Can You Hear This?

This is one of the best responses I’ve ever seen to the corporate world’s automation of all business activities. If I had the pleasure of meeting the author, she would get a hug and a standing ovation. I received this via email from my mama, of course. At 65, she has no problem responding to corporate entities with a letter when she feels they’ve overstepped their bounds or under-served her as a customer. She hasn’t been published in the New York Times yet, but hey, she’s still a youngster so you never know……………

A 98 year old woman wrote this to her bank. The bank manager thought it amusing enough to have it published in the New York Times. (I’m glad the banker had it published for our enjoyment, but I also hope s/he was just a little chagrined by it. It definitely proves that age brings a richness and wisedom to life that is unattainable through any other means.)

Dear Sir:
I am writing to thank you for bouncing my check with which I endeavored to pay my plumber last month. By my calculations, three ‘nanoseconds’ must have elapsed between his presenting the check and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honor it. I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly deposit of my entire salary, an arrangement which, I admit, has been in place for only eight years.

You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity,and also for debiting my account $30 by way of penalty for the inconvenience caused to your bank. My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways. I noticed that whereas I personally attend to your telephone calls and letters, when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, overcharging, pre-recorded, faceless entity which your bank has become.

From now on, I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and-blood person. My mortgage and loan payments will therefore and hereafter no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank by check, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate. Be aware that it is an offense under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope. Please find attached an Application Contact Status which I require your chosen employee to complete. I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative.

Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Notary Public, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be accompanied by documented proof. In due course, I will issue your employee with a PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modeled it on the number of button presses required of me to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Let me level the playing field even further. When you call me, press buttons as follows:
1– To make an appointment to see me.
2– To query a missing payment.
3– To transfer the call to my living room in case I am there.
4– To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping.
5– To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature.
6– To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home.
7– To leave a message on my computer. (A password to access my computer is required. A password will be communicated to you at a later date to the Authorized Contact.)
8– To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through 7.
9– To make a general complaint or inquiry, the contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service. While this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for the duration of the call.

Regrettably, but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee to cover the setting up of this new arrangement.

May I wish you a happy, if ever so slightly less prosperous New Year.
Your Humble Client

(Remember: This was written by a 98 year old woman)

For those who wish to find the meaning of inner peace, the first thought would be to begin studies in yoga, meditation, tai chi, or some other metaphysical subject. Yet, for those who find such studies somewhat esoteric, the following pursuit of inner peace may be the answer. I received this via email from my mama and, after a quick review, it’s looking pretty calming to me:

I am passing this on to you because it definitely worked for me, and we could all do with a little calm. By following the simple advice I read in an article, I have finally found inner peace. The article read: “The way to achieve inner peace is to finish off all the things you have started”.

So I looked round the house to see all the things I had started and hadn’t finished .

Before leaving the house this morning I finished off a bottle of red wine, a bottle of white wine, the Baileys, three Bacardi Breezers, the Absolut, the Prozac, some cheesecake and a box of chocolates. You have no idea how flippin’ good I feel.

You should pass this on to those you feel are in need of inner peace!

May peace be with you or, at the very least, may you have no feeling in your head when you wake in the morning!

If you’ve ever studied any of the romance languages, such as French or Spanish, you learned that these languages give almost everything, even simple objects gender status. English, however, does not. The following passage is an interesting interpretation of what the gender status of certain objects that we encounter in our day-to-day activities might be.

I received it via email with a note that it originated with a travel agent friend of mine’s client in New Zealand. Having visited this beautiful country, I can tell you a few things: Kiwis are warm gracious people and they have great humor. If you are fortunate enough to travel there, you will be welcomed like a long lost member of the family almost anywhere you go. Kiwis have a wonderful perspective on life and definitely believe laughter is the best medicine—especially if it’s over a pint with your mates! Cheers!

WHAT GENDER IS IT?

If you’re like most people, common everyday items look inert to you. But what you may not know is that many of them have a gender. For example:

Ziploc Bags - They are Male, because they hold everything in but you can see right through them.

A Copier - is Female, because once turned off, it takes a while to warm up. It’s an effective reproductive device if the right buttons are pushed, but can wreak havoc if the wrong buttons are pushed.

A Tire - has to be Male, because it goes bald and often it’s over inflated.

A Hot Air Balloon - is definitely a Male, because to get it to go anywhere you have to light a fire under it—and, of course, there’s the hot air part.

Sponges - are Female, because they’re soft and squeezable and retain water.

A Web Page - Female, because it’s always getting hit on.

A Subway - is Male, because it uses the same old lines to pick people up.

Hourglass - has to be a Female, because over time, the weight shifts to the bottom.

Hammer - Male, because it hasn’t evolved much over the last 5,000 years, but it’s handy to have around.

The Remote Control - is a Female . . Ha! You thought it’d be male. But consider that it gives a man pleasure, he’d be lost without it, and while he doesn’t always know the right buttons to push, he keeps trying.

Wishing you a Happy and Safe Thanksgiving Holiday!

I got this story via email from my best friend from college—-it’s just too funny not to share it with you. Being an English major and having taught English at a community college, I have to say I would have given the student an A+ as well! Sometimes less is more!

A college english lit class was given an assignment to write an essay using as few words as possible. The essay was to include the following 3 things:

1) Religion
2) Sexuality
3) Mystery

The only student to receive an A+ on the essay wrote the following:

Good God!
I’m pregnant!
I wonder who the father is?

Another entry from the annals of the “Stupid Husband Stories”!

Mother’s day should be a special day for mother’s everywhere. I can’t say that my memories of Mother’s Day while married to Beau’s father give me any warm fuzzies (fortunately, there were only a couple), but, one particular Mother’s Day does stand out in my memory!!

After Beau was born, the ex and I talked about selling our house in order to move into one more suitable for small children. If you’ve read any of the other “stupid” stories, you’ve already learned the ex has a great deal of confidence in himself. Enough, often, to believe he can successfully manage most any task. Needless to say, when we began to talk about selling the house, he was convinced he could do a FSBO (For Sale by Owner).

For several weeks, he would require that we clean everything thoroughly in order to host the vast numbers of folks that were going to respond to his advertisement for an Open House on Sunday afternoon. After 3 weeks, I was a little tired of this weekend wash-up. I thought my statement, that I wanted to have a nice, enjoyable Mother’s Day with my son————–not the odd n’ end stranger strolling through my extremely clean house, would have an impact on his plans. Silly me!!

It was with little surprise, but EXTREME displeasure, I discovered, on the way home from church, that the ex ran an ad for an Open House on Mother’s Day. In addition, he expected me to help with the preparation. Along with my mood, the day was dark and overcast. By noon, it was raining cats and dogs.

It might be appropriate, at this point, to mention we had problems with the roof directly over Beau’s room. It leaked! When it rained very hard, the water would actually run down through the attic crawl space and fill up the ceiling light fixture with water. I should also note, that the erstwhile hubby, had also “fixed” the leak twice before this particular rain storm, thus accounting for the on-going leaky problem, but that’s another story………

With the rain pouring and the light fixture already full of water, I pointed out that putting something in the attic to catch the water, until I could get a repairman to the house the next day, might be a good idea. After all, “we” were expecting lots of potential homebuyers in about an hour. So the ex gets a pan and goes up in the attic.

Beau is taking a nap and I am busy emptying the light fixture when I hear the ex thrashing about overhead. Then I hear a loud shout, followed by a crash and look up to see he had bottomed out. Yep, his backside was “shining” through a newly created hole in the ceiling. We never agreed on decorating ideas, but this was over the top, even for him. It startled poor Beau from his nap. Since he was still fairly little and had never been “mooned” before, he began to cry.

So, there I am, folks, on Mother’s Day with a crying child, a torrential rainstorm, a fast approaching “Open House”, sheetrock and insulation all over the floor and hubby’s butt adorning the ceiling of a bedroom.

My next actions were simple and well-documented and, fortunately for hubby, didn’t include a police report for accidental death or homicide. I left the ex to extricate himself from the ceiling and clean up the mess. I made a sign for the front door which read, “Open House cancelled due to a family emergency. Sorry for the inconvience!” I called a contractor friend to come the next day to fix the roof and, by the end of the week, the house was listed with a local real estate agent!

Lessons Learned: never schedule an open house on Mother’s Day, call a repair professional the first time the roof leaks, when decorating or adorning your home, if you want moons “shining” down on you from the ceiling, purchase the glow in the dark stick-on ones!

Apparently, you don’t have to be married for the S-word (Stupid) to come up in describing certain incidents that occur in failed relationships. Although I think the incident I’ve recently seen reported on several news services might be more the result of a hormone-issue than a stupid-issue.

Somewhere north of here, a man sued his ex-girlfriend for gluing is genitals to his abdomen. After dating a number of months, the couple broke up and the guy began dating someone else. The former girlfriend then invites the old boyfriend over to her residence one evening and he later falls asleep there.

Call me crazy, but, you gotta wonder just what the ex-boyfriend was doing that resulted in his need to take a nap at the ex-girlfriend’s place, short of her slipping him a mickey finn. My guess is the ex-boyfriend was “enjoying” his former girlfriend’s company, maybe for “old-times sake”, and, once his “visit” was complete, he made the mistake of falling asleep rather than going home.

A woman armed with a little “visitors” frustration and PMS can be a dangerous thing when left to her own devices. Ingenuity, bless her heart, was obviously one of her virtues as she reportedly not only super-glued the offending body part to the area below his belly-button, she gave new meaning to the word “constipation” when she “sealed up” his backside as well. She even had the presence-of-mind to autograph her handiwork by writing something “profound” on his back with nail polish.

Now, that right there will tell you, buddy-boy was obviously either already naked when he drifted off to dreamland or in a coma. Since the lawsuit he filed didn’t include charges for drug trafficking or the clubbing of his head, I vote for “already naked”.

One of buddy boy’s complaints was that once he awoke and discovered his “predicament”, he had to walk a mile to a phone to get assistance. Imagine the difficulty he would have had if the ex-girlfriend had glued his hands to his privates as well. Considering how often men have to manually check their privates, sometimes to scratch, sometimes just to make sure they’re still there, a little superglue on his palms, his hands strategically placed, would have been a fait accompli!

Wouldn’t that make for an interesting scene in the phone booth at the 7-Eleven? How’re you gonna dial 911 with your hands superglued to your privates? As Jeff Foxworthy says, “try going to sleep tonight with that image in your head!”

Rest assured, if an ex of mine was stupid enough to show up at my home, get naked and then proceed to take a nap, he would have no one to blame but himself for the condition (or location) of his body once he awoke. I wouldn’t tolerate the first word of complaint if he, say, found himself wearing a push-up bra, a thong, a garter belt, high heels, lipstick, and was laid out on the lawn of the local moose lodge or baptist church.

(I’ve never done it, but I thought it might give ya’ll some ideas worthy of consideration for future use, should you find yourself in such a situation I do try to be helpful when I can!)

As with all things, it’s important to note the lessons to be learned from this story:
1) Breaking up is hard to do, harder if you try to “re-visit” the situation later.
2) Once you break up, don’t return to “visit”. If you “visit”, don’t take a nap, especially a naked nap!
3) If you fall asleep naked at the ex’s place after a break up, don’t be surprised if you wake up a little “stuck”.
4) Nail polish remover is a good item to have on hand for cleaning up body art. (It will remove fake tatoos as well as nail polish.)
5) Be grateful if you find yourself only a mile away from a usable phone and your hands are free so you can dial 911 for assistance!

Once again, via email, my mama, bless her heart (I have no idea where she gets this stuff), sent me this little outline designed to help those of us who may be suffering (or for those around us who may be suffering) from reckless swings in hormone levels. For those things in life which you can not control but merely endure, insight into the process is often the only way to survive it.

Take heed to the advice herein, sufferers, and for those who suffer around you……………take cover, no use in getting caught in the crossfire! If you find you must walk on the emotional mine-field of a hormone hostage, please note chocolate is a basic survival tool!

The Hormone Hostage knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open is mouth and he takes his life in his own hands! This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver’s license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend, or significant other!

[Basic questions and their appropriate responses:]

DANGEROUS: What’s for dinner?
SAFER: Can I help you with dinner?
SAFEST: Where would you like to go for dinner?
ULTRA SAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: Are you wearing that?
SAFER: Wow, you sure look good in brown!
SAFEST: WOW! Look at you!
ULTRA SAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: What are you so worked up about?
SAFER: Could we be overreacting?
SAFEST: Here’s my paycheck.
ULTRA SAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: Should you be eating that?
SAFER: You know, there are a lot of apples left.
SAFEST: Can I get you a glass of wine with that?
ULTRA SAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: What did you DO all day?
SAFER: I hope you didn’t over-do it today.
SAFEST: I’ve always loved you in that robe!
ULTRA SAFE: Here, have some more chocolate.

13 Things PMS Stands For:

1. Pass My Shotgun
2. Psychotic Mood Shift
3. Perpetual Munching Spree
4. Puffy Mid-Section
5. People Make me Sick
6. Provide Me with Sweets
7. Pardon My Sobbing
8. Pimples May Surface
9. Pass My Sweatpants
10. Pissy Mood Syndrome
11. Plainly; Men Suck
12. Pack My Stuff

and my favorite one…

13. Potential Murder Suspect

Pass this on to all of your hormonal friends and those who might need a
good laugh, or men who need a warning.

Life is good, [we have chocolate!!!]

From the annals of “Stupid Husband” stories………….

Back in the day, when I was married to the ex, he often expressed his feelings of superiority where mechanical things were concerned. As a result, he was unwilling to consider any information I might offer whenever a mechanical problem arose. The following is one such example:

One lovely fall morning, preparing to go to work, I went out to the garage, got in my car and turned the key in the ignition. I got a sound sound like, puuuuurrrrrrrrdddddddddddddd but nothing else. So, I accepted the fact that the battery was probably dead, called to have my company car brought over from my office and went to work.

On Saturday, the ex, convinced of his superior mechanical ability, went out to check the car and promptly decided that the battery was not dead because he could turn on the headlights. Having grown up with a family of mechanics and engineers, I was perplexed. But, the ex determined, in his wide and varied mechanical experience—-he had owned a grand total of 3 different cars in his life, the last two of which he’d never done more than change the oil in them—-that the battery was fine, the starter was the problem.

I asked how he had come to such a specific conclusion in such a short time. His answer is right up there with his assessment of paint removal (see the “Wash Out”): He said that since he could turn the headlights on that the battery wasn’t dead so it must be the starter. His supporting evidence, his first car. He claimed that if the battery was dead, he couldn’t even turn on the headlights.

I suggested that before he raced off to Auto Zone that he might want to at least try to jump start the car just to make sure that it wasn’t just a dead battery. He completely lost it and told me that I was too stupid to know what was wrong with the car, it was obviously the starter and he was going to go get one and install it. And…..off he went.

About 45 minutes later, he returns, starter in hand and begins to disassemble the car to replace the part. Two hours later, he has managed to install the new starter. He calls me out to the garage, planning to bask in the glory of his mechanical wisedom and ability, puts the key in the ignition and turns—–puuuurrrrrrrrrrrdddddddddd!!!

His immediate reaction, it’s not the starter but the alternator!!!????

Once again, I gently suggested that he try to jump start the car just in case it was only a dead battery. After all, he’d just spent considerable time and money installing a starter unnecessarily, so maybe, just maybe, trying to jump start the car before buying and installing a new alternator might be a good idea??!! He exploded! “You are so stupid and you know nothing about cars, I can’t believe you even said that again! I told you, the battery’s not dead, I can turn the headlights on.”

I asked if it had ever occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, the battery had enough juice to turn on the headlights but not enough to turn the motor over???!!??? His response is not printable in polite company—-suffice to say, it was extremely insulting.

At that point, feeling somewhat homicidal, I told him if he was so certain he knew what he was talking about and I was too stupid to know a dead battery when I see one, then why didn’t he just prove me wrong and show me that trying to jump start the car wouldn’t work.

He flung the door of his precious import open, got in, started it up and proceeded to position it so he could jump start my little compact. He got the jumper cables and hooked the cars up. I got in my little car and, whadda ya know, that little engine just turned right over and purred. I left it running, got out, yanked the cables off my previously dead battery and threw them at the former hubby. At the same time, I told him emphatically just exactly what he could do with them (which was intended to cause serious bodily discomfort) and that I was going to Sears to purchase the only needed part for my car—————-a new battery!

The moral of this story…………………..sometimes the obvious answer is obvious because it’s the right one! And, mechanical ability is not gender specific! So, girls, you can change the oil if you want to and, guys, you can be the hero and do it for her if you want to ……………….just don’t assume she can’t do it for herself!