Marrying George Clooney

okay. i have spent a good portion of the last 3 days dealing with AOL TECH people. all of AOL, every single AOL PERSON IN THE WORLD. the entire world. apparently, although one is never sure, AOL is having some tech difficulty and depending on who you frickin’ talk to they will either tell you that your personal computer sucks big time and you should throw it away and get a brand new one, or that AOL is updating and there by screwing up all your mail and data.
i am not a patient person, never have been, and i do hope & pray daily to the buddhist gods, that someday i will be patient. but on the list of shit i want to change about myself, patience goes well below — well below –unwanted chin hair.
once again at 4:45 pm yesterday, i was on a phone with an AOL TECH woman in yes india, who A) i didn’t understand one word she said “excuse me, can you say that again…” b) confirmed my greatest fear — AOL STANDS FOR: ASSHOLES OFTEN LAUGH: she laughed, giggled, tee-teed me to death for 2 hours while trying to get me to reboot, re-calibrate, re-organize, and re-launch my computer, which i had done the day ebfore because some other tech fool made me go through every single application and reboot… and being that I am a tech moron, i did and obeyed, and then she – this NEW TECH PERSON – put me on hold so i could speak with her supervisor, who… hello: TURNED OUT TO BE HER, THE SAME EXACT PERSON I HAD JUST SPENT AN AFTERNOON WITH, she was the supervisor, and i said to her, excuse me, aren’t you the same frickin’ person i just spent the day with? and she said, yes, I am the supervisor. WELCOME TO HELL. and then i pushed ken away, and told him if he took one step closer i would push his face into the wall.
this all… ALL… after being on the phone the day before with another AOL TECH person for, oh a good part of the day.
i need to start an AOL-O-NON GROUP.
i told hollye in an e-mail the night before that there is no therapy out there for this kind of shit.
there is none.
there should be.
we’re addicted.
i am a middle aged women who spends hours upon hours talking to either automated fake people who keep asking me DID YOU JUST SAY NEWARK, or women & men in india who call me mamie.

i want real.
i want women with real boobs & cellulite.

i want real women & real men & no more of this fake make-believe i live in Indiana in a small village and this isn’t an accent it’s a lisp.

gimme real.

I feel like I’m living in a town called CheezWhizVille, with truth be told … virtually no one.