Apparently, they didn’t take too kindly to my ignoring their generous offer to communicate with me.

Since that Monday, exactly seven days ago, I have been called FIFTEEN TIMES by that number. Never a message is left. The earliest calls always happen a shade after 9 AM, and the latest just a shade after 6 PM.

Finally, this morning I decided to find out who died and finally answer. That’s when I discovered how lucky I was that someone was calling me OnBehalfOfTheDallasMorningNews, WithAnOfferEspeciallyForFormerSubscribers…. and I type it like that because that is how the caller was talking. I kept trying to interrupt to respond that I was not interested, and not waste his time by allowing him to give me his whole spiel only to be turned down at the end. But God bless his probably-underpaid-soul, he would not give me the chance. I’m guessing he took a deep breath before I picked up the phone, because he didn’t even seem to be pausing for breath, he was so busy speeding through his script, and ignoring my attempts to interrupt him.

It wasn’t until I kept repeating, “no, no, no, no” countless times over him that he finally stopped.
I told him I wasn’t interested, and to stop calling me, and to put me on his Do-Not-Call List, to which he responded, “SureWeCanDoThatLetMeJustTransferYouToMySupervisor” and I heard silence on the line. I checked the screen on my phone, and the timer was still going, so the call was still active. After about a minute of this, I finally hung up.

If you google the phone number that called me, you’ll see that I’m not the only one that has complaints about the Telemarketing company that calls from this number.

Dallas Morning News Circulation Department, you have a call to make. And it’s not to me.

-Tiki Barber, in his 2007 memoir “Tiki: My life in the game and beyond”

“I don’t give a [bleep] that the relationship didn’t work. Not only did he abandon her, I felt like he abandoned us for a lot of our lives. I have a hard time forgiving that.”

-Tiki Barber, speaking of his parents’ split in a 2004 NY Post interview.

Ex-Giants superstar Tiki Barber has dumped his 8-months-pregnant wife, Ginny, for sexy former NBC intern Traci Lynn Johnson, sources told The NY Post last night. The football star-turned-”Today” show-correspondent left his wife of 11 years, Ginny, for the 23-year-old blond, who also worked at the NBC TV show “30 Rock”, the sources said. Ginny, who is expecting twins, found out about the relationship late last year, after the run-around running back moved out of their Upper East Side home.

Read more: http://www.nypost.com/p/news/local/timing_tiki_plays_field_TMZxMDNXxvBbNgVBToZL8O#ixzz0kRs1L6NX

Reason #1: 18 minutes on hold before a live person picked up. And all this time, a recorder telling me that I could fix most of my issues if I just rebooted my modem and my PC.

This is not the first time. AT&T Has the absolute worst phone support ever.

And their account people go home at 5 PM SHARP.  So you either have the option of calling during work hours, or be screwed.

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Part I: The security line.

I shouldn’t have bothered to wear a belt on my day of travel. I should have just stuffed it into my bag and pulled it out after I’d arrived at the hotel. And who did I think I was fooling with the belt, anyway? Did people really think that I needed one? I haven’t comfortably fit into my pants since I wore those diapers with that elastic waistband. And if you’ve ever wondered why many Texan men wear that big dinner-platter-sized belt buckle, it’s because that’s the only thing that can hold back that huge beer gut. Everything’s bigger in Texas!


I was embarrassed to remove my shoes. I hoped my fellow travelers, for their own sake, had come down with a bad case of cedar allergies. Better that their noses be clogged during this experience. The smell was such an issue that it caused the security guys some real concern. They couldn’t decide if they were supposed to put my shoes in the X-ray machine or in that bomb-sniffing machine instead. And even if they weren’t bothered by the smell of the shoes, my once-white-but-now-grayish socks probably offended them (one small, frightened child exclaimed: Mister!, there’s a scary rat crawling on your foot! Oh wait…it’s your sock) But at least I wore socks, unlike the poor girl behind me who had to walk across that grimy floor in her bare feet. Well, at least she made the custodian’s job a bit easier.

I was also quite confused about the little sandwich baggie. Let me get this straight: I’m supposed to fit all my toothpastes and hair creams and roll-ons and face creams and visines into this tiny little bag – and all that stuff should fit “comfortably.” Comfortably? Yeah right. They fit about as “comfortably” as Oprah fits into her slacks. And the whole time I was fretting that some super-observant TSA agent would notice that most of my little containers were actually 3.5 ounces rather than the maximum-allowed 3 ounces. Would I be forced to drain out that extra half ounce? Luckily, I made it through without being busted.

But damn, that ham sandwich that I packed alongside all my gels sure tasted crappy.

Coming tomorrow: Part II: The layover in Newark.