Ventures Online, my host, and the problem was solved mighty damn quick. And then, not two days later, I got an email from the people who used to host me, the incredibly sucky Hispeed, and in the email, they said “Hey. We see that you registered your site through us, but you’re not hosted through us. You should be hosted through us, really!” I recalled what life was like when Hispeed was my host, with constantly being down, and never able to access my email, and I recalled how much better life has been since I switched to Ventures, and so then, you know what I did? I switched back to Hispeed. Ha! Just kidding! No, what I actually did was go to Ventures Online’s customer service page, and I sent them a glowing letter, telling them how much I appreciate the fact that whenever there’s a problem, they respond quickly, and even if they aren’t sure what the problem is, they keep me informed. I got an email the next day from someone (I don’t recall his name) asking if they could quote from my Letter O’ Love, and I said they could use it any way they wanted to, and if they wanted to give out my email address to potential customers, I’d let everyone I came into contact with know that Ventures Online ROCKS. And now if you go to Ventures Online’s front page, there I am, all quoted and stuff, on the right hand side of the page. Next, I’m going to write a letter to the manager of the local Wendy’s and compliment them on the outstanding service I always get at the drive-up. Because I’m sure that people are more than willing to bitch when things go wrong (god knows *I* am), but when things go right, there’s nothing but resounding silence. I may make it a goal to write one Letter O’ Love a week.

So I took the spud out to dinner at Applebee’s Friday night (I had the chicken fajita roll-ups (and just picked the chicken filling out and ate that to be sure I’d have room for dessert) and Dulce le Leche cheesecake. Not bad, but not the Apple Chimicheescakes, either), and then when we were done, it was still fairly early, so I asked the spud if she wanted to run to Wal-Mart. I had a list of stuff I needed to buy for her to take to California (she leaves Saturday, and I’m only freaking a little so far) as well as a few things for the house, and she wanted to look for some loafers with 2-inch heels (yeah, I have no idea why she wants them so badly, but she’s been driving me crazy with the wanting), so off we went. I was reminded anew that I loathe Wal-Mart. The fucking AISLES are half the width of the aisles at Target, and when there’s a giggling gaggle of teenage girls hanging out in front of the tampons and pads, it’s not possible to get by them. So the spud went off to look for her shoes, and I went to find cat food, bird seed, pads, a fan for the garage, and a George Foreman grill, among other things. The spud finally found the shoes she wanted (they were marked $10, but rang up at $7 – and I would guess that right there explains why I shop at Wal-Mart even though I loathe it so), and after an eternal wait in line, we checked out. When I got home, I had blisters on the TOP of my feet, and let me tell you why. Two years ago, I bought a pair of sandals at Land’s End. I’ve used them all the time when I needed to run out and do an errand or two, because they’re easy to put on – I just slide my feet in them – and they’re comfortable. For my birthday this year, I got a gift certificate to Land’s End, which I promptly lost in my desk drawer. When I was looking for something else in that drawer earlier this week, I came across it, and decided that I should buy a new pair of sandals to replace the old ones. The old ones look like this:
On the Land’s End page, I couldn’t find sandals that were exactly the same, but found these. I figured that although those were kind of ugly – why would you want sandals that are white where your nasty, dirty feet go? Why? – I’d go ahead and buy them anyway. They came Friday, and I opened the box. The picture on Landsend.com didn’t do them justice at all. The words “ass ugly” were invented to describe these shoes.
I tried them on, and they were comfortable enough. The bottoms of the straps rubbed the tops of my feet a little, but I figured they just need to be broken in a little, and after all how often do I look down at my feet? Not very often, believe you me. I bid adieu to my old sandals and tossed them in the trash. I wore the new sandals to Applebee’s and then to Wal-Mart, and by the time I was halfway through my Wal-Mart experience, I was cursing the instruments of torture on my feet. The straps were rubbing the tops of my feet like mad, and I couldn’t get them to NOT rub my feet. When I got home I took the fucking things off and saw a huge, angry red blister on the top of each foot.
And then I sent the spud inside to get me a pair of tongs, which I used to fish the old sandals out of the trash can. Those new sandals are going back to Land’s End as fast as I can box them up and mail them, and there’ll be a letter enclosed. It will NOT be a Letter O’ Love, believe you me.
Pet store kitties are here.
“There is something on the floor, and I am somehow compelled to sit on it…” A bag o’ Poo!