I hate credit cards. To be honest, after getting myself deeply in and out of debt 10 years ago, I avoid them like the plague. But lets face it, I've got kids, good taste and I live in Southern California, so aside from my American Express (which gets paid off every month) I have one other "guilty pleasure" credit card from Citibank. I always pay on time, at least twice my minimum and many times I'll go ahead and send them money twice a month, just to get that muther paid down. So you can imagine my surprise (read: raging volcanic anger) when I opened this month's bill and saw that Citibank (or as Bill Maher calls it "Shitibank") raised my interest rate from 14.99% percent to 25.99% because they said I was "late" on last months' payment. Ummm, no assholes, I was actually so early that I ended up paying you before your bill was even sent out and your moron computer program read that as not paying at all. For the love of the credit gods, get your team to actually look at the numbers and you'll see that I've actually paid you NINE times over the past SIX months (do the math, dumbasses). When I called today (ready to pick a fight and go all Janice Dickinson-after-6-shots-of-Patron-Tequila on their asses), "Vijay" the friendly, but unintelligible, customer service rep. miraculously saw the errors of Shitibanks ways and actually reversed my interest rate back to it's original amount. Damn straight he did. As pissed as I am, I have now learned a new lesson: if I can't pay cash for my next pair of True Religion jeans, or a Coach handbag, then I'm just not buying it, cause Shitibank and their interest rates can suck my cornholio.
While I'm on a rant, can I just send out a message to Kevin James (who I'm sure it will get to, as so many Hollywood types are reading our website). Kevin: I just rented "Paul Blart: Mall Cop", and while I wasn't expecting it to be "Goodfellas" I figured that since it made a bazillion dollars at the box office, that it must have a few laughs. In the words of Depeche Mode's new song, I was "WRONG". It's clear that everyone who forked over their $10.50 at the theater had just smoked from the world's biggest bong - because there is no other way an audience could possibly justify sitting through that movie. I had a "free" movie at Blockbuster and still hard a hard time not changing it over to something educational and entertaining, like "Daisy of Love" or "VH1's top 100 Teen Stars." So Kevin, if it's not too much to ask, I was wondering if I could come over to your house, put on one of those plastic fireman outfits that kids wear at Halloween, stuff donuts down my throat and ride around on my daughter's rusty 4-year old Razor scooter (since I don't own a Segway and am not about to charge one to my Shitibank card) and bore the hell out of you and you family for an hour and a half?
PS - I wrote this rant in a hot sweaty rage of anger, so please forgive the run on sentences, blabbering and profanities, muthaf#*kers.
PPS: The other day I blogged about the Apple Store quoting me a minimum of $750 to fix my son's Pepsi-soaked MacBook (without even looking at it first). I found a company who fixed it and added extra memory for the bargain basement price of $250 - and they did it in 2 days. So Apple, you can Suck It too!