Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Ending The Junk Mail Blues

A pile of credit card offers, car insurance deals, and student loan consolidation information. It's something I've come to expect in the mail almost daily. It isn't out of the ordinary to receive three offers from one company in one week. (I hate you Discover.) For those of you who feel my pain, and wince at the thought of a small forest dying in your name at the hands of the credit and insurance industries, I come bearing news of your salvation.

I received an e-mail from my bank today (also a frustrating form of junk mail, even if it doesn't kill anything except my spirit), and it had a handy list of Do's and Don'ts to protect yourself from identity theft. I scanned it quickly and as I was about to hit "delete" my eyes struck gold:

"Shred all personal and financial information, including those 'pre-approved credit card offers' before you throw them away. To request exclusion from these mailings call: 1-888-5OPT-OUT."

I grew giddy at the thought of ending the seemingly endless onslaught of paper harrassment and fished my cell phone out of my purse in eager anticipation.

The whole process took less than three minutes, but you may start to feel yourself slowly losing your sanity as you shout things to a robot on the phone. I think it is a sacrifice well worth it.

My robot friend told me I should stop receiving solicitations within the next few months. Hallelujah!

Thursday, March 1, 2007

Tastes Like Dissapointment

A quick update on the girl scout cookie situation:
I heard whisperings that girl scouts had set up shop a few blocks from my office yesterday afternoon. I headed over with hopes of purchasing a box of Thin Mints for my mom and a box of Do-Si-Dos for myself--you know--just in case mookie was in Mexico by now with my cookies.

Just moments ago I opened the box of the peanut butter sandwiches, hoping to savor the creamy deliciousness mixed with the texture of the oh so perfectly crunchy wafers that I so adore. Instead, I thought to myself, "Are these stale?" Something was not quite right. I immediately scanned the box for an expiration date, but instead found a string of confusing numbers that I do not have the ability to decode. Hoping it was my imagination, I took another cookie from the box. Nope. This cookie is definitely not what I had been lusting after.

After a quick round through the "circle square" office, I had all the data I needed. Forcing cookies down the throats of several employees had led to this conclusion: these cookies are victims of transfat-removal. The horror! In an attempt to do their part to make the country healthier, the girl scouts have launched an assault on my favorite cookies of all. They have left me with an orange box of dissapointment, with two more boxes on the way. As one colleague said, "They still taste good. They aren't the same, but they don't taste like boogers or anything." Another said, "Transfats aren't good for you, Amanda. Just get used to it." Boo.