Another day

Do you love the new look? Because I LOVE the new look.

And if you’re reading this in your feedreader then you need to make the    extra effort to click over here and see the new design. (You don’t really have to. I don’t want to be pushy.) Of course if you always read from your feedreader then you may not even know what the old design looked like. But pretend you’re excited anyway.

I have known for a long time, deep in my heart, that I was ready for a new design for the blog, but didn’t know exactly what I wanted. I had some vague ideas, but no real concrete plan. Which is basically how I go through life.

Sometime around mid-December, I emailed Cathy at Desperately Seeking WordPress and asked if she’d be interested in helping me work on a new blog design. What I failed to mention were all my obsessive tendencies and complete inability to use helpful adjectives in describing what I wanted it to look like.

So, bless her heart, she said she’d love to help me and put me on her design calendar for mid-January.

You don’t even want to know how many emails we’ve exchanged since then, but I have a feeling that Cathy feels significantly older than she did when she started this process because these are some real live excerpts from my emails to her:

“I found this painting that I love. Can we make it look like this, but without the British flag?”

(It looks nothing like the painting in question. And that’s a good thing.)

“I think I want the letters to be a peacock blue, but not too bright. Like maybe a soft peacock blue?”

(Soft peacock blue? I hope she rolled her eyes when she read that.)

What’s the thing that shows up in your browser bar? You know? That thing that looks like something?

(The answer is a favicon. I’m going to have one.)

“I don’t know. I can’t decide. Will you decide for me? I have issues about making decisions.”

(Yes, will you please code and design everything and make all my decisions?)

Ultimately, Cathy used a graphic that I sent her way back in December and we worked together on all the other aspects until it was something that we both loved. She was so great about making suggestions that I wouldn’t have thought about or even known that I should think about, but added so much to the final design and feel. I wanted something that was simple and clean, but still pretty. I wanted something that felt like me. And this is it.

Seriously, I can’t thank Cathy enough for her endless patience and design sensibilities. She is a peach.

(However, peach wasn’t a color I wanted on my blog. Just some soft peacock blue.)

In other news, we received our new receiver from Dish Network yesterday and I had to spend an hour of my life that I’ll never get back trying to program the new receiver with our remote control. Then, to add insult to technological injury, I still had to call Dish Network customer service so they could verify our new receiver and help me figure out why the T.V. in our bedroom wasn’t working.

Honestly, they don’t make a bottle of Valium large enough to help me through that kind of situation. At one point the girl asked, “Can you find your RS0009 code?” and I said, “Is that even a real thing or are you just messing with me? And, while you have me on the phone, can I help you with any free tax advice?”

Fortunately we got it all working because I would have had to crack some skulls, or at least talked to someone in a not very nice voice, if the DVR wasn’t up and running in time for a T.V. lineup that I like to refer to as Majestic Monday.

And. lastly, look who still has all their teeth.

Her loose tooth is bothering her so much that she couldn’t even eat her broccoli last night. Although, miraculously, she managed to eat all the Doritos I sent in her lunch.

Note to self: Call and schedule a haircut appointment for your child.

Some day when I look back on the end of 2009 and the beginning of 2010, I will remember it as that time when technology tried to kill me. I feel like every week there is a new technological glitch in my life that really makes me long for a simpler time when all a girl needed was a new slate board and a piece of chalk.

Over the weekend I noticed our T.V. was acting a little funny. Actually, it wasn’t the T.V. but rather our Dish Network service. All of a sudden the screen would freeze in the middle of a show or the DVR would stop in the middle of a recorded program like it was over even when it wasn’t. I didn’t know what was going on so I resorted to my time-honored solution for all technical problems and unplugged the receiver and plugged it back in again.

And it totally worked.

Until it didn’t.

It seems that the old unplugging maneuver only works so many times before the Dish receiver starts making sounds like it’s going to explode and all you can think about are the episodes of Chuck and 24 you have recorded and OH THE HORROR if you lose them.

Yesterday afternoon things reached a crisis point and I realized I could no longer avoid making a call to Dish Network’s customer service. I believe I’ve mentioned there is nothing I dread more than dealing with any sort of technical customer service. I rank it up there with being punched in the stomach or realizing that stores are actually selling acid-washed jeans again.

I’m looking at you, Forever 21.

But I am a fan of the television. So I picked up the phone, dialed the Customer Service number, looked at the T.V. and whispered, “This is for you, baby. It’s all for you.”

Naturally I had to push 1 to let them I know I wanted the call in English. And 2 to clarify that it was a service issue. When I finally got a real live person on the phone, I explained the situation and how I’d already unplugged it and plugged it back in several times. Because that’s their answer for everything which makes me feel like I may have missed my calling in tech support.

The guy asked if the T.V. was showing an error message. I explained it was earlier but was working now. That was the wrong thing to say because without the error code that holds the keys to the kingdom, he couldn’t help me. He suggested I call back the next time I received an error message.

So I did. FIVE MINUTES LATER.

I made note of error #224, picked up the phone and went through the five stages of grief while I waited to talk to a real live person. AGAIN. When I finally got someone on the phone, he asked me for my error code.

OH I’ll GIVE YOU MY ERROR CODE. IT’S 224.

He told me that I needed to unplug the receiver, wait thirty seconds and then plug it back in. Seriously, are people getting paid to dole out this kind of advice? As if the whole “Pants on the Ground” phenomenon wasn’t enough to make me question where we fall intellectually as a society, the Dish Network customer service sealed it for me.

I politely explained that I’d already done that oh, I DON’T KNOW, 500 times in the last five days, but I did it again because I was trying to be a compliant customer. So I unplugged the receiver and said, “Okay, I just unplugged it.”

He replied, “Okay. Let’s wait thirty seconds and then plug it back in.”

“Alright”

Awkward silence.

Then, out of the blue, he says, “While we’re waiting, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” (Thinking we were heading towards a complicated series of technical questions.)

“When is it too late to file your taxes for the year? Is it March 31st?”

Are you kidding me? I’ve called you because I need to watch 24 and find out how many times Jack Bauer yelled at Chloe last night and you want me to answer your tax questions?

I answered, “April 15th.”

“Oh really? Man, I didn’t know. I’ve had, like, a lot of different jobs this year and I had this one where I only made $15.00 and do you know if I need to count that on my tax forms? What if I don’t mail them in on time? Is there a penalty? Like, can I go to prison?”

At this point I seriously thought someone must have hijacked my phone line and was playing the most brilliant practical joke in the history of ever.

But it was no joke.

So I played the role of E.F. Hutton and explained all the ins and outs of the American tax system and how the IRS takes these things very seriously and how a person just needs to make sure they have all their necessary information mailed by midnight on April 15th.

And then he asked, “How do you know if your post office is open until midnight?”

I know you will find it as SHOCKING as I did that he wasn’t able to help me at all with my television issues, but hopefully he will be all square with Uncle Sam thanks to my tax tips and that’s really the most important thing. Nevermind that the United States wouldn’t even exist anymore if it weren’t for Jack Bauer and his ability to stop major terrorist attacks SEVEN different times in a twenty-four hour period.

I bet he could fix my DVR.

Last night P and I turned on the T.V. as if we were playing the lotto. COME ON, BIG MONEY. But no luck. We did the whole plug/unplug thing to no avail and ultimately accepted that 24 wasn’t going to happen for us. In fact, television wasn’t going to happen for us.

And I was so frustrated because I had attempted to be proactive and remedy the problem with the receiver before it turned into a full blown issue, yet was thwarted by one young man who needed an error code before he could do anything and another young man who could benefit from a tax seminar.

I picked up the phone and called Dish Network. Again.

This time I got a nice boy named Shaun (Shawn?) on the phone. I explained my DVR issues, the unplugging and the replugging, the freezing of live T.V. in the middle of a show and he said, “Let me verify your address and we’ll ship a new receiver to you tomorrow.”

Was that so hard?

I believe the answer is yes. Yes it was.

At some point over the weekend, Caroline developed a cough. She didn’t seem to necessarily feel bad and never had any fever, but it just sounded like the kind of vague childhood cough that could either turn out to be nothing or end with the two of us in a steamy bathroom in an attempt to help her breathe better while I mentally flog myself for not taking her to the doctor sooner.

By Sunday night I still couldn’t tell which way the cough was going to go, but she said she FELT FINE and, also, COULD I PLEASE STOP LOOKING AT HER WEIRD EVERY TIME SHE COUGHED. So I made the executive decision to give her cough medicine before bed and then just let her sleep until she woke up Monday morning and figure out what to do from there.

She woke up yesterday morning around 8:15 and immediately asked, “Is it late? Am I late for school?”

“Yes, baby. I decided to let you sleep in because I wanted to make sure you weren’t getting sick.”

“WELL I AM NOT HAPPY ABOUT THIS AT ALL. I WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yes, I feel fine and if I miss school then I won’t get my free ice cream.”

Because she hasn’t missed a day of school this year, she’s discovered that you get a certificate for free ice cream from McDonalds for each nine week period with perfect attendance. And, clearly, free ice cream trumps possible pneumonia.

Ultimately I agreed that she seemed to be fine and so I drove her to school where she was about an hour late, but the whole thing kind of threw my day off. I guess I expected to be home all day with a sick kid and I just never rebounded into doing anything productive. Or maybe I was just so stunned that a child who shares my DNA would be so eager to go to school as opposed to milking her ill health.

Anyway, the rest of the day flew by and all of a sudden I looked at the clock and realized it was time to go pick her up. I hurriedly threw on my shoes, grabbed my purse and made sure that I had my phone. There is nothing that makes me crazier than to realize I’ve left my cell phone at home. It’s like being instantly transported back to the paleolithic era known as the early 90’s when people weren’t completely accessible at all times and had social skills beyond sitting at a table with someone and texting the whole time.

I picked Caroline up and told her we could go to Sonic because I know how she loves the Mozzarella Sticks and I know how I love a Route 44 Diet Coke. So I ordered our food and then drove up to the window where I began to dig in my purse for my wallet.

And while I was looking, this is what I found.

Apparently I am no longer content with just making sure I have my cell phone, but feel the need to carry around my home phone as well.

Idiot.

Remember last week when I mentioned that I’d been suffering from a touch of the insomnia? At least I think it was last week. It’s hard to remember because all the days with insufficient REM sleep tend to run together.

Well, the very next day, my friend Annie wrote a post about a new app she’d downloaded to her iPhone called Sleep Cycle.

Before I go on with this train of thought I feel like I need to add that, thanks to Annie and her video on folding sheets, I have learned how to properly fold a fitted sheet for the first time in my life. I’ve been doing it the wrong way (assuming the wrong way is to roll them up in a ball and cram them into the linen closet) for thirty-eight years.

(Yes, I have been folding sheets since birth. My parents were hardcore about chores. I also had to fill my own bottles with formula and wash my cloth diapers.)

Anyway, I immediately downloaded the Sleep Cycle app after I read Annie’s post because:

1. I’m a sucker for any kind of app.

2. I felt like I needed Apple to confirm that, YES, I am not sleeping at night because all the concealer I use to cover the dark circles under my eyes isn’t confirmation enough.

The thing is that I’ve always been a night person. My perfect schedule would be to go to bed around 2:00 a.m. and sleep until around 10.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’d sleep until noon.

Unfortunately, polite society discriminates against the night owl all in the name of being “productive” and “not sleeping your life away” and “getting your child to school on time”, so I’m forced to conform to the rest of the world.

Anyway, the point is that I downloaded the Sleep Cycle app and, sure enough, the next morning I went to check the little chart that shows my sleep pattern (or lack thereof) and all it said was DANG, I FEEL BAD FOR YOU.

So the next morning I went to Walgreens and perused the sleep aid aisle. I know I can sleep if I take a Tylenol PM (otherwise known as just a Benadryl with a fancy name) but it makes me feel a little groggy and edgy the next morning, like I might throw the toaster oven through the kitchen window if only I could muster the energy.

I needed something a little more natural and side-effect free so I finally settled on a supplement that contains melatonin, some natural herbs, and a lock of Rip Van Winkle’s hair. Here’s hoping it works because last night I was watching Chuck (I’m sad for you if you haven’t seen it. Hilarious.) and there was a scene where Chuck has this super secret spy pen that had some sort of tranquilizer in it. I swear when he used it to knock out the bad guy, I was actually a little envious and wished I could get someone to knock me out with a tranquilizer so I could sleep for one or nine days.

Too bad there’s not an app for that.