Monday, August 5, 2019

INSANITY, Brought to You by Godaddy

Help! I need a Techno Prince Charming to come to my rescue. I'm weak, confused, dazed, and downright numb. My life has been turned upside down because Godaddy wreaked havoc on my web-site. Havoc I say! It wasn't my fault that my web-site now displays a sign that roughly reads..."enter and die or be struck by lightening."  How could this happen to poor little innocent moi at this point in my life?  I already have sleeping issues and now it looks like I may never close my eyes again as I have been up talking to a Godaddy rep every night since last Thursday. I know Joe, Antonio, Cliff, Mic, Nick, and Mike who made promises like knights in shining armor that they would have the heinous signs on my site down within hours.  "Liar liar pants on fire," to the whole bunch.  It sounded simple, easy, no problema; I believed all of them .  I've gone through a box of Kleenex sobbing as I struggle to dial Godaddy for the 12th time in 4 days. I resist the urge to throw my laptop out the window. Bye-bye little crazy making machine I'm moving to a tree house with no internet access.

 Life was so simple before I talked to the evil Ann at Godaddy who never warned me of the dangers that lay ahead.  Ann, you bitch the sin of omission is on you.  Destroy a male caller, not a fellow woman!  Innocently and to save $79.95 I thought I didn't need an SSL certificate on my web-site and asked her to cancel it.  I actually had no idea what it was , just the price.  According to Joe, Antonio, Mic, Mike, and Cliff she should have told me of the dire consequences of cancelling, but alas no such words. She began my journey into the land of the technologically insane!  Warnings everywhere on my site to stay away or else die a painful techno death.  Thus began my non-stop calls morning, noon, and half the night to Godaddy.  Empty promises of a fix lead to three glasses of wine and a Valium to calm my jangled nerves.  Now I need rehab, not a web-site.

I hate technology and remember lovingly the click clack of my typewriter keys and the messy carbon paper that got all over my hands and clothes. I would scream, crumple it into a ball and throw it across the room because I couldn't line it up with the paper correctly. So simple and weren't those the halcyon days?  I had my little bottle of white-out that I could never apply thinly enough so I had a big blob over my typo. This brings tears of joy to my eyes.  My typewriter was too big to take to Starbucks, but I didn't care. I could manually line up margins and set tabs, no SSL certificate and Goddaddy employees to make a fool of me or drive me to drink at 10:00 a.m. 

Techno Prince, if you're out there, call me.  Or better yet a good therapist.