Season Finale (Hopefully)

I know you’re tired of hearing about it. I’m tired of hearing myself think about it. But you’re going to read about it anyway, because I won’t be able to let it go unless it gets put somewhere besides the space between my ears.

As you may have seen from a fine gentleman’s comment on my last post, I clearly mis-remembered many details from last week’s internet escapades. The actual events unfolded, and continued to unfold, in a way far more ludicrous than I gave it credit for. (I tend to see the good in things. It’s a curse, and is often impractical.)

Husband scheduled the internet installation. No issues, no questions, no red flags. Two days later, the company called very confused and told him there is already an account set up at our address. He informed them we’re the new residents, the existing account is probably from the old tenants, and also: what about the account setup I requested two days ago? (The old tenants also did not change their address with the post office and their mailbox had gotten full by the time we moved in. They either left in a hurry or are as forgetful as a pregnant woman perceptibly losing brain cells by the day. Or, they died.)

But please, he begged the representative, don’t take our word for it that we live here! How about we come down to your (inconveniently located) store with a copy of our lease agreement to PROVE TO YOU that we are indeed the current residents, that we indeed require your internet service, and we indeed believe you to be some very high-functioning numb skulls? Oh, you were going to ask us to do that anyway? So psyched we’re on the same page!!

I’m adopting new skills as a pregnant woman. Some are fun, like completely miscalculating how loud a fart will be in public, and others are terrifying, like the blind confidence that you have a “sense” about children and can connect in a profound way with any child, at any time, on any street corner.

A very useful skill, however, is losing the ability to care about things that are overwhelmingly stupid. Maybe it’s because things that are overwhelmingly stupid fall outside of our control, and I no longer have the capacity to care about things upon which I have zero influence. I like to think of it as a new found “efficiency of mind.” It’s about energy conservation. My body is preparing me for soon becoming alert to the exhausting needs of a tiny human, needs which don’t give a hoot about city-dwellers’ assholish driving habits, a crappy waiter at your favorite restaurant, or or how some exchanges simply cannot and will not go correctly, ever.

It’s this skill that allows me to slide right past irritation and move straight to laughing inappropriately when Husband tells me the person at the internet store couldn’t find record of his account or service request. I think it’s because those two people are on different sides of the planet, are working in systems that are too far apart, and thus the distance is much too great for the information to have traveled from Point A to Point B in three days.

When he told me this I laughed way too hard, but not because I don’t care. I care because this man who has diligently maintained the house in my dark months when I was unable, who has trekked to the most grotesque of fast-food shacks at ungodly hours of the night to fetch me the only food item I will tolerate (and subsequently dumped it down my gullet lest I bite off the tips of his fingers), who has assured me through my endless apologies for “being awful” that he still thinks I’m pretty, has to walk around in little circles for weeks and weeks trying to accomplish what should be a fairly direct task.

It’s like an all-too-realistic game of Would You Rather. Babe! Would you rather try to set up internet service at our new place, or slog around thigh-deep in a bog full of liquid poop? Joke’s on us, though. Soon our lives will revolve around poop. And we may or may not have internet by then.

The Saga Continues

I’m at Starbucks. You know what that means!

No internet at the new place. And no, it’s not my husband’s fault. It’s the internet company’s fault. And it might as well be every internet company’s fault because the “service” offered by every internet provider I’ve ever had has been subpar at best. I hate them all.

When we signed up with the New Internet Company, they couldn’t come out for two weeks. Okay fine. The day they were scheduled to install, they gave us a four-hour window, like they do. Okay fine.

Hubs took the morning off to accommodate their window.

He waited.

And waited.

and waited…

At the very end of the service window, they called him. We got held up with something-or-other, we’ll hopefully be there within another two hours (HOPEFULLY), blah blah etcetera. 

My husband is a patient man. (He’s married to me, for god’s sake.) My husband is also an understanding man. But when my husband is done with bullshit, he’s done with the bullshit.

An hour or so later, he received another call. They’re still held up, they don’t know how long they’ll be, and they need to reschedule. By this time, he’s already wasted an entire day waiting for nothing.

You’d think in the day of Uber and same-day Amazon delivery and the myriad ways technology has advanced how we deliver goods and services to consumers that somebody, somewhere, would figure out a way to improve the quality of internet installation.

My husband exchanged some words with the service technician and decided they can go *bleep* themselves. Meanwhile, his wife waddled her ever-expanding derrière over to Sbux, again, so she could make this post. BECAUSE WHAT IS ART WITHOUT SACRIFICE.

As I write this, The Tall Man called with an update. He signed back up with the Old Internet Company. They’ll be out on Tuesday, the service window is two hours instead of four, and they’ll call before arriving. Oh! And we’re getting a better rate for webs that are five times faster than with the other company.

Things have a way of working themselves out.

Happy Friday, folks!


We moved. But that’s just the end of the story.

For the better part of this year, The Husband and I decided it would be a grand idea to try to buy a house. After eight months, hours of research, a slew of meetings, one Saturday class, and every waking minute spent dissecting Redfin, we decided it’s not the right time for us to buy a house. Sometimes you have to follow the path almost the entire way to know it’s not “the one.” And in this case, we followed it nearly to completion to discover it’s not “the one for us RIGHT NOW.”

Once we made that decision, finding a new rental became imminent. I continue to balloon by the minute (fat wrists are indeed a thing, BTW), the weather began it’s decline into the frigid season, and the cops regularly visit our apartment building at least once a month to say hi to the societal scum that lives behind our shared walls. The need to GTFO hit its oppressive limit, and soon I will barely be able to roll myself off the edge of the bed, let alone schlepp boxes or hoist myself up and down forty flights of stairs.

There are two things in life that I’m good at: getting jobs and finding apartments. And if you ask me, not many other talents matter as much.

We found a sweet little place in a sweet little community a couple towns away. Our neighborhood has sidewalks (SIDEWALKS!), landscaping, sweeping patches of grass, playing children, yellow trees sprinkling the first autumn leaves onto the streets, and a hefty dose of quietude. The fire trucks don’t pass by our window every night with sirens blaring, the police haven’t broken up yet another escalating fight in the parking lot, and the resident morons don’t peel out at the stop sign every sixteen seconds. It’s almost like grown-ups live here… And it’s almost like the perfect place to have a new little human.

Anyway, the point of the story is The Husband shut off the internet at the old place before we’d actually moved out, and the internet doesn’t start up at the new place until some number of weeks after we’ve moved in. And it wasn’t until today that I could screw my head on enough to waddle my way to a Starbucks that I’m 94% certain was once a Burger King.

So, pardon the delay! Enjoy today’s post about the joys of moving. We may or may not have internet next week. 🙃