My laptop is dead. Tot. Kaput. Finito. Gone from this world. I managed to transfer most of my files, except for my bookmarks and of course, my PSTs (outlook files) and half my music.
I broadcast from our media server, which has become my wet nurse until I get a new laptop.
Where’s Sparky, you ask? He was using your laptop for almost a year. How can he work if the laptop is dead? Really good questions.
The day MY laptop died, he got a Mac PowerBook.
What is he doing as I curse this mammoth “mini” tower with the sucky keyboard and massive speaker system that must be installed so I can use my headphones because for some unknown reason it doesn’t have a headphone jack?
He’s smiling and admiring the fish tank screen saver on his new machine. He’s spouting on and on about how great his new machine is. Blah, blah, blah. What is he doing as I’m on my back messing around with the millions of cords needed for this machine to function? He’s smiling dreamily and typing away.
Enough bitching for now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to bitch more about this later. That Sparky moved on after he killed my poor baby laptop is not a subject I can just let go. He’s a murderer, I tell you, a murderer! But it is perhaps getting old, so I will move on in my writing and suffer privately.
Now I need your help. Since I’ve lost my PST until next week sometime when I’m hoping the Useless Guy computer repair shop can retrieve my hard drive, I don’t have any of my old e-mail or contacts, which means I don’t have your e-mail address. Coordinating the Girlie weekend is difficult without e-mail addresses. Can you please resend your last e-mails so I have both the information and your addresses?
Kim talks about how her husband won’t go into her handbag to save his life. Well, I have the opposite problem. To me my handbag is a private area. I organize it in a special way (not at all) and only I know what’s in there. Sparky has absolutely NO problem invading this private space and I have been actively trying to break him of this habit. I too carry his wallet, phone and keys. He feels that this act automatically gives him access to the handbag domain. It doesn’t.
I graciously accept his items in exchange for his occasional handbag carrying duties. This is why I consult him when picking out a handbag. I only purchase one we both like because he ends up carrying it. This makes us even.
Here it is. My green Furla. And it’s stuffed.
This is what’s in it:
Gloves – cold hands, warm heart
My calendar – because I hate technology
My notebook with favorite pens and a mechanical pencil to write in my calendar
Tide stick – because I always make a mess
Hufnagel tickets – claim ticket for a couple of other handbags that are being repaired
LipGlosses – Am I too old to wear gloss? In shades: Lovechild, Spirited and Moonstone
Face Lotion – in a teeny tiny container
Picture Holder – My brother got it for me in Vegas and it holds a couple of pictures and a lotto ticket
MP3 player – never leave home without it
Hand lotion – my hands are always dry
I think that’s enough for now. Especially since this keyboard doesn’t feel very good and the keys are all different from my old keyboard and I hate it. I’m going to go bitch to Sparky about it. He’s not quite repentant enough for my taste. I want blood.