Yet one more reason why I shouldn't own a telephone!

I am so frustrated right now. So frustrated. There has been what I think is a bill collector service calling my house for the past four days. They keep asking for someone named "Linda". There is no Linda at my house. There never has been. And unless Kaleb or Jacob start dating one or Randey throws me over for some bimbo named Linda, there probably never will be. (I say bimbo because what the heck would you expect me to call a little tramp that my husband would throw me over for?). However, this company doesn't seem to believe me when I say Linda doesn't live here. They give every indication that they think I am harboring Linda from their dripping fangs. Which, by the way, after dealing with them for the past four days, I think I would do if Linda, whoever the poor soul may be, did live with us - just to tick them off. And here's the real insult, as far as I'm concerned. This company calls my house...I answer and it's a recording telling me that "this is a very important phone call, please hold". If it's so freakin' important, how 'bout you get your annoying self on the phone NOW, buddy! When we first started getting these calls, I just hung up. I don't hold for people I don't even know. But they were so persistent. So I decided to hang in there one day and see just what on earth they were calling for. I assumed they were some sort of telemarketer and I was all prepared to bless them out for wasting my time with a stupid recording every other day. But nooooo. This wasn't a telemarketer. It was a bill collector. (I think, they never really said.) And it was for some chick named Linda. I kind of laughed at them. So much persistence for naught. Apparently, bill collector's don't like to be laughed at. Who knew? I tried to tell them that I didn't know a Linda, no Linda lived here. The woman got belligerent. Well. Here's the problem. I.Am.Menopausal. 'Nuff said, right? Words came out of my mouth that would make a sailor blush. I mean it. It was mortifying, in retrospect. Randey stood there with his mouth hanging open. Not so much because of the language I used. I think it was more how quickly my demeanor changed. It was fast. Really fast. Unbelievably fast. One minute, I was patiently telling this woman that Linda was no where on our horizon and/or involved in our world. The next second, I was cussing her like I had Tourette's Syndrome. And then I threw the phone. Hmmmm. Wow. Never say that coming. So....after many deep breaths, a quick visit to the freezer (for a fudgesicle and to stick my head in there to cool off), and trying to smooth that look of horror off of Randey's face, I regained my composure somewhat. The next day, they called again. I was ready. I was going to politely ask them to not call my house again. But they outwitted me...the whole phone call was a recording. Not the "hold on" recording, but a "this is so and so and if you're name is (pause) Linda (pause) Linda's last name (don't want to put it in my blog, for Pete's sake) please call this number immediately. It is very important that we talk to you". I was so disappointed not to have a human to talk to. I just hung up without writing down the number! Not to worry however! The next day, they called again. A human this time. I said my schpiel. He seemed to laugh a little. I don't think he believed me. I told him I would call the phone company to report them for harassing us if they didn't stop calling. He pretty much said, "do it". Okay. Well, they called again this very afternoon. Still determined to handle this myself because everyone knows how hard it is to deal with the phone company, right? - I answered. It was the "please hold" recording again. I held. And held. And held a little more. Then another recording came on to tell me that "all our operators are busy and we are unable to handle your call at this time". Say what? They called me! Well to heck with this! I decided to call the dreaded customer service number for the phone company. First...get the phone book. Next...spend 30 minutes looking through the phone book for a customer service number. Next...call a number that might be customer service. Then find out...it wasn't. Okay...get on computer. Go to phone company website. Look for customer service. Find it. Type in question. Find out it's the wrong kind of customer service. That one was for repairs only. Look for another link. Type something in search engine. Get a response and then a multiple choice answer (one of which was "would you like to send an e-mail"). Click on that one. Go nowhere. Start at the beginning. Pull hair out by the roots. Embrace your Tourette's like a long-lost friend. Give up. Sign on to Blog. Bore entire blogging community with your problem. Wait for husband to get home. With him driving, seek out World's Largest Margarita. Drink one...or twelve. Wait for the call to come again tomorrow. Hope for a human. Bore them with details of your drunken night.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my plan.

P.S. Guess this whole rant would tend to negate that sweet Nice Matters Award, huh? I knew I'd blow it, I just knew it! Sorry, Carmen, Jayne, Aunt Sandi.... Well, technically, Aunt Sandi already knew I was a nutcase so my bad attitude probably doesn't surprise her, does it, Aunt?