The Peevery

What What What?

Typepad's all different now!  Change is scary.

Whatever.

I hate reading blogs about blogging.  That's like reading a book about how to read a book.  And I don't know what to title this post. 

I don't want you to call me!

I hate software companies who won't divulge a single piece of information about their product without requiring you to submit your email and telephone number. I'm talking to you, Salesforce.com.

And "May Be" You People are Idiots

I signed up awhile ago for AT&T's Privacy Manager so that any calls that are unknown or private have to go through a system where you have to first announce who you are, then it rings to me to tell me, giving me the option to accept or reject. Great. However, I have friends who live outside the U.S. who say they can't get through to me. The call is rejected outright. So, I call AT&T and they tell me it "may be" because the system doesn't recognize the number, that it is not ten digits. Excuse me--it "may be?" You mean you don't know? You mean I am the only one with Privacy Manager and International callers? You can't determine if your system blocks these callers? Are you for real?

Dude You're Getting A Dell

Why does everyone hate on Dell computers?  I don't get it.  I have had my Dell laptop for 3.5 years now and never have had a problem compared to my Sony Vaio that was in the shop annually. 

Open Peeves

Erin has a peeve:

Please tell me I'm not the only one.

While using the can opener last night, I realized I was turning the can as the opener was too.  I guess I thought maybe I could make it go faster. Of course, this is coming from the girl who thinks the faster you drive, the more miles you put on your car because the speedometer goes faster. These Polish genes are killin' me.

Red has a peeve:

I've been renovating my house a little, as noted previously in open peeves.  While tearing out the paneling in the kitchen I was faced with the fact that the individual who had installed the paneling was a complete jackass.  I have it on good authority (my neighbor that's been there for 35 years) that it was done by the original owner. "Sal". 

Well, "Sal" must have had a couple thousand extra nails lying around the house, because he used almost all of them to affix the paneling to the walls.  And then, since I imagine it was possible that hurricane-force winds off of Lake Erie could have peeled the paneling away, the guy used about 10 gallons of some black, tarry adhesive to make sure there was no question.  After 6 hours of work I have ONE wall ready for sanding.  And now I'm going to go down to the cemetary, dig up "Sal", and punch him right in the head.

Word to your Motha

Word is the worst program ever to try to build a form in, yet that seems to be my only option. 

Growl Monster

I don't know what it is about Monster.com, but it runs so slow on my browser at home, it is practically forcing me to search for a new job at work.

Open Peeves

From Red, a real live male:

Dear Beloved Wife,

Given the current economic situation, I appreciate that you are trying to save us money wherever possible.  However, I can assure you - in spite of your well-founded opinion that I am occasionally fiscally imprudent - that using one dryer sheet for every ten loads of laundry is not going to be the cost-cutting measure that is going to put us on the road to financial independence.  Also, we can't use the static electricity from my clothes to power the house.

You look stunning in clothes that cling to all of your curves.  Unfortunately, my 265 lbs. does not, and I've actually asked an electrician here at work how to attach a ground wire to my pants.

Sincerely, 

Red

From Erin:

Facebook Loser
I've enjoyed reconnecting with high school friends via Facebook.  Plus it's a lot less embarassing than saying I'm actually on MySpace.  But Facebook is messing with my head.  Every time I get on, I look at the "People You Might Know" column on the side, and of course, there's my high school boyfriend.  Everytime, without fail.  We dated for two years, then, inexplicably, he left me.  We haven't spoken in 15 years. Thanks, Facebook, for shoving it in my face repeatedly.

A chain of events that ends with, "That's what you get."

I was researching a class-action lawsuit against my former company for my next paper in my MBA class.

I Googled the indicted/convicted ex-CEO's name.

I became bored by his misdeeds.

I Googled myself.

I came across a story I wrote about my ex-boyfriend.

(While typing this, I realized I hadn't Googled the ex, so I paused in composing this post to do so. Nothing came up.)

I logged in to MySpace to check out his profile.

I couldn't find him in my friends list so I was outraged that he dumped me as a MySpace friend.

I remembered that we were never MySpace friends; we only exchanged some messages.

I searched for him on MySpace and clicked on his link.

His profile was such a clusterf* that it hosed my computer while it was trying to load.

I thought to myself, "That's what you get for looking up exes on MySpace."

I waited for his profile to load only to see that he is cuter and beefier and has hot chicks leaving him messages.

I thought to myself, "Didn't you hear me when I said, 'That's what you get?' Jackass."