Our laptop has been kaput. Stone dead. Not resting. Demised, bereft of life, off the twig, shuffled off the techno coil, kicked the bucket, and joined the choir electronic. Our laptop is no more. It has ceased to be. It has expired, and gone to meet its maker. It is pushing up the techno-daisies. Dead. D-e-a-d. In all, it is an ex-laptop. After eight years, no RAM memory left, and three power adapters, it became senseless to try to order a fourth adapter, a battery, and more memory– all things we’d need before we could continue this blogging and writing and photographing obsession. Instead, we’ve been using the BH’s almost equally obsolete iMac desktop. The horror, people, we tell you, the horror. Sharing a computer– a Macintosh, even. (J/K, I have nothing against Macs, I just prefer PCs). Not having 24 hour access to wi-fi and news and blogs. We think it’s the reason for our recent depression, yes, precious, we do. (Right. Easier to blame it on that than self-care, right?)
Anyway. We’d like to introduce you to our new, shiny, 13.3 inch, 4 pound new bundle of joy. We haven’t named it yet, but we’re taking suggestions. “Our precious?” Fine for the first post, but a little creepy thereafter. As Mobutu in Zoolander said, “It’s BEAUTIFUL.”
I may still have student loans to repay, and furniture inherited from relatives. I finally have a job with grownups, for grownup pay. But the real, true sign of adulthood? Matching silverware. Oneida Calm, if you’re curious. Many thanks to the BH, who got a $100.00 gift certificate to Linens n’ Things (or “Sheets n’ Shit” as we like to call it) for knowing all sorts of things about Don MacLean’s “American Pie.” And he claimed it was all useless trivia. Useless, my matching cutlery.
It’s been a monsoon weekend in New England, spurts of miserable drizzle interspersed with lashings of rain. We went to brunch yesterday morning, despondent at the idea of consuming less than a thousand calories for breakfast at home, and meandered our way back, afterward, stopping for presents (I’m going to be an aunt!) and accident reports at the police station. On what the zoning board geek in me calls a mixed commercial-industrial use section of the street where we were walking, our eyes spied a truck from the restaurant we’d just eaten at. It was parked outside a restaurant and party supply place, set back from the street, that neither of us had ever really registered before.
Restaurant and kitchen supply stores are right up there with bookstores and stationery stores as caves of wonder for me, and the sheer amount of shiny stainless steel makes the Better Half’s eyes glaze over, too. We didn’t buy anything, just tooled up and down the aisles admiring five-gallon vats of mustard and olives, and pretending like we had a use for ten gallon stockpots. It’s nice, the surprises you find in what you thought were familiar places.
I am enjoying the new/old chair with the fancy upholstered seat my friend L. re-cycled to me after getting a new dining set. It’s just the right height and depth for sitting at the table with my legs up on the chair across from me, while I blog and write away.
Tulips are the lollipops of the flower world. Either that, or gerbera daisies. But tulips in Boston are blooming, and the yards are full of lollipops.
Downloaded the new NIN album, free online at their site. It’s awesome– I lurve Trent Reznor.
The lady at the grocery store with the screaming, ear-infected infant who took time out of her busy day to castigate me for my made-in-China chinese mary janes, decorated with cute neon buttons by little old moi, didn’t like it when I asked her back, “do you understand the carbon impact of bringing another human into the world?” I like kids, really, but when you’re toting yours in a $1000 stroller? Holier-than-thou 0– sarcasm 1.
Had a wonderful massage last night with lots of lymph drainage work. I am a snotty mess this morning, but I feel worlds better on the withdrawal end of things. Almost like myself, just with a toxin-release-induced cold. I’ll take it. Why isn’t massage prescribed for every bipolar in drug toxicity withdrawal? It should be a standard of care. I will ask my doctor Friday.
