chickenshoot (chickenshoot) wrote,
chickenshoot
chickenshoot

The Letter C

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C is for Cake...

Of course I must mention cake first.  Oddly I never cared much about cake as a kid, but at some point in my thirties suddenly I found myself snorting it in seedy back rooms.



Sometimes cake can fix your problems. At least for about five minutes.

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C is for Cheap Trick...

Husband tells me that Joan Jett is in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but not Cheap Trick. What the hell is wrong with this world?  She had, oh, two hits 20 years ago?---whilst Cheap Trick just keeps on producing beautiful stuff.




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C is for www.Classmates.com really sucks...





I TOLD them I would trash them next chance I got, and here you go.

I signed up with these @ssholes a couple years ago to find notices about my impending 20th high school reunion. Well, our reunion didn't happen at all because apparently the cheerleaders who promised to arrange it couldn't even handle a task that has TWENTY years preparation time.



So when the reunion was off, I had no use for
www.classmates.com, and I deleted my account back then.  Somehow, despite this, I received a message from them recently, and it said that someone I know (and I did recognize the name) was trying to reach me. 

I don't know many high school people anymore, but this is someone I'd like to say hi to, so I clicked on the message. Classmates seemed to remember my log-in and password as though I still had an account (which irked me), and as I entered the site I didn't notice some really small print at the bottom of the page:


By clicking "continue" we can import your address book and invite all of your friends to join you on Classmates.com!!

Your pal,
Satan



Sucker!

Ok, it wasn't really signed by Satan, but the message was very similar otherwise. So having missed this microscopic detail, imagine my surprise when I found the contents of my address book listed on the next screen, along with a message that said, "YOUR FRIENDS HAVE ALL BEEN INVITED TO JOIN YOU ON CLASSMATES!"

Ugh.

I felt my guts boiling and panicking simultaneously as I looked for a sign that this did not really happen. Oh, but it had. Luckily I'd used a crappy alternate email that I use for non-personal stuff, but it's old and still contained about 75 people from over the last 10 years. People who are dead by now, people I wish were dead, and perhaps people who nowadays hope I'm dead. It contained people from old jobs, present jobs, people I barely know... Or nice regular people, like my mom.




What's unfortunate is that my mom trusts me, so when she received an invitation, signed up. At this point SHE missed the message from Satan as well, so HER address book was raided and invitations were sent out on her behalf to professors at the college where she worked, previous employers, old friends, and people she barely knew...Double ugh.

After ENDLESS time spent on hold I unleashed a red-hot fury on the customer service line for Classmates.com that was so ferocious I was passed from one quivering salesperson to another until I ended up in the hands of a manager.


Turtle demonstrates my wrath...


I asked the manager WHO ON EARTH would want their entire address book to receive this ridiculous invitation, and she assured me that MOST PEOPLE ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS FEATURE!  

Sure, I said. Who has an address book that contains ONLY people who you want to chat with about high school?   Wouldn't your average person have a wild assortment of email addresses???  Oh, like maybe a doctor, in-laws, business contacts, grandparents, parents, an employer, etc?



"You can't possibly be unhappy about this feature...No, you are mistaken. You love this feature. EVERYONE loves this feature."


Again she repeats that EVERYONE LOVES THIS FEATURE, as though she's memorized her standard responses to the surely hundreds of freaked out callers she gets about this. Well, I told her the feature was stupid, and that she was stupid for going along with it and pretending it's awesome, and that the site is stupid, and that I'M GOING TO TRASH CLASSMATE.COM every single time it crosses my mind.

And here it is, you stupid stupid woman from that ridiculously invasive crappy site.

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C is for Cul-de-Sac...

I swear I was near thirty before I found out what a cul-de-sac is. I kind of thought it was related to something in the neighborhood---perhaps a type of house or yard, or maybe an extra nice neighborhood. Or maybe a type of cheese.


Apparently cul-de-sacs are safer, highly desired locations for family homes, which is probably why I never encountered one growing up...

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C is for Complicated...


As I get older it's becoming more complicated keeping myself together. I'm falling apart like an old robot. 

I've got little kids running up to me on the sidewalk and hollering, "Hey, robot lady, you dropped something in our yard,"  and they hand me the rusted, mostly un-riveted box that is my broken ass.  



I leave dented tin toes in the hallway, and my out-of-date eye machinery often rolls back in my head to review 1970's moments when it's supposed to be programmed to focus on my computer monitor for work purposes.

Doctors can't pinpoint reasons for pains, and it seems I'm morphing into something that is no one's specialty.  I think I'm gonna have to start searching for my new parts in a salvage yard or Craigslist.

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