FunnyOrDie.com is the best website ever when it comes to me falling out of my chair laughing.

Seriously.

I’ve been a customer since 2004, which is really all that long, but for me? That’s a long ass commitment. And since October, I’ve wanted to kick them in the shins. My phone, which I bought sometime last spring and still had to stretch my contract out for two more years, has turned into a giant pile of shit, as has T-Mobile’s attempt to do anything to rectify things on their end.

My phone has some issues. It periodically reboots itself in the middle of sending text messages. Considering I send and receive somewhere around 1500 text messages a month, that kind of becomes a pain in the ass. Another neat feature it’s developed, and I can only imagine it’s so I save battery power, is turning off at random times: while in my pocket, on my bedside table, or even when it’s just sitting on my desk waiting for the guy from Pizza -N- Pasta to call. And most recently? I’ll be on the phone with someone, and all of a sudden, the phone goes dead - I can’t hear them, and they can’t hear me. Give it anywhere from 10 seconds or three minutes, and everything’s just fine again. So, really, this phone is not so helpful when it comes to taking part in phone interviews for the job(s) of my dreams.

In October, I talked to some a-hole at T-Mobile, who completely agreed my phone was faulty and since it was still under warranty, they could send me a new one! NEAT, I thought, and what great customer service! And then they told me I’d have to pay for shipping - $9.95 + tax. Now, I know that’s not a lot of money, and that’s not the point at all. It’s just the principle. Why should I have to pay them money to ship me a phone, when I can walk half a mile to the T-Mobile store I bought the phone from and just exchange it there? That’s logical. T-Mobile? Not so logical. It’s their phone, their problem. I didn’t do anything to break this particular phone, and it infuriates me to think they don’t stand 100% behind the phones they sell in their registered stores.

I’ve been dealing with it since then, and then the whole dead air thing started happening today. I can’t deal with that. Especially since I discontinued my Vonage service in November. (That’s another story about shitty customer service I should tell sometime.)

I called and talked to Bianca, who was very sweet and as helpful as she could be. Even if her response to my questioning the logic of their policy was "unfortunately not everything is logic"… (I’ll let you think about that one for a while, too.) Then it came time to ship me my new phone and it wouldn’t let her do it without transferring me to a Tier 2 Technician. The title "Tier 2 Technician" at T-Mobile also comes with a free Superiority Complex. I should see if they’re hiring. Then I could sit in a cube right next to Tonya, the horribly apathetic "Tier 2 Technician", and listen to her say "Definitely" about 40 times per call.

Tonya didn’t do much in the way of servicing my customer needs. I wasn’t really asking for a lot. Just for them to waive the stupid $10 shipping fee, but that was pretty quickly denied. Because T-Mobile is actually paying for half the shipping charges, she said, so they’re really doing me a favor by splitting it with me. FYI? It apparently costs $20 to ship a very small cell phone from the T-Mobile Empire to my apartment, and I still have to wait seven business days for it. Hey, guys? UPS is totally ripping you off. Send that shit Priority Mail, and I’ll be glad to pay my half of that.

In any case, I gave her the whole "I’m canceling my service when my contract is up" speech, and her response was: "Definitely. I’m sorry you feel that way."

Definitely, I do.

And now I’m on the hunt for a T-Mobile phone that I can buy NOT through T-Mobile and still have awesome things like a camera and, you know, a reception. Except all the cheap phones on Ebay want me to sign a contract. No, thanks. I’m already going to have to trade my first born son (who I’ll call Hambone, for short) in to get out of this contract.

IN CONCLUSION, T-Mobile is my arch nemesis right now.

Just sayin’.

I had a phone interview yesterday that went pretty well. So well, in fact, that the lady I was talking to wanted to send me job descriptions for two different jobs she thought I’d be a great fit for and let me get back to her on which one piqued my interest the most. I was very excited, because one position was exactly what I want and the other was something that became more and more intriguing as I thought about it. The nice lady was all, "Okay, I’ll email you both the job descriptions and then you just let me know what you think!" and she verified my email address, told me she loved me, and hung up. It was a little awkward, but for the right job, I’ll overlook it.

I’m an impatient person as it is sometimes, especially when it comes to having a secure way to fund all of my drug habits (that’s a joke, potential employers, should you stumble upon this while Googling for my full name), so I was kind of hoping for this email to appear right away. Naturally, it didn’t, so I had to go to lunch and then to the chiropractor (if you ever need a chiropractor referral in the Twin Cities, let me know. I love this guy.). When I got home, still nothing, of course.

And still nothing as of about noon today. Right after I talked to my new apartment complex, who set up a time for me to get the keys to the apartment on Tuesday (YAY!!), I decided to call the lady from yesterday. It went to voicemail after a few rings, so I left a nice little, professional message letting her know I still hadn’t received her emails and I was looking forward to getting them as soon as possible since they were "being so aggressive with their search".  I still haven’t heard from her.

But you know what? I think this is payback for every time I’ve went out with someone and been all "Hey, I’ll call you…" and, well, not called. And now, here I am - in the role of desperate suitor who just wants a second chance!

Jenni, Matt, and I did our Fat Tuesday celebratin’ at Dixie’s on Grand last night, like I mentioned earlier. It was the only place that was celebrating Fat Tuesday and Jack Brass Band happened to be playing at the same time. A total win-win situation.

The band had finished its third set, and we were kinda waiting around for Mike (my former co-worker and part of the JBB) to come over so we could buy him a drink. Matt excused himself to go outside and smoke; Jenni had to go to the bathroom. She was willing to wait until Matt returned, but no - I insisted that she go, because it’s Grand Avenue in St. Paul. I can totally handle this shit.

Two minutes after Jenni leaves for the bathroom, I hear someone say "May I join you?" and I’m all "Hey, girl, hey" and then I look up. Man. I totally should have looked up before letting this lady join us. She sits down before I can say, "JUST KIDDING." and no sooner does she take her glasses off, does she start going off on some rampage about the caucuses.

She had apparently missed her caucus time and couldn’t vote, but was very adamant about telling me Obama had won in this particular area of St. Paul we were in. Matt came in from his smoke break, and she didn’t even acknowledge his return. Instead, she kept rambling about how younger men are making the wrong political decisions. LADY. MATT IS A YOUNG MAN. SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Once Jenni finally returned from emptying her bladder, this lady took it upon herself to make some formal introductions. Her name was Laurel. And then off she went about the 1980 elections when she was in California, just moving back to Minnesota, and she was unsure about her decision to vote for Reagan and who the hell else knows what she was saying. I tried to interrupt her by telling her I was only two then, and had no idea what she was talking about, but it didn’t work. I was too busy trying not to laugh every time I looked at Jenni and trying to contain my laughter by drinking water out of an empty cup. Laurel didn’t seem to mind, because she thought she was "at an after party for the Democratic Caucus". Really? Are there after parties for that shit?

I don’t remember much else of the conversation. That can be attributed to either the three Hurricanes I had or the fact that this lady was creepy as hell. We figured out our tab, to which Laurel was extremely amused. "You guys grew up with calculators, right?" she asked. Right, lady. Calculators. We had those fancy things. But now we do this crazy thing called MATH IN YOUR HEAD. It’s quite unbelievable really. She assured me that she could help us figure out the tab, because she was sober. Except she was acting stone cold drunk!

And then we ran. My Converse-wearing feet hadn’t moved that fast since doing the Soulja Boy at Pi Saturday night.

This is right here? Exactly why I don’t hang out in St. Paul.

So, tonight? We went to Dixie’s on Grand, where they were celebrating Fat Tuesday with some free beads and a performance from Jack Brass Band. We love both of those, so we went!  When I finally found  a place to park, I realized I’d parked right in front of the management company who denied me my apartment I loved so much a couple of weeks ago. "Well, that’s motherfuckin’ convenient," I thought and walked on to the bar.

And then, just because ti’s what I do, I got home tonight and browsed the available apartments on Craigslist, in case I have possibly missed the apartment of my dreams (and Riley’s, too) and I find an apartment owned by this particular management company. And you know what it says in the ad? I’ll tell ya:

**Students and 1st time renters encouraged to apply!**

Really, you shit for brains management company? You’ll deny me - who’s had years of perfect rental history and not one single complaint against me while living in a fucking hippo-infested building, but yet you’ll allow someone who’s never had any rental history at all? I hate you a lot, and just as soon as I have a confirmed apartment, there’s gonna be a nice little rant about your shitty business practice, including the name of your stupid ass company. You know why? Because I like it when people type in a particular company’s name and then they find my website. It gives me great pleasure.

Dicks.

Confession: I’m a MySpace junkie. Sometimes it’s bad. Other times, it’s good - like today, when I found out there’s one place in all of the Twin Cities that’s actually celebrating Fat freakin’ Tuesday tonight.

This is the latest "forward" that’s going on in the MySpace community (if you can even call it that):

Unfortunately, 97% of myspacers won’t repost this. When Jesus died on the cross He was thinking of you. If you are one of the 3% who will stand up for Him. John 3:16!!!!
just repost this with your city’s name

Remember, he said if you deny him, he will deny you

I’m not exactly a Bible-reciting type of person, but I did my fair share of Sunday School goin’ and Bible Study attendin’ when I was too young to use working at Taco Bell as an excuse to bail on organized religion. And John 3:16 is one of the few pieces of scripture that I have actually retained over the years; Isaiah 1:17 being another one. In the book of John, chapter 3, verse 16, I’m about 14056540% sure there’s no mention of reposting MySpace bulletins. And for that matter, I’m also 14056540% certain when "Jesus died on the cross", as it mentions, he wasn’t shouting REPOST THIS BULLETIN ON MYSPACE, MY CHILDREN.

And really, when I kick the bucket at the ripe age of 219, if I’m gonna get denied entrance into Heaven, I really want it to be for denying Jesus on MySpace.

Whoever had the idea to give Steve Wilkos his own show is either the biggest idiot on the face of this Earth or quite possibly the biggest genius, and I haven’t figured out which it was. If you haven’t ever seen the show, I’ll give you a run down of what I see every night if I don’t go to bed before 3 a.m.

Overly Trashy Guest: My baby’s daddy loves me.

Steve: NO HE DOESN’T!! GRRR!!!

OTG: But he tells me he loves me when he’s beating me with a lead pipe.

Steve: WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU ARE YOU STUPID GRRRR

OTG: I can’t help it. We have 5640 kids together.

Steve: HE’S TOUCHING ALL OF THEM IN THE SWIMSUIT AREA.

OTG: No, he’s not. He only did that to our first kid. Not the rest.

Steve: YOU’RE WORTHLESS AND SHOULDN’T BE A PARENT. GRRRRR. HULKSMASH.

OTG: God, you’re right. I suck.

(Break for a commercial and return to the show with 2 minutes left.)

Steve: It’s okay. Things will be okay.

OTG: WAAAAAH.

And then the show ends.

Things I’ve been doing instead of actually writing here:

• Packing a lot of boxes
• Having lunch with everyone I know
• Celebrating Cindi’s 30th birthday
• Sifting through boxes that I hadn’t unpacked since moving to this apartment
• Being turned down by Apartment #1
• Applying for Apartment #6 (2-3 days until I find out if I get it)
• Going to basketball games with Suzi and with Matt & Jenni
• Finishing the editing process of all my vacation photos
• Failing miserably at trying to set up a 2nd wordpress blog on twodolla without having to install WP again
• Wallowing in self-pity about the Johan Santana trade giveaway
• Going to the poor excuse of a Winter Carnival in St. Paul
• Trying to decide which candidate I’ll vote for to clean up Bush’s mess

Also, Saturday night, after spending time with the homies, I thought it would be a good idea to go to a bar by myself, so I did. And then I proceeded to feel like one of those creepy old dudes that saunter into a bar an hour before closing time and watch all the drunk people dance. Except I did the Soulja Boy, so maybe I didn’t seem too overly creepy. (You can all learn it here; I learned it on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean.)

Sorry to be THAT PERSON that posts videos all the time, but I just like to share.

Sarah Silverman was on Jimmy Kimmel last night. I don’t actually watch the show, so I have to thank Yes But No But Yes for this clip:

It helps that I’ve had a lifelong thing for Matt Damon.