Dear Aziz Ansari

Dear Aziz Ansari (or Aziz I'm Sorry as my mother referred to you the other day when she called to tell me that comedian I like was on some talk show),

I'm a really big fan of yours, but I'm afraid I'm not a very good fan. There are a couple of reasons why this may be true:

• Now that I'm 30, being a "big fan" of anyone incites images of middle-aged women dressing up in 80's gear, dumping their poor kids off with their husbands, and following Bon Jovi or the New Kids on the Block around the country as they attempt to relive their glory days while depleting their 401Ks. I don't want to be those ladies. I don't want to become the nondescript chubby old white chick with the bad perm and collection of knit shirts who sits in the audience and screams "I love you" when you or anyone else appears on the set of Live with Regis and Kelly or The Tonight Show. You know who I'm talking about; sometimes the host will even allow said chick to come up and hug the person shesadoredsinceshewassixteenohmygawdistillhaveyourpostersonmywallandmyhusbandtotallysaidicouldsleepwithyouiftheopportunityeverpresenteditself. How those women can continue to think life is worth living after making such a fool of themselves is beyond me.

• I just don't have time. This probably goes back to the 30 thing, but I'm a grow-up now. Sure, I'm not exactly gainfully employed right now, and I'm not married and don't have kids or anything, but it seems like I should be spending my time doing grown-upish things instead of idolizing someone I don't know. A couple of years ago, I declared myself a "big fan" of another comedian/comedic actor (I'll leave out his name so you don't get jealous or anything), and while I still enjoy him immensely, I've had the hardest time trying to keep up with his career. I was in a store the other day and saw a DVD with his picture on it, and I thought to myself, when did this movie come out? How can I be such a big fan of someone and not know they had a whole movie come out on DVD? This saddens me greatly, because when I was a kid, I could provide anyone who asked with a daily run-down on my favorite baseball players' ERA, batting average, and favorite flavor of ice cream. Fun fact: I didn't even know you were on Parks and Recreation until I accidentally caught an episode after The Office a few weeks ago. (Sorry...) 

Anyway... so why am I rambling on like an idiot, you ask? Well, ever since I saw your special Intimate Moments for a Sensual Evening in 2010, I have been lobbying for Comedy Central to give you some more airtime. And by "lobbying," I mean checking the TV listings almost every week and hoping they would decide to give you the whole 10:00 p.m. hour before Stewart and Colbert. After all, it's the thought that counts, right? Sadly, the fine folks at Comedy Central have not tapped into my brain waves, and this has not yet happened, though I'm sure you are aware of that.

So, in March you announced that you'd be selling your special Dangerously Delicious on your website for $5. I was excited, but seeing as how work and I have not been friends for the last six months and I'd just promised the government my first born in some sort of tax deal (don't get me started on being self-employed in this country), I had a really hard time justifying spending even $5 on something that wasn't, you know, gas or rent. I felt guilty for this! I did! It was such a great price! I wanted to support you and become the proud viewer of what I'm sure is an hour (or more? or less?) of some of the most hilarious words ever said by anyone on Earth ever. "Next week" I'd tell myself, but next week never came. (Mostly, because I kind of forgot. So sorry again...)   

A few weeks ago, I had a birthday, and every plan I made to celebrate my birthday fell through for one reason or another. I had to cancel trips and concerts and my parents' dog even ate my key lime pie. But that's a story for another day (or today if you're really bored and want to scroll down a bit). So, I'm standing in line at Publix on the day of my actual birthday, and I'm browsing Facebook, and I see that you are going to be doing a show in Atlanta this summer. Instead of putting my groceries on the counter, I pulled off to the side of the register, and I began to try to figure out how to get tickets. Immediately, I read the words "sold out." Seriously? I am not at all surprised that you sold out your Atlanta show but to find that out on my birthday was a real bummer. I slumped down against the rack of magazines, ripped open a king size bag of Peanut M&Ms and began to cry. (Well, not really, but that would have been kind of funny, right? And then when someone asked me what was wrong, I could have wailed, "I'm never going to see Aziz Ansari make jokes agaaaaaaaaaaaaaaain," and you may have gotten some publicity from it, and I would have gotten some M&Ms. Win-win for everyone)

So, last Saturday night (bear with me, I'm getting to a point), I came home from I don't remember where and found that I had accidentally left my refrigerator door open when I left the house that morning. After throwing out over $100 of ruined carb-free foods, I hopped into bed and checked Facebook. A friend of mine had posted on my wall that you would finally have a new special on Comedy Central the next night.


This would be the most fabulous news I've heard all month, I thought, if I hadn't just canceled my freaking cable THE WEEK BEFORE.. Damn you, Comcast, and your overinflated fees! 

Then again, I'm not sure why I was surprised. My life seems to be full of these sort of ironic moments lately. Whether it's spending $100 on lean meats and green vegetables so you can shave off a few pounds before your upcoming beach vacation, only to accidentally leave your refrigerator door open and ruin all of it, or waiting not-so-patiently for your favorite comedian to have a special on Comedy Central and canceling your cable the week before it finally happens, there is some sort of unwritten law for my life. Some say I've crossed too many black cats or walked under one too many ladders in my lifetime, but I prefer to think that my life is one of God's favorite Must-See TV sitcoms. (I mean, my life is not Friends or Seinfeld funny, but I'd like to think I can at least pull off Grace Adler.)

Now, I realize that you probably do not care about any of this, and really, I'm not sure why I felt the need to tell you. I guess I just wanted you to know that one of your fans sucks at her job, but she is not going to quit like she did a few of the other things she's tried and sucked at over the last decade (this ranges from working as a teacher to playing the guitar to being a Ja Rule fan, but let's face it, that last one was warranted). She is going to pick herself back up by the bootstraps - whatever that means, stop referring to herself in third person, and go buy Dangerously Delicious so she'll have something great to watch during her upcoming family vacation while everyone else is sitting in the living room watching something horrible like soccer. Afterwards, she will most likely follow her gay cousin around and repeat your jokes 9,839 times until he finally agrees to watch the YouTube clips of your last special that she emailed him about a year ago.

Yours Truly,
 Sarah


P.S. In case anyone is reading this who is not Aziz Ansari (because you know he's totally going to read this), you can buy Dangerously Delicious for a mere $5 at Azizansari.com. Do it now before his people realize this is a ridiculously low price.

Thou Shall Not Sell Alcohol on Sunday

The weekend I turned 21, a friend of mine who lives out of state came to town to visit. I picked her up at the airport, and it was well after midnight on a Saturday, but she was starving, so we stopped by a Kroger to see what they had leftover in the deli before heading home. At her insistence, we picked up some fruity wine coolers to go with our stale sandwiches and celebrate the fact that I was officially 21 as of midnight. But when we got up to the counter, the cashier removed them from the belt and placed them under her register.

"No wine coolers for you!" she barked. (Not really, but wouldn't that have been hilarious? I digress...) 

My friend was confused. "What kind of place tells you when you can and can't buy certain items?" she asked.

"Georgia," I replied. "One of the great states in the Southeastern United States, a region that is known for supposedly wanting to keep the government out of its business." 

I should have found some kind of irony in the fact that my 21st birthday fell on a Sunday, but honestly, I've never been much of a drinker. I'll have a margarita occasionally at home or in a restaurant, and I'll have a drink or two if I'm out with friends, but for the most part, I'm too much of a control freak to lose myself in an abundance of alcohol. My state's blue laws had not affected me up until that point, and as far as I can remember, they have not affected me in the ten years since that day. In other words, I could care less about alcohol, but when it comes to freedom, that's another matter.  

Lately, many counties and cities across my fine state have decided that telling a citizen when they can shop or what they can serve and sell at their retail establishments is unconstitutional. They have come to the realization that these actions resemble Stalin's vision for the Soviet Union more than the vision Jefferson and his buddies had for these United States. For the most part, citizens in these cities and counties have been allowed to vote to change laws that never should have been put into place, and many of them have overwhelmingly favored a return to individual freedom.

So, when I found out my little hometown was going to allow its citizens to vote, I was ecstatic. This vote will not change my life in any way, shape or form, but I saw it as progress for a place in metro Atlanta that has more than failed to put its name on the map for any reason that would attract new residents, visitors and people who spend money. From what I understand, it took a little prodding from the citizens, but it was really going to happen.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, at the last minute, the mayor of my hometown vetoed the city council's ruling that citizens should be allowed to vote on matters concerning Sunday alcohol sales.

He claimed he did it because he thinks, "the majority of our citizens oppose these two measures."

He also claimed he did it because "statistics show a majority of the arrests for driving under the influence are made between the hours of midnight and 4 a.m. on weekends, indicating this is the time of the week when our public streets already are the most endangered by drunk drivers."

I'm not sure where the mayor got his crystal ball, but if the majority of the citizens oppose it all anyway, why not just put it on the ballot and make your point instead of pissing off a portion of your constituents? In recent memory, the last person I heard of who wouldn't allow people to vote on something because it allegedly wasn't going to pass anyway was Harry Reid, the Senate Majority Leader of the United States. This mayor ran as a staunch Republican, and though they don't always act like it lately, the GOP is supposed to be the party of freedom and small government. At least, that's why I've always voted for elephants instead of donkeys. So, why does my Republican mayor act more like Harry Reid than Ronald Regan?

I'm a little confused. 

Oh, yeah, it's the public safety thing. It's the most people who drive under the influence do so between the hours of midnight and 4 a.m. on weekends. That sounds pretty dangerous to me. I imagine the mayor's next step would be to ban alcohol sales on Friday and Saturday, too. I mean, most people consider weekend nights to be Friday and Saturday night, because most people, last time I checked, have to work on Monday morning, and it's usually easier to work if you aren't plagued with a terrible hangover or if you don't wreak of tequila. 

Oh, wait, he doesn't want to ban alcohol sales on Friday and Saturday as far anyone knows? Just on Sunday? What could it be about Sunday that... Oh, I get it. He's not letting on that it's a religious thing and that, despite what millions of men have died for (protecting our freedom of religion among other things if you aren't sure where I'm going with that), he wants to project his religious views on everyone else.

Well, here's the thing about that. I'm a Christian. Always have been and always will be, I suspect. But not once when I was attending Sunday School (in a popular church in this city) do I remember anything about that tricky eleventh commandment, "Thou Shall Not Sell Alcohol on Sundays." I also fail to remember anything about forcing others to be just like you. No, most of my Sunday School lessons (and all the Bible and devotional readings I've done over the years) revolved around a general theme that we are to accept and love everyone for who they are, even if we bump into them in the wine section at Publix on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

Don't get me wrong. I wish everyone in the world was a Christian, but if I were to attempt to enforce that instead of encourage it, I'd be more like Hitler than Jesus. I'd be writing this from some socialist nation in Europe instead of the United States. And the mayor wouldn't even have a job. (Though it's always possible my historical knowledge is a little fuzzy. After all, my high school AP United States History teacher was out for two months after he came to school intoxicated and had to go to rehab, so I'm sure I didn't get as much out of the class as I should have. Ironically, he managed to do that despite the fact that alcohol sales were still banned on Sundays. That also happened in this city, by the way.)

The truth of the matter is that people who are going to drink irresponsibly are going to drink irresponsibly no matter what day of the week they go shopping, and short of locking them up, there's nothing anyone can do to change that. People are going to go to neighboring cities and counties to buy their alcohol. Not only does our city miss out on revenue that could be used for a thousand and one different projects (though every time I see that monstrosity of a parking deck being built downtown, I feel inclined to take my "revenue" elsewhere), but we endanger our citizens because these people are going to be driving twenty miles instead of two to get to a liquor store or to get home from a restaurant that serves margaritas with their tacos. (Well, unless the mayor plans to block all roadways that allow you to exit the city on Sundays. I'd say that was absurd, but there's a fairly new road in my town that I pass almost daily, and it's only half-open, meaning one half of it is blocked with cones and "road closed" signs because of some squabble between the county and the city. Talk about a public safety issue - I've seen more people turn down the wrong lane on that road than I've seen presumably drunk drivers over the last few months.) 

Mr. Mayor: You can propose we ban alcohol all of the time or none of the time, though the former is certainly not in line with this nation's history. But whatever side you choose, at least be honest about your reasons. Don't hide behind public safety stats that do not give a full story and quite frankly, don't make sense. Do not make assumptions about people after you have taken away their voice. If you really think you speak for the majority of the people in this city when you say this is not something they want, let them vote on it and prove you right.

If you don't let them vote, I'm sure they'll be more than willing to take advantage of the opportunity to vote for a less-oppressive mayor when you are up for re-election in a few years. Just saying...

Update: The AJC ran an article on story today. While I think I would have done a better job with it, it adds a little more insight into the Mayor's way of thinking.

• In an attempt to grasp at straws, he talked about the "small town feel" of the city (see my comment above about a huge, waste o' space parking deck). 
• It is believed that the mayor's Baptist church is driving the debate (What's the difference between a Baptist and a Methodist? The Methodist will tell you 'howdy' when he sees you in the liquor store). 
• And a councilman reasons that we should allow Sunday alcohol sales but just because all of the "progressive people" who are moving to our city, though he does it seems to be a largely Baptist outcry. (Um, I was born in this city and short of going to Athens for college, have lived here all my life. I dare someone to call me a "progressive" in real life, because I'd belt them. My point? This isn't about heathens and alcoholics; it's about freedom.). 

No sex on the yellow line, please.

In case you missed it, last week was my birthday. It was also time to renew my driver's license. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that until the day before my birthday when I was forced to write a check (what a foreign experience), and the clerk at the store said, "Your license expires tomorrow." So, I got online, renewed my license, and was told it would take about seven days for it to arrive at my home.

In the meantime, I can't drive without getting a ticket*. Go Big Gov!

So, on Monday of this week, my mom called and asked if I could take her somewhere. I told her I could, but she would have to drive. Since I only live half a mile from her, I figured it was safe to drive to her house and off we went. So, we're coming home and as we turn on the road, we noticed a large clump of something in the center of it. My mom's eyesight isn't as great as it used to be, and she couldn't make out anything. I told her it looked like an animal, and it appeared to be moving. I hoped it wasn't something that had been hit by a car. I hate seeing that sort of thing, especially if it's still alive.

The closer we got, the more I realize it wasn't an animal at all. It was a person. No, two people. Possibly conjoined twins, a man and a woman. They didn't seem to be able to pry themselves apart from each other.

Oh. Ohhhh. Ew. Ew. Ew.

Now, they weren't naked or anything, but she had her leg wrapped around him and he had his hand up her shirt, and had we not turned down the road at that particular moment, I'm pretty sure something distasteful would have taken place right then and there.

"It's a couple and they're groping each other," I squealed after getting over my initial shock.

"Who are they? Have you ever seen them on the road before? Where do they live?"  My parents are well aware of the fact that I keep a pretty good inventory of everyone on the street, even the renters who are only here for a few months. I've also got a good working knowledge of all registered sex offenders within a five-mile radius, but that's a story for another day. 

But in this case, I had not seen this particular couple before. She looked like an older, fatter Zooey Deschanel and dressed like a Wal-Mart version of Kristen Wiig's "Target Lady." He looked like he was stuck in the 70's or earned a living working as a Mr. Kotter impersonator. They were probably in their early to mid 40's; then again, I'm not good at guessing ages these days, because I'm convinced I still look to be about 20 and judge everyone else accordingly.

Anyway, I told my mom to slow down as we drove past them, and I gave them the evil eye to let them know that groping and making out in the middle of the road where I spent my childhood riding my bike and walking my dog was not okay. They just smiled, waved, and went right back to making out. In the middle of the freaking road!

Fast forward to Wednesday, and I was making the illegal half-mile drive to my parents' house, so I could use their internet. I pulled out of my road and onto theirs and what do I see but the make-out twins again. Ugh! And what do you know, they were standing there in the middle of the road again, going at it like he'd just gotten back from several years spent away from home, defending the Confederacy and not caring that they lost because he never thought he'd see Sally Sue Touchesalot again. 

Seriously? The whole almost-sex-in-the-street thing was not a one-time deal? This is something you're going to keep up? Are we filming porn around here? My county won't even allow Sunday alcohol sales, but they'll okay this?  And by the way, do you need a writer? Cause I need a job. Just sayin'.

I drove straight to my parents' house and told my mom that the new neighbors were out and about again, putting on a show for everyone to see, just a few houses down from her home for the last three and a half decades, the home that's been in my family for over a century. She laughed, shrugged it off, and said, "I wonder where they live?"

How could she not be appalled by this situation?

So, yesterday, I asked my mom to take me to the grocery store (By the way, Department of Driver's Services: six of the seven days you said it would take me to get my license have passed. You're on notice.) We went to Publix, I purchased some no-carb foods, did my best not to break into my Lisa Loeb impersonation when "Stay" came over the intercom, and we were driving home when I noticed a man who looked strangely like Mr. Kotter cutting the grass at this little rental house towards the end of the road. I stared him down, trying to remember where I'd seen him before. It didn't hit me until a small, round woman came running up to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind, a ridiculously euphoric look on her face. While the lawn mower was still running, of course...

What the hell is these people's problem? It's like if they don't touch each other so many times a day, a bomb will explode and kill Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves or something. Gahhhh.

I sure do miss the woman who lived in that house before. She was older, appeared to live alone and maintained a quiet, uneventful life. As a matter of fact, the only time she ever garnered any attention is when I saw some paramedics loading her up in the back of an ambulance. A day or two later, she was back sitting on her porch, quietly drinking what I assumed was coffee and reading a newspaper, so it must have been a minor incident.

Given the recent events in my neighborhood (escaped convicts in my yard, murdered beloved family pets and stolen scrap metal), I guess this should be the least of my worries, but seriously, I do not want to see people acting out Deep Throat in the middle of the road**.

*Unless I am really craving Chick-fil-A and willing to risk the three and half mile drive to my local one. Not that I've done that.

**Unless I can figure out a way to use this situation to jumpstart my own writing career. Looking at you, 50 Shades of Grey. 

The Wrong Side of 30

I turned 31 yesterday, and I debated even making this post like I do every year, because it was pretty uneventful. I had a very tiny family party last weekend (only six people were there), and we had pizza and key lime pie. I usually take a picture of my cake (or in this case, pie), but my parents' dog knocked it out of the package. 

Yesterday was my actual birthday, and I spent most of it carting my mom around town to run errands. I did get a new grill out of the deal, though. Last night, I got take-out at one of my favorite restaurants and a piece of red velvet cake from Publix. That was pretty much the extent of my excitement. I was in bed by midnight.

I also forgot to renew my driver's license, so I won't be driving for a few days.

Anyway, I actually had big plans for this week.

1. First of all, I found out Ed Helms was doing his little LA Bluegrass Situation thing in LA the weekend of my birthday, and I've always wanted to go to that.
2. If you've been reading my last few posts, you know I opted to spend part of the week in Charleston and see Alison Krauss and Union Station instead.
3. Then I found out the Beach Boys were touring and would be in Atlanta on the same night I was to see AKUS in South Carolina, so I had to make a decision there.
4. Then, due to my overall lack of employment, I had to cancel the South Carolina trip, and it was too late to get tickets to the Beach Boys and definitely too late to get my butt out to California.
5. Then, my cousin and I tried to meet Jen Lancaster a few nights ago, but that didn't exactly pan out as planned.
6. And I tried to reschedule the Charleston trip sans AKUS concert, but work schedules would not coordinate.
7. And then I found out yesterday that Aziz Ansari was coming to Atlanta next month, but the tickets sold out before I could even get to the page to buy them.

It was at that moment that I decided to give up on doing something fun. 

Anyway, I guess when you get to be my age, birthdays are stupid anyway. Oh well, I'm attending the family beach trip next month, so I'll be looking forward to that. And my pool should be open soon; I really want to get back into swimming. Oh, and Netflix just sent me this! Woohoo!

Last night, I saw Jen Lancaster...kind of

My gay cousin has been after me to read Jen Lancaster's books for years. Last summer, when I hired him to be my assistant when I was traveling so much, he would bring her books along and read in the car, occasionally sharing a passage that he thought I would find amusing.

I did find them amusing, so when I went on a book-buying spree last July, her first book, Bitter is the New Black, was one of the first things I added to my Amazon shopping cart.

Because I spent most of last year traveling and playing journalism girl and working on writing my own book, I had very little time to read anything that wasn't related to my job, but as everyone knows, that life came to a screeching halt in November. Suddenly, I had lots of time to read.  One night, I needed something to take to the bathtub with me, so I perused my stack of unread books and settled on Bitter is the New Black.

Honestly, I was so depressed about my work/life/financial situation that I didn't think I'd finish it. I just wasn't in the mood to do anything but mope around (and take long bubble baths). After the first few chapters, however, I was hooked. Not only was it wonderful, but I could relate to so much of it. I ended up finishing the whole thing in less than a week. My plan was to get her next book, Bright Lights, Big Ass, as soon as possible, but my financial situation didn't allow for frivolous expenditures such as penny books on Amazon, and God forbid anyone actually see me in the public library. 

Long story short, things started to improve a bit, and I began planning my birthday week. (Um, that's the week that leads up to my birthday for those of you who have failed to realize that you can get seven days of greatness out of that particular date...kind of like Hanukkah, if you will, but without the candles...unless someone gives me a gift certificate to Yankee Candle or something) I made these great plans to go to Charleston, go to a concert, etc. I also figured out that Jen Lancaster would be in town to promote her new book on the day I returned home from that trip and just two days before my birthday. How perfect is that? 

So, even though I had to cancel all of that (I won't rehash that story), my gay cousin and I still wanted to go see Lancaster. We talked about it for weeks, planning the evening down to the minute, so that we would get to Barnes & Noble early and not miss a single thing. I was so excited, but long story slightly shorter, my gay cousin found out he had to work until 6 pm. The event would begin at 7 pm. His workplace is 20-something miles from the Barnes & Noble, which may not seem like much in a normal world, but in Atlanta at 6 pm, it can mean a two-hour drive.

Yesterday didn't go as I planned anyway. I ended up having to spend much of the day at the doctor's office with my mother, and it was 290 degrees outside. By the time I got home to change and fix my hair/make-up, I realized it was too hot to even care anymore. (Have I mentioned that the AC at my house isn't working right? Or the AC in my car for that matter...) I put some mousse in my hair so it wouldn't look exactly like Monica Geller Bing in the Barbados episode, developed a "fuck it" attitude about my clothing, swung by my gay cousin's workplace to pick him up, and hightailed it to Buckhead.

When we finally found a place to park, we went inside and followed the sounds of hysterical laughter to the back of the store. There stood Jen Lancaster in front of a large group of women (and a few men). She was reading from a chapter in the book. There was nowhere to sit and almost no room to stand from what we could figure out, so we ended up in an aisle, moving out of people's way as needed.

We got to hear the end of the chapter reading and listened to audience members ask questions. I had a question or two I would have liked to ask, but there was no way I was going to draw attention to myself in my ratty, sweaty state. After that, she signed books. We debated getting in line (which was long and full of overzealous women who seemed to want to tell the poor girl their life stories); my gay cousin wanted to get his picture taken with her, and I wanted to buy a book and get it signed, but I managed to stand there and convince myself that my dogs' flea medication is more important than my need for an autographed book and a chance to talk to one of my favorite writers at this point in time. I'll get the book eventually, though; it just won't be quite as special. 

So, it wasn't exactly what I planned, but I am glad we went. It's funny, as we were walking back to the car, my cousin said, "When I read her books, I always imagine her telling the stories, and she is exactly what I picture in my head." Even though I've only read one of them, he is so right! With the invention of Twitter and Facebook, I've been able to follow a lot of my favorite authors, and there is nothing worse than finding out they write these great books, but in real life they dull and/or miserable and/or stupid and/or pretentious and/or Democrats (just kidding). With Jen Lancaster, what you see is what you get.

As suspected, just being in that environment was the little bit of motivation I needed to get back to work on finishing up my own book, so that helped make up for the fact that I didn't really get to meet her or anything. Maybe next time!

To learn more about Jen Lancaster or check out her latest book, Jeneration X, check out her website, Jennsylvania.

Dear AT&T: Why won't you let me love you?

I've had my issues with AT&T in the past. Lots and lots of issues. By the end of last year, I was ready to kick them to the curb, but I found out a little secret: Twitter. If you contact AT&T via Twitter, mores specifically, if you contact Team Natasha (or @ATTTeamNatasha) you can get things resolved by intelligent people who know how their own system works and people who treat you like a human being. Ever since I figured this out, whenever I have a problem or question, I hop on Twitter and contact Team Natasha, and everything is fabulous.

Customer Service is EVERYTHING to me. 

And that's why Comcast and I officially broke up this week. Well, that and I got to the point where I couldn't pay $180 a month for cable and internet. I called and made an effort to lower my bill, and they told me the only way they could do that was for me to give up my DVR, and that would only be something like $17 a month. But even more than the prices, I can't anymore with the scripted ESOL customer service reps. I just can't. And when you do reach someone who speaks fluent English, nine times out of ten it's some snotty-ass bitch who acts like she's doing you a favor. A few months ago, I had an issue with Comcast, so I learned from my AT&T experience and took to Twitter. Comcast Cares is the biggest oxymoron known to man. I had to harass him to get a response and even then, the dude treated me as if I woke him up from a nap and asked him to grab me a Diet Coke out of the fridge.

So, naturally, when I figured out I was going to have to split with Comcast, I decided to give AT&T a try. They've been harassing me to get U-Verse for what feels like 500 years, and because I really liked Comcast's service better (I've been in other homes with U-Verse), I've always turned it down. These days, they're offering rates that really can't be beat, though, so I gave them a call and got it all squared away. They lady who helped me was really nice, and I was really happy with my decision.

U-Verse was supposed to be installed last Thursday, but my mom has been having some health issues, and I ended up having to take her to the doctor that day (plus, I needed to do some cleaning before I let a stranger come dig around my house - I've hardly been home, other than to sleep, in a month), so I called them on Wednesday morning to see if I could postpone the date.  The lady who I spoke with told me I couldn't postpone the dates, because I couldn't get U-Verse.

What?  You've been harassing me about getting it for the last year, at least, and I finally sign up to do it, give you all my personal info, and the day before I'm supposed to have it installed, I find out I can't have it? Not only that, but I have to call you to figure it out?

She switched me over to technical support, and a really nice guy ran some kind of tests, or so he said, and he claimed it was showing that my service would be spotty at best. I explained that my aunt who just lives down the street from me has it, and she has not had many problems, but apparently, there was nothing he could do.

He switched me over to another lady who tried to sell me Direct TV. I told her I was probably interested as my choices are becoming very limited, but I would need to look into it a little more. She also told me I'd have to pay a fee upfront that I didn't have at that the moment, and then were was an issue of having to clear my U-Verse order out of the system before she could set up the Direct TV. I would also be getting regular internet from AT&T (no the U-Verse plan).

In the end, the nice lady in sales told me she'd call me back at the first of this week to get everything squared away for sure and set up installation appointments. I told her that was fine, and I settled in for another weekend spent working at my parents house. But I tried to stay positive.

Monday came and no call from AT&T's nice sales lady.

Tuesday came and no call from AT&T's nice sales lady.

Wednesday came, and for the first day in forever I planned to sleep late before getting up to run some errands. So, around 9:30 am, when I got a call from a blocked number, I was not amused. I answered it and hung up and laid my head down on my pillow to go back to sleep, but they called again. I listened to the voice-mail they left. It was a guy from AT&T telling me he was there to install my services.

What?

I sat up, wondering what to do. Here's thing, and this may be TMI, but....I sleep naked. And 99% of my clothing is in the laundry room. My laundry room is fairly large, and I am fairly lazy about taking my clean clothes back to my bedroom. I usually keep some pajamas by my bed in case of an emergency, but on the one night I don't, I wake up to some strange guy calling me and knocking on my door with the intention of installing some services I never signed up for.  And the way my house is laid out, I would have had to run by the door he was at to get to my bathroom or laundry room to throw on some clothes. Ugh.

I decided I just wouldn't go to the door. He'd realize no one is home and go away, and I could go back to sleep. While I'm sitting there waiting for him to go away and for my dogs to stop barking like the world is coming to an end, my landlord called to tell me there is an AT&T guy at my house (she lives across the street), but I remained strong (and by strong, I mean huddled in a corner of my bedroom where you can't see me from any of the windows or doors).

Finally, he quit knocking, the dogs quit barking and I wanted to go back to sleep, but I really had to pee. And the dogs were dancing around like they, too, had to pee. So, I got up in all my nakedness, let them out, and I went to the bathroom. While I was in the bathroom, I heard the dogs start barking again, and it took me a minute to realize there was someone outside. I, still naked, went to the window to try to figure out what was going on, and I realized AT&T guy was still there!  I was mortified.

So, I ran to the laundry room, threw on the first thing I could find and went to the door where Doug Heffernan was standing, scratching his head. I went outside and apologized for the delay, and I told him that I hadn't ordered any services. He told me I had. I told him I hadn't. This went back and forth for a while, and then the guy started laughing.

I just looked at him, and he said, "I have to tell you, it's a good thing you want to cancel [I'd argue you can't cancel something you never ordered, but whatever], because in all my 30 years of doing this, I've never been down this road, and I really can't figure out how to hook it up anyway."   

He continued to talk, but I can't remember what he said. I gave up on sleeping late. I tried to call AT&T, but the wait time was unusually long for me to talk to another human being, so I hung up and went about my day.

Needless to say, I still don't have internet or cable and as far as I know, I have no plans to get it. At this point, I don't know where or how to get it. I've heard so many bad things about Direct TV after talking to other people about it, and I can't even get in touch with anyone at AT&T when I call the number I was given for cable/internet services.

AT&T, I have tried to love you. I have sang your praises in light of my recent Comcast woes, despite the fact that you nearly ruined my Christmas last year by charging unauthorized payments to my checking account. (Thankfully, my bank and a lady from Team Natasha realized the error and fixed it.) But you are making it nearly impossible for me to love you.

I feel like I'm back in high school, and the guy I like doesn't like me back. And it's not even my first choice for a guy, but the back-up guy I chose because the guy I really liked turned out to be a jerk. But I'm not looking for a lifetime of happiness, just some fairly inexpensive cable and internet services that will prevent me from having to spend long days at my parents' house, using their computer and allow me to watch something on TV besides religious channels and home-shopping networks. 

Is that too much to ask?

If you don't like me, just let me know. I'll just keep paying my cell phone bill each month, and we can pretend none of this ever happened, but please, for the love of God, stop leading me on. Stop danging these amazing deals in my inbox and my mailbox when I can't have them. Stop trying to sell them to me when I call you if there is an issue with my iPhone. Stop telling me you'll call me and then leaving me sitting by the phone. Stop agreeing to dates and then postponing them at the last minute. My heart can't take much more.