Jump the Couch

I’ve resolved to stop using this blog as a place to bitch and moan about things in my life. I promise. I’m no longer going to send my frustrations into cyberspace and allow my readers to lose interest and just assume I’ve gotten a cat and called it a day as a single girl in the city. I came to this decision after reading through some of my old blogs and noticed I sound rather whiney. So rest assured, my dear friends, I won’t come home and dump all my problems onto my blog. I have a boyfriend for that.
Today I was at work and got rather excited because my day was broken up with a phone call from a dude at the hole in the wall furniture store that I ordered my new couch from. He told me it was ready to be delivered. As a side note, this guy sounds exactly like Adam. No, really. It’s uncanny. I don’t even think I’ve heard Adam talk that much. I’ve probably heard this couch guy talk more about dust ruffles and walnut footed sectionals then I’ve heard Adam talk about anything. I’m sure I’ll get some comment about that. But anyway, I skipped home all excited to greet the delivery boys. They hauled in my beautiful new sectional couch. Now before all you out of towners get all excited that now I finally have a nice big couch for people to crash on, the story isn’t over. They started setting it up and I noticed that the sectional was totally the wrong dimensions. It was totally not the layout I’d ordered. Turns out this Adam-sounding kid did a little drawing on the invoice to show what the couch would look like and I signed it, meaning I was bound to whatever little doodle this kid’s heart desired to draw. This is how this place works; they seriously build you a couch based on a pencil doodle. And couch guy’s doodle looked nothing like what I’d wanted. I guess I didn’t take it seriously enough because before I left I added a stick figure of me sitting on the couch.
So when the faulty couch arrived, I busted out my best I-want-to-be-a-lawyer language and got on the delivery boy’s cell phone to the doodle-drawing bandit himself to tell him this was not the couch I ordered. I had to use everything in my power to sound mean and remind myself that I was not yelling at Adam, it was the couch man. To make me feel even worse, the delivery boy was deaf and kept trying to sign to me that he thought the couch was OK. How do you tell a deaf delivery boy that you’d rather not have to jump over the back of your oddly long couch to get the kitchen? This is probably what I get from going to a furniture store that doubles as a coffee shop.
It was getting pretty heated on the phone so finally I resorted to the only method I knew would work. The sure fire, I’m-glad-to-be-a-girl tactic. I started to cry. Suddenly everything changed and before I even shed a real tear, I had a new, custom-made couch promised to me in two weeks, a formal apology, and a deaf delivery boy signing that he loved me.
So mark your calendars kids, in two weeks I will have a new, awesome sectional couch that exactly meets my specifications. As long as everything goes to plan and I don’t have to cry again.
OK I just realized this started to sound rather whiney again. And I also realized I haven’t told very many Corporate Suzie stories. But I think part of being Corporate Suzie involves starting to get a little hard-nosed and bitchy, which is how I was today to Adam, I mean couch man.
Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go post my old crappy couch on craigslist and hope someone will actually want to buy it. If worse comes to worse, I’ll just cry to the first person who calls about it and it’ll be sold.

Eye Pod Drama

This weekend I had such I-Pod troubles and eye troubles. For those of you who haven’t been privy to my laser eye surgery drama, it’s still going on. I fully can’t see and my doctor’s a total ass. I think he just sits on his pile of millions in his fancy office with a view of the ocean and could care less about helping actual patients. Why do eye doctors always claim to be “The first doctor in the universe to perform LASIK!” They can’t possibly have all been the first, but I was suckered in, and now I’m paying for it in the form of one wonk-eye. I won’t go into but basically I’ve been to this guy’s office more times then most of my friends’ houses. I wave hi to the janitor as I walk in and I basically have my own parking lot in the building. So today I was given a million more eye drops which I now have to use every hour on the hour while I’m awake. And – this part might freak you eye woosies out – I can taste the eye drops. This is apparently totally normal. Your eye is connected to your throat, a fun-with-human-biology fact I would have rather not known. So to sum it up without boring you guys about eyeballs, I don’t like my eye doctor, I’ve actually cried in his office, and now my daddy’s going to call him and give him a talking to. For real. I’ll let you know what happens.

Now to move on to more interesting I’s. On Friday my I-pod starting whirring and clunking more then usual when it changed songs. Then all of sudden it died. I spent the past two days of free time on my computer surfing the apple website trying to fix it. I’ve done everything under the sun, next to throwing my computer out a window, which will probably happen next. My I-Pod made a little sad face at me and there actually was a listing on the apple website called “Is your I-Pod showing a sad face?” Yes, my I-Pod is very sad. I’ve uninstalled my I-Pod, reinstalled it, updated it, restored it, rocked it to sleep and given it a bath. Hmm.. maybe the bath wasn’t a good idea. But the darn thing doesn’t want to work. And it’s exactly 13 months old, which is exactly one month after the warranty expires. Damn you Steve Jobs.

So I’m a sad Mac now. Just imagine me at home with one eye closed, writing this blog, and hopelessly petting my dead I-pod, trying to convince it to come back to life for just a few hours so that I can take it the gym. I promised I would be nice to it and take all the Britney Spears songs off it if it wants.

In other news, I’m going snowboarding on Saturday. I’ve never snowboarded before and I’m kind of scared. I’ve only skied. And I stopped doing that because last time I went skiing I recall being hit from behind on my skies and taking a 20 foot tumble down the hill and almost breaking my femur. The guy who hit me got his lift ticket taken away and was escorted off the mountain. I however now have a fear of snow. This week just isn’t going my way.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to put an eye drop in.