Update on Yahoo situation #2

Got reply. They refuse to ask me my secret question.

Let me get this straight.

I'm writing to them from my alternate email which they would have used to send me my password reset IF their usual channel had worked.

They insist I give my secret answer without asking me the question. Even credit card companies ask you your security question, and they even have several questions for you to choose to answer.

AND all this is after they ask me for a photocopy of my ID, my country, my birth date, postal code, plus 4 or 5 other details.

I'm almost beyond frustrated.

I'm going to ask to speak to a manager if this goes on. VERY angry now.

Update on Yahoo situation

Got a reply from Yahoo after submitting the online form, specifying the problems I encountered. And what do I receive? A nice reply saying thank you for yadda yadda yadda - nice, obviously typed by a person, not a machine. A reply which stated that, in response to my problem which was forwarded to him by his colleague, he would send...an auto-reply. One that gave the exact same fucking useless info as on their fucking useless help page.

And, to infuse me with a sense of foreboding, the message stated that if this info doesn't help me (duh), I should provide a long list of personal details to prove my identity - and this includes my secret question and answer.

About 1 or 2 years ago, I had forgotten my password and tried to reset it, and when I didn't remember what the @#$%^& my secret Q&A were, they said they couldn't help me, even though I could provide ALL the other info correctly. Even though the usual channel for resetting passwords asked for only 40% of the info they requested here, not including the secret Q&A (provided that @#$%^& channel even works). How many ways do I have to try to reset my password only to find it doesn't work?

PLUS the fact that, during one of my many attempts to change my password this time round, they had asked for my secret answer...but didn't provide the secret question!! I Googled the problem and apparently it's an extremely common qualm. Come on, a lot of people don't remember what secret Q&A they entered, plus, wasn't the question entered so that we could be asked to answer it??

I never got the help I needed that last time. I'm filled with dread this time round.

At least I'm in California. I'll storm the damn Yahoo HQ if I have to. It's really time they revise their damn senseless security measures.

I feel about ready for some form of homicide.

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Latest development:

Called the Yahoo customer care hotline. Finally - a living being to talk to!

However, they can't access my account through customer care. The hotline person said my account is to be referred only to the account security department which can ONLY be accessed through email. I can't speak to any living person in account security. I'm thinking may that's because they know know how much abuse they'd have to take.

So...I'm back to square one. And even more homicidal.

Fog, sun, more fog, lots of whining

Hey dearies! Won't be able to be online very much these few weeks, so just a quick line to update now and then.

Am now at my sis' place in Santa Cruz, CA, and apparently my arrival heralded the rainy season - the day I arrived was the first truly foggy day of the month. The kids are impossibly adorable, and driving us all up the wall constantly. Oh, and my PMS just started yesterday - I am surrounded by stressful kiddy whining AND American portions of food AND Thanksgiving feast in a couple of hours' time. Wish me luck, or prepare to welcome home the Blimp once known as Daphne.

Yahoo password security SUCKS!!! I changed my password last weekend but woefully forgot what it was. When I tried to reset my password through 1) using not just one but two alternate emails, and 2) entering my personal information previously provided for such security purposes, I get this: "Password cannot be reset online". What the FUCK??!! If a password cannot be reset online, then where?? And since I had to retry a few times, my account got locked. And when I finally found an email address to write to (they refuse to provide one on the help page), I get an auto reply saying they only respond to online forms which I've promptly filled. Now waiting to see if I'll have to hunt down their California HQ number to scream at them. VERY frustrated.

So there - a summary of my current situation. Oh, and riding a very nicely refurbished Boeing 777 with lovely sound system, a Business Class (that I walked through on the way to my Poor Man's Class) that looks like First Class, a First Class that looks like little hotel rooms, and entertainment system that could've kept me entertained for weeks. And two different Korean gentlemen who sat next to me, who were very quiet, polite and had no sense of personal space. My personal space, that is.

Love to you all. Miss you.

Scent of a...

She switches off the air-conditioning. The room is too cold.

And quiet.

She turns on the music. She lets the first track play for a minute, then turns it off. The room is better silent.

The room lightly smells of wood and roses, but she is accustomed and doesn't smell it. The room smells like nothing, to her.

Sitting in her black swivel chair, she looks around. All around her lie small stacks of objects - on the desk in front of her, on the chest of drawers behind her, on the floor around her, even on the music keyboard. Her acoustic guitar sits lonely and slightly dusty in a corner. Books, CDs, a pair of nail clippers, a pencil case, a small tin of green tea powder, a water bottle, a bag of cosmetics, more books, some stacked precariously atop others. A bag of small and mostly green gifts.

A lamp with an intricate black shade - she taps it and it starts to glow softly. The black feather boa framing the mirror behind it does not acknowledge the light.

Above the door frame, a clock ticks. Nothing else moves.

She then gets up, goes to the dresser and picks up a miniature bottle of men's cologne. She takes out a Post-it note and dabs a few drops of cologne on it. The musky, masculine scent reaches her, and she pastes the Post-it on the bed post next to her pillow.

Maybe she can go to bed feeling a little less alone tonight.

There's no place like home...is there?

Tried to write another short story tonight, only to find I'm way too tired to do much hard thinking, or maybe I'm just not inspired enough.

Oz withdrawal has set in, but not enough to make me melancholy, just feeling a little too free.

Am surrounded by presents of varying sizes and and types, though a sizeable proportion of them are green in colour or contain elements of green.

A single white rose has started to nod. A green balloon dog with a curiously long and phallic looking tail lies on its side. A miniature tree with shimmering green leaves made of beads and sequins is still in its plastic packaging. A green-bottomed shot glass dubbing Daphne the Munchkin Maiden sits next to a few individually wrapped pieces of chocolates. A green candle holder. An hourglass. A photograph of two people wearing green berets. A Chinese paper cutout. A pair of green earrings. A smiley keychain. Various cards and notes with warm well wishes. And my favourite, a masquerade mask in shades of fuscia, black and white.

There were more gifts, but I've eaten them.

It will be quite a while before I decide to wear green eye shadow again. My right hand and wrist ache a little. And I badly need a shoulder and neck massage. BADLY.

All the same, I kinda miss Oz.

I can't wait to write something again.

More rain

The wee hours of last Saturday morning was the first time in a long time I felt lonely enough to cry.

And tonight, again, almost.

I keep telling myself I'm not lonely, at least most of the time. I have wonderful, wonderful friends, even if they're the type who would take a birthday video of me in a towel or feed me too much wine. It's usually good wine, though. They're marvellous people who know me and each other too well, and isn't that what real lovers are like? I'm not getting laid, but that's not the most important reason for living (one of the top, but not the #1). I am loved in abundance, and I love in equal abundance.

But sometimes, there's just so much more I could give, if I had someone to give it to. So much to give.

Some things friends can't give you. They can inflate your life and you can inflate theirs, but not at the same depth. Friends can hold you tight, but sometimes it's never tight nor warm enough. Friends can touch your soul, but there are parts of your soul reserved for specific one-at-a-times.

I miss holding someone in the quiet dark.

I miss being held in the noisy outdoors.

I miss living for someone.

And sometimes, I just miss being adored.

But missing isn't reason enough to want someone. Besides, I don't believe in looking for someone, never have. And I still feel safer alone.

Just that some nights are too quiet and cold. Then there's the rain.