Qwest can seriously lick my balls. The DSL is out, and now it isn’t even raining. I called tech support, and a tech will be dispatched in the morning, but in the meantime, you might not be able to even read this post. I think that the person answering was having a hard time not laughing, because I have this routine down to a science, which gives me plenty of time to make snide comments like:
Then a manager came on the line and said that they were putting a manager escalation on the problem, and a tech would be sent out forthwith. Of course we didn’t hear anything until the tech left a note on our door: “please reschedule for when you will be in.” I imagined to myself that a “manager escalation” would imply some sort of special attention, like a phone call to say “hey, I was going through some old tickets and thought of you, maybe I should stop by just to say hi and catch up a little, if that’s okay. Do you still have the bottom to my blender? I don’t know how that got separated, but you know, hahaha, maybe I could send you money to ship it.” Or Qwest could send a card. Or an email. Anything. Please, Qwest, just drop me a line and tell me that you haven’t forgotten how nice it used to be, you know, when the DSL worked and people could get to my websites and I could get to theirs. All I want is a little closure, I mean, it’s not like I want “one last time” or anything. Well, not really. No, no, you’re sexy! Yeah! I mean, it’s just, well, no, haha, no, I’m not suggesting it. What? I know that you aren’t either, but maybe I should stop by anyway. Yeah. Around eight. Uh huh. Should I bring wine? Yeah, I still have a bottle. No, just to catch up and give you that blender part. Well, I don’t know, I mean, whatever happens… happens. I guess. We just, uh, look, okay, now this is getting weird. I don’t really want to think about it, I mean, we’re still, uh, shit. Fuck. Why is this so hard? I mean, we… Fuck. FUCK. I gotta go. No. I gotta go. That’s not fair! God! You always do this! FUCK! This isn’t my fault! Why are you always… no! It’s not me! God! I never said that! Never! NEVER! Fuck! Can’t I - no! Can’t I- I said no! Look, I just want my shit! Fuck! You’re always like this! I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it. No! Fuck you! I mean it! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!
Okay, that’s embellished a little, but the phone lady liked it, and there will theoretically be a tech here between ten and two, or whenever, because they just said “Tomorrow. Maybe.”
My guess is that the tech will be here exactly as my final starts. At least Lisa will be here, napping. Crap.
In other news, I finally broke down and let Lisa and Stan buy me an air conditioner. I think that it was when I had to swim across the backyard because the air was so soupy. That’s what sold me. Oh, no, it was all the stuff that I wanted to do tonight on the computer before I went to bed because I expected that the DSL would be working. Oh! It IS raining now. Apparently my DSL has the arthritis, and when that knee starts acting up you know it’s gonna rain.
Anyway, yes, I feel like a terrible person for selling out my principles and getting some climate control in my room, but I at least I am a terrible person who is not sweating. That has to count for something.
What was I going to write about before I had to spend an hour unplugging phones and calling tech support? Well, besides switching from build.sh to build.php for the nightly gallery builds, I was considering writing about:
- my slightly less abstract five year plan to get a date
- what sort of woman I might want to date, and the sort of woman that she in turn would want to date, or some other reason why she wouldn’t be interested in a dirty old man like me
- how I forgot to schedule a random woman from the personals with whom I could go on a blind date on Friday, when Dallas Orbiter will be playing, because I had set a precedent at their previous shows, but now I will just be at the Varsity Theater by myself and completely on the make — probably without a hunky wingman like Stan to draw in the ladies before bait and switching them to gimpy ol’ me
- how I haven’t been dreaming a lot in the past… uh… seven years, but when I do it’s always bad even when it’s good, because when it is a good dream I always wake up and say “FUCK, that was just a dream, goddamnit!” Then maybe I’d talk about a couple of recent dreams: one where two women were sort of fighting over me (with words, not fists), and another where a woman (not this last one) crawled into bed with me and I was totally the big spoon and it was great
- how I was thinking that maybe I should just uncork the whole bottle of crass and spray it all over this blog because I’m the sort of guy who doesn’t just cross the line, I get in my car and drive across it so that I can get to the park and ride, where I hop a bus to the light rail and end up at the airport, where I fly all the way around the world just so I can cross the line a second time
- what sort of things I might do in the ten days before I turn thirty
- what things happened at Applebee’s and Sally’s last night in the hour or two that I was hanging out with young and hot designer chicks and their friends. Example exchange:
“Only twelve days until I turn 30.”
“Then I ‘accidentally’ get hit by a bus.”
Now that I think about that, why did they assume suicide and not murder?
- a call to arms for the people who hang around me to rent Glengarry Glen Ross (or whatever it’s called) so I can make jokes about dating as though it were a sales endeavor. Okay, dating is a sales endeavor.
“I want the Glengarry leads!”
“The Glengarry leads are for closers, Jesse! Show me that you’re a closer and you get these leads!”
“I can’t sell on these leads! These are dead leads!”
Or whatever the hell Jack Lemmon (or whomever it was) said. I can’t look it up because the internet is down!
- how much Qwest can not only lick my balls, but also my gooch. By gooch I don’t mean Gooch from Diff’rent Strokes, who hassled Arnold, or something, which I can’t verify because the internet is down!, I mean the perineum, which is pretty clean right now, thanks to my multiple-times-per-day showering. Take that, bloody hand guy who looked like a skinny version of Zach de La Roche, or however you spell his name, which, uh, you know by now what I’m going to say. I bet bloody hand guy smelled super nasty. I don’t smell super nasty anymore. SHUT UP.
- how wonderful air conditioning can be, and the pure love that one feels when humping one’s personal air conditioner. I don’t even have to take off my pants when I come upstairs. I just do, on principle.
- how until a week or so ago I didn’t know a single person who voted Green besides me
- a rundown of nicknames for women from the personals because I don’t want to force my friends to remember the names in those transient relationships
- how much I hate Scientology
- what sorts of things I might want to write about if the DSL weren’t down
Do you see all the things that you missed because my DSL is down? It’s time for the people to rise up and give Qwest the collective brown eye. If any of these subjects interest you, let me know and I’ll bust out with extra awesome detail.
I’m gonna go make love to my air conditioner. I’ll use protection. Then, sleep.