AND WHAT MADE YOU THINK THAT WOULD WORK?

 

Well, hello there.  Good to see all of your bright and shining faces again today!  Hope everyone is doing fabulous, kicking butt, and getting “stuff” done.

As for me…not so much.  LOL

Have you ever wondered if your stars were crossed? 

Me?  

Oh, I’m well past that now. In fact, I’m pretty convinced that my stars have all fallen from the damn sky and are lying on the floor of the desert in the middle of BFE wishing I would just let them die and end the pain.

Okay, I can see I’m going to have to back up a little bit here.

This is about change.

(Exaggerated eye roll here.)

More specifically, about new processes, new updates, and a new software tool.

Don’t get me wrong…it’s a fabulous tool and will be of tremendous value to me once I finally learn how to use it and the new development cycle quiets a bit. Right now, the updates are coming faster than I can keep up with them.

A good thing?

Sometimes.

In my case?

Uh…not so much.

You see, I’m distracted.  I am working my proverbial arse off pulling together a Kickstarter campaign to create a boxed set of cowboy stories for the Butterscotch Martini Girls. Which means I’m distracted as hell.

So, warnings come into my inbox and I don’t see them. Then when I go to use the tool after six months of not having even glanced in its direction…and all FREAKING HELL breaks loose!!!

What do I do? I try to fix it, that’s what I do.

…then I make it worse.

So, I fix it some more.

…worse still.

Then I try to fix it a different way.

…doesn’t fix it, but now I have a whole new problem statement.

Sigh.

Now…and only after almost a full week of pain…I decide to finally reach out to the help desk, begging them to rescue my sorry arse.

They were very nice when they politely explained that they might need some screen shots and files to help them.

Oh, yeah. (Head nodding.) I can do that.

So I send them a very nice PowerPoint presentation with slides and comments and arrows…it’s a damned work of art!

Oh yeah…and the files they asked for.

With a smile, they cheerfully reply, hoping to confirm that I am using either .png or .jpeg files.

I am!

Well…almost.I

I started with .png, but they were too large and clearly bogged the system down. So I resaved the files as .jpg files and used those, which worked better, but brought me to the issue where not everything was showing in the viewer.

…this made me think…

Is there a difference between a .jpeg file and a .jpg file?

The internet seems divided on this question.

One source says yes…one is three letters and the other is four. (Not helpful.)

Another source says nope…no difference whatsoever. (Hmmm…maybe.)

A third source says yes…a very minor difference in the color profile due to the age of the file type. (I’m betting on door number three at this point.)

Think this would affect me and cause my issue? (Because we all know it’s about me.)

Well…I doubt it. But…we all know I cannot leave well enough alone. I have to know. So, I convince myself that it would be helpful if I tried to confirm this is not an impactor before I go back to the helpdesk and their developers.

Now I have a mission…to save the .png file again, but this time as a .jpeg instead of the older style .jpg.

Oh-kay…I’m off to see the wizard!

I open the file, save it as the newer file format, re-upload it into the tool I’m having issues with, hit the download button and…voile!

Nothing.

Well…not nothing. It was something. Just not the something I wanted. The circle of death spun for a few minutes as the computer was thinking. Then it spit out this very ugly error message indicating “Export Failed”.

Hmmm…that’s new.

Not good.

I decided what made sense was to put everything back where it was before I went back to the developers.

When in hell have you EVER known that to work?

Yeah…me neither.

Anyway, I went back and uploaded the original file again (.jpg), and requested a new download.

ERK! Same “Export Failed” error message.

Damn the luck!

Not only had I not diagnosed the problem, but now I had a brand-new problem statement.

If things continue to get worse, I’m going to have to stop helping!!!

Well, that’s my story, dumb and dumber, and I’m stickin’ to it. Hang on tight now ‘cuz we’re gonna go real, real fast!

Love ya,  

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NEWSLETTER SIGNUP

WHO LET THAT FOX IN THE HEN HOUSE, ANYWAY?

Hey gang, good to see ya’all again! Hope life has been treating you right and that the weather wherever you are is perfect for you! It’s starting to get hot here, which doesn’t thrill me, but the good news is that I now have the right tools to better deal with it this summer. Which brings up the topic of this blog.

Okay, so I had a brand spanking new AC unit installed last week, along with a Wi-Fi enabled programmable thermostat.

Gimme a YeeHaw!

Those of you who know me will be proud to hear that I can actually log into my computer and program/reprogram that shiny new thermostat...which I have been doing like a crazy woman! Cool on…cool off…cool on…cool off…cool more…cool less…all day, every day. LOL

Anyway, APS is the local utility company to which I am enslaved.  I always say that I work simply to pay my air conditioning bill because I HATE to be hot…and in the summer, that bill is second only to my house payment.  Even my F-150 costs me less per month than my summer utility bill.

Okay, I know…I live two feet from hell, but that’s another story for another day.  Suffice it to say that my previous bills with my previous 35-year-old unit were astronomical.  So I now have a new unit, along with dreams of higher efficiency…especially if I can get myself to the point where I will stop screwing with the thermostat and just let it work the way it’s supposed to!

So, in an effort to squeeze maximum savings out of this significant size financial hit, I decided to go to the APS site and see if they have a rebate of any kind.  Holy cow!  They do…a $30 rebate for a programmable thermostat. Fabulous! That cuts the cost of my new thermostat by one-third.  Not bad.

But wait...it’s never that easy, is it?

As I worked through the process on the APS site, they asked me to log into my thermostat's webpage from their site. At first, I was a little itchy about whether or not they might try to capture my password and login, but decided if it saved me from providing receipts, I'd give it a whirl and change it later.

So, I hit enter. And the next thing I encountered was a permission box to check that I would give APS control over my thermostat.

HUH? I was certain I must have read it wrong, so I read it again--two more times, in fact.

Yep, that's what it says. In order to sign up for the $30 rebate on my new thermostat, I have to put APS in charge of that new thermostat.

WHAT?!@#$%^&*!  Seriously?

It’s a new thermostat. My thermostat. I want to be the one to play with it. After all, I paid for it. Even if I do take the $30 rebate from APS, I’m still the one who paid for two-thirds of it…and I’m still the one who’s going to have to pay the utility bill.  Why should they have control of my thermostat? Are they going to take over paying my utility bill?

And didn’t your daddy ever warn you about the old adage of putting the fox in charge of the henhouse?  Well, mine did! And this smacks of some serious chicken doo-doo. This is like putting Amazon in charge of deciding how many boxes of cereal they should ship me every month. It’s like putting Exxon in charge of deciding how much gasoline I should use every month.  Or putting the government in charge of just taking however much money they want in taxes straight from my paycheck each month.  Oh, wait…we already do that...and that works out really well.

Seriously?

For $30, I’m going to sign on to give APS control over my thermostat? Put them in charge of deciding when and how much electricity I should use and, therefore, how much their bill to me should be? This would be handing over the keys to the kingdom for my 2^nd highest bill. And why would I do that? Because they have proven that they always have my best interest at heart? Because history has shown they want to help me spend as little money with them as possible?

I think not. In fact, I’ve been lobbying to get them to send me out a jar of Vaseline with every utility bill. It’s the least they can do. And now I should just give them my login credentials and put them in charge of my personal comfort—and finances?

Well, the end to the story is that I backed out of their little process, told them they could kiss me where the sun doesn't shine, and changed the password on my thermostat control account.

Seriously? Who thunk up that process?  And while we’re at it…who are the bozos at the Corporation Commission that approved that little piece of regulated business? Voting will go a lot differently in my voting booth next time one of them is up for reelection!

That’s my story, brazen and bonkers, and I’m stickin’ to it.  Hang on tight now, ‘cuz we’re gonna go real, real fast!

Love ya, 

Kayce

(Who’s happy as a pig in crap playing with her new thermostat!)

WHAT THE HELL DOES “NEVER” MEAN, ANYWAY?

Hey gang, how are ya’all?  Hope everyone had a fabulous Easter and that you’re enjoying your April immensely!

So, I’m here today to ask a question that has been weighing heavily on me.  What the hell does “never” mean?  And why does it not appear to mean the same thing to everyone?  Maybe you’ve noticed it, maybe you haven’t.  But I have, and it’s driving me freaking crazy!

Okay, let me explain what I mean.

Have you set up a new online account using Chrome as your browser recently?  If so, you may recall that you provided an appropriate User ID, and supplied a secure and “secret” password.  Do you remember Chrome asking if you want it to remember your password for you?

Yeah, I see you nodding.

So…if you’re like me, you are paranoid about ANYONE knowing your password—even Chrome.  Especially Chrome.  Like me, you hit the option “Never Save Password”.  Did you ever think about what that meant?

If we are talking about one password (this password), then the option doesn’t make sense to me.  If I’m setting up a new password, it is only a “new” password one time.  And most sites will not allow you to reuse that same password again.  So, when would “Never Save Password” ever apply in the case where it is singular and referring only to this password?  Never, by its very nature, implies the situation will repeat itself and you must decide now for all future iterations.

Are you following me?  I hope so.

On the flip side, what if they used poor grammar and really meant to say, “Never Save Passwords”?  In that case, I would expect to never see the question again.  How long?  NEVER!  NEVER EVER!

Alas, I have seen the question every stinking time I set up a new account.  So, is the error in the grammar of the option or is there another meaning implied?  What does NEVER mean to Google?  Exactly.

Because I can tell you it doesn’t seem to be the same as what it means to me.

Here’s another example—junk mail.  Ever find important email from someone (in my case, my publisher) in your Junk Mail folder?  More than once?  Like a million times?

Yeah, me too.  I click on the email and select the option “Not Junk” and it gets moved to my Inbox, only to have the next email from the same sender go to the Junk Mail folder again.  Okay, I get it.  I didn’t give them any rules beyond this one particular piece of email.

So, the next time I find an important message in the Junk Mail folder, I now select “Never block messages from this sender”.  There’s that word again—never.  At this point, any reasonable person would assume the function that manages this option has the ability to never block these messages.  Why offer if they can’t do it?

Did it work?

Noooo…it did not.  Email from that same sender at that same email address from the same IP address will again show up in your Junk Mail folder.  It is inevitable.  And you will again be offered the same ability to Never block messages from this sender.

Seriously?

So, what the hell does “never” mean to the people who developed these functions?  Does it mean maybe never?  Sometimes?  Intermittently?  Always?  Or only if the moon is green and the sky turns purple on a day of the week that ends in “m”?

Because it appears that ALL of these definitions apply—at least, in someone’s world.  Not in mine, but in someone’s.

And I can guarantee you that Chrome will offer yet one more time and your email will end up in Junk Mail yet again on the day that a green moon in a purple sky shines over a day of the week ending in “m”!

Who the hell thunk that up?

That’s my story, quirky and questioning, and I’m stickin’ to it.  Hang on tight now, ‘cuz we’re gonna go real, real fast!

Love ya,

Kayce

AND I’M PAYING FOR THIS?

 Hey gang, good to see ya’all.  Hope all is well out there in Reader Land! Well, here we are again…it’s late Thursday night and Kayce’s wound up about stupidity yet one more time.  So, let’s get to it! Enjoy!

Okay, let’s be clear.  The stupidity in this story is on both sides…first I was stupid…then they were stupid back.  But I like to think they were more stupid than me, so please humor me.  The “they” in this equation is none other than our very own IRS, and my hope is that writing the truth won’t get me thrown into IRS hell. But ya’all know I just can’t leave stupid alone.  If it’s sittin’ on the fence starin’ at me, I gotta poke it with a stick.  Gotta!  It’s a rule.

So, what happened was that I got lazy about paying them the $3K I owed because all that tax-free money I saved all those years isn’t quite so free when it’s coming back to me in retirement.  In fact, they are taxing the hell out of it—along with every other penny I make.  So, if you’ve heard that you don’t have to pay taxes on social security income, that’s dead wrong.  It’s only right if you are drawing enough that you have to live with your children just to pay your cable bill.  Wait… that’s a bad comparison…my cable bill used to give my house payment a good run for its money…hence, the antennae on the top of the house and the discarded receivers stacked in my garage because I refuse to pay to throw them away.

To make my point, let’s choose something smaller than a cable bill—cell phone.  Oh, no, that won’t work either.  Uh…gas?  No.  Food?  No.  Newspaper? No. Anyone having the Phoenix newspaper delivered lately?  I miss the days when you could get the Wednesday paper for $.25!

Okay, so I got lost.  The point is that my tax bill is ridiculous.  As a single person, I cannot begin to use that many services, but the agency is all powerful, so I rail against the injustice by dragging my feet on paying.  Bad form, I know.  Did you forget the part about how I was stupid first?  Anyway, I was. I filed, I owed, I dragged my feet.  Now they send me a pink slip from the post office to tell me I have to take off work and drive 15 miles to pick up a letter from them.  Why don’t they get Amazon to deliver those letters? They bring everything to my door!

So, now I’m annoyed and I refuse to take off work and blow the gas it will take to drive, then stand in line only to get a letter that tells me I have to pay.  I know that already.  What I can’t remember is how much I’ve already paid.

So, I’ve dragged my feet and lodged my useless (think ‘stupid’ here) protest.  It’s now time to pay the piper.  But I won’t drive.  Instead, I go online and pull up the website and I see they have the option to set up an online account to get your information.

Perfect!  Count me in.

I follow the instructions to the T—enter first name and last exactly as it appears on your last tax return.  I have the return in front of me, so there are no mistakes.  I do dither for a moment because the tax return asks for my middle initial, while the online account setup does not.  Seems like a disconnect to the retired IT professional.  Oh well, I’m following their instructions exactly because I know how the IRS loves their instructions.

Now I enter my address…and this is where it gets a little tricky…do I enter the “th” after the “6”? Do I spell out Street or just put “St”?  I follow the tax return and type it exactly as shown. City…I got this.  State…drop down makes it a piece of cake.  Zip…hmmm, is that the 5-digit zip or the 9-digit zip?  Follow the tax return.

You get the gist…I’m not taking any chances.

I enter my birthdate and social security number. Then it asks me for one of my credit card numbers.  Seriously?  I hesitate a moment, double-check the URL, confirm it IS the IRS.  So, I enter the credit card number I use the most.  Then I hit enter, expecting it to then open the big iron gates to the inner sanctum of my personal tax information—and my balance due.

Nope.  It tells me I have entered the wrong credit card number.  WTF?  It’s my favorite card, I have the number memorized, I never leave home without it, I know it’s the right card.  You mean to tell me the IRS doesn’t have a record of my favorite card?  I think it just became an even bigger favorite! But what do I do now?  Do I just guess my way through my entire inventory of credit cards? Should I use my Home Depot Card? Kohl’s?  What card does the IRS want? Apparently, that part is a secret because no matter how much I scream at the computer screen, it just sits there staring back at me…accusing me of being WRONG!

I take a deep breath and try again with another card…my third favorite…because I was pissed and refused to give them my second favorite. They don’t need ALL of my favorites. I enter the card number, double-check that nothing else got wiped out, and hit enter, this time certain the iron gates would swing open wide.

Nope.  It accuses me of having made a mistake on what I entered.  Seriously?  No way, Jose.  I know my personal information, I was careful as hell, I was right. I scream at the computer, “I’m right. The IRS is wrong.” 

Crickets. 

Dammit!

I scream a little while, threaten to skip the computer across my pasture, then settle in to make sure all the data is right.  This time I re-enter everything on every line by copying and pasting from the tax return to the online form.  By God, it’s right this time.  Hit enter.

Nope.  This time I get a message that says because I entered something wrong, I can no longer play on their field.  Wait 24 hours and try again.

WTF?  I’m the one with the right data.  If what I entered doesn’t match what they have, THEY are wrong.  LET ME IN!!!  At this point, I am screaming and pounding on the computer. The IRS is unnervingly calm.  They ain’t right.

Nothing to do but wait 24 hours.  So, the next day, I try again…the problem is, I didn’t look at the time the day before, so I don’t know when my 24 hours is up. Oh well, I know the sun was up when it happened, so I’ll try again now and if they won’t let me in, I’ll wait and try again after dark, when I know it’s been 24 hours.

Nope. Won’t let me in. I have made an error, they accuse…wait 24 hours.  Is that 24 hours from yesterday’s try or from now?  I don’t know. So, I wait.  Dark comes.  I try again.

Nope. You have made an error…wait 24 hours.

The dogs outside are barking because they hear me screaming in the house and they think I’m being slaughtered.  At this point, I begin to search for a phone number to the webmaster or tech support.  Nope…they don’t want you calling their tech support or the web guy unless you are trying to e-file.  I search high and low and cannot find any number I’m allowed to use.  I’m in a catch-22.  The people in charge of this process cannot be reached by any mere mortal, they won’t tell me which field I have incorrectly answered, I only get one chance per day of fixing it, and let’s not forget that they’ve already rejected my favorite credit card.  Now I have to guess at what information to enter…and I have to freaking get it perfect or they won’t tell me what to fix again!  Seriously? That seems like a good process to the IRS? These are the people who are in charge of so much of my money? And I have to pay them every year?  I have to freaking pay to be treated like this?

So, it is at this point that I give up and decide to call the main number, knowing I’ll be on hold for at least a half hour.

Nope.  An hour and a half on hold.  I was honestly on hold so long that I’d look up every once in a while, and wonder why the hell my phone was playing music. It was about two seconds of pure bliss…then I would remember.  I’m on hold for the IRS.  I visibly aged while I held!  When the guy finally answered, we got the issue of the balance resolved…but he wasn’t the right guy to help me set up the online account, and he didn’t know who was.

Thank you, Mr. IRS!

So, there it is…I was stupid first, then they were stupid most.  I did finally manage to get an online account set up the next day when I was able to, at last, guess everything correctly.  I understand that my information is personal, and they need to protect things like my social security number, but I don’t understand the Fort Knox level security requiring a credit card just for setting up an online account.  Are they afraid someone who already has my name, address, AND social security number is going to set up an online account and pay my bill?

That’s my story, stinky and spastic, and I’m stickin’ to it.  Hang on real tight now, ‘cuz we’re gonna go real, real fast!

Love ya,

Kayce

STUPID RIDES AGAIN!

Hey gang, how ya’all doin’?  Hope you are all fine as frog hair split three ways!!!  So, this week, I’m back on my favorite topic…Stupidity.  There just ain’t nuthin’ that gets me spun up like an overdose of stupid on the hoof.

While researching “stupidity” on the internet, I ran across a fabulous saying that fits this week’s story PERFECTLY!  It was a meme with my favorite actor—Sam Elliot—depicted with the saying, “When you’re dead, you don’t know that you’re dead.  All of the pain is felt by others.  The same thing happens when you are stupid.”

AMEN!

So, here’s my stupid story for the month…it happened one day last week at the bank.  I was rushing to make a hair appointment, and it was an absolute emergency.  Between vacation and a sinus infection, I was a week-and-a-half overdue to have the gray washed away—EMERGENCY of major proportions!  I had rescheduled this appointment twice, and couldn’t risk pissing off my hairdresser by being late.

Think about it…he’s got the color of my hair in his hands.  Piss him off and I could walk out of there looking like this!

So, I’m on my way, with about ten minutes to spare—most excellent.  Then I realize I don’t have any money to pay him with and he prefers not to take credit cards.  Uh-Oh.  Okay, nothing I can’t handle…there’s a bank one-half mile from the salon.  No problem…I got this.

I drive to the bank and pull into the drive-thru teller line.  Yeah…only one car in front of me.  Everything is going great—so far.  J  I wait for a minute or two for the guy in front of me to finish his transaction.  That’s when I notice something isn’t right.  He’s punching buttons way too fast…no one can read numbers that quickly.  I begin to focus on what he’s doing.  Good, he’s done—his card comes out, and I’m putting my truck in gear to pull forward as soon as he moves.

He stares at his card for a moment, then inserts it again.

SERIOUSLY?

We’ve all been there, right?  The person who enters wrong information, forgets to do everything in one transaction, or the bank that lets you see your balance, but you have to log in all over again if you want to withdraw any money—then there’s the guy who doesn’t know what his balance is, so he guesses at how much money he can get from the machine…several times.  Yeah, that’s the guy I’m behind.

I’m getting steamed as I watch the seconds tick by.  I have 7 minutes to get to the hairdresser or I walk out looking like a head of lettuce, and this guy puts his card in a second time, hits all the buttons with the speed of a chipmunk on amphetamines.  He stares at the machine for a moment, raps it on the side, hits more buttons, and out comes his card again.

YEAH!

I really don’t care that he hasn’t gotten his money.  I just want him gone.  I put my truck in drive again and inch forward, as does the car behind me.

The guy at the machine licks his card and wipes it on his sleeve, inserts it back into the machine a third time, and starts punching numbers like a maniac.

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?

What the hell is this idiot doing?  Is he making that many mistakes?  Is he looking for twice the money he has in his account?  How does it take three tries to get money out of the teller machine?  Ask the damn machine for your balance, idjit!  And who licks his freaking card?

I wait.

He stares at the machine, again hits it on the side, and again punches numbers like Mayweather in a boxing ring.

I am steaming as I watch the seconds continue to tick by.  I now have four minutes to rescue my hair.

His card exits the machine one more time.

FINALLY!!!

Again, I put my truck in drive and inch forward, as the idjit inserts his card a fourth time.  I shriek, “You have no money, a-hole, give it up!”  Fortunately, my window is up, or it mighta got real ugly.  He might have been stupid, but he wasn’t small.  LOL  I think I heard the guy in the car behind me yell something, too.  J

Time to give up and leave.  I scan my rearview mirrors.  No way.  I’ve inched within three feet of the idjit at the machine, and the guy behind me is so close that I can’t see his car over the tailgate of my truck…but when I lean to the right, I can see his back bumper in my side view mirror.  He’s there, and I ain’t going nowhere.

This is when I begin exercising my entire vocabulary of cuss words, calling the guy in front of me everything but smart. 

I am SMOKIN’!

The guy performs the same routine—insert card, hit buttons furiously, stare at the machine, hit it on the side, eject your card.

This time, I’m taking action.  I’m rolling down my window to tell him to get the hell out of line.  I now have two minutes to get to the hairdresser, and I am definitely feeling the pain of this guy’s stupid.

The guy must have, at long last, exhausted his entire supply of stupid because he finally, blessedly, put his card away and drove off—before I could scream obscenities at him or go to jail for maiming him for life.

I pull up to the machine and squint.  It looks broke.  The screen isn’t black, it’s blue.  So, yes, I exercise my right to be stupid, too.  I insert my card and the screen doesn’t change.  No words, no pretty banking pictures, no on-screen keyboard—just solid blue screen.  Okay, I have stupid moments, but I’m not a complete idjit.  I’m happy to say I drove off after only inserting my card one time.

But I had to wonder…how tough is life for someone who inserts his card into a machine that is clearly broken and displaying the blue screen of death?  Not once, not twice, not three times, but four!!!!  Then it occurred to me that he was there when I arrived.  Is it possible I’d missed the first two times?  Or twenty?  That’s absolutely terrifying.

John Wayne has been credited with saying, “Life is tough.  It’s tougher if you’re stupid.”  I was actually feeling very sorry for the guy at the bank by the time I arrived at my hairdresser seven minutes late, but with money in my hand.  And, no, I did not leave looking like a head of lettuce—because I have a very understanding hairdresser…and did I mention I had money in my hand?  J

That’s my story, stupid and senseless, and I’m stickin’ to it.  Hang on tight now, ‘cuz we’re gonna go real, real fast!

Love ya,

Kayce