Hi Sean

Present for Black Cat

For Christmas, I gave Black Cat a photo of herself. She wasn't very appreciative though.




Mom--a.k.a. "Grandma Tuna"--sorry, but the truth hurts.

Why Pancake City Was Down for the Past Three Days

A few weeks ago, I got a replacement credit card and forgot the monthly fee for my web hosting service was being charged to the previous one. Also, I rarely check the email address anymore of the one I registered the account under.

Furthermore, to reinstate the account, the customer service representative needed me to verify my contact information. You know, in case a nefarious hacker was going to steal my identity and start paying my web hosting fees.

The problem with this normally simple task is that when I set up the account 5 years ago, I entered a fake address and phone number for the web site registration to protect my identity. Which shouldn't have been a problem since my billing information is accurate, except as the tech support rep. said, "the billing department isn't here today".

Really? The whole department decided not to come to work today, like Senior Skip Day in High School? There wasn't even one loser billing department representative with dandruff and a horrible acne problem that no one told today was Chillin', Not Billing Day?

Of course, they don't trust the tech support people with billing information. That would be like trusting billing people with tech information! And when that type of craziness starts happening, you might as well get a barrel of hay and a block of sugar, because the Four Horsemen are coming and their horses are going to be hungry for a snack before they start whupping some ass.

I can't even remember my real address from 5 years ago. I took a few guesses ("123 Fake Street?"). After each guess, the representative said, "Mmmm, that's not it." Eventually, he shortened it to "Mmmmmm."

I finally said that it was pretty obvious I was the owner of the account, and asked them if we could come to a mutual agreement to forgo this sham. He agreed, and we reenabled the account a few minutes later.

Which is a huge relief, because now I can go back to not updating the page ever.

Why I Am a Comic Genius

At dinner tonight with my Mom and sister, Tina:

TINA: We bought some Tiramasu gelatin from Trader Joe's.
ME: What's Tiramasu?
TINA: It's an Italian dessert. It has a layer of lady fingers, then some cream, then another layer of lady fingers, then some chocolate or cocoa on top.
ME: Hey, do you want to hear a really bad joke?
TINA: Okay.
ME: Have you ever had a rude Tiramasu?
TINA: No.
ME: It's a Tiramasu made with lady middle fingers.
(Surprisingly, Tina laughed)
MOM: Jason! Naughty, naughty. (By the way: I'm 29.)

Blix

I'm not saying this game is addictive. I'm just saying level 115 is a bitch.

Photos

I finally put up my photos of Ireland on Flickr. I'll probably break down and get a paid account on Flickr so I can organize them better. It's a neat service.

My Mom called at 12:48 a.m. this morning. She never calls that late. My sister Tina didn’t come home from her job at Pier 1 that night. She always gets off work at 8:00 p.m. and comes straight home.

My Mom was frantic. We’re both neurotic people. Mom was convinced that Tina was kidnapped while walking in the parking lot to her car. I thought that was ridiculous. It was obvious that she was in a horrible car wreck and either dead or in the emergency room.

Here’s a little Pancake City tip when you’re calling the hospital to see if your sister was checked in: don’t call the main number. The voice recognition system doesn’t understand, “Department of Missing Sisters, please”.

My theory fell apart when one of the police officers my Mom called drove to the Pier 1 parking lot. Her car was still there. It was definite: she was kidnapped.

Well, the officer didn’t think she was kidnapped. “She’s probably just with her friends, Ms. Walther. You know how kids stay up late.” “You don’t understand,” my Mom said. “She doesn’t have any friends.”

I held the phone in my lap, waiting for the phone to ring. Now it was 1:30 a.m. Almost everything closes at 12:00 a.m. I wanted to believe that she was out late, but she always calls and I couldn’t think of a plausible scenario. I could feel the sadness well up and my mind trying to push away the feelings. I packed an overnight bag. I mentally wrote the email I would send to the dog walking company I work for. Title: Family emergency. My sister passed away tonight. Screw it. My sister was killed. I’ll put the keys inside the mail slot. Kerrigan doesn’t want a sub. I’ll call when I can.

Memories of Tina play-punching me. Tina making fun of my bad memory. Tina taking care of her turtles.

I started crying. I didn’t want to, or couldn’t, push away the pain anymore, as I’ve done so often in my life. I thought about praying, something I haven’t done since I was 12, when under my bed covers, I heard the phone ring and then my Mom sobbing through my thin door. “Please make everything all right, God. Please. Just this once.”

It was then that I realized how frail hope is. That crying sounds just like laughing when passed through wood. That maybe, just maybe, when my Uncle drove my sisters and I to the hospital at night, there would be Dad, his bloated face glowing, no gauze patches over his eyes, and his warm arms around us, giving us a hug.

A few minutes later, my Mom called. Tina was safe. She went to dinner with her friends (yes, Mom, she has them). I broke down and cried harder than I have in years.

I’m just so happy that she’s okay. Tina, I love you. I hope we are still making fun of Mom while we are gray. And call, next time, okay? Mom gets worried when she doesn’t see the cat for 30 minutes. And you’re slightly more important than the cat, even if you don’t get as much tuna.

..

One of the headlines at the Washington Post site was "Redskins Interested in Playoffs."

You know what I'm interested in? Winning a million dollars. Doesn't mean it's going to happen.