Biscuit: Tasty Doesn't Get You A Date To The Prom

There! There it is! Well, there most of it is. That does not show the cheddar-stuffed mushrooms or the peanut or avocado sushi or any of the five desserts. I have to say: Year Four? Good year. Lots of people, tons of fun, great parlor games, and Willy Wonka until 5 am. Pretty much all of the leftovers are gone now -- not that there were many leftovers to begin with. The only bite of sweet potatoes I had was off of Flex's plate because they went so fast!

Also, speaking of Flexible, yesterday was his BIRTHDAY! I certainly had fun. There was brunch, there was a great dinner, there was me sending him off for a day at the spa. There was drinking, there was "Cannibal: The Musical," and there was him making everyone he spoke with sing him a birthday song. Go sing happy birthday to his guestbook!

Also, I would talk more except I think I developed a hernia this weekend. Despite my light and breezy tone, I am in a rather significant amount of pain at the moment and an seeing a doctor in just slightly over an hour. And no, you smartasses, I did not get a hernia from eating too much.

So, hurray! The doctor said that I do not have a hernia. I only have a virus that makes my bladder hurt. I do not quite know what that is supposed to mean, as I was previously unaware of viruses whose sole purpose is to tenderize my bladder. Nevertheless, I stayed home and slept for a few days, and it seems that my bladder has stopped hurting, which I shall take as a sign that the virus has been beaten into submission by the might of my biology.

Also, I had to take a pee test (to ensure I didn't have a bladder infection even though he asked me probably five times if I had any pain or burning during urination and I kept saying no) but I had made the mistake of going right before I left the office to go to the doctor's.
"Do you think you can fill that for me?"
"Um...actually, I...um. I went already. I don't think I can."
"Can you at least try?"
(Here a passing nurse jumps in)"Do you need some water? Maybe you should go drink some water. There's a water fountain out in the lobby. Go drink some water, and come back here and I'll point you to the bathroom. Drink a lot of water now!"

So I drank a lot of water.

And I stood in the bathroom for a good five minutes waiting for the water to work its way through, or something. Now, I have never been very good at the whole pee game. Probably half of the times I actually get up from what I am doing to go to the bathroom and pee, by the time I get there I do not have to pee any more, so I go back to my desk, sit down, and immediately have to pee. I also get very anxious about people hearing me pee. If I stand at a urinal for more than a few seconds before the peeing starts, I start thinking that the other guys in the bathroom are probably listening to the sound of me not peeing, and then laughing at me for being a pee-shy freako, which as you can probably imagine, only compounds the problem. It ends up being very frustrating, and also usually ends up being a matter of small personal celebration when I successfully complete a urinary maneuver.

Imagine my surprise and pleasure then, when (from a dry start, mind you) I managed to fill their evil little plastic cup! It is, I am completely aware, an utterly ridiculous thing to be proud of, but if I could have given myself a Pee Medal just then, I might have.

Of course, then I had to walk through the doctor's office with my little transparent cup of hot pee, trying to find the nurse responsible for it. When I handed the cup to her she gave me a little knowing wink, which I fould a little unnecessary. And when I went to meet the doctor, he gave me a double-thumbs-up and asked, rather excitedly, "So, how'd it go??" "Um," I said. I flashed him a thumbs-up back. "I peed!"

It really is the little challenges that make my days so exciting.

I figured I should probably document this while I am still giddy, and still floating along in a happy stress-free bubble of joy. You know that whole Portable Phone Number thing? Where you can, you know, Port your Phone Number away from your current provider? I just did that. And I am, metaphorically, dancing on the ceiling.

See, my house is, for some reason or another, a Hideous Signal Vortex. This HSV stops me from placing or receiving calls while in my house. You might guess that "in my house" is precisely the location at which I would most like to use my phone. Most times when attempting to do so, either I can hear the other person and they hear me as a series of R2-D2-like whistles and beeps, or vice versa. Apparently my soon-to-be-previous provider, T-Mobile, has a signal tower a block away from me, but it has been out of commission for the past year, with no estimate on when it will be repaired, if ever.

Cue my switch to AT&T. Not only will I get a new provider and a new phone, but my phone will enable me to take both pictures and video wherever I go! And then I can email them to myself and post them up for your entertainment! Wooot!

Also, my phone was FREE due to a judicious application of rebates and special offers. Yee hah for three hundred dollars worth of freeness!

Now I just have to sit back and wait for a) my credit to be declined by AT&T, b) my phone number to be declared ineligible for a switch, c) T-Mobile to hold onto my phone number like the slavering rabid dog that it is, or d) the extremely unlikely result of a trouble-free transfer. Soon, my friends. Soon, I too shall enter the age wherein I can remain in communication with the outside world while still snuggled up in my bed.

I wrote this whole big entry. It was really cute and it had lots of links to things from all over the web. Then my computer crashed and my entry fizzled away into the computerized ether. And then I was on hold with AT&T for an hour and ten minutes, only to have the girl on the other end say "I don't know. Call back on Thursday." And then work was dumb and then it was too hot in the office and then it was too cold outside, and I stopped feeling like writing a fun and whimsical entry with lots of links to things from all over the web.

And then I cried.

I am glad I wrote the entry wherein I was giddily happy about my upcoming new phone, as the euphoria has, as expected, worn off. Apparently I forgot one possible option: AT&T would tell me that my order had been accepted, and then would promptly lose all record that my order ever existed.

In sum: I am on hold again. I have been so for the past one hour, one minute, and twenty eight seconds. At approximately fifty eight minutes, I switched for some reason away from the endlessly repetitive voice who coolly reassured me that my call is very important and would be answered in the order in which it was received. Now, I am listening to the soothing sounds of lite jazz.

In other news, my company party has been canceled. Or rather, transmuted from an actual Friday night party to a lunch at a local pub sometime next weekish.

My efforts at picking up cross-stitching again go very well. I rediscovered a piece I originally intended as a present for when my niece was born. Now she is five. For some reason, it has become immensely pleasant to go home, sit on my Klaus, and stitch all night long. I have finished the entire sun and entire moon. (Believe me, that is good.)

I do wish I hadmore interesting things to say, but this entry really is just to keep from falling asleep while on hold for an hour, six minutes, and forty seven seconds.

I wish that Taydo would go back to writing things. I miss him and I miss his summaries of the new episodes of Queer Eye. And hoo boy, there's been a lot to discuss about that lately.

P.S. At one hour, nine minutes, and thirty one seconds, the sounds of lite jazz were abruptly replaced by a dial tone. Please tell me where Mr. AT&T is, that I may kill him.

What am I doing right now? I am on hold. With AT&T.

I called the number for the "Porting Group" last night. I was on hold for another hour and ten minutes. Then I spoke to a lady who tried to look up my order and then disconnected me.

The for the debacle of this morning, I will repost my description that I sent via AIM to Little Owl. Please note the murderous tone of voice and the complete disregard for spelling and punctuation.

My TMopbile account will be turned off tomorrow at 5.

I will have NO FUCKING PHONE

I TALKED to this lady at two hours and ten minutes

then she told me to hold while she escalated my call, please wait for thee to five minutes

and then FORTY FIVE MINUTES LATER

she's all I still can't get through

and then she goes "but what's the problem anyway? It says here you're due to be transferred over at 5:16 pm tomorrow"

and I say Huh? But where's my PHONE

and sahe goes, Oh I don't know that. We're not who you call about an actual phone order

and I say then WHY have I been on HOLD with you for THREE HOURS

WHY did the other AT&T people tell me I had to call HERE??????

so NOW I have to call back ANOTHER LINE

to find out where the FUCK MY PHONE IS

because if I don't have it tomorrow by 5,

I will be without a phone

and it's being sent to the OFFICE

so if I don't have it tomorrow I can't get it until MONDAY

and if it hasn't been shipped YET

I don't even know if it's too LATE to do overnight shipping

but by GOD they're going to get it to me if someone has to get on a god damned rickshaw and hand fucking vcarry it here.

Now, I called back the number you call when you want to order a new phone. They pick up after a wait time of a paltry five minutes, of course. This fellow says that I should get my phone in a few days. I make it very clear to him that I expect my phone tomorrow, that I might not be without a phone all weekend. He laughing tries to reassure me that my number will not be ported until I have my phone, at which point I inform him in a cold steely tone that I just waited on hold for three hours with the Official AT&T Porting Group Authority who informed me that my T-Mobile account would be discontinued at 5:16 pm tomorrow, and I expect my phone in my hands before then.

He transferred me to a shipping specialist.

While I was on hold for the shipping specialist, my call was disconnected.

And now I am taking a break from sitting on my ass, so that I may go pee and smoke, two activities that are definitely discouraged from occurring at one's desk.

Also, I go to kill people randomly on the streets. Stay inside.

I know that none of you care about this any more. Nevertheless, this is (what I certainly fucking HOPE is) the conclusion:

After another hour and twenty six minutes, a Web Order Specialist answered the phone this afternoon. She told me that the phone I ordered had, in fact, been replaced by a different model, which would ship to me in approximately two weeks.

I told her that was completely unacceptable, as was the prospect of my phone service being terminated tomorrow with no replacement phone in hand. Not acceptable, I say again. I offer to go to an AT&T store in Manhattan to pick up a phone my self, but I absolutely refused to agree to stay on hold with the porting group for another three hours to stop them from turning off my old service. I made sure to tell her that it was not with her personally I was angry, but at the fact that over the past three days I have been on hold for over nine hours. Nine. Hours. And while the people I spoke with have been unfailingly courteous, their customer service system was the single worst with which I have ever had the misfortune to deal. Faced with the prospect of no phone service for two weeks, I was going to cancel my order and go with a different company that could handle actually sending phones out to people who order them in good faith. She tried to tell me that the only way to cancel my order would be to wait for the phone to arrive and refuse to accept the delivery, but give her a moment and she would see what she could do. She asked me to hold (of course), and when she came back, brightly announced that she had good news and a FedEx tracking number.

According to FedEx, my phone will be arriving in my office no later than 3 pm tomorrow.

Part of me is surprised that I managed to make it work. I threatened just enough, and maintained my civility without being a complete pushover. And she buckled and figured something out, and my phone was picked up by FedEx no more than three minutes after the termination of our phone call.

I am victorious.

In my hot little hands even as we speak, ladies and gentlemen. Also, I would like to note that I actually received the model I originally ordered. The one that was "out of stock." Also known as the one that was "being sent to somebody else but was rerouted to me due to my superior negotiating skills."

Plus, I have been doing a happy jig-dance all day. And as soon as I can figure out how to email pictures to myself, they are going up here. Imagetastic!

Stupid "non-drowsy" DayQuil can kiss my drowsy ass.

Seriously, yo. I need to not have a cough and a runny nose at 7:30 so I can see Return of the King, unencumbered by excess mucus. I am also on a strict no-liquid diet right now, to preclude a severely inconvenient bathroom break.

And I would very much like to be not-drowsy as well, that I might better appreciate a) the gigantic fucking battle scenes, and b) my last Thin Mint, which I am about to eat. The end of an era, Last Little Thin Mint.

Chompf mompf.

Flex told me that he is going to quit smoking for the New Year. He is going to quit smoking, start watching what he eats, and work out every day.

"I do wish you would quit with me," he says. "But if you don't, at least don't be annoyed with me when I go outside for fresh air while you're smoking."

Here is the deal. I like smoking. I think it is a pretty interesting and entirely fulfilling activity. I enjoy having my vices. However, I know that this one is going to be much more difficult to engage in happily, once my boy quits.

So I quit smoking today.

He, of course, is still smoking downstairs. He is not officially quitting until New Year's. I do not see a reason to wait. If I decide to quit, I am going to do it right now, not count down the days of happiness I have left.

There is one cigarette left in my pocket. I am saving it for later -- precisely when, I do not know. I am not aware of a method by which one can detect the arrival of one's darkest hour, to know exactly when to smoke one's last cigarette, to see one through. It has only been about six hours since my second-to-last cigarette, and I am already a little antsy. I could do gum or patches or whatever-the-hell-else people try, but to be honest, I really would like to take a stab at the cold-turkey approach. Test my willpower. My resolve. And while I am at it, see just how cranky I can get.

This should be a fun experiment, folks. Oh, and if you can think of an interesting vice with which I can fill the vast, sucking void that no smoking leaves in my life, please let me know. And yes, drinking and crazy gay sex are already taken.

Happy Christmas Eve!

The luggage is packed, the presents are wrapped, the kitties are fed, the itinerary is printed, the hair is coiffed. I am heading out the door to meet my handsome, wonderful boy, and we are going to spend the rest of Christmas Eve at his parents' house in Queens. With a great deal of luck, I will manage to maneuver the suitcase and the stack of presents through the New York subway system without incident. Then tomorrow morning, I am braving the wilds of the airport and heading to (hopefully) sunny San Diego for a week with the family. I return on New Year's Eve, for a night of debauchery and fireworks with my New York Tribe, both past and present.

Until then, I hope you all are having wonderful holidays! Think of hugs from the Ful to keep you warm through the winter nights!