Daily Diatribes

There are several reasons I have not been blogging lately. Mostly, it’s because the HOA has conspired with Habib to keep me silent. I know it’s true because I have seen them together. I am not safe anywhere so I must be constantly on the move. My internet has not been working this week and neither has my cell phone. I know they know I know so I must be constantly vigilant or they will silence me forever.

I spent an hour on the phone yesterday with “THE NEW AT&T” trying to figure out why my modem wasn’t working….AGAIN! This time I spoke with a woman in Central America who was raised in Australia and had the strangest accent I have ever heard. It was kind of like talking to Fidel Castro channeling the Crocodile Hunter (may he rest in peace). It took an hour of me entering meaningless strings of numbers into the computer before I finally thought to ask her “should I unplug my router?” She was shocked I had a router. Evidently this was question 3 on the list of QUESTIONS TECHNICIANS ARE SUPPOSED TO ASK and she skipped it. Once I unplugged the router, the problem was solved.

Then she asked me if I wanted to fix the router problem. I asked how long it would take and she replied “Fifteen minutes if everything goes right.” “You know what,” I said, “the router is for my husband’s computer. My computer works fine now. If he wants to call you and spend an hour of quality time with you, great. So I’m going to say goodbye.”

I then got in my car and headed out to run errands. I called Nancy to share my internet story. Only she couldn’t hear me. Because now my cell phone was conspiring against me. It’s no coincidence that my service is provided by THE NEW AT&T. Very sinister and ominous if you ask me. For the last week my phone has been doing this. I can hear the person I called just fine and he/she cannot hear a word I’m saying. I believe Habib is trying to isolate me from my supporters. But I persevere and simply turn the power on and off until the freakin’ phone works again.

I am going to have to go underground. They are watching me. The HOA is jealous of my power. Habib wants to kill me. They only WISH they could wield the influence I do. Still, their spies are everywhere. Just the other day, I drove up to the STOP sign and there sat a squirrel in the middle of the road, calmly nibbling his nuts. He eyed me in disdain, daring me to run over him with my two ton SUV. I honked and I swear he made a rude gesture at me before he scampered off, presumably to report my movements to the HOA president.

As I write this, I am looking over my shoulder because I fear for my life. How long before an acorn bomb is launched through my window? Or my brake lines are nibbled through? I cannot sleep and I wish I couldn’t eat, but unfortunately, that’s never a problem. If I should disappear suddenly, seek the squirrels! They will lead you to the conspirators!! I have to go now. Because they’re out there. Watching me. Waiting. Scrambling my phone signal and disrupting my internet service. Bastards!

I am not meant to be on the internet. The forces of the universe are conspiring to keep me from surfing the ‘net. And that damn Habib is behind it all.

Sunday night, my modem stopped working. Yep, once again, I was without an internet connection. This, despite switching to “the New AT&T” and dumping Charter and its evil minions forever. By yesterday morning, my despair had reached a fever pitch. No email, no up to the minute updates on Britney Spears and certainly, no blogging! And I didn’t have a big enough chunk of time to sit on hold all day waiting for Hakeem (Habib’s AT&T counterpart) to tell me why he couldn’t fix my modem.

But by yesterday afternoon, it could wait no longer. The physical symptoms of withdrawal had reduced me to a helpless, quivering mass. With trepidation, I dialed the number and waited. First, I had to go through the automated operator. She helpfully instructed me to do things like unplug and replug the modem (DUH) and sprinkle chicken blood on the hard drive. When that didn’t work, I was grudgingly transferred to a living person.

“AT&T this Jesse how may I help you?” chirped a voice.

“Hakeem?” I asked haltingly, unsure what to make of the voice on the other line.

“No, this is Jesse,” he answered. “How can I help you?”

“Jesse, what is your physical location?” I asked daringly.

“I’m in Birmingham,” he replied fearfully, obviously mistaking me for a deranged, machete wielding maniac. Well, ok, he wasn’t far off the mark, but I was THRILLED to hear he was a resident of the same continent, nay, the same CITY, as myself!!

And within minutes, he had fixed the problem. It was a simple matter of entering my username and password because the modem was no longer recognizing me. Somehow, that piece of news didn’t surprise me at all. Of course the modem no longer recognized me. Habib has been up to his old tricks and somehow got to my modem. I’m going to have to change the modem’s identity and enroll it in a protection program so Habib cannot get to it!!

Today, I can’t log onto AOL and get my mail. Every time I try, I get an error message. But I shall blog on, Habib!! As long as there is life in these fingers of mine, I shall fearlessly tell the world of your evil!! I am the lone voice of reason in the great desert of the internet, Habib! May your camel become constipated and stomp upon your dates!!

Perhaps you have noticed a lack of activity on my blog recently.  Maybe you have questioned my whereabouts, wondering if I succumbed to my head injuries.  Or maybe you just went on watching “Days of Our Lives”, rejoicing that John is back from the dead and you didn’t even give l’il ol’ me a second thought.  But in case you were wondering, I’ll tell you where I’ve been.

We have a septic tank.  Most people I know are cursed with such a system.  I try not to think about it a lot, but evidently when you flush the toilet at my house, all the poo flows into a holding tank deep underground.  As you can imagine, the poo accumulates and eventually, someone must come and pump out the poo so the whole cycle can be repeated.

I wonder who wakes up one morning with a lightbulb over his head and says “I THINK I WANT TO BE  SEPTIC TANK TECHNICIAN!”  Notice I said he; I can’t imagine any woman ever having that thought.  At any rate, I am grateful for the fine men who do choose the profession because it’s one less thing I have to do.  I bet in “Little House on the Prairie” Ma was the septic tank technician.  All I can say is We’ve Come a Long Way Baby!

On Monday, the septic tank men arrived to pump out the contents of our tank.  In my imagination, the tank is deep underground, brooding like Mount Vesuvius.  Eventually, if it’s not pumped, the poo slowly starts seeping out and then finally….WHAMMO….A huge geyser of shit erupts into the air, befouling everyone in its path.  So it’s a good idea to have routine maintenance performed to avoid eruption.

When the men arrived, I waved them in the general area where I thought the tank might reside.  Like I said, I try not to think about it a whole lot.  They couldn’t find it.  I could feel my blood pressure going up because when I called to make the appointment, no one told me I needed the precise geographical coordinates of the tank.  I am pretty sure the septic tank technician course teaches one how to locate the thing.  Fortunately, my husband showed up and I left him to deal with it.

Five minutes later, he came in the house.  “Call Nancy and see if she knows where the tank is,” he said.  We purchased the house from Nancy five years ago and she moved 100 yards down the street into an even bigger and better house.  I have right of first refusal on that one!

“She’s not gonna know where it is,” I told him, but I called her anyway.  She answered on the fifth ring and her voice echoed.  “I’m in the shower,” she said.  “What’s wrong??”

“Um, do you know where the septic tank is located at this house?” I asked her. 

“Hell if I know,” she said.  “I think it’s in the backyard.  But call Andy; he’ll know.”

Andy is a respectable banker and I hated to interrupt his financial wheeling dealing with my sewage issues, but it was rather urgent, so I called him.  “Hey Andy,” I said, “this is your neighbor, Jennifer.  Do you know where the septic tank is located at my house?”

“Uh, uh….hey Jennifer,” he stammered.  “Well, no I don’t really know where it is.  Somewhere in the backyard i think.”  I’m sure he was wondering why in the HELL I was interrupting his conference call with Alan Greenspan, but my sewage problems are of equal importance to the Mortgage Crisis.  At least in my world.  I thanked him and hung up and relayed the information to my husband.  Of course, by that time, the tank had already been located, but I was just trying to do my part.

A few minutes later, my husband came in and said grimly “The septic tank is backed up.”  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but it sounded bad.  Turns out our septic tank was filled to the top with the brown matter and was truly  about to blow.  So we had called just in time.  However, the technician went on to tell my husband that it was backed up because there was a problem with the outflow lines and we needed to have those fixed.  He gave me a card and told me the guy to call happened to be just down the street.

My husband went back to work and left me to deal with the situation.  I am not good at household situations.  I can cook and clean, but anything more complicated sends me into a tizzy.  However, I called the number and a guy agreed to come over and assess the situation. 

He arrived ten minutes later with a long probe, the kind I think aliens use to investigate human body cavities.   He plunged it into the ground and pulled it out and said “see how it’s wet?  That’s good.  Let’s see if the other lines are dry.”  He repeated the process and when he pulled out the second time, he tsked and said “dry as a bone.  that’s not good.”  He then initiated a long technical discussion on how septic tanks work and why he needed to bring a BobCat to dig up my backyard.

My brother in law was up on my roof at the time, painting the house.  I made him come down and listen to it.  The guy repeated the explanation, shoved his probe in the ground a few more times, and Bob nodded in understanding.  It’s like they were speaking some sort of foreign, techno-guy language.  Bob came over and said “you need to have it done.”

Hey, if it was going to keep the septic tank from exploding in a geyser of poo, I was game.  So I authorized the procedure.  Then I had to leave, to take MA to her private soccer lessons.  Because it’s only the best of the best for MA; she wouldn’t have it any other way.  We were on our way  home after the lesson when I started to trying to call home.  I wanted to make sure my husband had retrieved the goddess from Nancy’s house.  But every time I called, I got a busy signal, which was very curious since we have call waiting. 

I tried a couple of times, then gave up.  When my phone rang, it was my husband’s office, so he obviously had not gotten the goddess yet.  “Hey,” I said.

“DID YOU TELL THE SEPTIC TANK GUY WE HAD AN UNDERGROUND SPRINKLER SYSTEM????” he roared. 

Well, as a matter of fact, I might have neglected to mention that to the septic tank man.  When I shared this with my husband, he roared “WELL DID YOU TELL HIM THE PHONE LINE RAN THROUGH THE BACKYARD?????”

Now I can honestly say I had no clue the phone line was in the backyard.  I take things like septic tanks and phone service for granted.  I don’t know how they work and I see no reason to learn.  So know, I didn’t tell the guy our phone line was in the backyard. 

“WELL HE CUT THROUGH THE SPRINKLER AND THE PHONE LINE,” my husband roared again.  Then he subsided and said quietly “I didn’t know the phone line was in the backyard either.”

“See!!” I said victoriously.

“BUT I SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU TO WARN HIM ABOUT THE SPRINKLER!!!!”  His mood swings are a bit extreme.  I wanted to suggest medication, but felt this might not be the best time to bring it up.

“Look,” I said in exasperation, “I told you not leave me alone with this.  I told you I would screw it up and I did.  There’s nothing I can do about it now.”  I found this attitude very reasonable, but my husband is not quite so fatalistic.  He roareda  few more choice words and hung up the phone.  Well, at least the busy signal was explained!

From Monday to Wednesday, we had no phone and NO INTERNET!!  There is a dark curse over my internet, a curse that was not eliminated when I banished Habib.  I think my next step is to have some ritual blessings performed over my connection to protect it from evil spirits.  No one else in the free world has as many internet problems as me, and I am including even the remotest outpost in Canada in this statement.  I am doomed to struggle for all eternity to maintain a relationship with my internet service.

Wednesday morning, MacGyver, AKA my husband, went outside at 7:01 a.m. with a wire stripper, some electrical tape, and a handful of some doodads.  At 7:03, our phone and internet was restored.  I don’t know what he did and I don’t care.  I am online once again!  God’s in His heaven/all’s right with the world!!!  I wish I thought the sprinkler system would be so easily repaired!

Yesterday my internet was not working. At first I thought it was just my crappy computer. But even after I ran all the virus scans and performed a ritual chicken sacrifice over the CPU, the internet still did not work. I tried connecting on the hubby’s laptop and when I couldn’t get a connection, I realized it was a larger problem.

Fearfully, I called Nancy M. When she answered, I stammered “um, hey Nancy, I know you’re going to blame this on me, but um, is your internet working??”

“I knew it!” she screeched. “I knew the minute you switched over to Bellsouth you would screw it up! Andy,” she screamed to her husband, “Jennifer’s on the phone and her internet is down. I TOLD YOU IT WAS HER FAULT!!”

I bowed my head humbly and took her abuse. Because I knew it was my fault. I knew the curse would follow me from Charter to Bellsouth and yet I did it anyway. Took my curse and inflicted it on a whole new technology and a whole new set of people. “I’ve NEVER had a problem,” Nancy continued to rail, “until you switched over!! This is the beginning of the end!!”

Yep, that’s me, Typhoid Mary! All global catstrophe can be traced back to me. That hole in the ozone layer?? All me! All because I am a selfish suburban soccer mom who drives a fossil-fuel depleting SUV, thereby increasing US dependence on foreign oil. Go ahead…flog me now! Hugo Chavez (of is his name Victor? Vinnie? Marvin??) is my lover and we hole up in the Motel 6 and laugh at the American infidels as we plot ways to trade my Suburban in for a Hummer so I can waste even more gas!!! I take responsibility!!

Hurricane Katrina?? That was me as well. I knew those levees were weak, but did I bother to tell anyone? Oh no, I was too busy in my own little world, trying to win as many Pogo badges as possible. I couldn’t be bothered to pop over to New Orleans to point out those problems with the infrastructure. I am evil incarnate!!

Nancy informed me her husband had already spoken with Habib, who is now calling himself Akmed, and he assured Andy the internet would be up an running by midnight. This was not good enough for Nancy, who has now issued a fatwah against me. Never mind that most of the region was without internet. Oh no, it has to be my fault because I am the cursed one!

All I wanted to do is write a post about how I met Blue Momma for breakfast and how we ended up staying all the way through lunch talking about our crazy ass families. Kathy from Bham Blues joined us and we railed against the establishment and swapped episiotomy stories. It would have made a great blog if Habib had not interfered. He is threatened by my blogging activity and by the fact I have named my pet squirrel Mohammed.

Well anyway, the internet was only down for a couple of hours, but it was a very long period of time in my world. For Nancy, it was an eternity of blackness and bleak despair. For Habib, it was yet another triumph over the filthy, perverted Westerners who rely on him for tech support. Such is the world we live in today. So I shall go on to blog another day, confident that my DSL will get the job done. It better, or Nancy will probably be marching an angry mob down here, torches waving, ready to run me out of town on a rail!!

This morning my cable modem did not work.  Again.  And something within me snapped.  The injustice of it all was too much to bear.  How could I go on with no internet?  How was I supposed to function with no Pogo, with no blogs to read?  And so I did it.  I got the phone book (The Real Yellow Pages) and made the call.

I called Shawn at Bellsouth and told him I was done with Habib.  Told him Habib had broken my heart one too many times with his empty promises of fast and unlimited internet service.  Oh sure, it was fast and unlimited….WHEN IT WORKED!!!!  I told him I was ready for a new relationship with a real man, one who kept his promises to me.  I told him I was ready for (cue the dramatic music)…..DSL!!

It took 30 minutes to forge my new ties.  But in the end, I got more for less.  Faster, more reliable high speed internet.  Unlimited long distance and caller ID.  DirecTV with the NFL Sunday ticket and 500 channels to surf!  The only question I had was why did I wait so long?

I waited so long because I foolishly trusted Habib.  “I can change,” he murmured in his thickly accented English, muted by the thousands of miles that separate Alabama from Khazakistan.  “Your modem will work again, I promise,” he whispered seductively.  “Just unplug it from the computer, turn in three circles, point yourself toward Mecca and say ‘Allah be praised’ in pig latin and reconnect your modem.”

But his promises were empty, meaningless, whispered to thousands of faceless women across the world, women who called him when there was no light in their lives, no Pogo on their computer screens.  And he took advantage of us in our distress, whispering promises of unlimited internet, something he didn’t have the power to grant.

And so I say goodbye to Habib and put my trust in Shawn.  Shawn is in Florida, just a day’s drive away.  Shawn understands about Pogo and SEC football.  Shawn also gave me $250 in cash rebates for ditching Habib.  I’m easy, but I ain’t cheap!

My new modem is supposed to be here on Friday.  And the moment I install it, I’m calling Habib and telling him to stick his cable modem where the sun don’t shine!