Spazzmanda

Warning, crude language and misuse of quality curses:

This morning I started the complaint process with a vendor that misrepresented a download of a probably pirated textbook. I’m cheap, and trying to go green and it is an accounting book for a class I’m merely auditing, I thought a digital copy would be, I don’t know, convenient?

Me:

I thought that this was going to be the textbook, (Textbook Title Here.)

Instead, this was the powerpoint presentation for the chapters, which is not entirely useful to me.

I would like a refund please.

Sincerely,

Moi

Them:

hi,you bought the files is not powerpoint presentation for the chapters,it is solution manual or test bank for textbook.

Me:

I understand that now, but it was presented as the textbook.

Am I going to get a refund or am I going to have to take it up with Pay Pal?

Them:

This files is consistent with the description, the product description said it is solution manual or test bank, not textbook,you should see the description before buying, so you agree the describe before you purchase, my file is correct and complete. What you are saying is just an excuse.

Me:

Ok, so insulting your customers is the way you do business and customer satisfaction is not important to you at all.

I will take it up with paypal or my credit card company if necessary (you see, I’ve been a good customer to both organizations and they DO care about how merchants treat me.)

Thank you for being absolutely NO help at all, and have a lovely day.

(Opens PayPal dispute)

Them:

i know you are liar,you steal my files.fuck your mother,watever asshole.

and:

i know you are liar,you steal my files.fuck your mother,watever asshole. i will win,I strongly do not refund, you are an idiot.go away,fuck.

Me:

I didn’t steal your files, they are readily available online.

Also, sir, you may want to be aware that the publisher of this book has no idea you are selling these files.

You should watch yourself. This is no way to do business.

And if you have to resort to cursing and name calling, I’ve already won.

Have a lovely day.

Them:

You are an idiot, the world is on you this idiot, you are a bastard, well, I will give you a refund within 24 hours, you are an idiot. I am a smart person.

I’m comforted that I’m dealing with a smart person here. This would have been a real nightmare otherwise.

Turns out that PayPal does not protect buyers of “Virtual Goods” so I’m most likely out the money  anyways unless CitiCards saves the day or by some miracle the choad actually refunds my money.

Lesson learned.

This just in from Fox, a photo she snapped back in October, we were cleaning up after an event so it was really a bad hair day for the both of us, but somehow, she manages to make us look pretty stinkin’ cute.  If you have not befriended a professional photographer, I highly recommend you do so immediately.

This came in yesterday:

Then my grandpa sent me 4 emails this morning on how to get rid of wrinkles.

Is someone trying to tell me something?

I know that I have established that I may be a little old lady already, but seriously? AA-frickin-R-P?

Ok, I may have teased a bit. Not MY dress, but my mother’s dress will have to serve as your eyecandy for the day.

My mother, angel, saint, and hot lady that she is was married at the age of 20. The year was 1972 1974. She was fresh as a daisy and it was the 70’s. Gotta love the 70’s. This was wedding number 1 (of 2) and she was so very, very young. Very VERY young. With a teensy ribcage. TEENSIE TINY. Following her wedding, she promptly packed her dress away for the day, YES, that glorious day that her 32 year old daughter would decide to put it on:

and laugh.

I do apologize, it is actually very, very lovely. Abundant with lace (which you know I like;)  and beading. Lots of Lace. LOTS of fabric. Poufy sleeves. And buttons too? I can’t breathe in this thing. Not to mention that it leaves absolutely, positively EVERYTHING to the imagination. I can’t lift my arms and is it hot in here? I feel dizzy. It is oh, so 1972.

You know what? I cherished this day in my grandmother’s home. Because not only was I with my most special of ladies sharing this special memory, it was right after this very moment that I tried on MY dress. There was a moment.

And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

For more pictures from the “trying on of Mrs. Rebecca’s dress” you can go see my flickr stuff HERE.

I can’t believe I’ve never told this story before. Probably because I didn’t want to change the names to protect the guilty.

Well, once upon a time I worked for someone that provided a service that rhymes with art restoration as an apprentice/assistant. I won’t delve into that too deeply, it was a year of my life I’ll never get back but ultimately great real world experience that has brought me to the place that I am today… hmmm. Food for later thought.

Anyways, Ms. Harmon had an object d’arte that required the services of my employer. He took a very,very long time before finally shopped it out. (This, I was to find out, was most typical of the way he did things, hence the me leaving after a year.) Meanwhile, I’m answering email and doing other assistant-like things for near minimum wage and she emails me. I think, oh -my-god-Angie-Harmon’s-emailing-me! But ultimately I end up having to stall for more time. I remember specifically saying to her that the object would be shipped “presently.” (Who talks like that? I must have thought it sounded professional and confident.)

Then the unthinkable happened and the subcontractor broke the damn thing in delivery.

Smacks forehead. We were at square one again. And I just couldn’t tell Angie Harmon what had happened. Damn.

Angie was displeased. Angie chewed me out. Angie wanted to know on what planet “presently” meant another month.

Ultimately, she did get her item. She was pleased with the work.

But every time I see her on television, I remember that she’s out there and she hates me.

That’s all.

Name that movie:

“Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us togethew today. Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam within a dweam. And wove, twue wove, wiww fowwow you fowevah and evah… So tweasuwe youw wove”

Name this movie: Somebody’s Getting Married

Now, explain to me the relevance, to me, today, in particular.

More to follow.

So I bought myself a present for Christmas.

A brand new concert flute.

You may naturally be asking why.  I will attempt to formulate an adequate response for such an odd impulse purchase. You may not know that the  Spazz played the flute from grade school through high school. And I didn’t totally suck either, my junior year I made it all the way to fourth chair before I started losing interest and nearing the finish line of my high school career. I maintained a not too shabby front line of the second string, but alas, my instrument was stolen during my senior year over 14 years ago. (I know, who would steal a flute, right?)  I stumbled upon a moderately priced concert flute this weekend at Tuesday Morning of all places. (Don’t you just LOVE Tuesday Morning?)

Long story long, I snapped it up after very little persuasion from mom. Turns out, much to my surprise and the amusement of both Jeff and my mother, I can play a B flat scale AND arpeggio.

Thaaaaaat’s about all folks.  But I look forward to practicing and re-learning what I can so I can bust out  some wicked “rock flute” at a future gathering. I’m thinking some “Smoke on the Water” or “Stairway to Heaven” or even “Enter Sandman” would be nice to add to my repertoire.

I need to work on my posture. And clean some junk off the fridge while I’m at it. (Yes I voted for Obama and yes, I’m currently a little disappointed even though I didn’t like that other guy much either.)

In other news, I finished a cupcake hat. Well, actually, I finished five cupcake hats. There are too many delicious little girls that needed warm heads this winter. Because I am wildly impatient and couldn’t wait until official gifting time, not to mention the fact that this little nugget was hat less on Saturday evening (shame, shame Ole) I have already gifted one hat.

I’ve got it baaaaaaaad for this little one. She’s both my weakness and endless delight. In short, she’s my pwecssssssousssssesssss. Yes, she has red eyebrows .  RED eyebrows I tell you. Be still my beating heart I almost can’t stand it and want to gobble her up every time I see her. The empty womb is apparently knocking. (Don’t worry, I’ve hit snooze.)

Meet Black Santa.  Actually, Black Santa #2. To fully understand why I have a plastic Santa and see it fit to blog about it, I really must go back to the beginning.

Years ago, grandmother obtained a Santa that was a party favor from a church luncheon. There were Santas of all ethnicities, white, red, yellow and african american- the dollar store was cleared out of all to make sure there were enough for each centerpiece. She came home with black Santa. We immediately loved him.  Somehow, mom and I started “hiding” black santa at one another’s house. Over the past ten or so years,some of the better hiding places have included, her underwear drawer, the bottom of a large Sam’s-sized box of laundry detergent or entombed in a can of soup (not the best, she knows the contents of her pantry far too well.) My favorite hiding place from her was when she hid him in a bag of spinach in my freezer.

I feel I have to explain why there are two. Somewhere along the way Black Santa #1 got lost. Or rather, she hid him too well and I never found him.  Well, back this summer I was cleaning out a closet for a garage sale and squeeeeeeee! I found Black Santa #1 in a box of pictures she had  refused to store any longer for returned to me in 2004.

So it was ON. The funny part really is that on the day of said garage sale, Jeff actually helped mom hide Black Santa #2 in my yarn stash all the while (unbeknownst to both of us) working with me to hide Black Santa #1 in the center console of her car.

Neither Black Santa was found until this fall.  Sometimes that is the problem with the game. If it goes on too long you can forget where he be. And you know, Santa can really be anywhere all the time so watch out! This time I wrote a note on the bottom of Black Santa #1, where he was  found and when he was found and then I TOTALLY hid it while at her house during the tea party last month (bwahahahaha.) Oh, and my stepfather was a witness and knows where it is hidden.  (I think it is good to have accomplices/witnesses in this game, makes it that much more fun.)

Merry merry, y’all. More with today’s theme of Santa, here is a site that a friend sent my way: http://www.sketchysantas.com/

We waited in line at the Borders in Atlanta for four hours, but it was totally worth it to meet the Pioneer Woman, sister Betsy, and best friend Hyacinth. If you are not “in the know” about P-Dub, please familiarize yourself with one of the best blogs I’ve ever read over at www.thepioneerwoman.com. She writes amazing recipes (and I mean amazing) and about her life as an “Accidental Country Girl”, her “Marlboro Man” and four beautiful children and her adorable basset hound Charlie.  Oh, and get her book while you’re at it. You know you want to.

I don’t know why we’re all leaning over like this, but whatever.  I was just happy to meet the lady. And she was delightful. She was signing and smiling for hours. What a trooper.

Oh and kniters, I totally geeked out and made her a gift. (I have a strange compulsion to give objects I’ve knat to complete strangers.) I made a very practical headband that will keep  ears warm without messing up the ‘do’. I took no photos of the thing, I just gifted it. It was a fun night.