When the phone rang in our house growing up, my mom would grimace. It was usually for me, and it was usually my best friend or current love lust interest. She knew that the phone line would be occupied for the night as I grabbed the cordless and headed to my room for privacy.

I was known to keep that phone tied up for hours. Rarely did anyone else in our house ever use it, nor did they try and get me off of it. I think they found peace in the fact that I was locked away in my room and not spewing my teenage mellow drama throughout our peaceful home.

As years passed and high school ended, I moved on to college where I lived with my four best friends. There was no need to be on the phone - expect to Mike when he lived on the other side of the country for work over three months of my last year - another post all together.

My love for the phone diminished. As I became an adult, with my own phone, it decreased further to the point of disdain now that the telemarketers got my number. I hate talking on the phone. I hate just about everything to do with the phone: maybe because work has taken the fun! out of it since it’s more of a work tool for work stuff then for the enjoyment and gossip that I used to get out of it.

With my pregnancy winding down (OMG! 6 weeks left!) I’ve been getting the last of my appointments and registrations and bookings set up: requiring the phone.

One important registration that I’ve put off was booking with the hospital to save time when I arrive, ready to pop this child out. So I called this morning to set up an appointment with the labour and delivery department for a tour and registration. It’s a brand new hospital that I have yet to visit, so I think it’s a little imperative that I get some kind of idea where the hell I’m supposed to go.

I called the number provided by my doctor only to be greeted by a tin can voice directory.

Great start.

I navigated through part of the menu that took me to the hospital I was actually looking for fine; but then the voice activation kicked in.

Let me just state that whomever, in their right mind, thinks that voice activation is a good idea is a complete fucking idiot. Voice activation is just another one of Satan’s tool to frustrate people to the point of almost committing unlawful acts of violence and instilling pain on those who may be in the vicinity while trying to use that damn system.

I said, “Department” as requested by the tin can voice, who then proceeded to repeat it back to me.

Piece of shit is mocking me.

Okay, I think, please just give me the list of departments.

Then it hung up on me.

Great.

As I began cursing the stupid mechanical voice, I hear snickers coming from the other side of the office. Not only am I being mocked by a pre-recored voice, I’m providing entertainment for my colleagues.

I start again.

I try pressing zero to avoid the bullshit and get to a real person.

“You’ve pressed an incorrect key.”

Pressing zero repeatedly usually works, so I try that.

“There is no patient here by that name.” It mocks.

WTF!? Crap.

Hang up.

Begin to curse The Voice again only to hear more snickers from the peanut gallery.

Try again.

Back to press this, press that, press this… then say “Department”

“DE-PART-MENT.” I stated.

The voice lists off the HOSPITALS again!.

I say the one I’m looking for: no trouble, it actually understood me. We moved on to the list of departments.

“Say the name of the department you are looking for.”

“Obstetrical Booking.” I stated.

“I’m sorry. I did not understand your request.”

“OB-STET-RICAL-BOOK-ING.”

“I’m sorry you seem to be having trouble. I will now transfer you.”

Praise the Lord! A HUMAN! I get to talk to a human being!!

At this point I’m about ready to jump up and down jubilantly screaming that I had defeated The Voice.

Then ANOTHER fucking pre-recorded voice interrupts my victory celebration.

“I’m sorry. Our office is now closed. Our office hours are from 8am to 6pm. Please try your call again at a different time.”

Then it hangs up on me.

I remove the phone from my ear and stare at it.

It’s fuckin’ 10:30am! 10:30!

It’s not a weekend, nor is it a statutory holiday.

As I curse the phone, the stupid departments, and the fact that their damn voice doesn’t even know the damn time, I hear bursts of laughter from the other side of the office.

I’m certain that damn tin can voice is laughing at me too.

Back in the day, while frequenting the mommy message boards (EEEVILLL!), I forged relationships with quite a few women. It’s difficult not to get sucked into other people’s lives and feel for them, care about them, think about them - like I’ve very much done since joining the blogworld.

Then, in an instant, things changed. I don’t know really what happened. I don’t know if I was taken advantage of, conned - whatever. A person I thought of as a friend was in a very tight spot and, out of the goodness of my heart, I opted to help her. Without ever meeting this person, I wired her 250 dollars (Canadian - which was MUCH less at the time - probably about 350US) to get herself, her little boy and infant twin girls out of an abusive home, and a tiny bit of a start, to move from Chicago back to Cali.

There were rumors about her flying all over the message boards about her being a con, taking gifts and purchases from caring board members and selling them on E-bay for cash. Being the kind hearted person that I am *coughBULLSHITcough* I believed that, yes, she was selling everything trying to raise enough money to get out of the hell she was living in. Without knowing that I had contributed a great deal of money to her cause, people jumped on me for taking her side while all I was doing was trying to enlighten them on the other side. (Sometimes that doesn’t alway work - ask my dear friend Miss Britt.)

Inevitably, the administrator took it upon herself to ban said person, who was a member for well over four years, without giving her a chance to defend herself - without giving her the benefit of the doubt. I received a phone call from said person frantic and in tears after reading what people were saying about her, without the ability to fight back.

Though, I never go the money back from her, as she promised. I know that she did indeed get out of that abusive relationship and back to California - so maybe what I did was right. I don’t think I’ll ever know. but, since then I’ve been very leery about helping people I’ve only met online.

Since joining the blog community I vowed to keep my money to myself and offer only emotional support to people that I “meet”.

Why am I telling you all this?

Something happened that changed my mind. I contributed, financially, to someone’s cause.

A fellow blogger is in the midst of her third battle with ovarian cancer. She’s now fighting for her life based on past ‘treatments’ (I say ‘treatments’ because you have to read her stories about her previous bout with this awful cancer).

She needs our help. Her family needs our help.

Right now, Miss Anne is collecting donations and holding a raffle to help Lisa. Anything you can spare to help this wonderful lady, mother, fellow blogger, would be greatly appreciated. If you can’t help financially, it’s completely understood, but you can still help by putting in your sidebar, one of the buttons created by fellow bloggers (which are on Miss Anne’s site).

I am the product of, what I believe to be, was a one night stand or very short dating stint between my parents. I believe that my parents married because they were both of Catholic faith (Ha!) and their parents would have cast Satanic spells and banished them to the Gates of Hell had they not married before my birth. That they did; about 35 days before I arrived.

Throughout my pre-teen years I was hateful and very vengeful towards my little brother, as most pre-teen girls are. We would fight and I would venomously utter The Words. The Words that just about every teen does to a sibling: I wish you were never born! or I would tell him: You were mistake! To which he would run to my mom and tattle that I had said such hurtful and harsh things to a very impressionable little boy.

One particular instance we were fighting in the car and I utter The Words. As we arrived to a stop light my mom slowly turned around and glared at me. “No Samantha, you were a mistake.”  to which my brother beamed ear to ear.
I was defeated.

The Words would never scar that boy again because now he had ammunition: The Truth.

I don’ t blame my mother for what she said, hell if the time comes I just may do the same to Carter as he torments his sibling one day (even though it’s entirely untrue. Both my children were planned and are angels in Satan’s The Good Lord’s  service.) I deserved that quip, I’m just surprised that she thought of it so quickly. My mom is not one for witty comebacks, that’s for sure. To this day, I actually find it kinda humourous.

During a visit with my mom a little while back we were talking about my choice of contraceptive - okay a while back seeing as I am now about the size of a house, only a bit smaller - (Because that’s what adult women do with their mothers. As apposed to teenagers who sneak over to The Clinic at lunch and load up on flavoured condoms and giggle as they return to school with them in their clutches feeling so sneaky and devious.) She was a little shocked when I told her that I had opted for the IUD.

“An IUD?” she announced to a FULL food court, looking around she lowered her tone as if to share a deep dark secret, “I had one of those when I got pregnant with your brother. It failed.”

A smile spread across my face.

“What?” she hissed.

“So he was a mistake too?”  I questioned.

“Oh Samantha, neither of you were a mistake.”

Typical parental response. Kinda like I don’t have a favourite I love you both equally.

Bullshit.

“Oh Mom.” I sighed, over the years I’ve put the pieces together. I got it all now.  “Remember how I used to tell my brother he was a mistake whenever I’d get mad at him and you would tell me that I was, in fact, the mistake. Always stealing my thunder, and the fact is we’re BOTH mistakes.” I laughed.

She stared at me. Daggers in her eyes. Not quite finding the humour.

Laughing to myself, I didn’t pursue it any further. Still haven’t to this day. I like my limbs intact, thanks.

And even though we’re far beyond the fighting and hurtful name calling we used to exhibit. I’m holding on to this one to drop in his lap sometime.

Though I don’t know that “Dude! We’re BOTH mistakes” is quite as effective.

As a child my parents often brought my brother and I to auctions. As boring as I found them, I was completely drawn in by the auctioneer’s ability to speak so quickly. I would stare, dumbfounded as he spewed out the jumble of words which barely sounded English.

My dad would often remind me: Don’t raise your hands or make any jesters in the auctioneer’s general direction so they don’t think you’re bidding on something.

Now, that I think about it, I guess it’s better to be safe then sorry, but what auctioneer in his right mind would accept the unintentionally flailing of a six year old as a competent bid for the antique dresser with accented mirror?

The things parents tell their children to make them sit still and shut up.

For years I was scared shitless that I would make the wrong move and I would end up buying my parents some awful piece of artwork, a car or some shit. I sat stone still and never once made an eye contact with a single person in the entire area. Ever.

From those days on, I was sworn off auctions. I know people that have bought wonderful items and I’ve jealously commented It’s Not Fair! But it is.

They didn’t fear the auction like I. They were able to get terrific items as low cost and be round of their purchases where as I pay full price at a store sans awesome deals, like auctions.

Until recently.

When I grew some balls and jumped into the world of Ebay. Still a little leery, I’ve only purchased 4 items in the past year, but I think it’s growing on me.

The enjoyment of the surfing, the exhilaration of the bidding, and then Winning!? Fabulous! So! Much! Fun!

Potentially addicting fun.

Scary part is it doesn’t feel like you’re using real money.

Until you have to pay for your treasures.

I got myself a 40GB iPod today. Yeah! Me!

I was so excited watching a few auctions and losing a couple as well, I paid 40 bucks more then I would have liked, but it’s Mine! Beating the competition out in the remaining 5 seconds is almost as great as sex.

What a rush!

:::

It’s time again (already!? My gosh!) for the Perfect Post awards for August. And this month I was awe struck by an eloquent post by Velveteen Mind.

Her depiction of life on the Gulf Coast since Hurricane Katrina was a true eye opener. It was more then mere words can describe, therefore you should stop by and read it yourself.

For her heartfelt words and fantastic way she grips her reading audience, I award Megan, of Velveteen Mind, with August’s Perfect Post.

For the rest of the Perfect Post winners, drop by and see MommaK at Petroville or Lindsay at Suburban Turmoil.