Bullshit + Sugar = Not candy

Don't sprinkle sugar on bullshit and call it candy.

Before I explain the title and above comment I would like to say one thing: Technology is an amazing tool; more specifically, the Internet is a great communication tool. The Internet has reduced the amount of 'junk mail' I receive...because now they can email this crap to my inbox! And yet, the daily barrage of junk email is preferable to the paper storm of junk mail in my snail mail box. *DELETE*

ALL THAT SAID - Debt collectors have also figured this out and now EMAIL you when they are trying to find you. Or someone they 'think' is related to you.

So here's the point.

I received an email two days ago from Bank of America. It was a notice informing me (i.e. a former relative...I'll explain in a minute) that they urgently need to contact (former relative) of a problem with their mortgage payment. Or lack thereof. I read the email thoroughly and realized two things....

A. Richard White is no longer a relative - he is my ex-husband's cousin.
B. How the HELL did they get my contact information in relation to a mortgage?

Suffice to say I was a little annoyed. Initially was happy that they were not harassing me with persistent phone calls. However, I have been harassed by a someone calling me regularly and never saying anything when I answer. So potentially they have been. But I digress. They still have my personal, private, family/friends ONLY email address and they are asking to be contacted. So I contact them.

Bank of America is notorious for being harassing and using unethical business practices when collecting debts. With that said I spent the next 45 minutes trying to get through to the department listed in the email - I used the contact information they had in the email and was unable to get through because I don't ahve an account number. Ok. Fine. You want to play hardball....I can play hard ball because now you have pissed me off.

I spend another 35 minutes getting through to Bank of America customer service. And they inform me that the agency that sent me the email was their debt collecting agency and the individual they are looking for has defaulted on their mortgage. Awesome. Just fucking awesome. They inform me that they are very sorry for any inconvenience; they will do all they can to help me remove my information from this account; however they don't have direct access to this companies accounts; if I do mention that I DID know Richard at some point...they will keep harassing me; Yadda, Yadda, Yadda.

Don't sprinkle sugar on crap and all it candy.

How in the HELL did this company get my PRIVATE information? I meet Richard ONCE five years ago. How is my name connected in ANY WAY to this guy??? To say I'm pissed is an understatement.

And so it begins. I'm back in the states 2 minutes and I already have a debt collector calling me, a strange number calling me, and someone calling my phone every day looking for a 'Danny'.

Welcome Home.

Moving & Movers.

Moving is inevitable. Or is it. I suppose one could argue that you don't HAVE to move. Being content in one place your whole life is not only possible but practical & common for many people. But not everyone lives a lifestyle that isn't mobile at one time or another. Life happens. College, marriage, jobs, the military. Just a few possibilities. And when those changes occur and you have to move all you own to a different town, state or even country; you call a mover. And the real fun begins.

This ain't my first rodeo, princess.

I have moved multiple times - two dozen times at least - I have moved from house to house down the street; from town to city and back again; from state to state and from country to country....and everything in between. Big moves, small moves, international moves, combined moves, self moves. Moving myself and my family; moving friends; with friends; from apartments, to houses, to military housing, to European living. And yet, there is one common thread that ties all of this moving frenzy together.....Movers.

God bless 'em. Movers don't seem to change much town to town or even country to country. They seem to be pretty universal as is the moving experience.

Every move seems to begin at o'dark thirty and end well after the working day should be over. Armed with endless amounts of brown shiny boxing tape, pliable brown cardboard and grey packing paper; they arrive far too early in the morning or at least promise they will. Once they finally arrive, a constant flurry of packing, tape ripping and box-slinging fills the day. Of course there is always a regular schedule of breaks and water drinking to break up the monotony; not to mention the smoke breaks and friendly banter. Overall, movers are a special breed of hard-working guys that generally take pride in the speed and accuracy of their packing, loading or unloading of a shipment.

With this being said.....This most recent move was pretty standard; with a few exceptions. Of course. It's me.

The German movers were, of course, very efficient. I have never seen movers pack and load as quickly as these guys. In just eight hours, three movers had packed out 178 boxes and loaded all of them into five shipping crates, as well as cleaned up all the packing material carnage, taken an hour lunch break and dismantled and packed a dozen pieces of large furniture. But it appears this comes at a price.

All none of the boxes were itemized; I have absolutely no idea where anything is, no idea what is in any of the damn boxes. At least ten boxes have no stickers or markings so they are mystery boxes. My bed is in pieces because the movers in Germany broke a central piece and their American counterparts put it togehter incorrectly. Awesome. I have unpacked eight boxes thus far, and I have already found half a set of crystal glasses shattered and a broken lid to a cooking pot.

Le. Sigh.

I hate moving. Because in the end no cares about my things as much as I do; because of this no one takes as much care as I would when packing them.

*crinkle, crinkle*

So we meet again...

So we meet again: Cold Season. I am armed with the best that modern science can offer. Can you hear the sarcasm? No. Well let me enlighten you.

The common cold has been around since time and memorial, plaguing everyone from early man -(Here's a thought on what did Early man blow his nose? Eww. Just a thought.)- to 21st century, techie-obsessed dude. It has tormented everyone human at one time or another. It has been the subject of countless studies; consumed hundreds of scientific hours of silent contemplation; been the center of thousands of experiments that resulted in hundreds of potions, concoctions, medicines and anti-viral,lotion-laden tissues.

And for what?

NyQuil.

Our modern day medical scientific community; the same brain-trust that brought us open-heart surgery, transplants, genome mapping, gene therapy and HIV suppression; and yet, NyQuil is the best they can come up with to combat the common cold?

Cherry-flavored alcohol mixed with a dangerous combination of aspirin, decongestant and cough suppressant is the best they could do. And even can't be credited to the medical community;it is the brainchild of a money-grabbing, unethical pharmaceutical company.

So here it is folks; my Latina cure for the Common Cold -

One large bottle of Orange Juice
One industrial size bottle of NyQuil
One box of TheraFlu or any powder-like, heated drink mix
A box of lotion-laden Kleenex
One bag of Halls Throat candies
One box of Peppermint tea
Oatmeal body wash ( It just makes me feel better )
Homemade sopa de Fideo. Lots of.

Add a large helping of Sleep, hugs and movies.

Mix all the above together in desired quantities.

Take as often as needed.


Remember...better living through self-medication.