Open letter to Comcast

Dear Comcast:

Thank you for making my next choice in cable and internet providers an easy one; the next time I have a choice, I will choose “Dear God anyone but Comcast.”

It’s going to be hard to have another ISP. As a glutton for punishment, I don’t know if anyone will be able to satisfy my need for debasement and disrespect the way that only Comcast can. I’ve never known another corporation who can ignore me and pretend to care as well as you do, while still possessing the gumption to take all of my money.

I will terminate my service as soon as I possibly can because as good as you are at making me feel like pond scum, I don’t think that this is a healthy relationship. I am pretty sure that if you were my husband, people would be trying to sneak me into a battered women’s shelter while you were out drinking.

I might miss the fantastic displays of ineptitude and incompetence with which Comcast has showered me: the attitude of “customer service” representatives and their lack of anything resembling helpfulness, the cable that blinks out at least once every 20 minutes, the internet service that rarely exceeds 2 Mbps when I pay for 6. But I can’t come back. I can’t afford Comcast’s exorbitant charges and therapy at the same time.

This just isn’t working – our relationship, my cable, my internet. Nothing works; and, since you won’t change, I have to move on.

May the sun set you on fire,

Me

I may or may not have had too much coffee yesterday.

Student clinic

People who know me in person are also probably well acquainted with the crazy noises that my jaw can make. It’s unavoidable, weird, unpleasant (for everyone), and pretty uncomfortable (for me). One of the only things that really works on alleviating the issue is massage therapy. Because I have obligations like rent and student loans, I don’t have a huge budget for this, but almost every sizable town has a massage school somewhere, and the student clinics operate on much, much lower rates since they can’t work for fee until they are licensed (the fees you pay are usually a donation to the school). So for the last few months, I’ve been going on a pretty regular basis to have the most awesome lady work on my head/neck/shoulders.

While the price is definitely right, the ambiance tends to be a bit of a grab bag. Instead of having separate rooms for everyone, they have a larger workroom with sheets acting as wall-like dividers between the tables. This means that if someone is talking to their therapist on the other side of the sheet, you’re going to hear whatever they are saying.

A couple of weeks ago, I was next to a woman that made me feel completely and utterly sane, like no session of talk therapy ever could.

It went on like this for a while. I seriously debated telling her that breasts are really just collections of fat to see if it would make her head explode. I didn’t. Because I’m a nice person.

So sane. I am … so sane.