Stupid Julies

My love of gmail has been long offset by one major problem: it does not filter for Stupid Julies.

 

Who are Stupid Julies?  Stupid Julies are Julies who think that they have my email address, and therefore use it to sign up for things.  Things they have signed (me) up for include:

 

Daily astrology emails-- tailored to my sign (only it's not my sign, it's some other Julie's sign)

Natural childbirth center in New Mexico's mailing list

Pre-school class moms' mailing list

Church group directory

Fit flops- this one was an order confirmation (I have her home address!) for what I suspect are shoes which help you walk away cellulite-- good luck with that one, Stupid Julie in Virginia.

Some sort of very active group in Spanish

Stanford Class of '98 reunion news (this Stupid Julie actually registered herself in the Stanford Alumni directory with my email address, but I had Stanford take care of it-- one down!)

 

And no these are definitely not spam.  These are really concerned pre-school moms and midwives and fit flop salespeople who believe they are contacting the right person.

 

But the capper came today with a strange 'event request form'.  This Stupid Julie WORKS FOR GOOGLE.  Yes, I got a confirmation email to my email address from an event request system internal to Google, confirming this SJ's request to set up an event for Google employees at the main campus. 

 

Have any of these Stupid Julies realized that they never get the emails they're expecting?  How could they THINK they have an email address which they do not have?

Noise Issues

Moving into a new home, especially one you buy, is exciting and disappointing at the same time.  The disappointment comes when you start living there and inevitably discover the downside in whatever it is you just bought.  In my case, it's come in the form of a slightly noisy upstairs neighbor.  This is to be expected in San Francisco, where only the lucky few are able to buy a single family home and the rest of us live literally on top of each other.

 

My neighbor works a lot so it's not a constant issue, but every once in a while, always on a weeknight and always at 3am, I can hear him entertaining a female visitor.  Full disclosure: I am such a light sleeper that I once woke up when my roommate dropped a cotton ball on the carpet.  So this isn't wall-shaking noise, but it is sufficient to wake me up and keep me up.

 

Well those days may be behind me now thanks to last night's disturbance.  Last night from 3-4am I was kept awake by World War III.  I have to say to Ms. X, woman to woman, that if you scream at the top of your lungs, "I hate you, I never want to see you again," and then stomp the length of the apartment and down the stairs in your hard-soled, high-heeled shoes, the downstairs neighbor would appreciate it if you stuck to your guns and kept walking; I also theorize that he would respect you more if you didn't come back and repeat the exercise three more times.

 

Please let this be over, and please let him find a new girlfriend who (1) recognizes the stupidity of hooking up at 3am on a Wednesday and (2) speaks at a decibel level slightly below an average Bon Jovi concert.

Caught in the Act

Last night, Satchel did his part of our new routine where after returning from a perfectly good walk he runs to the back door and (non-verbally, of course) demands to be let out to play in the yard.  I had no intention of going out there because it was after dark already, and it turns out my instincts are good because it wasn't so dark that I couldn't see the SKUNK IN MY BACKYARD.

 

My new plan is to set up an emergency "De-skunk Satchel" kit somewhere in the backyard for the inevitable spraying so I don't have to bring him inside and contaminate the house.  I've been told a two step process involving baking soda/vinegar and then a tomato juice bath will do the trick.  I can't wait.

Mysteries of LoFoMa- UPDATE!

UPDATE (1 mystery solved...)

 

1. Who sent me a money tree plant?  I assumed it was my realtor, but she says no.  Who could it be now?

It was Wendy.  How nice!

 

2. What is digging up my backyard (and no, it's not Satchel.  As mentioned previously, he is never in the yard unsupervised, and it's hard to imagine him defiling something he holds so dear)?

Could the answer also be Wendy????

 

Inquiring minds want to know.

Mysteries of LoFoMa

I have two mysteries currently:

 

1. Who sent me a money tree plant?  I assumed it was my realtor, but she says no.  Who could it be now?

2. What is digging up my backyard (and no, it's not Satchel.  As mentioned previously, he is never in the yard unsupervised, and it's hard to imagine him defiling something he holds so dear)?

 

Inquiring minds want to know.

Satchel's Love Affair

Satchel is in love-- with his new backyard.  Some people have inquired whether the posession of a backyard means Satchel no longer needs a walker.  The answer is no for a couple of reasons. 

 

First, neither of us are comfortable with him being in the backyard alone.  It's no surprise that I'm neurotic about it, but he's downright hilarious about it.  If I open the back door, he steps out onto the back deck, takes two steps, and turns around and looks at me as if to say, "OK, time to come outside now."  He will not go any further until I come with him.  I have to go to the top of the deck steps before he'll actually go into the backyard, taking the steps two at a time and then flying across the lawn, pouncing on one of his toys or landing in play position with his eyes fixed on me.  Second, he is a city dog and I don't think he believes the backyard is an appropriate toilet.  He likes to play in the backyard after our 'necessity walks', and while he has 'gone' back there at least once, I think it was an urgency issue and not something he'd regularly do.  He grew up learning to 'go' whenever someone put a leash on him and dragged him out on a sidewalk.  The idea of running around his beloved play area and using it for that purpose doesn't seem to have occurred to him.

 

But he is having a passionate love affair with the backyard.  When he's not in it, he is often gazing out at it.  I wake up in the morning to find him sitting on the edge of the bed staring into the yard.  Thank goodness I found a place with a little patch of grass he can call home.