For example, child has figured out that Mama and Papa’s carefully-crafted “you’re in trouble” façades are, in fact, just that. Or at least he’s figured out how to change “you’re in trouble” to “you’re really funny”.

This morning, when a very very sick Mama was struggling to get Torsten dressed, Torsten did not want to get dressed. Mama came back from England two days ago and Torsten would much rather hang out and play with Mama.

And so I made a sad face, the one I make when I’ve had to tell him to do something one-too-many times and I realize he’s not listening to my voice anymore.

Torsten: Mama, don’t cry…

Me: Ok, I’m not crying. I’m just sad.

Torsten: Shh… shhh… don’t be sad. Shhh… don’t be sad Mama.

Me: <sad face>

Torsten: Don’t be sad, Mama… Think about BRAINS!

(N.B. Torsten is on a Zombie kick after hearing Jonathan Coulton’s “Re: Your Brains“. He’s only ever heard the chorus, but that is apparently enough…)

Me: *snort* *chortle* *laugh*

Torsten: *victorious face*

Keep in mind, my child is not even three yet.

We are so screwed.

I love it.

(taken surreptitiously with my iPhone because I was afraid that the owner was one of the beefy construction workers across the street…)

The problem is that because a lot of businesses only ship with them, they’re often the only game in town (because they’re cheap), so it’s not as if anyone has a choice in terms of using them most of the time.

I certainly never chose to ship with UPS when I had other alternatives. Your mileage may vary of course, but in recent years, my experiences with UPS were not good. Don’t get me wrong – some individual delivery drivers have been kind and helpful and diligent, and it is a shame that what I generally presume to be a bad customer service model (rather than individual drivers) means that there’s more focus on the substantial negatives people experience than the people who do a good job. That’s unfortunately the way of the world.

Buuuuuuuuut…

A gentleman referring to himself as “Mr. Big” (overcompensate much, dear?) from Florida (specifically, 76.108.125.137 , which resolves to a dynamic Comcast IP (c-76-108-125-137.hsd1.fl.comcast.net) - West Palm Beach, perhaps?) chose to demonstrate how classy some of UPS’s employees really are by leaving me the following message this morning:

you people are idiots,, please dont use ups,bunch of retards,,first off unless you live in complete filth in the ghetto , or THE SHIPPER PAID TO MAKE SURE WE DONT LEAVE THE PACKAGE WITHOUT A SIGNATURE then you are outta luck,we cant leaveit,, the last thing we want to do is go back to the same stop the next day, as for the sea cow that said ‘ oh,, thats terrible the driver would not bring the package up for the pregnant woman” boo hoo,, we have on average about 190 stops a day and everyone we deal with has a bad back, is crippled,, old,, pregnant, retarded, some reason why they want us to do more than we are paid for…jerks,,, ups has been around 100 yrs and is still payin its employees well and makin a ton of money….HA HA HA

Hmmmm. So UPS, is this the public face you want to display?

Complain about UPS on the Internet, get told you’re a a retard, and a jerk, a sea cow for sympathizing with a pregnant woman,  and get (really, so eloquently) informed that UPS has been around forever, is making loads of money, and you, the customer, can suck it?

My personal suspicion, given the number of hits I get for UPS sucking in various forms, is that businesses that use their model of making customer service effectively unavailable (and having a standard set of falsehoods used as a delay tactic for angry customers) which don’t also provide reasonable service to their customers will eventually collapse under their own weight, though it may take a while. If you’re the only game in town by virtue of being the cheap choice of online retailers, it takes a while for customers to decide to pay for more expensive options or to simply stop using particular services until they start offering multiple shipping options. When we still lived in the US, I often opted for 2-day FedEx, USPS or DHL when it was offered, even if it was more expensive, to avoid having anything important go via UPS. I wanted to ensure I actually got what I asked for when it was supposed to come and didn’t waste multiple days waiting for it or find it stolen (by the way, “Mr. Big”, I didn’t live in the ghetto – I lived in a city. Cities are densely populated and not all people are scrupulous, as you surely know from *ahem* personal experience). If companies like UPS continue to go for increased profit margins at the expense of actually providing the service they’re paid to provide (delivering when they say they will deliver, not lying about having tried to deliver it afterwards, etc.), they will eventually run into problems, though I do suppose the lesson of the U.S. economy in the new millenium is that you can lie for a damned long time – at least long enough to run off with the profits, leaving employees like our friend here screwed.

Anyway, I should state, for the record, that I didn’t post this because I’m somehow upset by it – I’m actually amused.

Especially since Mr. Big — whose charming (and certainly fake) email address was, incidentally, entered as “slapyousideways@yahoo.com” — got here by searching for the following phrase: “why working for UPS sucks”.

UPS, you may want to have a chat with some of your Floridian employees about 1) how not to represent your company, and 2) how to be less stupid on the Internet.

Just sayin’…

(1.14.2010 – and it appears we have another winner on the employee list. Of course, it could be the same dude coming through a Tor server (don’t think I didn’t see that), but if not, welcome, “bossman” from somewhere near Valencia, CA… you’re the next contestant on the Circle of Jerks ™! – pun intended.)

Usually I point him out to Torsten, who watches him quietly as he eats, and then the squirrel disappears and we’re done with it.

This morning, however, Torsten decided to make his feelings about the squirrel known. I had no idea…

Me: Torsten! Look, it’s the squirrel!
Torsten (to squirrel, emphatically): Bye bye. Down. Go down.

(Squirrel eventually goes down the wall. Torsten returns to playing with a piece of banana, possibly calculating angles of trajectory.)

A bit later, as Torsten moved on to his toast:

Me: Hey Torsten, look, the squirrel is back…
Torsten: Squirrel? (Or, more correctly, “sco?”)
Me: Yeah, the squirrel is back.
Torsten: Bye BYE. Go go go go go. Squirrel go.

(Squirrel climbs up the wall out of sight, and Torsten watches carefully, keeping an eye out to see if it comes back down. Clearly, he knows the rodent cannot be trusted and he means most emphatically to protect us all from Squirrel Doom ™).

A few minutes later, Torsten is done, out of the high chair, facing the squirrel window, and I am holding him on my shoulder while putting his pants on (because, quite frankly, this kid isn’t going to lie down for anything these days…):

Torsten: SQUIRREL! Bye bye. Go squirrel. Squirrel go. Go go go go go. Squirrel go down. BYE BYE!

Yes, I know, not interesting for any of you, but this is the longest sustained and comprehensible utterance on a theme I’ve ever heard out of my almost-18-month-old, and it was really, really funny, especially since I’ve never heard him tell anyone or anything to go away, though he does do an emphatic “bye BYE!” when he’s decided it’s time for him to leave and go somewhere.

He really doesn’t like being watched by that squirrel, I guess Damned voyeuristic foragers.

Can’t really blame the squirrel though. Torsten is cute…

Those monthly Torsten letters? Um, yeah. Turned out that with a bunch of stuff that’s been going on plus an active 10-12 month old, that’s not particularly easy or high-priority either. C’est la vie.

However, I will get a one-year-old first-birthday update post up soon, complete with pictures of all of the things Super Baby has been up to, because he’s pretty darned awesome.

First, though, I have more real life to attend to. Sorry, but the Mr. T Show will have to wait another week or so

More later when I’ve gotten all the crap done we need to prepare for our trip…

Day five in the “Papa is out-of-town” marathon, and let me just say that Mama is glad tomorrow is the last full day of it, because… cripes (N.B.: I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone use that interjection since the early 70′s…). I am just about used up.

But there are some benefits to being T’s mommy 24/7 right now, not least of which is that he’s decided to do all sorts of new stuff this week. Like really play games with me. And reach out to get stuff he wants from Mama. And get really mad when Mama does not give him what she has, and reach out for it on the table (hey, that’s attention span, and it’s all good!). And help Mama play peek-a-boo by pulling the blanket off of her head. And talk on the phone (he left Papa a voicemail today, mostly consisting of “mmmmboo”). And do a full push-up on his tummy all the time (now all he needs to do is get that little butt up in the air and we’ll have a crawler!). And pick up food and stick it in his mouth. And, well, we’ll count this as something new because I think it’s funny – he’s figured out how to drink from his squeezy toys in the bath, which is kind of funny, even if it’s not very hygienic. And rolling round blocks back and forth to Mama in the high chair, because, hey, Mama can play too.

Oh, yeah, and grabbing crap off of anything with lightning speed. I shall attempt to post a picture of this tomorrow. He’s clearly reached the “watch him like a hawk” stage…

There’s some other stuff too, but I’m too tired to catalogue it.

Unfortunately, this has also been the week for a new level of grumpiness. I suspect some of it is exhaustion (I know it is on my part) and my perception (see the first part of the sentence), but he’s developing a really heart-wrenching cry when he decides he’s grumpy, and it’s wearing me down I’m sure I’ll see it differently once I have enough time to, you know, use the bathroom without someone wanting to be held.

I know who he got the grumpiness from, of course, and I’ll give you a hint: the responsible party does not have a beard and still happens to share half of his genes. I know that’s an incredible mystery and all, but you can handle it.

Off to hang up laundry so we don’t have to go naked to our class tomorrow, and then… then I will pass out.

PASS.

OUT.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

But oh, horrible me for finding it funny!

Well, apparently today, seven months after the fact, some woman from one of the boards found this post, apparently deciding I was bitter about their acronyms. (She also said it was kinda funny, and to that woman, if she ever visits here, please know that you are totally entitled to your opinion, but how in God’s name can one be bitter about an acronym which has nothing to do with one personally? ) I wouldn’t normally have known that anyone had posted anything about this particular blog entry, of course, because my vanity searches on the Internet are just not all that vain, but then the abuse started.

From “None Ya”, from address “ip68-103-179-95.ks.ok.cox.net” and an ISP somewhere in the vicinity of Wichita, Kansas:

You are pathetic. And have way to much time on your hands to be making fun of people. I think someone needs to write a blog about you!

Oh boy. Name-calling! That always helps! I always feel pathetic when someone I don’t know and don’t care about names me as such. I think I may cry! Ah, nah, wait. I’ll just respond:

Dearest None Ya:

Oooo, wow. Very middle-school playground of you. I’m impressed, and I’m afraid you’re only proving my point.

I would say you have way too (proper spelling for the modifier indicating excess, as opposed to “to”, which has several functions in the English language, including a preposition indicating direction or a marker indicating the infinitive form of a verb) much time on your hands if you spend Thanksgiving morning visiting other people’s blog posts of seven months ago to call them pathetic. And anyone other than me who’d write a blog about me certainly has too much time on their hands – I’m just not that interesting.

But thank you for amusing me. I’d suggest you also get a sense of humor about yourself – it can be quite refreshing.

Ok, so that’s done.

But ah, but wait, there’s more! Oh goody!

From “urfuturewife”, a visitor from address “c-75-67-110-231.hsd1.ma.comcast.net” and an ISP somewhere near Hyde Park, Massachusetts:

You must be MALE

Hrm… breasts? Check. Huge pregnant belly? Check. Penis? BZZZT. Sorry, it appears I do not have the requisite equipment. This may indicate some of where your difficulties lie. See, men have penises. If you want to get pregnant, you either need someone with one of those (there are a lot of them around) or you need to consider artificial insemination. This thing I have? Not a penis. Not going to help another woman get pregnant. I hope that helps.

And so to this fine young woman, I say:

Dear urfuturewife,

I’m afraid you have me confused with some other person – first of all, I’m strictly heterosexual, although I support your sexual preference as indicated by your name and the fact that you are claiming to be some pregnant woman’s future wife. Secondly, I’m already married, and I don’t foresee obtaining additional spouses in the future. Finally, I’m afraid I could never marry anyone who can’t type out the whole word “your” – if you’d read my post, you’d know I have a strong aversion to AOL-style text abbreviations like “ur” (unless you are referring to “Ur“, the ancient city in the cradle of civilization, in which case I can only say I think you’re probably a little late to be any of the denizens’ future wife. My condolences!).

As for me being male, that is going to be a huge surprise to my husband, who somehow managed to get me pregnant anyway. I suspect there is some flaw in your analysis, as the only male parts I have currently are attached to the sleeping baby in my belly, but I can see how you might make the mistake.

I suggest you and “None Ya” get together and work on better insults – the fact that I was tempted to answer you with “I know you are but what am I” and stick my tongue out blowing raspberries at you indicates the level at which your taunts fall.

I mean, you’re funny, but, um, not for the reasons you mean to be…

Happy Thanksgiving!

Seriously folks… come on.

Get a sense of humor. Especially about getting pregnant. Trust me, if you make it all about the stress, you’re not going to enjoy it at all. And if some random person on the Internet on their own blog says something you disagree with, let it go. Seriously.

As for me, while it was funny to begin with, I don’t really care to be abused in my own sandbox by random strangers, so I blocked anyone visiting directly from that board. There’s nothing here for them anyway.

(Note to regular readers: you may find you are permanently blocked if you visit directly from where their original post is located, which is why I did not post a link; normally I wouldn’t post the details of exactly how I’ve blocked someone, but I’m not really worried about circumvention measures this time around, if you catch my drift.)