* * *
After sitting and worrying about it for a little while yesterday, I finally up and called Expedia and expressed my concern about the fact that in July on my way to Hawaii I’m supposed to be able to haul my cookies from one gate to another in less than 25 minutes, assuming that the plane lands on time. And I think we ALL know that when you have to haul ass from one gate to another, barely making it (if indeed you make it at all), there’s no way on god’s green earth your luggage will make it onto that plane.
So I threw myself on the mercy of the Expedia customer service chick, and she was appalled, not because I was throwing myself upon her mercy, but because it is sheer insanity to expect a fat woman from Alabama and her meandering-in-the-fastest-of-times child to haul ass in such a short period of time. I sat on hold for a long, long time, and then she came back to tell me that there was another flight she could put me on, but I’d end up flying into Honolulu at 10:19 at night instead of 7:30ish, and I said that was fine, and so now I have plenty of time to get from one gate to the other, and am flying not through San Francisco but Los Angeles. I’m hugely relieved, because running as fast as I can from one gate to the other (which, granted, ain’t so very fast) and then having my luggage lost in the ether is not a way I want to start my vacation.
And hey – maybe we’ll see someone famous during our LA layover! Brad and Jen! Dahlinks! Let’s do lunch!
* * *
My PMS is over, thankyajeezus. At one point yesterday afternoon, when the PMS bitchiness had pretty much disappeared and I was sitting on the couch reading, I remembered that Fred had wanted me to email him a document from the laptop so I went upstairs and turned the
motherfucker darling thing on, then went off to start laundry and talk to the cats or whatever the fuck I was doing.
When I got back to the laptop I found to my chagrin that
ZoneAlarm was having a tizzy – “Do you want to allow this to access the internet? What about this? This! What about this?”, and I had to click “yes
you fucking piece of shit” 43 times before I could begin to do anything else. I opened Pegasus and created the email to Fred with the document attached, but when I clicked on
send queued mail, I was informed that the program couldn’t access Kn0logy and something was unplugged somewhere, and
don’t look at me, I don’t give a shit, lady, and a Gallic snort of disdain and a cloud of smoke in my face and a
tsk before the
motherfucker darling laptop sneered at me and (figuratively) turned away.
Then Zonealarm did its thing, dancing around like a four year-old with a full bladder and no potty in sight “Do you want to allow this program to access the internet? That one? The other? What about this one, I don’t like the looks of this!”, and I clicked the “yes
didn’t I already say yes and click on the “remember this answer” box, you motherfucking piece of shit?” button, then turned my attention back to the main screen, where the IE icon and the Trillian icon and the My Documents icon were clustered, looking at me and giggling their high-pitched giggles.
So I tried to call Fred. And tried again. And yet again. And a fourth time. And a thirteenth time. And a twentieth time. And his answering machine answered, playing that
SAME GODDAMN message I adore so much until I turned off the phone and yelled “ARGGGGGGGGGGH!”, and the cats scattered. Then I had an idea – I could save the document to a floppy and then bring it downstairs and email THAT to Fred! Good idea, go to it! ::clapclapclap::
I hauled my ass downstairs and searched for a floppy disk – which are in short supply around here ever since we gave the spud our old camera which writes pictures to floppies and she has felt the need to immortalize her nostrils in a series of pictures we like to call “Those big-ass nostrils must have come from your daddy, oh I guess you’re right, everyone looks like they have Grand Canyon-sized nostrils from two inches away”. I found a floppy and ran back upstairs, the cats running behind me, wondering what the hell was going on, and
why does she keep running? I’ve never seen her RUN before, and it’s a bit frightening.
The laptop. Oh, the
motherfucking laptop. The laptop, my nemesis, it HAS no floppy drive.
NO FLOPPY DRIVE. What the? How the? Where the? Why? How’m I gonna?
Brilliant inspiration struck and I double-checked to be sure the
motherfucker had a cd/ dvd drive, and it did (and then I remembered that I had watched
Beyond the Behind the Near the Around the Below the Inside the Past the Under the Tuscan Sun on the laptop, so of COURSE – and here that
ASSHOLE paperclip man (oh paperclip man, how I loathe you and your perpetual need to help me WHEN I REQUIRE NO HELP, THANKS! YES! YES THAT’S A LETTER, AND I KNOW HOW TO WRITE A LETTER, I’M THIRTY-SIX YEARS OLD RIGHT NOW YOU BASTARD, SO SHUT UP AND GO AWAY!) laughed out loud at me before he did his “now we print out paper!” dance for no particular reason.
Back down the stairs I went, a coterie of cats hard on my heels, and I found the stack of rewritable cds, and I turned around and went back UP the stairs and I don’t mind telling you that I was breathing MIGHTY hard by then, but I was triumphant, because I was going to overcome the
yeah, something’s unplugged somewhere or something, whatever laptop and the bastardly paperclip man, and I would be the boss of that
motherfucking laptop! Laptops the world over would shiver in fear of me! So I put the cd in the cd drive, and I clicked on the Word document and I chose “save as”, and I chose the D drive and I clicked “save”.
I’m sorry, you don’t have permission to access the D drive.
CLEARLY a mistake. Obviously I read that wrong. Clickclickclick.
I’m sorry, you don’t have permission to access the D drive. SUCKAH!
Which is when I knew that I had to step away from the laptop immediately, or I would put my fucking foot right through the motherfucker, and I stood up and took a deep breath and chose the option to shut the motherfucker down, and then I stood for several minutes waiting for it to actually SHUT DOWN, WHY does it take 45 minutes for computers to shut down anymore, WHY? Finally I lost my patience, and I struggled with myself, wanting so very desperately to put my foot through the motherfucker, but I remained calm and in control, and instead of putting my foot through the motherfucker, I lean forward so that my face was half an inch from the screen, and I bellowed at the very top of my lungs – and when I say that that is very loud indeed, you have NO idea, folks. Fred thinks he’s heard me at my loudest, but he has never ever heard me this loud, I guarantee you, this is the volume you reach when someone is coming after you with a knife and you have to scream for your life (poet! knowit!) – “ANY FUCKING DAY NOW!” I bellowed, going immediately lightheaded from the effort and the volume. And the motherfucker shut down that very instant.
Who’s the boss now, huh? That’s right, you motherfucker. I am the boss of YOU, and don’t you FORGET IT.
But I sure am glad I’m over that whole PMS thing. Whew. Bring on the sore boobs!
* * *
We have to go to some meeting for the parents of 9th graders – an orientation they’re calling it – because the spud will be going to the big high school next year. It’s tonight at 7 because they ALWAYS schedule this shit on Thursday nights so as to interfere with our
Survivor watching, but stymied!
Survivor was on last night, not tonight. Ha!
* * *
Miz Pooty, I understand that cleaniness is, in fact, next to godliness and that cleaning yourself incessantly is the way you worship the God o’ Cats, BUT WHY MUST YOU DO IT TWO INCHES FROM MY EAR AND WHY MUST YOU GRUNT LOUDLY WHILE YOU ARE CLEANING YOUR ASS?
* * *
Perhaps the PMS is not so much gone, but rather just kind of laying dormant.
* * *
Tiptoeing guiltily through the daffodils.]]>