Friday, July 16, 2004
Problem Child #1 The Comcast Internet technicians are still flummoxoned as to how to remedy their screw-up i.e. they turned off our service on the wrong date and can't seem to get us up and running again. And because you never get the same technician on the phone, it doesn't matter how many times you give them a reference number, you still have to repeat the story all over again.
Problem Child #2 Keyspan. They still haven't given me my gas line. So I am utilizing one of the few perks one has as a state employee. Connections. A good Senator will be putting a "word" in to his contact person at Keyspan and I anticipate a truck to be at my house Monday morning... I can't wait for the asshole incompetent North Shore rep to get the phone call.
My ship is a tight one and so far on course except for the family that seems to think that magic fairies appear the day before you move to wave their wands and Voila!; boxes are packed, the furniture moved, junk taken to the dump, addresses changed, telephone and utility service transferred, work on the new house completed, and the old house put in broom-swept condition for the next owner. Oh but they shall pay for their faked ignorance. I'm no martyr. I'm a prima-donna who will make their lives very painful until I feel life is again quid pro quo with a slight tip on the scale to my side.
My friend Fritz the Mouse (whom I have forgiven for eating my bag of Lindt Truffles last month) tells me that the State House will be closed during the Democratic National Convention the week of the 26th. Very nice. I'll have gotten the bulk of all the work on the house done and plan to sit outside on our new outdoor garden chairs and order up Margaritas from the son who recently completed bartending school. Or maybe I'll let him try out a few exotic drinks on me. Cause' I'd rather have unpacked boxes in my garage than forego what I have learned are VERY SHORT summers in New England. In fact, when the hell did it get to be mid-July anyway....
Problem Child #2 Keyspan. They still haven't given me my gas line. So I am utilizing one of the few perks one has as a state employee. Connections. A good Senator will be putting a "word" in to his contact person at Keyspan and I anticipate a truck to be at my house Monday morning... I can't wait for the asshole incompetent North Shore rep to get the phone call.
My ship is a tight one and so far on course except for the family that seems to think that magic fairies appear the day before you move to wave their wands and Voila!; boxes are packed, the furniture moved, junk taken to the dump, addresses changed, telephone and utility service transferred, work on the new house completed, and the old house put in broom-swept condition for the next owner. Oh but they shall pay for their faked ignorance. I'm no martyr. I'm a prima-donna who will make their lives very painful until I feel life is again quid pro quo with a slight tip on the scale to my side.
My friend Fritz the Mouse (whom I have forgiven for eating my bag of Lindt Truffles last month) tells me that the State House will be closed during the Democratic National Convention the week of the 26th. Very nice. I'll have gotten the bulk of all the work on the house done and plan to sit outside on our new outdoor garden chairs and order up Margaritas from the son who recently completed bartending school. Or maybe I'll let him try out a few exotic drinks on me. Cause' I'd rather have unpacked boxes in my garage than forego what I have learned are VERY SHORT summers in New England. In fact, when the hell did it get to be mid-July anyway....
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