How Jesus & Shanda Fixed My Email

Ok, so for the past few weeks, I have not been able to email ANYONE who has Atlantic Broadband. After much procrastination and feeble hopes that the problem would fix itself (it did not) I decided to get off my butt & call Century Link. Well, actually I thought I'd take the easy way out & email Century Link (a.k.a. Embarqmail.)

So upon much fussing and clicking I finally reached an individual via instant chat. This is what popped up on my screen:

"You are now chatting with Jesus."

Part of me wanted to giggle at the irony that Jesus would be accessible through live chat and also that he happened to work for Century Link. I began giggling like a school girl with a crush at the thought that I may actually be talking to Jesus- THE JESUS. (And don't burst my happy bubble by saying "Oh he probably pronounces it Hay-seus." I know that. And yet I prefer to reject that thought.)

How nice, I thought as the chat proceeded.

Apparently Jesus wondered why I had not typed anything yet so he took the initiative.

"Hi Kelly, this is Jesus. How may I help you?" (See?? No Mexican accent there.)


When that popped up on my screen I giggled some more. Part of me still fantasizing that I was actually talking to Jesus. The other part of me was trying to regain control of my fingers so I could type something back that actually made sense. And yet the war waged inside me - If I am anything but professional about this will my keyboard burst into flames? Is it ok if I ask him to grant me three wishes? Does he get sick of people bugging him to do things? Is it creepy if I ask him if he wants to hang out sometime? Apparently not or he wouldn't be working for Century Link in customer service/tech support. What I did manage to type was this:

"Hi Jesus, this is Kelly." (as if Jesus- both of them- didn't already know that.)

Immediately I thought Oh no, now Jesus thinks I'm a doofus. Quick type something smart!

So I began to ramble about my email problem.

Jesus was very patient. He always is. (more snickers to myself when that thought popped into my head.)

Jesus gave me the number to call for tech support. I thanked him. I actually got to type:

"Thank you Jesus"

It was one of those weird giddy moments for me. Like when Mike Wagner left me try on his Super Bowl ring. I felt like I should call someone and tell them. But instead I called the tech support number Jesus gave me.

I got Shanda.

Shanda was awesome.


She helped me reconfigure my outlook etc. etc. and called me back twice after I sent test emails to Gram (who I didn't get the chance to tell on the phone that I had just chatted with Jesus cause I knew Shanda was going to call back in just a minute or two.)

When it was all said & done, Ta-Dah! I can now email my Atlanticbb.net friends once again! Thank you Jesus! And Thank You Shanda - you little computer genius you!

Then because I had to tell SOMEONE about Jesus, I typed this up.

And now you know about Jesus too.

So if anyone ever says "Did Kelly ever tell you about Jesus?" You can say "Yes she did. He works at Century Link."

Do Blondes Have More Fun?

After years of having the same hair do I finally decided enough was enough and made an appointment with my number one girl Jess to get my hair did. For weeks I anticipated the date and pondered different cuts and styles. I stared at everyone and scrutinized their style and color and tried to picture it on my head. I even downloaded a picture of myself on one of those websites where you can try on virtual hair.

The style was pretty easy to nail down: something sort of short but not too short. Trendy but not quite the same as everyone else. The color was even easier. I just asked my husband what he wanted me to be. Now, before I continue, it's only fair to tell you that I have had many different hair colors in my life time including purple. The box said "Tropical Burgundy" but on my head it was purple and matching purple hair with work outfits for two months while it fades out is not an easy chore.

That being said, once your hair has been purple, you pretty much become fearless in the color department. After all, it's just hair. It will grow back. And if not, well, take your pick of some pretty awesome wigs.

So when I left the fate of my color up to my husband it did not come as a shock when he said BLONDE!! And yes, he said it in capital letters with exclamation points at the end. I said ok and before I left for the salon he reminded me not to chicken out and get "other colors put in it too" which in man language means "no highlights or lowlights, just be blonde."

And that is the message that I relayed to Jess when she asked what she could do for me. So she set about mixing her magic potion that was to turn me beautiful. And what fun we had! We had a great time watching my hair turn from reddish brown to Draco Malfoy white. The cut was fun too since I went from mid shoulder blade length hair to up above my collar. The classic wedge/bob with longer pieces in the front. We were fearless. It was great.

I looked fantastic! My hair was as blonde as blonde could be and it was styled beautifully. I wanted to take a picture for all of prosperity but couldn't find my camera. And what a shame too because as all women know, the first day of a hair cut and style has a Cinderella curfew. It looks fab until you go beddy bye. And then the evil trolls climb out from under the bed and do unspeakable things to your hair while you sleep and it never looks the same.

So when I woke up in the morning and the spell had been broken, I looked in the mirror (forgetting what we had done the day before) and almost screamed. There looking back at me was a crazy bedraggled homeless lady with bleach blonde hair. Or she may have been a strung out hooker the day after a bender. I'm not sure which but I stifled a scream of horror. Then I realized it was just me and felt much better for a second. Then I felt much worse. Because I realized that I can never again just put in a pony tail and leave the house. This hair will require styling every single day. And then I had a revelation. With an empty cigar box and a dirty coat I could go sit outside the Dollar General and panhandle. Cha-Ching! This hair style had the potential to pay for itself! And at the end of the day I can go home, style my hair and take my hubby out to eat with his hot blonde wife. No one would ever know it was the same person. What a difference a curling iron & some hair spray makes.

Now that I'm used to my hair I've been enjoying the reaction of others when they see my freakishly blonde hair for the first time. Some look mortified and ask if I did it myself. Others are duly impressed. Some just stare at me. Because of all the colors I've had in my life, including the purple, I have never been this light before. And I like it. I'll probably keep it this way until next summer when we open the pool. And the chlorine turns it green. Bah, green doesn't scare me.

H1N1, My Rant of the Day

Call me sinister but this world was in need of a new plague. It's getting a little crowded around here, don't ya think? All of the great sicknesses & illnesses through the ages are Mother Nature's way of cleaning out her system. Too many humans screwing around, messing the place up, lets have a pandemic. Almost like Earth is trying to puke her guts out the morning after a bad drinking binge.

Now I know, I'm a human too, I should be shaking in my shoes & hanging Lysol soaked sheets in the doorways. But I don't care. I really don't. It's not that I want to get sick or die. I just don't care. If I become a statistic in the H1N1 scare, then so be it. My soul is prepared. Bring it on.

Will I get a flu shot? No. Do I believe in flu shots? Maybe. Are they loaded with crap that shouldn't be in my body to begin with? Probably. But I'm not really concerned with that. After all, I eat raw, overcooked, undercooked & expired foods, use silverware that fell on the floor, and lick the cookie dough leftovers containing raw eggs out of the bowl. And I don't have worms yet. In fact I think there are enough germs and bacteria camping out in my lower intestines that if I did get H1N1, it would run away screaming once it reached my stomach.

And while I'm on the subject, when did peanuts become public enemy #1? Why is every kid on the planet suddenly allergic to my favorite comfort food of all time? Peanut butter is my life. I eat it like it's my job. What kind of wussy kids are we raising these days that can't handle food that was processed within a 200 ft radius of a peanut? GOSH!!! No wonder the flu bug is such a problem for this nation. If you can't handle a peanut, how are you planning on coping with the flu? Huh? Tell me.

Perhaps, and just humor me here, that is the whole reason for H1N1. Maybe Nature is a huge fan of peanuts and their byproducts and felt the need to devise a way to weed out the weaklings that can't handle them. Thus creating our flu bug du jour. Clever. Very Clever. Don't mess with nature.

I Ripple In the Water

Time now for more humorous poetry from my favorite local poet.


I Ripple In the Water
by Kelly C. Baker

My fat, it was floating
And I liked it not
As I lay in the bathtub
The water 'round hot

Where did this come from?
How could this be?
Where did my body go?
This is not me.

The running, the sit ups,
They all make me ouch
I'd rather be home
Watching "Charmed" on the couch

My cards have been dealt out
But my deck was stacked
It'd help if my husband
Quit buying me snacks

"I like a thick woman!"
He says with a smile
And frowns when I lace up
To go run a mile

I don't like it, I hate it
I want it to go
And if I had money
I'd just get lipo

Until then I'll workout
So my thighs don't rub
And float like fat islands
When I'm in the tub

Dear Youth of America

This morning on the radio they were talking about the President addressing the school kids next week. The question of the morning was: If you were the President, what would you tell the youth of our nation?

Here's what I'd tell them:
Don't take what you see on tv seriously. There are loads of crappy shows on VH1 and MTV & MTV2 that make you think that all teens are fabulously rich and that it's ok to be a stuck up, snobby, high heal wearing, fancy car driving, cell phone texting brat. That's not the case. Your parents may have wanted you to buy into that idea but look where that got them. They ended up overstretching their budget and now they can't afford the huge house, the huge SUV and they're unemployed. The lesson to be learned, Youth, is to WORK HARD and SPEND WISELY.
Don't buy crap. When you want to buy something, do a little math. Say to yourself "How long did I have to flip hamburgers to get that much money and if I buy this, will it really be worth working 9 hours for?"

Also, your dreams will not come true. Sadly enough. Life just isn't full of unicorns and rainbows. So if you're going to waste $70,000.00 on a college education, choose a career that there is actually a job market for. Otherwise you'll just barge right into adulthood up to your armpits in debt and be no better off than the rest of us. So you might as well stay at McDonald's and just aspire to be manager.

Don't waste your time waiting for the mailbox money to come. It's nice to collect unemployment or disability but you'll never get anywhere on that kind of money. You need real money, the kind you work for. You'll get ahead much quicker that way. And not all jobs are easy. Some are very difficult. It doesn't matter. Try them anyhow. Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty. The adults of the world will respect you a lot more if you are willing to do the hard jobs. There are enough people already sitting behind desks. They're the ones who helped get us in the mess this country is in. Too many chiefs and not enough indians.

Don't walk around being thugs. If you want respect in this world you have to earn it. It's not free. And slumming around with your pants around your ankles is not cool. It's annoying and if you come to me looking for a job like that, I wouldn't give you the time of day. Because people won't judge you based on your sparkling personality. So pull up your pants.

Girls: Don't get knocked up. It will ruin your life. He doesn't love you, he just wants a piece. He's not going to stick around and be a good baby daddy so don't waste your time. And don't waste your body. Do you really think someone who looks like that has good child rearing skills? No.
And I'm sick of paying your WIC and Welfare bill. So take it from me, stay away from the boys. Get a job, get a car, get an apartment, get your own life, then you can focus on raising a kid properly. Don't expect help from anyone. Be able to make it on your own before you think about dragging another life into this world. Be independant, be responsible.

And remember to brush your teeth & do your homework.

I Hate Running

I hate running. It never gets easier. You'd think after years of doing it, it would be a breeze, that I could just lace up, pop out the door and bounce down the street. Nay. It always is a miserable chore that I dread until the moment I arrive back in my driveway, out of breath & sweaty. It's only then that I feel fabulous about having done it. Sometimes just thinking about it makes me want to throw up.
I'm not athletic. I have no natural abilities. I am not speedy. I am just stupid. So I keep doing it. (And because my team for the 50 mile relay expects me to be able to run my leg of the race and not die of a heart attack.) They would like me to finish my 3 point something miles in a time less than one day. If not for them and their ridiculously high expectations (of me not dying) I would probably just settle for a nice two mile walk. Or bike ride. Down hill.
In a perfect world I would obtain a smokin' hot body just laying in bed watching tv all day. I think scientists should be working on making this dream a reality. And I should be eating while I lay there. But instead, I have to run & do sit ups and a bunch of other things that I don't feel like doing just to delay gravity from inevitably pulling my butt any closer to the floor. I am not reversing the signs of aging at this point, I'm just trying to keep up with the slow decay that's already happening. So I run.
The first mile is the worst. Then it doesn't get better. You just go numb. The worst part is trying to come up with something creative to think about while I'm out there. If I have a deep thought to mull over, the run goes much quicker. Or perhaps an MP3 player would be helpful. I don't have one though so I have to sing in my head. "Walkin' In the Sunshine" (Roger Miller) is a cheery running tune. But after 3 miles I'm usually sick of it. I need inspiration. If anyone has any inspiring thoughts feel free to share. I'm open for suggestions.

On The Road, Part II

I would like to address everyone who drives a car. As you may or may not know, I am a flagger. I am the person who ignorantly holds you up in traffic. You sit there at my intersection, honking your horn and yelling angrily out the window at me, acting like I have nothing better to do than make your life miserable. You take it personally that I have the audacity to make you late from where you want to go. You see me as an annoyance, something to run over, swerve at, or rev your engine at. You think I have an easy job because I'm just standing there.

What you don't know is that the reason you are sitting there and not moving is because right around the corner, where you can't see, there is a paving machine. The paving machine is the size of one entire side of the road. On the opposite side of the road from that paving machine is a line of traffic that will smash head on into you if I release you from your safe little spot.

I have a radio. You do not. I can hear which way traffic is going & that is how I decide when it's safe to let you out onto the road. I am there to keep you safe and to keep the crew I'm working with safe.

As far as my job being easy, when was the last time you spent 14 hours standing in 95 degree heat, not being able to sit down, walk around, or pee while angry people drive by you and hurl insults & let their non-winning scratch off tickets blow out the window at you? Still think it's easy?

Construction is a part of life, my friend. If you have not grasped this yet, then this must be your first day in PA. I am there for your safety. Sometimes you will have a little wait but I promise you, I'll try to get you as far away from me as possible as quickly as possible. You have places to go and I understand. I want you to get there safely. I want my crew to feel safe too and be able to work without worrying about you. It's MY job to worry about you. Even if you hate my guts for it and I make you 5 minutes late for your daughter's piano practice. I assure you, there are more important things in life than piano practice and life goes on. But not if you collide with the chipper or the oil truck because you tried to zoom around me.

So please, when you're out there and you come upon a construction zone, be patient. Have compassion on your friendly neighborhood flagger and maybe smile or say thank you once in awhile. It's the highlight of our day when kind people roll past. And please, don't throw your milkshakes at us. Drive safe.