Credit Card Companies Are Evil

Oh, hail no!

My credit card company decreased my limit! They didn't even tell me. OK, they might have, but I don't open letters from them because I pay them on line. I just figured they were sending a thank-you note for me being such a dutiful customer.

I called them to see what had happened. Of course, the customer service gal did not know and read some statement about how the bank had reviewed my account and decided to decrease my limit. She said I could call TransEquifax or whatever and see what was what. Have you ever tried to call a credit report company? It is humanly impossible. I tried to press the key for vision impaired to see if I could get a live human being, but you have to have some special code.

I did more than just pay them on time and more than the minimum payment--I bailed them out! And this is how they repay me? SMH.

I cut 'em up. All of them. I'm downright frugal (again). I'ma start watching Suze Orman.

PMSBuddy

I need this. To remind my damn self when I get persnickety.

PMSBuddy is a free on-line service that sends you an e mail (they're on Facebook and have an iPhone app, too--yes, there's an app for this!) when the lady in your life is entering the zone of crazy.

Of course, it's designed to help men be more sensitive to their woman's "ladies' days" (lots of ads for flowers and chocolate), but I think women can use it, too. You know how once a month you can't stand your best friend? You think she think she cute. You wonder how you became friends with such a bitch. You want to fight her in her face. PMSBuddy will remind you that both of you are PMSing.

I'm signing up right now.

Black Chinese

Did you hear about this? It was on All Things Considered last night as I was driving home.

20 year-old Lou Jing is bi-racial, born of a Chinese mother and an African-American father she's never met. She was a contestant on China's American Idol-type show, Go! Oriental Angel (I thought 'oriental' was politically incorrect?).

Lou Jing boosted ratings, but she also sparked all kind of controversy about what it means to be Chinese. Some in Internet chat rooms were buzzing about how she shouldn't be allowed to represent Shanghai in the national competition because she's not really Chinese. Some said her dark skin was unattractive. Others just got downright racist.

Hearing her on the radio, I thought the girl was pure-d Chinese and figured she'd look like Kimora Simmons or something (yes, I know she's Korean-Japanese). Seeing her, I realize what a shock she must have been to China. China has 56 recognized ethnicities and mixed race isn't one of them.

"When I meet somebody for the first time," Lou Jing told Time, "they'd often ask me how I can speak Chinese so well, and I tell them 'Because I am Chinese--of course I can speak my mother tongue well.'"

Gurrrrl, I know how it is; people be axin' me how I knows my anglish so good.

I wonder how much of racism is human nature--you know, you see somebody different, you have your own issues, so you make yourself feel good by making them feel bad--and how much of it is influenced by the image of African-Americans in the global media?

And what's up with brothers planting their seed in China? Lou Jing isn't the only Chin-Noire; check out South African and Chinese Olympic hopeful, Ding Hui.

Happy Veterans Day!

I came across this cool pic of some Navajo Code Takers aboard the USS Intrepid. These vets' "unbreakable code stymied the Japanese in World War II." Sadly, only 50 of the 400 men are alive today, and their average age is 84. They are trying to raise money for a museum to preserve their legacy.

Women

Ok, this is silly, but it's the kind of stuff women go through.

There are four of us at work: me(43), "Mabel (36)," "Esther(29)", and "Ruth(38)." We all started pretty much around the same time five or six years ago. We haven't seen Ruth for a while because she moved to another department, then got pneumonia and has been out for months. So, really, it's me, Mabel, and Esther.

We usually hang out in the morning and go get coffee. Then we eat lunch and do the word jumble in the paper. Then around 3, we go get coffee. We email silly stuff throughout the day. And around five, we all leave, even though Mable is really the only one who gets in early enough to leave at that time--I digress.

Anyhoo, we're work friends. A clique. A posse of sorts. And, more often than not, an oasis of sanity in an insane workplace. Mabel and Ethel are new moms with toddlers around the same age. I can hack the constant mom-chatter because I like their kids.

So, this new girl joined our staff, "Tiffany (20-something)." She's a fine human being. Ethel keeps asking her to join us for lunch. In my opinion, the conversation takes a serious nosedive when this happens. It's not that Tiffany isn't a deep thinker; it's just that the discourse takes on a polite patina with a superficial sheen. We talk about clothes, the weather, dressing up for Halloween, hair, and "30 Rock," (which I do not watch).

That's all well and good, but I feel like lunch is my hour to be myself and not talk about the banal shit that passes for conversation and connection in our office everyday. When it's just me, Mabel, and Esther, we talk about relationships, race (Mabel is half-Jewish and married to a Black man), religion, the news, Dear Abby, politics, horoscopes--it's not a think tank, but it's interesting, with the easy give-and-take that comes from knowing each other a bunch of years.

What do you think? Should I just pack a cheese sandwich and a book and sit at my desk during lunch?

Getting Out Of Bed

Here's the thing about depression. You're not always weeping or in despair; sometimes, you just can't do shit. I mean, you can do basic stuff, like, sit up, use the bathroom, eat Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk, but not much more than that.

When you get like that, DBT says do one thing. If it's brush your teeth, then, bam, that's something you accomplished that day. Yesterday, mine was getting the roasting pan out of the refrigerator and into the dishwasher. I did it! LOL.

I also met an old college friend for lunch. It was a good, healthy meal and uplifting conversation that reminded me of myself. The lotus still blooms, y'all. While we were waiting to be seated, I spotted this woman, pictured above. She had a serious, forever, permanent, can't-never-come-off tattoo of William Jefferson Clinton on her arm!

I politely asked her if I could take a picture and why she chose Mr. Clinton. She said she was a political junkie, and it was Clinton who got her hooked. She also said she was going to get Barack right next to it. Huh.

Guess everybody has to find something worth getting out of bed for.

No. Just No.

There is a place where my love of freedom and my love of Barack clash and it is here. Fred Phelps--who is the nuttiest nut in the nuttery--and his "church" (i.e. his children) were protesting outside Malia and Sasha's school in D.C.

I lived in Kansas City for a while and Phelps is based in Topeka; I remember his "God Hates F*gs" foolishness was well known in that area. It's reported that Phelps called Malia and Sasha the "satanic spawn" of a "murderous bastard" on his website. That's Phelps' granddaughter with the sign (how does every kind of crazy procreate but me?).

I'ma be like Tom Hanks in "The Green Mile:" There is no way God would give Phelps the call or authority to do the hateful, hurtful things he does.

Barack oughta suspend the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Federalist Papers, and whatever else and declare martial law to keep this nutacular nut away from his babies.