tongue in chic journalings

Live From Music City

That's how our news starts. It keeps playing tricks on my head, I keep thinking it's fake news and that someone is going to shout "It's SATURDAY NIGHT!" afterwards. And be dressed in drag and start singing a parody of Sexy Back or something.

Jeff and I babysat Jeanette's kids this week early in the morning while they flew to Miami. Jeanette and Bob I mean, not the kids. They aren't in the habit of randomly sticking their children on planes to South Beach.

West, the four year old, woke up early and I asked him what kind of cereal he wanted for breakfast.

"Actually, sometimes they let us have cookies for breakfast" he said as he handed me a bag of Chips Ahoy.

I might have considered that if A) it wasn't 7am and B)this wasn't the same child who inquired as to why I was the only girl at the table without boobies. What goes around comes around kid. Might as well learn that now.

I came down with the flu and so Jeff ended up having to watch the kids himself, which was awesome because did I mention that Jeanette has 5 kids? And also that Jeff has never babysat before? You people can see where I'm going with this right?

I have another great Comcast story for tomorrow, but for now I'm going to go snuggle with Jeff since my fever is no longer 101 and I'm out of his self-imposed quarantine.

"What did you just DO?"

Not-So-Newlywed-Natalie's husband is convinced that I make things up. Even though he has known me since high school, he still insists that there is no way that I experience such a ridiculously large amount of crazy things. We keep trying to tell him that he is wrong.

This is why I was glad that Natalie was on the phone with me when this little incident occured.

I went to CVS yesterday to use my special card to get Jeff some razors because with said card they would practically be free. I made a special drive over there just because I love using coupons. And also because Jeff had been out of razors for a week because I was waiting for the sale, and he was starting to resemble the Unibomber. It was my first time in the CVS here, and apparently these people are really protective of their razors.

The little boxes of razor refills were in a locked glass partition. There was a handle at the top of each partition, and underneath each box there was a big red button that said PUSH.

I'd never seen anything like this, since where I'm from razors are just on the shelves, out in the open for anyone to buy and not locked up so securely one might think they were in Alcatraz. I contemplated this contraption while chatting with Natalie about my new life in Tennessee. I figured I'd just follow instructions and push the big red PUSH button, thinking that perhaps it worked like a PEZ dispenser and the razors would just pop out at me. Instead, it started shaking and making a whirring sound like a vending machine. And then...nothing. Nothing happened.

I thought to myself "Self, maybe it just unlocked the razors and I can pull down the glass partition and take the one I need now."

But I thought wrong.

As I pulled down the glass partition, a big light started flashing and an announcement came over the loudspeaker blaring "MANAGER TO MEN'S RAZOR DISPLAY. MANAGER TO MEN'S RAZOR DISPLAY."

"Oh crumb! I'M in the men's razor display! Crap! I set off the alarm!"

"You what? You just set off an alarm for razors? Is that what that noise is? Who has an alarm on their razors?" Natalie asked

"Yeah, apparently these people are really into their razors. I don't know what I did!"

Just then a guy came around the corner and just stood at the end of my aisle. I didn't think he worked there because he didn't have one a nametag, or a CVS shirt, or anything else that might tell me that he was, indeed, an employee so I just kept freaking out on the phone with Natalie and trying to maneuver the razors from the case.

"Uh, Miss? Do you need something?" he finally asked

"Oh, do you work here? Because I just need some razors and I hit this button because I thought it was like a Pez dispenser and then all these alarms went off and I don't normally steal things. I mean, I don't ever steal things. On purpose anyhow."

"Yeah, well we keep these locked up good cause they are a high dollar item" he says

"Did he just say those were a high dollar item? Dude, how much are your razors?" Natalie asked

"Um, eight dollars and ninety nine cents."

So the guy gives me my razors and I check out, grabbing a few Cadbury Creme Eggs for all my trouble, go home and triumphantly hand Jeff the pack of razors.

"Uh, honey? These are the wrong ones."

*Insert pseudo curse word of choice here*

There is a reason Comcast doesn't have the "this call may be recorded for quality assurance" announcement.

When we first moved in I set about getting our cable/internet/phone hooked up. I called 1-800-COMCAST. Why did I call this number you ask? Because THAT is the number that is on their commercials. And on their website. And on the side of their trucks.

So I naturally assumed that this number was the number I would need to call to, I don't know, speak to someone from Comcast. But you know what assuming does. It makes you want to rip out your fingernails with your husband's pliers.

I was to soon discover that no one at Comcast actually wants to help you. Especially if you live in Tennessee. Because according to the lady that answers the phones at 1-800-Comcast, there was nothing in her system that told her how to get my cable hooked up. She could connect me to any other state. But not Tennessee. Turns out, I had to call some number from the apartment center and never actually spoke to anyone but the guy who spent half the time hooking up my cable taking cover in the bathroom with me. And I'm betting he doesn't want to hear from me ever again. Ever.

When I called the first time about needing them to change my name to Kayla TERRELL instead of Kayla Carroll I called 1-800-Comcast and spent an hour on the phone repeating all sorts of secret words to people who assured me they changed my name and NEVER DID.

So when I got my second bill from Comcast addressed to Kayla Carroll with three charges for phone service on it (two from the last two bills that I didn't pay since I don't OWE them for extra phone services), I looked it over to see what number I should call to have it fixed. Because obviously, the 1-800-COMCAST number has issues.  And luckily for me, right at the top of my bill was a handy little box labeled "How To Reach Us." It was really helpful.

What in the heckfire is THAT about Comcast? Seriously? You left the "How To Reach Us" box blank? Are you trying to drive me to drink?

So I resign myself to calling 1-800-Comcast and I'm met with an automated system that doesn't give me any choices that even remotely relate to my problem. I throw the phone at the wall, and then calmly pick it up and hit 0 seven thousand four hundred and sixty six times, which transfers me to customer service. Or customer lack of service, as I like to call it. When I'm not calling it pseudo curse words, that is.

The first chipper customer service guy enthusiastically asks me to tell him my problem. About seven hours later, I tell another customer service guy that my problem is that his company is making me want to beat myself in the head with a brick. But it's early and I haven't started on the merlot yet, so I naively assume that this person can help me and I tell him my problem. Then he asks for my phone number. I read it off to him  (don't act like you people don't know that I never memorize my own phone number). Then he asks for my name. Things get a little tricky here, so I'll skip that part of the conversation. After ten minutes of thinking I'm getting somewhere, he says "Oh. I'm not authorized to access your account. Let me transfer you to someone who is."

The next guy gets on the phone. Surely this person can help me. After all, the guy transferred me to someone who can access my account. We have a little conversation. See paragraph above. Repeat.

"Oh. I'm not authorized to access your account, he says, let me transfer you to someone who is."

Are you freaking kidding me? If we were not on a terrace level, I'd be jumping off my balcony right now.

While I listened to the elevator music on hold, I thought about all the other more important things I could be doing with this time, things like checking the expiration dates on all of our bags of chips, or watching water boil.

This time when the customer service person gets on the phone she barely says hello before I cut her off.

"Hi.First of all, I'm a really nice person. I help elderly people cross the street. When it's raining. And I'm having a good hair day. But before you say another word, I need to know whether or not you are authorized to access my account. Because if you are even thinking about telling me that you are not, I will flip. out."

"Oh no Mrs. Carroll, I assure you I'm aware of your problems and authorized to fix them" she says.

"And so then you are aware that I am indeed, not Mrs. Carroll and one of my problems is that I need you to fix that?" I ask

"Oh, well, actually, I'm not authorized to change your name" she says.

On the bright side, at least I know when the telemarketers are calling.

Tennessee: CON

Tornadoes.

We are safe and blessed, thank you for all your emails :)

I did sleep in the bathtub for a decent portion of the night. I had taken a sleeping pill so I was alternating between total hysteria and narcolepsy during the storms. Jeff video taped this as blackmail. We were going to put the video on the blog but said tornadoes jacked up all out internets so I haven't been able to blog at all.

I have a great little feature planned for tomorrow all about my favorite part of the day today. I like to call it "That part of my day when Comcast made me want to gouge my eyes out with a fork."

In case you would like to experience this euphoria for yourself, I recommend calling 1-800-Comcast between the hours of am and pm with a question about why they charged you three times for phone service on your bill. It is also really helpful if, when you set up your account they misheard you and put your account under the name of Kayla Carol and never changed it despite your repeated phone calls and their repeated assurance that they had indeed changed it even though YOU CAN READ and also YOU KNOW YOUR OWN FREAKIN NAME. And you know, the name that shows up on other people's caller ID, and also on your bill?  THAT NAME IS NOT YOURS.

Which is especially useful when you try to call about your billing problem (pardon me- THEIR billing problem) because apparently the person you say you are doesn't match the name they have in the system. And don't even begin to think that the fact that you have had the same name for 24 years and are fairly confident that it is, indeed, your name will convince them that they are at fault in any way.

But more on "KA's Adventures In Comcast Land: It's Not Really Comcastic"  tomorrow. Complete with pictures.

Love,
Kayla Carol

Tennessee: Pros and Cons

Pro: We have two bathrooms in the new apartment
Con: One of them contains this shower curtain

Pro: The newspaper is 50 cents cheaper than at home and has more coupons
Con: The comics are all different and that irritates my OCD resistance to change

Pro: I found out how to get to Target
Con: I still can't figure out how to get anywhere else
Worse Con: That has nothing to do with living in Tennessee and everything to do with me being freakin horrible at directions.
Even Worse Con: I take that back. Half of that is due to the fact that all the roads here have 492 different names, and most of them are numbers.

Pro: It snows here!
Con: Turns out, I can not drive in the snow. Neither can anyone else apparently.

Pro: People are really, really, extra super friendly
Con: It sorta freaked me out when the cashier asked Jeanette what neighborhood she lived in and Jeanette TOLD her

Pro: All the news announcers sound really cute with their southern drawls
Con: Jeff says my accent is flaring up since we moved here. Must remedy this.

Pro: The air here smells so fresh and not at all smoggy
Con: Sometimes the air smells like the llama farm

Forget 3pm

Remember how I was all like "I'm going to post all about life in TN blah blah yadda yadda?"

Well I was.

Before.

Before Jeff started throwing up at 4am and didn't stop until 11am.

Before I didn't get any sleep.

Before I started wondering if it would be appropriate to start hitting the blackberry merlot at noon.