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the latest waddle:

good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03

elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01

building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19

ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09

my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04

2001-09-07 ... 8:36 a.m.

Ooohh, I have the anger. I'm sure you remember the entire debacle about my wallet being stolen and then the idiots at the car dealership and all that. Every time I tell this story at least one person starts gibbering about identity theft and the black helicopters and the FBI reading your e-mails etc, it seems everyone has a horror story to tell, and I'm not trying to make light of the identity theft issue (obviously not, since I'm preparing to whine out my own story right here in these pages) but it does seem like a bit of an overreaction. However, just to make sure, I sent away for my credit report, and it arrived yesterday.

The good news is that The Thieving Ho has not, apparently, taken out any credit cards in my name. I think even she realizes that the free ride is over. The bad news is that, since the stupid car dealership apparently called up to get "my" credit score (but did not make the phone call to the bank to verify the PHONY CHECK), all sorts of erroneous information is now on my credit report. Such as, that I am also known under a different version of my last name, that I used to live at 302 W 112th Place, and that I am employed by "Leo Bennett." (Do you think she meant Leo Burnett? So she's not only a Thieving Ho, but also a Stupid Ho.)

What this means, of course, is that I get to spend more time on hold straightening out this crap cascade. Do you think that 302 W 112th Place is the Thieving Ho's real address? I doubt it. However, if you really loved me, you would drive down there and kick some ass anyway. (Note: I did not just tell you to beat up a stranger. Nope, not me.)

On to happier topics: Yesterday I was discussing Iowa and the Midwest landscape in general with H. I love talking to H, but the telephone device and e-mail are too clunky and cumbersome for our electron-quick thought processes, and I wish that microchip-in-the-head technology would just get perfected already, so we could schedule some sort of mind-meld teleconference. Either that or we could have wrist communicators like a 1960s spy movie. Anyway, after we discoursed on the Midwest, I remembered seeing not one, but two full-service gas stations whilst (whilst!) in Iowa. I think that may be a region-specific thing. Since when have you not pumped your own gas? I myself pump no gas at all, since I don't drive anymore, but I remember doing so in high school, and in my head this is what one does: pull in, turn off car, get out, pump gas. When we lived in Bahrain, all that changed. The Middle East is a full-service region. There are boys employed to walk your grocery cart to the car and put the groceries in the trunk for you: that's the level of the "I shall not lift a finger" attitude we're talking about here. Much hilarity ensued, then, when I pulled into the gas station, turned off the car, and flung open the car door straight into the crotch of the gas station guy who was hurrying around to pump the gas for me. He was thoroughly confused: "Madam, where are you going?" Lesson learned regarding gas stations in Gulf nations (sing it!): sit in car. Be served.

Hey, this may not be the best web page in the world, but it's just about the only one wherein you will find parallels drawn between Bahrain and Iowa.

----mimi smartypants, girl wonder(ing)


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