Lydia Aswolf

For the holiday season?

Here is my list:

1. To be able to punch whoever in the face I want too.

2. To have the goddamned naysayers of whomever, whatever, whenever, however JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR ONE DAY

3. For money, what you have, or how you fucking look to be IRRELEVENT for the rest of fucking eternity.

4. Actually, I’d like money to be unnecessary..that would help us ALL to enjoy the holiday season.

5. I’d like looks to be irrelevent…so everyone could see just exactly how MANY pieces of shit are walking
around, and avoid them with all due diligence (basis of my third book is how to get rid of the colon cannonballs in your own life…yes you can-and should flush)

6. I know I’m a bloodthirsty bitch. Because of this, I’d like free license for any man, woman, or hell, child who comes across any happy asshole who hurts, molests, maims, or kills ANY of the above mentioned groups, to be tortured in ways Vlad the fucking Impaler didn’t think of…but wishes he had.

7. For all bad neighbors to die. That’s it…just die. I’m fairly certain some of you will agree with me on this point.

8. Instead of criticism (and I’m sure I have some in here) I’d like people to HELP one another throughout the
holiday season. Used to be that’s what we did..and a whole helluva lot less people would be worried about
their holiday season if people thought less of themselves..and more of others.

9. No more people on the goddamned bottom due to prejudice, lack of resources, or any other of the messed up reasons
we see on a day to day basis to throw someone under a bus…or worse.

10. I want one of those nifty outdoor inflatable projector thingees.

I have nowhere to put it.

I don’t even really watch movies.

I just think it looks cool…and I want it.

 

(Edited to add: I’d also like my godforsaken word processing programs to work, but you can see how nicely THAT’S going,  can’t you? Better luck next time, I guess)

 

Sooooo, you know I’ve not smoked for what, about 40 days now-went cold turkey and liked it just fine.

But I found the psychological impulses (after a meal, just to go out and get some fresh air, etc) gaining ground.

So I ordered a non nicotine/water vapor/fake cigarette.

The idea being, well, I could have the habits…..without the bad, right?

So I ordered it….and today I filed report with ripoffreport.com

 If I don’t get money back, well, you know, Better Business Bureau will be contacted-and just to keep the ppl I love (those would be YOU, reading this blog right now, stupid, rofl) in the know, at end of the report I filed is name, addy, and phone number of company.

Not saying send anthrax…but gee.

If you’ve had a shitty day and need some ASSHOLE to take it out on..ask for the supervisor at that number.

The customer service reps appear to be innocent victims.

 

I ordered my products on October 26th, 2009. I paid for priority 2-3 day shipping, and anticipated the arrival of my nicotine free smokeless cigarette (seems stupid, but it’s the psychological holding the sucker that I miss, lol..not the nicotine).

 The first week passed.

 I emailed the company on November 2nd, 2009, and was promptly told that some of my ordered products were on back order, which was not mentioned when I completed my order. I frowned a bit, but said okay and sat back and waited.

The second week passed.

 I called the company on November 9th, 2009 and requested a refund. I was told that a refund could not be issued; that they would get the product at the latest on Wednesday, November 11th 2009, and would ship it immediately. When I asked if they would overnight it to repay me for the inconvenience I was not only told no, but that they had no way of knowing when it would arrive to me; it depended on where I lived. I ground my teeth, as surely they have oh, RECORDS, for that type of thing. They agreed to throw in a extra product..valued at less than the shipping I paid, might I add, and then I sat back to wait once more.

 Today is November 16th, 2009.

As I wearily picked up the phone for yet another update that was sure to piss me off, I did my utmost to be polite to the first person I talked to. Only to be told that the products that were absolutely, positively going to be here on Wednesday, November 11th, 2009 were still on back order.

 Apparently, China got sick of these a**holes too, and decided to make THEM wait as well as me.

They were so awfully thankful for my patience.

This was nice, as it told me the politeness factor I was hoping for had been achieved.

Until I asked for a refund.

Then much hemming and hawing ensued.

 I believe I uttered the word intolerable, and the nice Indian lady (and she really WAS nice) couldn’t take it anymore.

 She transferred me to a “supervisor.”

I went through the situation much as written above, with dates, names of products promised and not delivered, my order number, and every other bit of pertinent information which I thought would help me in my quest to gain my refund.

The supervisor was not down with that.

 She started the same spiel I’d heard earlier, but in a very condescending manner.

I’m pretty used to condescension from supervisors, customer service associates, cashiers, and other “service” oriented people.

That wasn’t what pissed me off.

 It pissed me off when she started telling me that it was a small company, who’s accountant only came in on Wednesdays or Thursdays.

 It pissed me off when she told me that I would not, then, receive my refund for around a week, maybe two, because “I don’t know how your bank does things.”

It pissed me off when she asked for eight numbers in my credit card to make sure it was me, never mind that all this information was in her possession; she had been too busy lecturing me on how hard it was to be a small business to note this, I guess.

I was not kind…and I don’t regret turning into a harpy from h*ll.

 I’m a b*tch..as all women are. It’s just to what degree others bring it out in us.

This lady was bringing it out in the worst way.

 So I let her know that she’d not offered to refund my money; that she had given me unnecessarily long explanations for bullsh*t that I, as a fellow businesswoman found to be bogus.

 Not sure about you, but when I issue refunds from my small business which handles online orders (will not mention my biz, not soliciting here), if you have an issue, you get it RESOLVED…the same day you bring up a complaint.

You leave happy, not wanting to tear off the “supervisor’s” head and sh*t down her neck after inhaling a vat of yummy chocolate flavored ex-lax.

You do not get arguments about how the product will come, it will come…it will come.

 I am not Kevin Costner, and this is most assuredly not my “Field of Dreams”

 You do not hear rampant speculation in the mind of someone who appears to be a few sandwiches shy of a picnic telling you in excruciating detail (for ten minutes, you can’t MAKE this sh*t up) how their accountant must submit this and that to the bank to attain your refund.

 In a normal world, you call, you complain, you have reason for this.

 The customer service people see your reason for this.

They say, okay, you should have that refund within a few days at MOST.

 They do not engage you in how wrong you are to ask for a refund. They do their job. They move onto the next person.

And while many of the good companies representatives and supervisors alike deal with a**holes.

They are not THEMSELVES a**holes.

 CellPhoneLords.com could learn a great deal more about customer service.

And a WHOLE lot less about being a**holes.

CellPhoneLords.com

2421 Tech Center Court
Suite 111
Las Vegas, NV. 89128
USA

Phone: 866-283-5142

My motto for this business is “More useless than a dead man’s dick”

It all started with the bugs.

My husband and I noticed an alarming increase in bugs in our home.

This is not to say we regularly have bugs giving tours of our home.

Or indeed, anywhere at all in our home.

Important for you to note should you decide to come over for dinner some night.

Little bugs.

Rather like those little fruit flies you see now and again.

My husband, Brian, got so sick of these slow flying creatures, he bought flying bug spray.

This did not please me…for the flying bug spray has the exact same aroma as Raid.

Until you have gotten a snoutful of Raid, you don’t know what stink is.

Brian bombed the house…and indeed, the chair I happened to be sitting in, liberally.

I tersely informed him that I was not responsible for the bugs and life went on.

Winter is on it’s way.

I’ve noticed while my kids enjoy prancing around naked just about any time of year.

It becomes more difficult for them to do around November.

I like this; as I have only boys, and get rather tired of schlongs bouncing in my general vicinity.

I find it interesting that over all our years of raising kids.

Despite the fact that he often pulls his pants down.

Apparently to burn the image of his ass into his son’s retina’s.

My husband can’t seem to stand it any more.

I’m often engrossed in writing third book (page 124 and counting, not bad for two weeks, haha) .

So you can understand how startled I am when my husband suddenly screams for a kid to cover his dick.

Well, how startled I was.

I’m rather used to it now, we do have five sons, after all.

Our fourth son, in order of birth, Liam.

Complained that he was cold a few nights ago.

If there is anything I despise, and thus can sympathize with, it’s being cold.

I leaped to my feet to get a small but powerful heater to wheel into his room.

I lifted it out of closet in the dark play room.

Carried it into Liam’s room.

As you might remember.

Halloween ended just a few weeks ago.

You can then better imagine my shock and awe, when I saw a unspeakable melding of candy stuck to heater.

I looked more closely at the heater.

I saw a variety of foodstuffs on it.

My heart sank.

I called out to my husband “Brian….oh lord, Brian…we have a problem”

My heart sank, because I knew what would be found.

I didn’t expect my husband’s reaction, however.

When he found the uneaten food that had bonded itself by mysterious means to my sons playroom.

He roared.

Then he bounded out of the room, nostrils flaring, eyes red.

I do not exaggerate when I say that children scattered when he exited the room.

Hell, I was scared.

Given that I once had my bipolar twin brother hold a loaded gun to my head.

I knew the safety was off.

I knew he might pull the trigger.

Well, I think it’s saying something that I was frightened.

I went in shortly after ascertaining that he wasn’t going to dismember his own offspring.

Then eat them.

He was still spitting and snarling a bit when I entered the now well lit room.

I stared astounded, as I looked at the roughly one foot diameter of….food.

I can’t say precisely what the food “ball” was made up of in it’s entirety.

I saw moldy ravioli here, a piece of candy there, and perhaps a few green beans scattered throughout.

I shook my head sadly, not as revolted as your average mother would be.

This is because, in my own sad history..and indeed, in a blog post.

I recount my reign of terror on neighbors and close friends of my family.

The reign of terror that was mostly comprised of me dropping ham sandwiches down heating vents.

However.

As I surveyed the ball, which was remaining still.

Lest it provoke me.

I recalled my youth, and hung my head in shame.

I recalled my fourth son shivering in abject fear.

Fear that his father might do more than just make him literally cover his ass with warm clothing.

I knew I had to confess my tawdry past.

But.

Before I went in and comforted my still-frightened son with my own misdeeds.

I had to remove this aberration from the wall.

I latched onto the mold covered ball.

Then I pulled.

When I said this food ball had mysteriously bonded with the wall, I wasn’t joking.

I gave a great pull (been working out after finally quitting my smoking habit, on day 35 cold turkey).

The ball came loose with a loud jerk.

It also took some of the wall with it when I dislodged it.

I watched incredulously, as peas dropped out of the vast mass, one by one, to rest on the closet floor.

I heard the labored breathing of my husband behind me.

Felt the terror of my son, hiding under the covers in his bed.

Looked again at the wall.

Bathed in the disbelief produced by a food ball that had managed to pull the paint and some drywall out.

Turned as I heard Brian hauling garbage can down the hall.

Dumped the large load in, shaking head again in disbelief.

Straightened shoulders, then went to comfort son.

After I comforted son, I comforted husband.

Both seemed ready to move on, and life resumed.

As of this writing.

The bugs are gone.

A jumbo economy sized jug of bleach dominates the play room.

But I’m still seeing bare asses march past me.