MerrinDonahue.com

It’s 87 degrees and sunny outside. It’s Friday. Hmmmmm…..it sure seems like a great night for porch sitting, pizza, and cards!

Here’s the thing: We’re headed to the beach in about a month, and I have no kind of a tan. Granted, it’s a private beach, but still….vanity prevails. Even vanity, however, has its limits, since I wouldn’t be caught dead in a tanning salon (although I considered it briefly). Enter L’oreal Sublime Glow Moisturizer. This is the best stuff I have ever seen. After just 5 days, I am no longer fish-belly-Vanilla Ice-white. It looks like I’ve already been to the beach. Sweeeeeeeet! No streaks, I’m not orange or blotchy….just fake tan! Seriously….you gotta try this.

Why is it that when you’re running around in a total rush that the s**t hits the fan? I was in a frantic race to get home, get the dry cleaning hung up, let the dogs out, and maybe squeeze in a sandwich before a 3:00 conference call. I let the dogs out, and when I went to hang up the dry cleaning, the bar in the closet collapsed. I now have a closet floor full of once neatly hung clothes, and no time for a sandwich before my call. Crap.

File under “Only in Texas”. The next time you’re hanging out at the bar, remember: don’t drink! You, too, could be arrested.

Gmail is seriously pissing me off. Yesterday, I kept getting a server error. Today, all of my mail seems like it’s running 10 hours behind. This sucks.

Happy Vernal Equinox! I even stood an egg on end just to celebrate (yeah, I’ve got too much time on my hands). What can I say? Things are looking pretty bright here in Donahueland.

There are some big changes in the wind at the Donahue house. I’ve struggled with the decision to blog openly about it, but Kevin and I both think that it is best kept under wraps, However, I am exploring the possibility of creating a separate password-protected or anonymous blog so friends and family can keep up with our situation. Meanwhile, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning, and it’s killing me not to be able to talk about it 24/7. If you wanna know more, email me.

I should have taken my own advice, I know better. But did I listen to my inner voice? Nooooo. I went ahead and plugged in the little gem of a game into my PSP. See, Kevin brought home the Sims 2 for me. I thought, awwwwww, how sweet! Now I know it was all part of his evil plot to keep me out of his hair so he could watch NASCAR in peace.
Years ago, I spent four sleepless days parked in front of the computer. I did not move. I did not eat. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even pee. SimCity had its hold on me, and I couldn’t get enough of being the Puppetmaster. Kevin staged an intervention, took the game away, and I vowed never to get sucked in again. Imagine my shock when he showed up and handed me the keys to my own doom. Sweet?!?!? How could I think he was being sweet? Clearly, he did not remember prying my slack-jawed, bug-eyed, lifeless body out of the chair. He must certainly have forgotten the battle that ensued over the computer. He turned it off! He turned it off!!!!. I hadn’t saved my game! Luckily for him, I hadn’t eaten, so I was too weak to do more than threaten to beat him senseless. I slept for a week, and by the time I woke up, all was forgotten. Until now.
Sure, he got to watch NASCAR in peace this weekend. I, meanwhile, spent 48 straight hours drooling and fighting thumb cramps, because, once again, I can’t put the PSP down. There has to be a support group for people like me. Some sort of twelve step program. Go ahead and laugh, Kevin. Sooner or later, I’ll beat this damn game. And if I don’t, well, then it will be up to you to pry me off the couch and dump me in the shower. I hope you’re happy.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, my Sim is jonesing for a fix.

Damn you, Chic-Fil-A. Damn you and your sweet tea. Damn you, Kroger, for carrying sweet tea in gallon jugs. Texas isn’t supposed to have sweet tea. You shouldn’t be able to order it at restaurants or in drive-throughs. You damn sure shouldn’t be able to buy it at the grocery store. I was happy with my Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper. It was comforting. It was calorie-free. But my thirst demanded to be quenched by the sugary goodness that is sweet tea. I cannot stop the addiction; therefore, I surrender to it.
And in another week or so when my thighs balloon to the size of Goodyear blimps, I’ll comfort myself with a nice, big, cold glass of sweet tea.

I think it’s a fair assumption to say that I am well-versed in all things retail. My particular specialty was placating angry or disgruntled customers. See, I’m of the opinion that if a customer is unhappy, it’s the retail establishment’s obligation to rectify the situation. So when I, as a customer, get jacked around, I know how to dance the dance.
Recently, Kevin ordered me three more Story People prints. I love these prints; in fact, my entire family owns several, along with sculptures and the like. Instead of ordering direct from the artist, we chose to go through gallery in Maine. This is where the problem started. Abacus Gallery, who will not get the benefit of a link from me, completely dropped the ball. After a grand total of 11 emails and four phone calls, no one was able to give us the status of our order. The day that we did receive part of it, we were told that our order would be shipping soon. Um, hello? We already got it. When I emailed AGAIN to say that we needed to cancel the remaining order and would need a refund, or we would dispute the charges, I was FINALLY contacted. The lady on the other end of the phone obviously did not understand the song and verse (that go with the dance). She informed me that she “did not need to be trained” how to do her job, and that I did not need to elevate the situation by disputing the VISA charges.
ARE YOU FRICKIN’ KIDDING ME? I was calm and reasonable, but firm. At no point did I raise my voice. I simply restated my position: They failed to follow-up with a customer, and now the customer was irritated. When she finally got to the part about “I want to give you something to make you happy”, I told her that we would not be using their “services” in the future, but the one thing they could do was assure me that they would not treat future patrons with such apathy. Then she hung up on me. Bitch.
The moral of the story? Once again, it’s Caveat Emptor. But shouldn’t it also be that the customer is always right?
Oh, and one more: Don’t shop at Abacus Gallery in Maine. They don’t care about their customers.