All subsequent rants listed in no particular order of importance…

Rage 1: Para Inglés, pulse uno…I think it is time to turn the tables. I think all the help lines in all the foreign countries outside the boundaries of the US should start with an ENGLISH-speaking voice and be given English as a first choice. There is truly nothing more irritating than calling something as “apple pie” as Sears and having my ears raped by some over-spillage of Manglish bullshit in a “choice” of languages. Hell, the canned speech takes a couple of minutes of my time. Some of it can be bypassed by pushing an appropriate button on the phone, but WTF? What if I didn’t know what “ocho” meant? Who was the idiot in California (go figure, Land of The Idiots) who thought English should not be the accepted first language of the US? May he/she/them live out his/her/their eternity(ies) in the Tower of Babel of his/her/their own creation.

Rage 2: Now you see me, now you don’t. Apparently a dead-on search isn’t required to find poor li’l ol’ me on the WWW. HOWEVER, lest one question whether he has happened upon the right Ms. M, rest assured…there are many with my name, even one with my exact name living in the same town, but there is only ONE ME. The mold was broken shortly after the creation (much to the merriment of many exes). I have to wonder at the morbid curiosity, especially since, though I like my privacy, I am not given to filtering much of anything between my head and my mouth. Ask and ye shall receive, but don’t blame me if the answers are not what you thought they might be. Got questions? I got answers.

Rage 3: It’s the Winter Solstice and boy does it ever suck — even for a hot-blooded wench like me. Good thing for me I am toasty and warm in the confines of my boudoir. If I had a coffee pot, fridge, and stove in this room, I might never leave. I have all the technology, all the AA batteries, and all other creature comforts a wily wench might need to stave off the winter chill. I broke my scraper cleaning off my car. Do you think God was trying to tell me not to bother? (Note to self: Let the car run until the stuff melts on its own — at least until the gas prices climb — which we all know will happen sooner rather than later.)

Rage 4: Why CAN’T I pay for my Visa with my Master Card? That’s really dumb.

Rage 5: My treadmill has too many screws. I had never been one to complain about too many screws in my previous lives, but this is ridiculous. If I misplace one, will I be airborne? I’ll keep you posted.

Rage 6: Japanese subtitles and movies employing same. I was up very late (early?) this morning indulging in things I will not disclose on this pathetic blog. I woke up to some Japanese man screeching “Mother” in his native tongue and fighting the ghost of said mother who had come back to avenge having been killed by having her arm lopped off by a Samurai soldier. Some folks must have too much time on their hands.

Rage 7: Street Department in Chesterton (a sister organization in cahoots with the sewer department). Thank you so much.