Category Archives: Heatherevent

Forgotten Apple Password, My Knuckles and A Wall.

bluewall

That’s me with a red nose from crying and some Kleenex™.  Ok, well you can’t see my nose.  But trust me, it’s super red.

That’s my favorite Cubbie sweatshirt and my Cubbie blue wall next to my computer in my vocal studio.

I am pointing to the spot that I almost punched.

All because I couldn’t change my Apple ID password for two weeks.

I am that person who has about 17 different variations of a password.  My important crap is so protected, that even I can’t get into it.  It’s not like it’s on purpose.  It’s not like I have some sort of ninja special op internet security plan that I have devised for myself.  It’s literally more like:  Gah, I forgot my password.  Let me reset it and add another character at the end.  Honestly,  my last password was probably longer than “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious@%*(+!”.  … with a new exclamation point at the end.

(Side note: While writing htis just now, it took me 4-5 times to try to spell “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” before I Googled, copied and pasted it into this post. I had to tell you.  I share everything when I write. Especially my faults.)

So, all the time, I keep on having to change my passwords.  I never write them down because I never write them down.  But I know it has to be some sort of variation of the old one.  This is usually where things go very wrong.

Two weeks ago, I’m, as usual, in a hurry, and I need to buy an app on my phone VERY QUICKLY, because of some very, very important need (insert “really stupid need”) and I can’t remember my password.  This is where I type in about 6 incorrect variations, until I get prompted to change my password.

OK.  I go to change my password.

“Enter ID User Name”….ok…entered.

 

At this point, it prompts me:

“Enter Old Password”…

bitchplease

Now I’m starting to sweat on my upper lip and my aura is fading to black and I have to mad-pee….that’s kind of like hungry+mad= hangry.  Mad-pee.™

Hey Apple phone, you little fucker: I don’t know what my password is, because if I did, we wouldn’t be where we are right now. And I would already have been able to download and I would already be playing my very important zit popper game.

I think I blacked out large memory chunks of what happened next, but there are images and flashbacks that creep in and out of my mind like…reset password…..enter credit card….apple calling you with pass code, please hold…

Inevitably, I get to a screen message that informs me that I am in “ACCOUNT RECOVERY MODE“.  I’m locked out. I am told that I will be contacted in an indefinite amount of time when my account can be verified.

Kablam - The Ultimate Smartphone Screen Protector

I mean, I didn’t.  But I wanted to…

Over the next two weeks, I check my email a couple times a day to see if I’ve received any information.  I have self-refused to call the Apple store and accept the appointment that they are going to offer me that is available in three weeks, just so I can go there in three weeks and have them tell me that I have to go home and wait for the email.

Now, it’s crunch time…I have to get this changed…I have a recital coming up and I have to buy some songs from iTunes and I can’t get INTO the rat bastard. I Google search and I go to restoremypassword.com or what ever the hell that site is called.  I’m lip sweating again as get all the same traumatic prompts, only this time, on the website page, it actually has the ability to tell me an actual waiting time period for my account to be verified…and for me in this case…is waiting eleven more days.   %FPK&'[43j3d#(Jht#!

This is when I really start to look at my wall and look at my knuckles and I start to generate some pretty self-sabotaging fantasies: I’m going to punch that wall.  I’m just gonna….DO IT.  But, if I punched the wall, would I break my hand and then I couldn’t hold my microphone at gigs because I always hold it in my left hand….maybe I should punch with the right…why is it that I can’t hold the mic in my right hand when I’m singing, that’s so weird, but it feels weird, I’m so weird…If I break it, I want hot pink cast.”

Then I see the 1-800 Apple number at the bottom of the page, but I am soooooo glass-half-empty at this point.  If I call it, I know that I will just have to deal with either (1) totally automated crap or (2) I will end up with a potentially stupid and unhelpful human.  (I am so sorry but I have been talking to a bunch of those all.week.long.)

I even throw up a little “help me” FB post.  Waiting.  A friend says to me “namaste”…that helps a little.

Then I call the number, automated…and in a very slow, psychotically controlled, yet pissed-off voice, I say, “I.WANT.TO.TALK.TO.A.HUMAN.”

Hey!   I’m actually connected to a human!  Well.  She didn’t disappoint in the glass half-empty department.  She literally did not know what the fuck she was doing.  I could hear her trying to read down the org chart on what she was supposed to say….while I am waiting for her to work her way through this…I start to take my right, less-significant fist and push really hard on the wall, tap-tap-push…tap-tap-push….pretending it was her face.  After nine minutes of her muddling through this painful dance, I beg her to talk to a supervisor…

Hey! I’m actually connected to a supervisor!  My proverbial glass is filling up and that’s good, because, boy, oh boy, do I need a drink!  Now, this one, this human..she knows what she is talking about; I can smell it. She’s going to get me to paradise and quick.

Supervisor: “What device are you on?”

Me: “My phone.”

Supervisor: “Do you have any other Apple devices?”

Me: “iPad.”

Supervisor: “Get your iPad and log into my settings.”

Me: “Done.”

Supervisor: “Now go to change password and enter a new password.  Done!”

What.

What? What the ever-living F.

Let’s take a silent moment to process.

Apparently, all I had to do was change my password on another devise.

 

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Yes, I said I was an IT tech for years.

I didn’t say that I was a good one.

 

Namaste.

 

 

 

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And in the End…Home Trumped Ovaries.

I’m sitting here reflecting on how, right at this very moment, I would be coming out of major surgery to remove my lady bits.  But instead, I am home and able to celebrate the 16th birthday of my daughter.

About three weeks ago, dear husband and I decided that there was no way we could financially survive me not singing or teaching for two whole months.  I thought long and hard about it all…weighed the pros and cons…finally deciding that in order for us to be able to eat and have a roof over our heads for the next year, I had to take one for the team. That makes it sound like I am the bread-winner; I most certainly am not.  I’m more like the crumb-loser.  But it occurred to me that it’s time that we needed to get real about what is really happening to us financially.

Federal Debt

We are in big trouble.  There.  I just said it out loud.  Most people don’t want to hear that.  Many are in trouble too and don’t want to share that.  Some simply just don’t want to know the real story.  “GAH AHHHH!!!!DON”T TELL MEEEEEEE!”

My dear husband has been gently encouraging me to watch motivational videos by different financial analysts, ranging from get-rich gurus to more emotionally connected professionals like Suze Orman.

A really strange think happened to me when I started to watch them:  I would choke up and bawl.  I felt some strange emotions and I did’t understand why i was getting so upset. It was blocking me from really listening to what some of these people are trying to help me understand.  Suze Orman really got me.  She’s good.  She basically pointed out that we are are a bunch of people walking around, not being real and not talking about our debt.  And that’s why we all have it.

We are not a family that has ever had money.  Never since we have been married….we have struggled to stay afloat for 18 years.  EIGHTEEN YEARS. Yikes. We are people that barely meet the needs of our children, much less anyone’s wants.  But they do get to do their sports and play their instruments and we struggle because we try to make that happen.  We get ourselves into trouble “trying to make it work.” We don’t spend money to impress. We don’t care what our neighbors are doing or the other kids at school or even our friends.  But wait.  That’s a lie.  We are trying to impress someone.  Our children.  We want to give them what they need and want to show them how much we love them and it’s killing us.

What is my greatest financial fear?

I have a couple: Losing our house.  It’s very real right now.  Therefore, not being able to provide a roof over our children’s heads.  Another one?  Feeding them.  Getting number three her braces.  Keeping number 2 in therapy.  Making sure they can all go to college.

So, we set our goals.  My first goal is to try to prevent all the scary things I just listed from happening.  Have money on hand for emergencies.  Start saving for things that we need to improve our house like floors and paint.  Build a back paver.  Remodel a bathroom.

Big goals?  Vacation.  We have never brought the kids on a vacation.  No Disney, No Cabo, no skiing.  Any trip we have taken, it’s been to Florida and it was gifted for holidays and birthdays by my parents.  How grateful we are and how embarrassed we are.  That’s honesty for you.

The saddest thing is we work hard.  Dear husband has a great job.  I teach around 25 lessons a week in three evenings and sing at night 2-4 nights of the rest of the week.  I also have a part time day job at a friend’s store.  Darling husband comes home from a long day and he feeds and takes care of our three kids while I work.

And it’s still not enough.

We don’t “go shopping” or “go out on dates”.  We don’t have “credit cards”. We don’t have “cable” or “go do family outings”. Most of our money is spent on our mortgage, bills, food, school and paying the high interest on the loans we need to take out to make it another month.  We are in a huge hole and we will not be OK until we can crawl out.

How are we fixing it?  By being honest.  Here it is.  We are so broke, that I can’t get the operation I need.  But, when one door closes, another one opens.  Or in this case, when one ovary is not removed, we can make a mortgage payment.

We are working with a great budget program and have been analyzing our spending for the last three months.  We are figuring out where we can save and make cuts.  We are setting goals and will try to turn around the way we look at our money.  The little we have.  And we try like hell to make it grow.

As far as my Fallopian Tubes…oh well, stay comfy in there, you goofballs; we get to keep partying together until next January.  Let’s make 2018 the best year ever.  Midol, anyone?

 

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I’m Fine, I’m Fine, No Really, I’m Fine.

This is exciting.  I am an empty day nester!  I cried on and off for the first 2 days and now…I am good.  Cracker, Bambi and Alpha are all nestled into their classrooms and I can rest easy.  Cause like I literally have to rest.  I went to my rheumy yeterday and he actually diagnosed me with exhaustion.  It’s making me twitch.  Full truth, people.  It’s made my RA bad and now my muscles have been effected.  And I have had an eye twitch for 2 weeks.  I am NOT winking at you.  It didn’t help that after singing last night, I couldn’t get to sleep until 2am.  I have a million projects and things to do…a house to scrub…but for today, I need to get rid of this twitch.

And so, for those close friends and family that have been worried about me, I am fine.  I am going to go rest.  But not before I share with you todays Heatherevent:

This all started with my dear friend “Sid”.  I call her that because she has undiagnosed OCD.  I am pretty sure I came up with that name after too much Pinot Grigio, while she was scrubbing my floor on her hands and knees.  She is incredibly thoughtful and she picked up some cream for me at the store the other day when I was feeling ill.  (BTW – “Sid” started this whole nickname thing with calling me “Rah”, making fun of my awful auto-immune crippling disease know as Rheumatoid Arthritis.  Love that bitch because laughter is the best med I take.)  I had this really bad, crazy week where I found myself not being able to have a freaking cup of coffee.  I was starting to get a little obsessed with the absence of it.  And I only drink decaf, which makes the whole scenario a lot more embarrassing.

 First, I was out of coffee, then I was out of cream, then I tried skim and it tasted like poop, then I thought I would drive to Starbucks then I was too sick to drive to Starbucks.  Then my sweet dear friend “Volly” from next door came over and bought me some coffee.  Then I was still out of cream so it just sat there. Then “Sid” eventually came over at some point and brought me 2 small creams, instructing me to put one in the freezer and pull it out the day before you need it.  Her mom always did that, she said and I can verify that her mom knows everything.

HELLO “Sid”, who do you think you are dealing with?  It’s “Rah”.  Like I would ever be organized to plan ahead.

Today, I made a gorgeous pot of coffee and I couldn’t WAIT to enjoy some quiet time on my stoop after the bus left…and I go into the kitchen make THE perfect cup of coffee and I am freaking out of cream.

Now, I know what I am going to do next.  And it’s going to suck because it’s not going to work out well for me at all.   But I do it anyway, because I lie to myself that I am an optimist.  I go into the freezer and I pull out the frozen cream.   Frozen, rock hard, frozen, frozen.  I mean like, take-a-day-to-thaw-a-turkey-frozen.  I dropped it on the counter THUNK and stared at it for a minute or two.  I now have time for this, you know.  I decided  to go get a teeeeeennnyyy weeeeeennny little kid’s knife.  I shoved that little knife in there and I scraped and scraped little tiny shards of frozen cream into my coffee cup.  Plop.  Plop. Plop.  Stir it up….and voila!  Outcome?

I’m going back to bed.

 

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