October 18th, 2007


Now do I get to scream?

So, yesterday, after two weeks of telephone menu hell, I toss the beagle in the car and drive over to the animal shelter to find out why they won't send me the license for the beagle. "Oh," she says. "I wonder why you couldn't get through?" SO do I, lady. She gets my file. "Oh," she says. "You paid for a three year license. You can only get a two-year license. Here's your check; if you give me a check for the two-year license, we can take care of it right here." So she gets the check, I get Bogar's tag.

Unanswered questions:
Why didn't anyone ever pick up the flaming phone?
Why couldn't they have just cut a check for $12 and mailed it back to me with the tag?
How the hell did Bogar manage to open his collar so he could trash the inside of the car again?
How do I make my voice do this?

So. Today, I finally got through to the contractor foreman. "Oh", he says. "Because of all the rain, we haven't done any work this week for anyone. We don't want to have the roof open if it rains." I say, "I would have liked to know that that was what was happening." "Hello?" , he says. "Are you still there?" Right.

"So", he says. "We'll be there first thing Saturday morning, with a carpenter and everything we need, and we'll get it done this weekend." Saturday. This weekend. Remember how I had planned to relax a little, clean the house, etc. this weekend? Well, me bucko, you can flush that one down the crapper too. The only good thing is that Bogar will definitely not be here to go apesh*t all over the place.

I swear, if it weren't for Plan B, nothing would ever happen around here.
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    jingling beagle tags