icewolf: (shoot 'em politely)
Dear Smug Self-Centered-Actor-Turned-Director,

No, you ASS, "outlining responsibilities" and "giving an overview" are NOT the same fucking thing. One would have given me FUCKING DETAILS about what you wanted, while what you DID was give me generalities such ask, "Make sure I stay on task," and "You know, just keep things running smoothly." That would have, you know, given me an idea of what you needed, and you could have been spared the effort of composing the incredibly condescending email you were spineless enough to send me rather than, you know, TALKING to me. 'Cause that must have been a killer while you were sitting in your office with the free time to work on theater stuff on your employer's dime. A shame my THREE YEAR OLD doesn't give me the same freedom, and thus the rehearsal reports sometimes come out at odd intervals.

Killing you with my brain,
icewolf: snowy wolf (not at all insane)
Not a single student in my 110 class (current events-flavored composition II) did their reading for today.

Every single person bombed the quiz.

One student said she didn't have time to keep track of current events. (I told her that she was going to have issues in this class, because of, you know, the purpose of the course.)

While trying to steer the conversation towards the essay (which none of them read, but I was trying to salvage my original lesson plan) linking Britney Spears et al to the early sexualization of pre-adolescent girls, the students kept hijacking the discussion to the latest celebrity gossip.  And would interrupt me to do so. ("Are you all kidding me? Or is there a barn around here I don't know about?")

Because everyone was woefully unprepared, I couldn't execute the really nifty lesson plan/class discussion I had planned, and, to be honest, I was seriously peeved by all of the above, the homework got pretty piled on. In response to this, one student was actually dumb enough to exclaim, "But I have classes!" My response: "Of. Which. This. Is. One."

The good news is that Emma Thompson is, indeed, awesome, and not just as an actress and writer, but as a feminist and activist as well:

The English actress Emma Thompson has stepped in to protest about an up-and-coming British actress...being required by an American film company to lose weight for her next role.

"Many people frankly don't give a toss about young girls being raped," Thompson, a dedicated anti-trafficking activist, said. "And in some parts of the world, rape is just a fact of life."

Many thanks to [personal profile] commodorified for the original heads-up and links.
icewolf: snowy wolf (i told you so)
I'm sitting here, blinking. Wow did the VW dealership just make a mother of a mistake.

The good news is, it's not just me. Russel Volkswagen apparently screws with people of any and all genders.

[personal profile] torberg had set up the appointment for today, which included replacing struts, replacing an air filter, and doing a fuel line cleaning. When I got there today, I asked them to replace the windshield wipers as well.

When I went to pick up the car, the bill was nearly two hundred dollars more than we had been expecting. But I paid it and just got the heck out of Dodge.

Got home, presented bill to husband, who promptly said "What the f***?!" Examined bill. They added an air filter cleaning procedure of some sort that was, with tax, responsible for raising our bill roughly $186.

But that isn't even the best part!

Attached to the breakdown was a photocopied letter signed by the Barbie (turns out she's the assistant service manager, mea culpa), which basically states that, if you can't give all tens on the customer survey, please don't fill it out at all and just call us and we'll make it all right.

Wow. Talk about your ovaries of steel.

We're skipping the service manager and heading straight for the regional manager and corporate. This is going to be fun.

Edit: Oh, wow. I just checked out their BBB cred. Yikes.

Edit the second: Okay, I've been corrected. [personal profile] torberg hadn't indicated that he wanted anything done regarding any air filters. But he had wanted the tires rotated. Which they didn't do. Oy.
icewolf: snowy wolf (Giles's cure tomorrow)
I hate having to ask my husband to call the car dealership service department about our car because if I raise one question or make one demand, I'm treated like an unreasonable bitch.

Their service department manager is a twenty-something nitwit who has absolutely no clue regarding customer service, let alone how to handle upset customers. Newsflash: I'm not usually coming in for the pleasure of your company, blondie. I'm generally here because my car broke and my life is on hold until you fix it. Oh, and by the way, I'm not sure how much it will cost, or if I'll be able to pay for it. The situation's kind of high stress, don'cha know. Her complete lack of empathy leads me to believe that she's never had a car stall out or break down under her.

Additionally, she can not seem to wrap her brain around the concept of a hyphenated name. I always have to wrangle with her when I bring the car in.

"What's your name?"


"Huh?" (This is always her response, however clearly I have striven to pronounce every syllable.)

"B*****-T********."  Then I spell the beastie out, making sure to say "Z as in zebra" and "E as in echo" where appropriate.

[Much blinking and brow wrinkling, conveying that WOW my name is HARD, and why couldn't I just have one name like everybody else?] "Uhhh, okay. "

*taps at computer*

"Ummm, I'm not finding it."

"Check under T*********."

"How do you spell that again?"

I spell it, mentally counting to ten.

"What was the first one again?"

I spell that one, counting to ten in German.

"Errr, still not finding it. What's your phone number?"

Around this time, steam starts coming out my ears, because the computer has absolutely no problems printing my bills with the correct, hyphenated name.

Thankfully, the work we're having done today was pre-scheduled (our struts have needed to be replaced for quite some time), but when I walked in at 7:30 this morning, I didn't even get acknowledged. She was the only one in the office, and even though she was with a customer, I still should have gotten, "Hi, hang on, I'll be with you in a minute." In the past I've been treated as though I were deranged because I questioned the fact that the thermometer in our car spontaneously failed twice, and for asking if the replacement were still under warranty. (It wasn't, due to mileage, which I accepted straight off, but she acted as though even the thought was incredibly presumptuous.)

It wasn't always like this.  The service department used to be headed by an absolute stitch of a woman who always gave you her complete attention and who actively sympathized with plights such as, oh, stalling out on Russell St. at the I-95 on-ramp. Then there was some sort of inter-departmental coup, and a bunch of people I liked were suddenly gone, and their thoughtful, funny, empathetic places were taken by these plastic Barbies.

Before anybody suggests it, yes, I'm going to seriously explore going to a different dealership to have work done. But not before I collect my thoughts and write a letter to the General Manager.
icewolf: snowy wolf (you guys are idiots)
Associated Press: "Crews Search for Autistic Hiker"

MSNBC: "Autistic Hiker Lost in W. Va."

Fox News: "Searchers Hope Candy Will Lure Severely Autistic Hiker Out of West Virginia Wilderness"

Like it's that easy. Like autism isn't a deeply complex condition. Like the kid's a dog and they're shaking a box of milk bones. Gah.
icewolf: snowy wolf (and the funny just keeps on coming)
Specifically, I hate shopping for evening wear.

I'm trying to find a dress to wear to my brother's wedding next week. Recalling my near-disastrous experience last March, I looked up a few gowns on Nordstrom's website and then called the closest store (Towson) to see if they had any of them in stock.

Nope. Not a one. At least, not in my size. When transferred to the "Encore" (AKA larger women's evening wear) department, I was told they had a couple of cocktail dresses and one "youthful" evening gown in a beigey taupe. With spaghetti straps.

Why? WHY? WHY?!! What is it about younger women over size 14 that these department stores cringe from? Why do they not want us in their stores? Are we so hideous? Are we such an embarassment? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!

I suppose, if I'd started working on this four to six months ago, I could have been buying dresses online, trying them on when they arrived, and then exchanging them for another dress if they didn't fit or look right. But who has the money or the time for such an expensive and time-consuming endeavor?! It's like we should either drop the weight (which is loads of fun to tell people who need sizes 14-18 on the basis of height alone) or wear a bedsheet and be glad of it until we do the decent thing and diet down to a size 8 or cut our feet off at the ankles.

One of these days I'm going to corner a department store executive, and I can't be responsible for what happens. It will probably involve the eleven o'clock news, though.
icewolf: snowy wolf (fallen on your head?)
It's been a pretty good day (see previous entry re: job offer out of the blue). But there's something bugging me.

The commercials for the HPV vaccine.

"I didn't know that a virus could cause cervical cancer."


Sorry, sorry, I know, I know, these are actors. These are not real people. But I'm disturbed by the idea that an advertising company did research and found out that most women ARE this ignorant about their own health.


icewolf: snowy wolf (Default)

August 2011

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