I don’t know who, for sure, but somebody loves me enough to send me a random box, tied up with very nice dark-green ribbon…
… with lots of nifty stuff inside!
Let’s see: Honey sticks, six flavors of herbal tea, cookies, a pair of glasses, and a note! Awwwwwww!
(Note: Pictures were taken with my Treo 600 instead of my Canon, ‘cause I didn’t bring my bag to work. Oops. Sorry.)
I’ve called the USPS twice, each of the two mornings this work week. I’ve been assured that my problem “is being worked on” and I should expect a call back some time today. If I don’t hear from them, I get to call again tomorrow and really start pushing.
I need this resolved, ASAP, dammit.
Oh, yeah, and WaMu, in their efforts to be helpful and cancel my returned card for the sake of security, turned off my existing card as well. So I’m cardless, several days earlier than anticipated. Argh.
Let me lead off this entry by saying that I love Washington Mutual. I can send them a message via their website on a Saturday and get a reply that same day… and a reply to my reply on a Sunday. Nevermind the mess of a situation I’m in, that’s the kind of customer service I like.
That said, I’m screwed. Turns out that for the last month or so, mail sent to my home has been getting returned as if I don’t live there. First the property managers say that I don’t live there, now this? Is someone trying to tell me something? Considering that WaMu sent my replacement card back in May, that tells you how long this problem has been going on. Mind you, due to my general lack of paying attention lately (see previous entry), I didn’t even realize this until yesterday. So in the end, I’m the dumbass. (Like that surprises anybody, right?)
The bank says, “update your address and we’ll mail you out a new card.” Great, except that the address on file is my address. Do I need to move just to get a new card? The postal service, of course, isn’t exactly a font of information on the best of days, let alone a weekend, so I have no idea what’s really going on at their end. Did someone put in an address change of some sort, or is our mail carrier just utterly confused? How much mail have I missed? What sort of important things (besides my replacement card) have bounced back to sender? Last but certainly not least, what the hell can I do about it?
Go back to using checks for everything? Oh, but wait, those all have my old address on them, too… maybe I should have the bank mail me new ones. Heh.
Let’s see… how many things have I lost track of lately?
I’m sure there’s more, but I don’t want to get depressed about it just before going to visit my rugrats. Le sigh.
The alarm went off as it should. I, however, utterly failed to rise or shine this morning. Instead, my body’s decided that the onset of stiflingly hot temperatures in my room is a good excuse to turn my insides, er, inside out, for lack of a more delicate way to put it.
Luckily my bathroom is a mere few steps away from my bed. Whee.
Hopefully I’ll be back to something resembling normal, albeit a weakly normal, tomorrow…
(In case you’re thinking, “But it hasn’t really been that hot yet,” my room has a magical talent for trapping and amplifying heat, and it’s non-trivial to generate a decent airflow through it. I may have to break down and buy an air conditioner after all. I remember what last summer was like only too well.)
With Alex away at the coast, I decided that today would be a Father/Daughter outing. When presented with a set of options, Erica immediately decided that the zoo was the place to be. And so, off we went.
First, of course, we had to stop for food. I took her to the Pizza Schmizza that’s near one of the bus stops downtown (the service was markedly improved over that of when Dawn and I went, last weekend). Then we hit the MAX up to Washington Square Park Zoo, where we arrived just in time to see the one of the performances of “Discover Birds” on its inaugural date of the summer. Hawks, scavengers, owls, ducks and an eagle all graced the auditorium. (The Harris’ Hawk graced someone’s shirt before leaving one of the platforms, though. And this is why you don’t sit right next to those things.) We also made a point of seeing the goats, bears, penguins, meerkats, giraffe and butterflies.
Afterward Erica decided that the best thing to do next would be… to come home and play some games with her Dad. Aww! That’s my girl. I decided to introduce her to Empire Earth, since we’ve always had fun playing the various “Age Of” games over the years. Several hours later… we emerged victorious over our enemies. For what it’s worth, she outfought and outproduced me, though I did better at epoch advancements and research. It was her second wonder that triggered the win timer, not a minute too soon as it turns out we’d been at it much longer than I thought we would be. Whoops.
When I finally got her home (thanks in large part to a lift offered by the roomie), I received my Father’s Day present: A t-shirt that reads, “Bank of Dad” and done up like an ATM. “Enter excuse or sob story, then press —->” and the buttons are marked Clothes, Road Trip, Tuition, Bail, Pizza and Concert. The “Deposits” slot is cobwebbed over, and the cash dispenser slot is labeled “Take Money And Run.”
I said, “Heck, you should’ve given me the shirt before we left…”
(I was just joking, mind you. Erica was a complete sweetheart the entire time, not once begging me for money. She’s the best daughter an underqualified dad like me could want, I tell ya.)
