And whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. Brown paper packages tied up with string. These are a few of My Favourite Things.
Are y'all picturing me singing this? Just so you know, I sound VERY similar to the lovely Julie Andrews. I do!
On this sweet Sunday, here is a short little list of a few of my current favourite things.
Favourite Snack:Nature Valley's Dark Chocolate Granola Thins. I have ELC officially hooked. You will be, too.
Favourite Salad Dressing: Giada's Raspberry Vinaigrette. You can purchase this at Target. It's extra tangy.
Favourite Book:Bossypants. By the HI-larious Tina Fey. ELC let me borrow this while I was sick two weeks ago. I could not put it down. Miss Tina is a riot and a half.
Favourite Toothpaste:Crest Complete Cinnamon. It's tres zesty and makes my teeth feel festive!
Favourite Christmas Decor Piece: Henry's new stocking from My Adobe Cottage. As always, Tobey did a fabulous job! I adore it.
In addition to the email address I've had on my home computer for eons, I’ve also had a gmail address for a couple of years. When I first bought a Sprint Hero phone for my business, a nice Best Buy Guy set that account up for me. When I got my new iPhone, I wanted to use my gmail as the default for my email. Problem: I couldn’t remember my password. Shocking, I know. TLC suggested I contact Google. Easy Schmeasy. If only.
I promise I really tried. It wasn’t like most websites. You know—where you click on the box that says you can’t remember your password and they email it to you? Nope. I was forced to fill out, on-line, a form that had tons o’ questions. Most of which I had no clue as to what the answers were or should be. Biggest problem? The security question was my “favorite food.” Piece of cake. That should have been it. CAKE. It wasn’t. Okay. Lasagna. Not that, either. REALLY? Must be pizza. No? Burgers? SERIOUSLY? That Best Buy Guy must have put something like sushi or beets. I’m not kiddin’. It had to be cake or lasagna or pizza or burgers. In that order. Alas, it tweren’t.
I guess y’all know you can’t call someone at Google. If you’ve never read the on-line forums about this problem, you should. You wouldn’t BELIEVE how mad some people are that you can’t talk to a human being. I read the most smart-alecky response from a person on the “Google Team” to someone who had written a long complaint about this issue (not moi, BTW—truly). It was downright rude. So then the Complainer wrote another email. About the rude reply. To which the Google Team Peep apologized and feigned total confusion as to why his answer was perceived as snippish.
I did my best to fill out their cRaZy form. I realized I clearly had no other choice. Before you hit “Submit,” they make sure you understand they have twenty-four (24) hours to reply to your question.
When I heard back from them, almost exactly to-the-minute 24 hours later, they said they didn’t have enough information to help me. I suspect that’s the first response everyone gets, no matter what their question or issue. Kind of like insurance companies that automatically stamp “DENIED” on a first-time claim—knowing a lot of people won’t bother to appeal it. It’s worth a shot, right? To see if they can make you give up that fast? There was no place, on that detailed form, for me to write this:
“I am 57. I am not trying to scam information out of you about my Google account. I don’t think in terms of scamming anyone. I just need my dadgum password so I don’t have to open a new account. Which, by the way, I can do ALLDAY LONG. Right? I can open up a new account. I just wanted to keep my gmail address. I liked it. It was easy to remember. Unlike my ‘favorite food.’”
(Okay. So I’m fudging a little. I didn’t remember my gmail address. I had to ask my Hubby and he had to look it up on his phone. But, given a few weeks, I might have come up with it—or found the piece of paper I wrote all that info on—including the password.)
Not only did they re-send the same detailed form to me, this time they added a nice surprise that it would cost me .30 when returning said form. That is Thirty Cents. Cents. I should have stopped there. I don’t know why I didn’t. Instead, I tried even harder to answer their ridiculous questions and then, having complete faith and trust in their “system,” typed in my American Express number. To pay the thirty cents.
FEAR took over. Because it acted WEIRD when I hit Submit. It showed my AE number as letters and numbers—not all numbers—and said Texas was not a state. HUH? WHAT? Wow. This was news to me. For a moment, I thought perhaps I’d missed that we had, indeed, seceded.
I didn’t hit Submit. But I got another email from them—the next day. Same form. Nothing else. I hit Reply and tried this approach:
“I’ve attempted to give you more information and pay you the requisite .30. It didn’t work. You also said Texas is “not a state.” I’m fairly certain that’s not correct. But I could be wrong. You might try Googling it. I officially give up.”
They replied to this by sending me, once again… wait for it... yes, the same form.
Aaannnnddddd… done.
Hey, Google, here’s a thought:
Since you make BILLIONS of dollars every year, why don’t you put in a Customer Service Call Center—in the U.S. of A. You’d not only create some much needed jobs, but also HELP us when we have problems. You could even divide this service up into “age” groups. When someone calls with an issue, the Rep could say: “Are you under 30? Between 30 and 50? Or over 50?” Then you could direct the caller to “specialists” that know how to assist that particular age group. For example, someone over 50 might need a new password—for various reasons. You could have a kindly Senior Citizen Rep patiently walk them through the process, giving them several shots at their “favorite food.”
I’ve been thinking about technology the past couple of weeks. I have my first iPhone! The 4s. This was big for me. HUGE. Remember, I’ve had many cellphones that were TLC’s old ones. (See Hand-Me-Downs on January 20th.) I was near the end of my contract for my business cell and decided I was ready for the iPhone challenge. But I’m faced with the fact that I don’t feel like I’m completely capable of using all the stuff this amazing phone has to offer. Cut. Paste. Apps. Siri. Yikes.
I’ve also been trying to accept that I’m now considered a “Senior Citizen.” YUCK. Those two words make me shiver. (I always forget to ask for my Senior Discount. Hubby does, too. And he’s ten years older. Why don't all those peeps remind us? Probably because we look sooo young. Yes. Yes, that's it.)
Technology often frustrates me. For many reasons. On so many levels. Let me give you some background and maybe you’ll understand the “block” that happens to my brain when faced with too much new information.
My Hubby has always, for as long as I’ve known him, loved keeping up with new gadgets/technology. Not just because he must for his profession. It’s that curiosity and, I think, competitiveness, for which I believe most men have from the time they’re born. (I’m not saying girls/women don’t have these attributes. They do. I’m curious. Always have been. I simply don’t have a competitive bone in my chubby little body and I know a lot of women who feel the same. It's so "unMotherly," right?) Among our family members and friends, Hubby bought one of the first video cameras. He purchased it right before TLC turned a year old. It was huge and bulky. Although I was, at the beginning, against investing in it, I ended up being the one who video-ed EVERYTHING. We have VHS tapes crammed with what you Younguns would certainly consider mundane, boring and ridiculous silliness. If you’re 40 or older, you probably have many of these same types of VHS tapes on your shelves or in a closet. I wouldn’t take one billion dollars for them if you said I could have the money, but I’d have to give up the tapes, and those memories, forever. Nope. No way.
Then came the time Hubby bought me a new typewriter. Yes. Typewriter. Not computer. (That came five years later.) TLC was probably . It was the latest “memory” model. I spent years volunteering for many school and community organizations. Often I was “Secretary” (I’d actually have to read minutes at meetings). I was constantly borrowing his assistant’s typewriter. This one wasn’t expensive, but Hubby was proud he had “gifted” it to me and even spent time setting it up for me in our home office. TLC’s bedroom was on the other side of the wall of that room. The night Hubby brought it home, he suggested I come in, after putting TLC to bed, in order to "school" me on all its “bells and whistles.”
I remember being tired and wishing we could do this “lesson” another night. He was clearly pumped. Out of gratitude, I agreed. He told me to sit down at the desk. He was standing beside me—explaining how to turn it on, how to use the “correction” feature. Etc. Then he said, “I’ve been saving the best part about this as a surprise.” Hmmm. “Surprise?” I asked, sweetly. “Yep,” he said. “You can talk to this typewriter and it types for you!”
HUH? I looked at him with… major suspicion. Have I ever mentioned what a Practical Joker he is? Yep. And a good one, when he puts his mind to it. I don’t exaggerate. His acting is often Oscar-worthy.
“How ridiculous. I’ve never heard of that. That's cRaZy. I’m tired. Let’s get the basics out of the way so I can go to bed,” I stated, possibly a little haughtily.
“I’m not kidding! Just say a sentence. Any sentence. See what happens,” Hubby quickly suggested. Too quickly, actually.
I squinted my eyes at him, beyond skeptical. “Where’s the microphone?” I asked.
“Right there. Right in there. Just talk in there,” he said, pointing to the bottom left side of the typewriter. I saw nothing that looked like it could be a microphone. But he seemed seriously convincing.
“Now is the time for all good men . . .” I began.
Nothing.
“I knew it. You are so full of it, Mr. Goofball.” I was now getting truly annoyed.
“You’re not talking loud enough. Talk a little louder,” he encouraged.
“I don’t want to wake TLC.” This might have come out sounding like a threat.
“Well, you’ve got to be a little louder than that or it won’t work,” he urged.
“Now is the time for all good men . . .” I almost screamed.
Nothing.
I waited a few more seconds. Then turned around to find him laying face-down on the floor, laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking, tears streaming from his eyes, as he desperately tried to muffle his hysteria. BAM. Got me. Again.
“I can’t believe you thought it would type if you talked to it!” he said, between gasps.
He has continued, year after year, to genuinely and innocently wonder why I am never excited about the new technology he wants to buy. Satellite TV. Video recorders. DVRs. Cameras. Cellphones. Endless. Always needing major and detailed “instructions” for me to even begin to understand how to use these things. And my patience. My often-not-really-there patience.
I thought about this story as I “talked” to “Siri” the other day. He and I laughed as we recalled his (only one of hundreds) joke on me. I guess we knew, deep down, even all those many years ago, we’d be able to talk to some kind of device, some day in the future. And it’d type for us. The day is here. Yippee. And WOW.
This phone could be my greatest nemesis. I want to be successful. I truly do. TLC and Autumn have agreed to be “on-call” for my questions. (Hubby has a Blackberry. I'm glad.) Autumn should be most valuable to me, since we’re the same age, we think a LOT alike, and she’s had an iPhone for quite some time. TLC, also having had the iPhone for many years, sometimes gets that young person “edge” to her voice when she realizes I’m about to ask a “phone” question. Or, really, any question, now that I think about it. Just a tidbit of an edge. It’s okay, TLC. I completely understand how hard it is to try to explain things you already know to someone who doesn’t have a clue. Yes. Yes, I do know that feeling, Sweetie-Pie.
If I call you—and we get disconnected—HELP ME OUT. I give you my word I’m doing the best iCan!
As ELC and I have both mentioned in the past, Christmas is my most favourite time of the year. For lots o’ reasons: Christmas trees, twinkle lights, chilly weather, cozy fires, Silent Nights and, most especially, all things PEPPERMINT.
Here is a list of my current seasonal obsessions (in no particular order). Before you judge, they are ALL food/drink related. But calories don't really count at Christmastime. Yep. It’s true. (Please do NOT ask Dr. Dukan about this. He may not have gotten the memo over there in France.)
1. Chick-fil-A's Peppermint Chocolate Chip Milkshake. I’ve already consumed two this holiday season. And when I say “holiday season,” I’m beginning with Thanksgiving, of course. Oops. That was just a week-ish ago? Hmmm. Well, whatever. I have no intention of stopping at two. Hubby brought me my second one on Tuesday. I’ve been super sick all week. He knew how much the surprise would help my spirits. If not my seemingly expanding waistline. Everyone knows, however, calories don't count when you're sick, right? Because who can ever remember: Is it starve a cold, feed a fever? Feed a cold, starve a fever? I say don’t spend another second trying to figure it out. Don’t even Google it. Have a CFAPCCM. My sweet buddy, January, introduced me to these shakes last year. I'll be forever grateful. Or, I’ll forever blame her for not being able to button my pants. Maybe both! (J/K)
2. Dairy Queen's Candy Cane Chill Blizzard. It's currently the "Blizzard of the Month." ELC and I treated ourselves each to a "mini" last weekend. (P.S. The Mini Blizzard is pure brilliance. The perfect size.) Since it was tres tiny, the calories don't really count. This new flavor technically wasn't being "released" until December 1st, but the nice man at my local DQ let us sample it early. Y'all, it is mini-ly-sinfully scrumptious! Get thee to the nearest DQ. STAT.
3. Coffee-mate's Peppermint Mocha Creamer. I have ELC officially hooked. It's such a delish and invigorating way to sass up your morning coffee. At 35 calories per tablespoon, it’s not horribly hurtful. Anyway, everyone knows calories consumed between 6:00 a.m. and 9:00 a.m. don’t count. Seriously. Try this yummo delight. Trust me. You won’t be disappointed.
Nothing makes me feel more festive than a little extra PEP-permint in my step during the holidays. Let's all CHEERS to a calorie-free Christmas!
