circe

I'm alive. Mas o menos. I'm ridiculously busy with my school and the kids' schools. Plus, I'm experiencing extreme anxiety over suddenly losing our food stamps and the kids' Medicaid and being accused (and possibly criminally charged), with fraud for not, sigh, disclosing my student loans and grants as "income" when I applied for f.s. and Medicaid for the kids.

The whole thing is bad. The least that will happen is that we lose f.s and the kids lose their health coverage, the worst is that i become a convicted felon...

And crap, I suddenly remembered why I was trying to avoid blogging/thinking about this and simply (!!!) keep myself busy with my Am Lit/Sociology/WS course work... (Not that any of that will matter if I become a felon...)

The whole thing is very bad. In one week I've lost child support, food stamps, and health care for the kids...

Oh gawd, the kids started school today! I'm all verklempt. I'm amazingly stressed. The KIDS are amazingly stressed. Sierra mutely tortured herself with worry, Trinity shouted and screeched at us all, I obsessively cleaned yesterday, and Rainy... Rainy could.not.stop.talking.

And now I'm back from dropping them all off... and the place seems much too quiet... and much too clean... and I feel all sad that the summer is over, sad that all the chaos and stress has begun again, and sad that time is passing so damn fast.

Sierra is in HIGH SCHOOL! How did this HAPPEN? It seems like just yesterday she was this serious little dark curly-haired girl playing with her collection of toy dinosaurs. Now... HIGH SCHOOL!

Her pre AP Geography teacher is a friend of my semi-legal friend. I reminded Sierra that she used to know her. I asked her if she remembered the time, when she was just four, that the teacher was over at my friend's home when we were there as well, she was talking to Sierra and Sierra asked her what her name was. The teacher told her and Sierra asked if she could give her a new name. The teacher laughed and asked Sierra what she wanted to name her and Sierra replied, "I think your name should be... Pretty Heart Necklace."

Now, ten years later, she's teaching Sierra and... lord, suddenly I feel like crying.

I better go...

On Google, my site is the first (non Youtube) thing that comes up when you do a search for "gay crackheads."

My site is also the first one that comes up for "chihuahuas eating panties."

I just had to go check, since after "tentacle hentai" (here we go some more...), these are the searches that my sitemeter most shows as resulting in my site.

I'm, umm, sorry?

***

Update: OMG! I had to see how many other sites result from "chihuahuas eating panties" and I had NO IDEA that ALL CHIHUAHUAS apparently EAT PANTIES!!!

Who knew?

Shouldn't the AKC be, idk, MENTIONING this?

It's a flipping EPIDEMIC!

CHIHUAHUAS! EATING PANTIES! ALL ACROSS THE NATION!

Why hasn't this been on the NEWS??? (I'll tell you why: There has apparently been some big kind of sporting thing monopolizing the news on ALL the flipping channels! What's up with THAT???)

Christ! Listen to THIS:

"However, he really isn't chewing on stuff anymore, he is EATING my panties. He's eaten at least 10 pairs of Victoria's Secret panties, and a few socks. WHOLE!! Most of them are brand new, I have to keep buying more because he eats them all. He has chew toys, and I can't figure out how he's getting my underwear. I keep all the laundry out of reach, but somehow he gets them. When I say eating, I don't mean he's chewing on them, he swallows them whole. The final straw was him throwing up ANOTHER pair of BRAND NEW ones last night. My front lawn looks like a panty raid, from him passing them. I kicked him out of the house last night, and told Nate he has to get rid of the dog, I'm sick of it. Any suggestions?? I'm not sure any suggestions will really help at this point, but I' figured I'd give it a try. Also, since I won't let him back in the house, if we keep him, he'll be an outside dog. It gets pretty cold here later in the year, so how do I protect him from the cold? TIA!!" <http://www.momsview.com/discus/messages/41/28656.html>

Omg, that's funny!(And omg, so cruel to the little dog, locking him out in the freezing cold!) (Furthermore, omg! Why can't she just somehow KEEP HER PANTIES WHERE A TINY LITTLE DOG CAN'T GET TO THEM???) (Omg, I'm stuck in someone else's font again!)

And look! Oh lord, I can't even copy/paste it! It says "girl juice!" Squick! Look!

And this! This chihuahua has its own site! Listen: "My Hobbies are eating panties , chewing on tissues & and long walks on the beach."

Unbelievable! C'est incroyible!* Panty chewing is endemic to chihuahuas! It's true! The Internet told me so!

(Umm... So yeah; I got too much time on my hands...)

* Can you believe it??? Get to your Google search, type in "C'est incroyible!" and I'm the NUMBER ONE SITE!!! And I don't even know if I'm SPELLING IT RIGHT!!!

Kids cost too much.

There. I just thought I'd throw that out there to validate all you childless-by-choice people.

This too: Cats never, ever furiously state that the only jeans they can EVER POSSIBLY WEAR are from American Eagle. SIZE ZERO!!!

And: Dogs very rarely require expensive "product" for their hair.

Finally: Ferrets don't need no freaking HOODIES!

***

Hoodies! Jesus Christ! My life has turned into the quest for the perfect hoodie! For Trinity! Not the other kids, who are very content with the jackets we have procured. Trinity... is INSANE.

As I may have mentioned before, Trinity is a pure sociopath. I fully expect to be interviewed some day on Biography Channel's Notorious. They'll be all, "Ms. Smith, did you ever suspect that your daughter Trinity was destined to become the nation's most prolific and diabolical serial killer?"

And I'll be all, "Yeah, sure! I ALWAYS knew it! I knew my little Trini was going to grow up to become a sociopath. I even mentioned it in her baby book! My little girl is PURE EVIL... But she looks so cute in her size zero American Eagle low-rise boot-cut jeans doesn't she?"

The interview would be mostly downhill from there. They'd be asking me to, like, help apprehend her, and, like, I'd refuse to disclose the location of her secret volcanic, very stylish, lair. You know, 'cause I'd be scared that she'd like, murder me if I told  I'm her Mommy and stuff.

Anyway, mark my words (mark them!): My little Trinster is a sociopath. (Quick! Send hair "product"! Or she'll, idk, chop me up in little pieces and feed me to my own chickens!!!)

***

Speaking of chopping people up and feeding them to chickens, that fucking Fran called yesterday while I was in the tortuous process of trying to get the girls to their zillion-miles-away Medicaid orthodontist. (A different orthodontist than their previous severely sucky one. A much better orthodontist, just, like a half a day's drive a-freaking-way.)

Trini answered my cell (because Trini is the Queen of All Things Cellular), and when she heard his voice she's all, "Whadaya want? Mom's trying to drive over bridges! If she talks to you and crashes, I'm going to blame YOU!!!" (Which is sociopath-speak for, "I'll kill you slowly and feed you to Mom's chickens.")

I took the phone and he's all telling me that maybe he hasn't lost his job after all, and maybe he'll be working again and I'll start getting child support again after a while, and he just wanted to let me know, blah blah. And I'm all, "Fine. Thanks for letting me know. Gotta go."

Blah blah, and this is the HOW MANY-th time he's lost his job/not lost his job? And the whole thing is bullshit and I'm sick of the whole stupid roller coaster of child support/no child support. And if you asked me (go on; ask me), I would have to speculate that what is happening here, is that when he has money (that eighteen-thousand from the foreclosure on our old Eldorado home, the idk-how-many-thousand from his inheritance), he just stops working and tells me that he's been "fired," and then when he goes through the money, his job miraculously returns.

And this of course only raises the question: How fast does the average crackhead go through money?

You'd think I'd know the answer to this one, wouldn't you? Because after I got rid of him in 2002, I found the paperwork from all the stock trades in 2001, and imagine my shock (go on), to read that he made nearly a million bucks in freaking day trading. Where did it go? I know we built a barn, and paid off a few cars, and put in a deck and slate flooring and stuff... but where'd the rest of it go?

Eh. I've digressed.

Seriously digressed.

'Cause I meant to write mainly about expensive children. Not day-trading. Which I never knew too much about even though, hah!, Fran was day-trading in my name. But eh.

I've got to wake Trinity up, because belatedly, she's decided that it might be nice to begin her school year with some pencils, pens, and paper, and not just jeans and hoodies. This is also my last chance before I actually sell my truck (I got the replacement title yesterday), to find a GoodWill sofa to replace the sofa we currently have. (I LOATHE our current sofa. I do not think I have ever, in my entire long life, hated a sofa as I hate the sofa that presently skulks in my so-called family room!)

So. I better get going.

Oh but wait. One more thing. Here, mark my words again: McCain is going to name Romney as his running mate. I know this because the Mormons called me the other day. They so, so want to come visit me. They've tracked me down, and we all know that I am paranoidedly (sic) convinced that it was through this poor excuse for a blog site.

And I got all frazzled on the phone, and I seem to have agreed that they can come visit me, and now I need to fill my pockets with rocks and jump in the lake figure out a way to call them and tell them that I've died they probably shouldn't bother visiting me. And I'm afraid to mention that I'm an atheist and I find their politics abhorrent, and so maybe I should just say that I'm going to be busy forever or that I have a very contagious variation of the avian flu... Or something? Idk. (Geez! I'm scared of the Mormons!) (Believe me, you should be scared of them TOO!)

And speaking of people with covert agendas who want to come invade my privacy visit me, my mother wants to come over tomorrow. Which I find odd. Why does she want to come over? My trailer is always too hot for her, plus, you know, it reeks of GOAT. (Note: The little goat has been relocated outside... but his scent freaking LINGERS!) (Actually, the whole entire ACREAGE smells like goat! How can one tiny little boy goat permeate nearly THREE ACRES with his smell? I drive up, park my little car, open the door to get out, and I'm all, "Oh flip! I forgot! We have A GOAT!) (And nah, I don't want to wether him... 'Cause then, well, how would we ever have MORE little goats? 'Cause I'm thinking, with, say, ten little goats, my nose would go into overdrive and I wouldn't smell a thing, I'd be somehow IMMUNE to the smell. Right? Right.) (The little goat is currently bleating at the door. It sounds pretty sad. He had his stinky little heart set on being a housegoat...) (I have no more lower leaves on my rose bushes.)

Oh. And update: My pseudo-legal friend thinks that a financial hardship waiver wouldn't work with a name change. Since it's not, you know, something necessary or important. (Hah! Apparently the court sees no issue with a boy going through his middle and high school years named FRANCIS.)

But I gotta go... (Send hoodies! And air freshener!)  

I don't have much to say. I finished Kate Chopin's The Awakening yesterday and - surprise! - no one lived happily-ever-after. I'm almost done with Stephen Crane's The Open Boat and, considering my generation, all I can think is, JAWS!!! (Which, sigh, is just me being dumb, as there is very little shark action in the story...)

And I'm tired of drowning in literature. And by that I mean of course, stories featuring drowning. Not, you know, figuratively drowning in too much literature (gimme a couple weeks, after my classes all start, and I'll probably have something different to say...). As it is, I've spent my entire summer, trudging around the lake, my pockets filled with rocks, thinking about Virgina Woolf's rock-in-the-pocket drowning suicide, scared that I'll fall off the cliff, down into the lake, and drown.

I go to Sierra, "CiCi, if I'm found drowned in the lake, my pockets filled with rockets, people are going to think I've done a Virgina Woolf!"

Sierra goes, "Umm, Mom? Around here? I don't think so..."

Of course she's right. And I appreciate the fact that I have the only fourteen year-old in the entire state of Texas who not only knows who Virgina Woolf is, but how she died.

But I've digressed.

The thing is, I don't have much to say and I've been all sad and stuff. I'm still not sure why.

I mean, sure, I don't want school to start. The kids' school, my school, subbing at school(s). I'm really, seriously, dreading it all.

Eh.

***

To update on Rainy's name change: I researched it all online, went to the County Court Clerk the other day and they're all telling me that you can't do it yourself, that I need to hire an attorney, blah blah. And I'm all, "No. I looked it up online and I don't..." Blah blah. But arguing with Texans in, sigh, positions of authority is like... I can't even think of a way to describe it.

And so I asked my semi-lawyer friend and she emailed me the forms to download but she's all, in email:

"Attached please find an original petition for name change (minor child)  I put in the petition that Fran did not need served at this time.  After you file the petition, we can send him a copy of the petition and ask him to sign a waiver, or else, get him served via certified mail.  If you want to just get him served, the petition will have to be changed before you file it.  I also am attaching a copy of your divorce.  I thought you had said you  couldn't find a copy.   The filing fee for a name change is around $220.00 (file it in the District Clerk's office).  The citation and service by certified mail will add another $83.00 dollars."

Ugh. Who knew it was so expensive? (And who knew I would get trapped in another font???) And there's no way that Fran would agree to the name change at this point. ('Cause he thinks Rainy should be stuck with "Francis Salvatore" for the rest of his life, named after his grandfather, a mean old man who disowned him...) And my friend says that if Fran won't accept certified mail, which I know he won't, I'll have to pay to have him actually served in person by the Sheriff's department in Everette...

So. Blah. I'll have to put this one on the back burner for awhile. Until I have more money and/or Fran dies (ahh, sweet, sweet optimism...).

You know... in my next, heh, life, I'm going to do this whole thing differently. I'm going to, you know, get my education, get a whole bunch of degrees, have the ability to earn more than enough money, have a wonderful home, and then, via artificial insemination, have all the children I want. Totally on my own (because that's where I'd end up anyway...). And there'd be no issues with child support, or the guilt that comes of seeing your children abandoned by an unloving, uncaring father. It would just be me and my children, but without the poverty part, without the sadness and anger and regret and grief and pain.

Eh.

More blah blah pathos, right?

I need to knock it off. Focus on what's in front of me, what I need to get done, what I need to take care of.

So. I have three classes this fall semester. Strangely enough, they are an English class, a Sociology class, and a Women's Studies class. (I know!)

I've already read the first two assignments that the English professor so kindly posted early. The Soci and WS courses aren't up yet, so I've just kind of waded into the Sociology textbook. There doesn't seem to be a textbook for the WS course and that makes me a little nervous, because I have this ocd thing going on, and I like to have my textbooks all lined up, all available, all mostly read by the time the class even begins. (It's a sickness...)

Eh.

Whatever, right? I'm even boring myself here.

I just feel... sad. (BoRING!!!)

Okay. Enough.   

I'm reading Kate Chopin's The Awakening and it's making me feel sad. Sad, and kind of like I want to go live in New Orleans. But not in this century.

Everything's making me feel sad. (But not necessarily like living in New Orleans. Regardless of century.)

It's raining and gray and humid and smelly outside. If I haven't mentioned it before, let me do so now: Texas stinks.

I don't know why I feel so sad. I can't seem to absolutely define it.

I mean, there are a lot of things I could be feeling sad about... I just can't seem to actually pick one.

I dreamt the other night that somehow the kids and I had already obtained our quote/unquote dream house... and then somehow lost it. In the dream, other people were living in it, a couple and their children and we were standing outside, looking up at the house. I realized that they had all our things, that we had been forced to leave all our possessions behind and this other family now owned them. I turned to Sierra, I said, "CiCi? Do you remember which room was yours?" And she said, "I don't really remember, Mom. And now that other girl has my room."

And it was the saddest, most depressing dream, just standing outside, looking at our former house, knowing we'd lost it and would never have a home again. And I woke up so sad, and I haven't been able to shake this sadness, and I don't know what to do.

Eh.

Okay. Fran called, and I tried to tell him and I don't think I succeeded in any way. He turned it all around, said I just want money, money, money from him, that it's my fault that the kids don't know him, that I shouldn't expect him to remember the kids' birthdays when he doesn't even know them.

I hate this. I hate this. He said that the kids have two parents and I should be buying them school clothes and I tried to defend myself, list all the things I constantly buy them, about how in all this time I've gotten less than a year of child support and he started accusing me of just being greedy for money, of training Trinity to just use men for money, teaching her to be so hateful.

Oh fuck it doesn't matter. None of the crap he says matters, right? Then why am I crying? Because it's unfair? Because it's fucked up? Where have I been all these years that I didn't learn that EVERYTHING Is unfair, everything is fucked up, and there's nothing I can do about it?

It doesn't matter. I need to stop. I need to get up, get in the shower, get myself together and, I don't know, I need to drive Trin to her friend's house and stop at the Courthouse and get the name-change papers for Rainy, and I need to somehow get Sierra some more jeans because she's starting highschool and she needs some fucking pants. And I need to fucking STOP this stupid crying, because I don't have fucking time for this and I need to start reading my Am Lit books because my classes start next week and I need to just keep on going.

But losing the fucking child support... What am I going to do? Oh well. Who cares. I'll figure it out. It's that damned car payment that will kill me.

But this needs to stop now. Even if it means losing money. I feel like for years I've still been whoring myself out, taking his calls day after fucking day, being so fucking nice and supportive and warm and crap on the outside, feeling so angry within. Thinking I had to talk to him so that there would be a chance of getting money.

And always, I have the fantasy, of finally having enough money, of finally having my nice house, and nice job, and a kitchen all pretty and clean with no roaches, and I fantasize that Fran is old and alone and he wants me and the kids to take him in and I simply, all calmly, tell him No. And he dies alone and poor and unloved and  I know this is mean, I know this is a mean, bad fantasy to have, but when I can't sleep, I like to think about it. I like to think about him somehow having to suffer like we've suffered. Every time I steal something from Wal-mart, toothbrushes, shampoo, pencils, pens those stupid brad things the kids need for their folders, I'm always so scared. I'm so scared that I've become a thief, a criminal, a bad person. And I'm scared that this is a terrible thing for the kids to witness. And I'm scared that I'm going to get caught and lose everything. But I don't stop, because I don't think that I can. Because even though I know it sounds stupid, saving less than five bucks on those stupid three-packs of toothbrushes, it's five bucks that I'm scared to spend, scared because it's a lot of money for me.

I keep putting money away. Hiding it, a little bit here, a little there, because I'm scared to be totally broke. And I went and got this stupid macbook,  and I shouldn't have done it because I should have known the child support would end again soon. And Fran was so mean on the phone, making it sound like all this is me, all this is my fault, and that I'm one of those stereotypical ex-wives, just being a bitch about money. And how if I hadn't kicked him out "his" kids wouldn't "be strangers to him," and acting like I'm not buying them clothes and the things they need, and how I'm "setting them against him," and I fucking swear, for all these years, I've tried and tried to tell the kids the good things about him. Told them that his addiction is a disease, and it's this disease that makes him the way he is and it's not his fault, and that deep down he's funny and smart and kind... And now I think I've been lying to them, to myself, because I don't think there is any difference, any differentiating, between Fran and his addiction. I think they are one and I don't think I can say it's not his fault anymore because he's 52 and he's been this way most of his life and at some point, isn't there a choice?

I don't know.

And of course the bottom line is that this IS my fault, because I married an addict and had three kids with him and I should have known better. I'm to blame for this whole thing and I need to just handle it. I need to just get up, get in the shower, and get going.

Totally unrelated news:

Someone thought it would be funny (well yeah, it is kinda funny...), to use my email to join in supporting McCain. Ha. Ha-ha. Now don't be doing it again.

I just had to spend a hundred and sixty-four bucks to buy Rainy a used flute for Band. Geez. I see ramen in our immediate future. (Maybe we should eat the little goat? Mwah!)

I don't want the kids to have to go back to school.

I don't want to start stressing about subbing again.

School supplies! Crap! I can't shoplift fast enough!

Trinity is engaged in an ongoing text-war with her father. About... geez... It began because I had to cancel the back-to-school clothes shopping I'd promised on accounta suddenly losing six hundred dollars from my monthly budget. Trin texted him to express her, um, anger over this and from there it segued into asking why he never, never-ever, in the six and a half years he's been gone, has called any of the kids. Why he never calls to just "ask how our day is going." Why he never calls on birthdays or Christmas, why he never emails or sends cards et cetera. Why he spends money on drugs before he sends child support.

All very valid points... and yet this isn't a fight a thirteen year-old needs to be taking on.

I mean, it's one thing for her to be expressing her anger... But I'm afraid that this is going to hurt her.

Trinity always liked her father best. You know how some kids gravitate to particular parents? Sierra was like, immediately her mother's baby. Rainy too, though not as much as Sierra. But Trini used to follow her daddy around, spend as much time as she could with him. I still have the painful memory of her trying to run down the street after his car, no shoes, wearing only her diaper, one of the times he got all depressed/angry/whatever and took off in search of drugs.

And while Sierra and Rainy kept "their" parent, Trinity lost hers. And over the past year she's said things that have seriously worried me. Like, "If I run away, Dad will have to come out here and help find me." And, "If I keep getting in trouble at school, Daddy will have to move to Texas."

And she's involved in this phone/text battle with him, and when she texted him that she wishes he would just die, he finally called her back, telling her he would try to find a job soon and send child support. And it broke my heart when she told me that Daddy was listening to her, that he called her back, and promised to get a job. I mean, it broke my heart because she believed him. And because what lesson is she learning here? That a man will only communicate with you when you scream and yell and threaten?

The whole thing is bad. And I'm sitting here apparently crying over it. And I woke up in the middle of the night, thinking how fucked up this is. Thinking that I need to stop taking his calls. Because what message is that sending my children? That I will still be civil to someone who has no time for them? Who has NEVER called them?  That's a bad message. And I told myself that I was talking to him so that I could learn if/when he starts working again, so I can tell the AG and get child support again. But maybe I should just say Fuck it. Forget abut ever getting any child support and just never speak to him again.

Maybe that's what I should do.

But fuck... can I just decide to be even POORER?

But is this even worth it? In six and a half years, I've gotten less than a year's worth of child support. Is that worth my children seeing me be NICE to someone who has hurt their lives so much?

Fuck, I don't know.

It's just... as the kids get older, it seems that they need more and more and more. And what they need costs so much more. And I don't know what to do. And my mother is getting on my case because I won't take our old dog Chess to the vet for the eye infection he's had for a couple months, the eye infection I've been treating unsuccessfully with the terramycin that I bought from an online vet supply. And she's making me feel all guilty, saying I'm going to be to blame when he goes blind in that eye, and when I replied that he won't be blind long because I don't think he's going to make it through another year, she accused me of being hard-hearted and mean and I woke up worrying about this in the night, too, thinking I'm failing my old dog. And I love this dog, I really love him, but I can't afford the hundreds of dollars to take him to the vet and

Oh fuck it 

Is anyone else unable to get to the two latest entries on my wordpress site? Does it go straight to the one about the cat and not show anything past that?

***

Update: With the help of the wonderful Miss Syl, I got it fixed.

***

You mean all this time... no one could see any of the entries? My bad. My dumb.

Phone service shut down while the Verizon guy allegedly works on it. I'm writing on Word, my Word for Mac thing, and it's unfamiliar to me. (Tangent: I keep wanting to get my thesis paper thing from where I saved it as a file to my gmail, so I can edit out names et cetera and send it to Dan so he can put it up on his site with my PowerPoints and I can bore you-all further and hopefully get in an argument with Mike, but although I am able to get the file downloaded from my gmail, I am unable to get the thing any further than my desktop. And I can't edit from my desktop. And it makes me crazy that I can't figure out how to get the thing to open up in my Mac Word program, why I can get it merely to "Read Only," and the whole thing is making me mad blah blah blah.)

Anyway, I've been here five years and the phone lines have been effed up the whole time. Is it me? Is it Verizon? Id-effing-k!

My nearly two year-old modem still works, even though it shuts itself off every quarter hour or so, or loses its connection or, I don't know, just decides that it hates me. I bought a new modem, it wouldn't hold its dsl connection, the Verizon guy said it was a defective modem and so I sent it back. They sent me a second modem; same issue. The guy just told me that they must have sent me a SECOND defective modem and I find this very hard to believe.

Eh. Boring, right? But my classes start on the 25th and I need freaking Internet.
 
In other news, my stomach hurts.

In further news, I am glum. I don't know why. Without the outlet of classes, I'm just thinking too much. And not, you understand, GOOD thoughts.

See, I get in this mode where I question everything I do, think, everything about myself. Hiking, something I enjoy on various levels, I'm all questioning my motivation. I'm all, 'Am I doing this for my heath? Because without any health insurance I have to take better care of myself? Or am I doing it so that I will lose weight and look better? Because I am trying to conform to some false societal standard of pretty and I am basing my self-worth upon my appearance? '
And then I get all mad at myself. Because I'd like to think I'm exercising solely for my mental and physical health but I suspect that I am doing it so that I will look better. And that makes me really, really not like myself. Because shouldn't I be better than this? This superficial crap? Have I tried so hard to get smarter and tougher, only to find that I still want to be fucking pretty? Because that's messed up.

I wanted to change and I worry that I haven't changed at all.

My stomach hurts. I'm thinking I'll try to drink some herbal tea stuff. It's drizzling rain outside and I have to wait for the Verizon guy to return... I guess I should try to get a head start on my textbooks... but I guess I'll just watch TV...

***

Update: 3 hours later I still have a new modem that won't work, an old modem that only semi works, the desktop can't get ANY connection through its ethernet cable, and he Verizon guy says, "Let's just see what happens."

Kill me.