. I try another cable. Nothing. I try a third cable. Nothing. I plug the cable into the RAZR. (Microsoft has detected your dumb ass phone from a previous century! Where’s the software? On a 3.5″ floppy you say?) WTH.

I email the seller, they have no solution except to return it. Back it went today. I’m still using my Supah-Dupah Fly RAZR, but now I have to revert the data plan back to my G-Zones (cheaper) web plan. Ah, no, you naive stupid girl. “We don’t offer that any more.”

HUH? I had it on TUESDAY.

“Once you remove it, it’s gone, we have a new product now.” That costs $4 more a month for the same damned thing. (Oh and includes some text messaging, which I don’t really do, instead paying $0.20 per, anytime I simply must receive or send one.)

OMG. Head! Exploding! I disconnect from the online CSR, and call. They immediately put G-Zones back on my phone. But cannot offer me any sort of good deal on a phone to replace my ghetto-blaster techno-sploitation travesty I’m stuck with. My phone is beginning to resemble Ron Jeremy, only without any residual coolness. I have to wait 10 months. (And seriously, the price difference between upgrade with no contract extension and with one is negligible.) For the first time in 10 years (or however long it’s been, it’s been at least that), I’m seriously going to look at options once this contract shit is up.

So. All the drama, and swearing, and pain aside. What really gets me is that the business model for cell phones has absolutely nothing to do with rewarding loyalty. Marketing departments sit around all the time, trying to figure out how to keep and retain consumers, how do we get someone to be a brand advocate, so dedicated to our product or service that they’ll never switch. And I get it, you have a contract, which represents $X and the penalties for breaking the contract somehow translates to permission to just leave that customer alone until it’s time to revisit the contract. Sure, every time I’ve called T-Mobile (because really, did G-Foible fool you?), I’ve been thanked profusely for being such a loyal and long-time customer. But when I ask a CSR to fix a problem and they say no, no and no again, even in the face of me saying “I will leave over this the minute I can,” why do I have to make the next round of effort (and escalate it) to repair that business relationship? Honestly, had T-Mobile offered me a solution, like a Blackberry for $100-$150, I would have kept the upgraded data plan, signed up for another two years, and been happy as a clam. (I even asked! “NO.”) Now I’m just bitter.

I guess the answer is that there’s so much churn, they don’t bother to care about loyalty. Because in the end, I’m just a number, nothing more. I guess it’s a good thing I can now take that number with me, wherever I go. Until then, I’ll be wearing my RAZR around my neck, like the albatross it is….

Bustle, bustle!

Yep, it’s bizzy ’round here. Big client meeting yesterday. Off to NYC tomorrow, back home on Thursday, then keep dog-paddling because there’s a big meeting/presentation next week to boot. woo-hoo! In the midst of all that, got to keep getting the ‘regular’ work done, and then handle the curve balls on top of it all. Because boy howdy, there was a curve ball, and I seriously wanted to remove heads from bodies with a croquet mallet. Yes, I was channeling my inner Red Queen, and all I can say is, good thing I read the emails at  home so I had time to explode and then calm the hell down by the time I could actually address it. GAH! Life is hard enough, when things are going well, it’s in everyone’s interests to make! things! work!

OMG Tripper is going to start marketing his weapons-grade gas to the government. That’ll help pay the dog food bills ’round here. He is seriously, seriously toxic with his farts. I keep a bottle of Febreze ‘Air Effects’ right by my chair, and it’s almost comical – he gets royally offended when I counter-attack with one puff of “Linens-n-Sky”. Sometimes he even gets up and moves. It’s the only weapon I have, and I have to use it!

Speaking of crazy dog stories – last Saturday night I met up with some of the LSG folks on Ravelry, which was great fun – and when James got home from his banquet duties (MWA banquet in Oregon, MO), I headed for bed & left him to take care of the dogs for the night. Good thing. Polly apparently dashed in the door, and he only caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, and knew she had something in her mouth. Uh, yeah. “Something” turned out to be an enormous full-grown rabbit that was in dire straits. At least I have a husband who can calmly handle these things, humanely. I’d just shriek and run into doors.  Just a regular Mutual of Omaha around here, I tell ya…..

Speaking of wild kingdoms, the seed-planting is well underway, as the gardener of the house starts getting excited for planting and gardens and spring. Since he’d gotten me a Christmas present when we’d agreed not to exchange gifts, I decided Valentine’s Day would be my turn to surprise-treat. I took the rest of the money I’d left in my PayPal account from my Loopy Ewe DPN holders, and with just a smidge extra, I bought him a set of Texas Tomato Cages. After all, tomatoes are the “Love Apple”….and he grows them so extraordinarily well, with all kinds of fantastic varieties, knowing how much I love love love fresh tomatoes. Apparently these things are THE support system for growing tomatoes, so we’re just going to start investing in them and add to the pile as we go.

Let’s see… working furiously on some more knits, including a couple of fun projects for classes I’ll be teaching, and really, just trying to not let too much slip through the cracks.  It feels kind of crazy that tomorrow is already Ash Wednesday, that next week is -yikes- March! and pretty soon we’ll see Spring really settling in, bursting through the ground and in the trees, welcoming us to a new season and another chapter. Despite being agitated about dunderheads, and feeling like I’m burning the candle at both ends, I’m really excited about what’s on the horizon this year – both with work and my life outside of work. (For instance? The Wo and I are going to take a vacation! YES! Where? Dunno! But it’s going to happen, and that’s all there is to it. The pool will be there for later in the summer, yes, but staycation be damned!)  And yes, eventually I’ll be able to throw all the nice facts up about the zombie, proving once and for all, the dead truly can live comfortably in California.

No Patience For The Stupid. Or Zombies.

Actually, I have yet to see a horror movie where zombies really exhibit a whole lot of intelligence. I believe it’s inherent in the name …. a reanimated dead body, according to Merriam-Webster. And that says NOTHING about brains. For the most part, I think zombies just amble around in stiff, uncomfortable way, much like all of us over the age of 35 do in the morning. Just maybe not with arms outstretched, looking to kill you. Because that also seems to be their thing, to kill you.

Well, I lost a good chunk of time this week to the zombie, mostly because I got really really mad, and I posted on Ravelry under the title “SHE’S  NOT DEAD”. (that post is below). I ranted, like I did here earlier in the week, about this zombie faker and because most things in Lazy Stupid & Godless fly by at an alarmingly rapid rate, I thought it would be a nice cleansing post, I’d get about 8 replies, and we’d continue on with our lives. Yeah. I can be dense sometimes. I now know how the idiot out in California feels when she thinks it’s not too windy to make a little fire to cook some wienies, and suddenly half the state is on fire.I felt a little nauseous, because blowback is often what happens to people who do such stuff.

Whups?

Anyway, more proof is being gathered (though as someone observed, it’s very hard to prove a negative) – but if you can convict someone of murder without a body, I’m thinking we can find a preponderance of evidence that would eliminate any doubts people may still have. It will live on a website and will be fabulous!

What set me over the edge was that my friend told me that a knit-along was being formed in her memory for next month. And that meant… more people would buy her patterns that were still up for sale under the premise donations were being made to charity. The one I saw said it was going to the American Cancer Society, and friends, when you lose the one person in your life who’s always been there, taught you at least half of what you know and was the only source of unconditional love for 30 years – when you lose someone like that to cancer, and someone else uses cancer to make a buck? PlazaJen get real mad and blow up like Hulk.  And all the world fell away around me and I couldn’t see straight & my hair on the back of my neck went up and I think the air might have crackled a bit. So I pounded out a non-naming bitch slap, and discovered a whoooole lotta people who were hot on the trail & dug up more evidence and started tracking her on Ravelry, much the way the weatherman here tracks Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Change your name? Beep beep beep beep, seconds later it is announced to everyone and the private messaging exploded. Really, I was impressed at the sleuthiness of my fellow LSG’ers, because they were ON IT like beagles after a fox.  All of this will go to the joint effort that’s being amassed, for the evidence website.

The crazy part is, she’s still on the site. Why, is beyond me. Talk about a pariah. To paraphrase the old saying, “Bitch – you’ll never knit in this town again.” RIP Momma Monkey, Confined2Me, Miss Cissy, GinaBlaq, Ginablackq, whatever you want to call yourself today, tomorrow, next week. Those eyes I saw peering out of my computer monitor have to look at themselves in the mirror, and I know. I KNOW. No matter how hard you try and mind fuck yourself, you will know, in the smallest. darkest, dustiest room tucked deep in your soul, that what you did was wrong. Might I suggest something for your next tattoo?

“I repent”

Backwards. On your forehead.

~~~~~ for the non-Ravelers, this was my post~~~~~~~~

K.
If you knew there was a pile of proof, pointing to the fact that someone who was a popular indie knitter/designer/purveyor of goods had FAKED THEIR DEATH, and you could hardly talk about it with anyone, because nobody knows what to do with this proof, or really, even, how to present it to the greater community? What would one do?
(Besides self-combust, of course.)

No, I am not referencing Teh Crazy that is MCY. This preceded MCY, but it parallels quite astonishingly. I did not uncover the proof, but I trust the person who did, who has, in turn, had numerous pieces confirmed by others close to the person.

My problem, as a member of this fabulous community, is that designs are probably still being purchased, because said moneys are now going to “charity”. People cried real tears over the individual’s death! This as nuclear as a FatBoy over Nagasaki, and yet, I can barely keep my ire in check, knowing that this individual is walking around – blogging and tweeting about what pants to wear – while the community at large has been duped – once again.

Therefore, I would at least like to petition the general knitting community that, from this point forward, some sort of newspaper death notice, or coroner’s report, or police blotter item be required before tributes, fundraisers, knit-a-longs or other fantastic acts of kindness are performed. I do not want to become a hard-hearted bitch, anymore than I already am, and I think this is the only way we can keep these horrid people from yanking the rug out from under us. Are we in agreement?

To quote my friend Willy, “Truth will out.”

Douchebaggery…..

I have a short list of things that – just in the space of today – have made me utter or think the word “Douchebag”.

1. Waiting until you are at or near a complete stop to signal your turn. Hi. The rest of us are actually paying attention? And you are inconveniencing us. Especially if we don’t want to turn in front of you in your Beemer as you slowly approach the intersection, but oh, I see, it’s because you’re on your phone and drinking a coffee, so I get it, your HANDS WEREN’T FREE to turn the signal on. Fuck you. And you, the other one, in front of me later today, careening all over the place, unsure of where to turn.You are not the only one out here!

2. Leaving someone no room to get out of a parallel parking spot. Here’s how I know (this was once again, a Beemer, but I will not jump to conclusions): the big ol’ Land Rover was there when I parked. We had lots of distance between us, but you chose to kiss my bumper and leave him three feet. Fuck you. I hope the next time you’re at the grocery store, someone parks so close to you, you have to get in from the passenger side. Careful not to slip when you go over the gear shift!

3. When someone has nearly finished Austin-Powering her way out of a tiny fucking parking spot, just keep zooming around her so she can’t complete the extrication, despite having half a front end of a Murano sitting out in traffic. Interesting Trivia: if you slow down and read her lips, she’s screaming “Fuck you! And you! And you, too!” Please note, she smiles and waves if you let her in.

4. This douchebag takes the cake and the crown from all the bad drivers & parkers I encountered today. He makes me physically sick to my stomach. People want him to get the death penalty? But I think someone like him should go away to a little cinderblock cell that he’ll share with someone he’ll have to call “Mr. Sweetums” for the next 30-50 years.  Douche. Bag.

This has been your public service message, you may resume your regularly scheduled knitting, working, happy houring or sleeping. Thank you.

Energized, yet Drained. Cheerful, yet Rageaholic.

Yes.  I am covering a wide swath of ground these days. And through it all, I am bizzy bizzy bizzy! I always love being busy, but sometimes it pushes the edges and boundaries of normalcy, and I find that’s when things like …oh… “politeness”, or … “consistency” start to fall by the wayside. Work’s been really busy & I have had some great conversations with my bosses about goals for the year & I already hit a couple balls outta the park, so I feel like th year’s off to a very good start. I’m behind on sending out presents and holiday greetings but hell. Isn’t it better to get a thoughtful note from me when I get around to it, than nothing at all? Or just my signature in a timely manner? That’s my approach & I’m stickin’ to it, dammit.

I joke about the rage-a-holic part, somewhat – I’m still PISSED at Time Warner Cable, because even using my connections, I got a VERY disappointing solution yesterday. Instead of our bill going up 60%? She could knock off a little and make that increase just 40%. FORTY percent. People, this is not gas, or milk, or any other commodity that is finite in its production. Yes, the internet has bandwidth, I understand. But TWC is still going to have to buy MTV and HBO whether or not I’m in their customer base, and there is absolutely NO reason I should stick around for a rate hike so substantial when there are other options. Options that involve hassle on my part, but what’s the best salve for hassle? Nostril-flaring joy that the fuckers over :there: aren’t getting your money any more. I’m not quite at that point yet, because I emailed my contact again with less-florid language describing the above, and it’s now gone on to a different department, presumably one higher on the food chain.  I shall keep you updated, because if I’ve picked up on one thing in this life, is that folks out there have some shared rage against The Man, who sometimes comes in the form of The Cable Company.

I spent a good chunk of my weekend making more DPN Holders for The Loopy Ewe, and my local yarn stores, so I’m chipping away at my cost to go to the LE Spring Fling at the end of April! Woohoo for cottage industry!

I’m off to a blogger meet-up tonight – should be fun & interesting,  since I didn’t get a chance to meet everyone at the last one.  I’ll be the one with my knitting, but I promise, I am oh-so-far from dowdy, shy & retiring.

The Curse of Auto-Pay

If I didn’t use auto-pay for the majority of our bills, I’d be in a constant state of scramble, and probably missing payments, garnering late fees and angry phone calls. As it is, the things that still get paid ‘manually’ require a little reminder in my calendar, so my palm pilot will dee-doo dee-doo at me until I pay attention.

So, imagine my surprise when, I go into my Time Warner Cable account to get the account number, so I get our holiday movie credited back (via a coupon), and I see our last payment was, oh, like, $75 more than we normally pay. A rate hike of 60%. ooooooooh my god, talk about a short fuse. See, I spent over a week, wrangling and hassling with Time Warner Cable last year, because we were being plagued with programs being deleted on the DVR, annnnd they raised our rates. I was fractions of inches away from going to DirecTV.  So, they gave me a nice rate. Great. I think a rate hike, when you’re pretty much the only game in town, in an economic downturn, is pretty shitty, but I understand cost of living needs, etc., so I would have even been willing to accept a 5% increase. NOT 60%. NOT when I can put together my bundle of services as if I were a new customer and have a rate plan LOWER than what I pay now. No, no, and NO.

And of course, they no longer have CSR agents available later in the evening, so I have to re-stoke the coals in the morning until I’ve hit white-hot again. But I’m going to utilize my resources, and see if I can skip the first tier of CSRs and get myself some elevated service. And if that doesn’t work out? Well, I guess we’ll be discovering the exciting world of satellite!

I hate having to go to bed on an empty, unresolved anger. Splutter. Stay tuned for the next chapter! It’ll be broadcast in digital!

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