An Open Letter to Earthlink

Dear Asswipes,

Remember when you used to be Mindspring? Well, I've been using Earthlink since before that. I used you when you were Netcom and I was using a 1200 baud modem. Long time.

So here's a little tip from a long-time customer: when my DSL has been acting up, and I've spent way too much time fiddling around with the diagnostics page that popped up instead of my home page, turning modems on and off, rebooting computers, and listening to recorded messages touting Earthlink's superior service while I waited to talk to a real live human, (Yo, buddy--how's the weather in Mumbai?) once my internet connection is working properly again, I am really not about to waste any time whatsoever taking internet surveys.

You see, you've been getting my money for years. And you've wasted far too much of my time.

I'm not begrudging the money ... not really. But my time? Is priceless. When I am dead and gone, my tombstone, if any, will not read: "I wish I had spent more time on hold with Earthlink."

So. When I spotted an email with "Support Survey from Earthlink" as the subject line, to delete it was, for me, the work of a nanosecond.

Very truly yours,
Poppy Buxom

The Grinch Who Stole Valentine's Day

Today I was supposed to get all dressed up in something red and festive, head up the road to get my hair and nails done, then, while looking like a crazed blood clot absolutely smashing drive downtown to rehearse with one of my singing groups,



go to a St. Valentine's Day tea party here,



and then have dinner with my husband.

I just blew it all off. In short order, I canceled the hair and nails, the rehearsal, the babysitter, the tea party, and the dinner.

In case you haven't heard, it's snowing in Chicago. And about every five minutes, I get another email from the National Weather Service advising me to stay home. And who am I to argue with the National Weather Service? Especially since my car has been in the shop since November 19th, due to some trifling misunderstanding it had with the rear end of a Mercedes Benz.

Not actually my car. Or me. You can tell because this woman is
smiling,and I have not had the chance to smile while in
close proximity to my VW in months. And months.

And frankly, I'm damned if I'm going to plow downtown in my smoking hot minivan^{tm badger} only to smash that one up, too.