potpourri

Telemarketers

Chase Bank, with whom I have two credit cards, calls me at least once a month to shill me the latest payment protection plan they’ve concocted. As I am a client of theirs, the Do Not Call List does not apply, unfortunately. Usually I am relatively polite and jump in as soon as I can to tell them I’m not interested. Sometimes I let them finish their spiel and can only say ‘no, thank you’ once they get to the Verify Your Name And Address portion of the show.

But, by God, if I say no twice, and they still keep trying, they get fucking hung up on. I’m sure the nice woman with the Indian accent is just doing her job (and she really is pleasant to listen to), but I can barely speak as it is, thanks to my cold. Don’t make me break my foot off in your ass. Over the phone.

potpourri 1 Comment

I Feel Like Poo.

Well, it seems I could only outmaneuver the cold/flu bug for so long. Today, I woke up feeling drained, with a kind of sore-ish throat and a mild cough. My eyes are kind of dry, and there’s definitely some phlegm or something in my chest.

After witnessing Aaron’s marathon week-long battle with this bug, I know it’s likely to get much worse before it gets better. We’re armed with sugar-free and alcohol-free cough syrup and two kinds of cold tablets, though, so maybe it won’t suck as bad for me as it did for him.

*bracing myself*

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Yay, Clothes!

This post is dedicated to the anonymous jackass who posted the following comment:

From your description, it seems you need a “reason” to get up out of bed and clean yourself up these days. You’re content to hang out in blue jeans and sweats. You have given up on makeup, hair, grooming and nice apparel. Congratulations–you will be nominated for the “What Not To Wear” show on TLC by your loved ones real soon!

…

Get yourself to a stylist.

Friday evening, Sheryl took me clothes shopping. Not in direct response to the above comment, mind you… but I will admit that it fired me up enough to realize that I hadn’t really updated my wardrobe since I lost a shload of weight. I’d bought a couple new pairs of pants, so I wouldn’t look like freakin’ Bozo the Clown at work, but that was about it. I was still swimming in giant old shirts, some of them with subtle stainage I was hoping no one had noticed. :-\

So, like I said, Sheryl and I went shopping. We’d had an agenda of four stores, but never actually made it past Lane Bryant, as Sheryl ended up going absolutely ballistic on teh cuteness. With her fashion assistance, I ended up buying a pair of low-rise flare-leg jeans, a pair of khakis, a black skirt, a tank / shell with built-in shelf bra, one black bra, one white bra, and five cute shirts. Or was it six? Yeah, six: two pink, one peach, one blue, and two black.

I now have more style and teh cuteness. And a discernable figure.

So, here’s a before and after shot. And for you, anonymous commenter, a hearty fuck you.