Pink Squirrel arrived in today's mail. It is now firmly affixed to my head and I'm not taking it off for any reason. It's my little oasis of happiness in an otherwise terribly frustrating day. Since I've warned everyone to leave if foul language offends, I shall now launch into my pissy rant about PayPal. You see, I've been offered the opportunity to purchase handpainted yarns from a small company that collects their funds via this system. Not a problem. I didn't have an account, so I promptly began to set one up.
Imagine my startled surprise when the fucktard computer system informed me I have an existing account, with a "work phone" in a very distant area code, that indeed I do not live at my current address of seven-plus years, and that I should give up now, because there wasn't a bat-shit's chance I was getting into the system to pay my supplier.
Oh for fuck-sakes, Norma. (That is how I always use this word, in my brain, where Other People can't hear. I first encountered it on her blog. I love it's perfect simplicity, it's absence of pretense, it's utterly British feel.) Anyway, I'm waiting to hear from said supplier to see if they have a work-around for this problem. PayPal has been sent a scathing e-mail, to their fraud department. I am off to eat a giant cheeseburger, and then it's off to knit-night, where I will eat macaroons and drink hot beverages, and knit. Sorry if I 'offended' anyone, but you were warned... can't say I don't play fair, now, can you? Type at y'all knittas latah. C