Everything’s broken. My bathroom fan needs to be fixed, according to my ridiculous handyman Alf, because the bathroom CEILING will fall in if I don’t. Oh, is that all?
He also had to come fix all of the 206 windows back here, as they would not stay open or lock. That’s safe.
Plus also, my dishwasher needs replacing, and this computer is clearly on its last…stand. It’s Computer’s Last Stand. I spent three or four ENTIRE days a few months ago with AppleCare, wherein we made my computer unusable while trying to install or uninstall or SOMETHING in order to make this thing not slow as the dickens, and we all know how slow the dickens are.
When these things happen, I try to think of my favorite person, Anne Lamott, and what she says about these things…
So while something big and lovely is trying to be born, I’m over here dealing with a pain in my ass. Several pains in my ass.
Last night, I turned off this computer completely, by being needy and texting it a lot. No.
I turned it off, removed the plug, which GOOD writers might call “unplugging it,” waited a bit, plugged it back in and turned it on to see if maybe my iPhotos would finally work.
There’s an Anne Lamott for everything. And any smart thought can be made basic and Pinterest-y if you get the right picture behind it.
Also? My favorite.
Anyway. This morning when I got to my computer, all the attempts I made yesterday to drag photos onto my desktop?
And now I have 400,034 pictures there, and we’re gonna look at ALL OF THEM YAY!
Oh, June. Must we?
I tried these glasses on at the eye doctor the other day. Please ignore that I have no eye makeup on; I knew he was gonna do all that crap they do that makes your eyes water, so. My fear is wearing colored glasses that seem “whimsical” and I become one of those middle-aged women you feel sorry for, with leopard frames (I WOULD LOVE LEOPARD FRAMES) and tiaras and–oh my god I’m already that woman. I’m wearing a fucking pom-pom necklace up there, and I’m all, I don’t want to seem undignified in my old age.
And SPEAKING of which, I was at the grocery store last night buying dog food, some of that Rachel Ray’s Just Sex that I get for Edsel,
Oh, might that be a link to Amazon, that photo of Just Sex dog food? Might it? Might you want to click over there and buy you some Amazon? Because June needs a new dishwasher and computer.
Anyway, the checkout girl complimented my coat, which is a pink trench given to me by the fine folks at Stitch Fix, and I thought SHE thought I was mighty hot in it, till she said, “Do you need the senior discount today?”
How fast do you think I asked Siri, “What’s the age limit for Harris Teeter’s senior discount?” Was it before I got to my car? Was it?
SIXTY. Bitch thought I was SIXTY. I was so cute in m’pink trench. Cute like Clara Peller, apparently.
Here’s my ambulance from my very serious car accident the other night. Now with mail! Maybe the mail truck came in case I had POSTtraumatic stress.
I’m hilarious at 60. Sixty is the new 52.
Over there on the left is lone wolf Edsel, waiting for Dexter. This is a screen shot I took while he was at daycare the other day. He acts exactly the same way I did at daycare.
I’ve no idea when I took this, probably 1957 when I was born, but I look annoyed. Oh, I think that was before my last date. The one where I got stood up. And I hadn’t even been stood up yet! Maybe this expression is why I never saw him.
You’ll be glad to hear that’s all for the photos I attempted to drag over and finally did, two days later. There’s a video, of Edsel and me doing our “find the treat” game, but it might be a pipe dream to hope that this exhausted old computer can actually show you that.
Tomorrow, by the way, is the two-year anniversary of when I moved back in here. If you’d have told me two years ago that I’d STILL be in the last gasps of this Ned debacle, I’d have been shocked. And horrified. And kind of not that surprised. Now, if you tell me that two years from NOW I’ll still be in it, Ima have to come over there and slap you.
Oh, good. The Edsel veeeeedeo did not load, but this three-second one of how I thought the light was pretty did.
I’m glad to be back here at my house, even though any time I ever went back to the house I shared with Ned I’d get sad and think, “I WANT TO BE BACK AT THIS HOUSE.” Maybe I just want to live in any house I’m in, which would make me a terrible Jehovah’s Witness.
CAN I MOVE IN? Have a pamphlet. CAN I MOVE IN?
Do you like how, in the video above, you can see 47 copies of my whimsical-glasses selfie? Thanks, computer.
I’d better get ready for work, with my senior discount and my whimsy. I got a full weekend of freelance copy editing ahead of me, but also Ima see my friend Alex at her craft shindig, and also Marty Martin even though he has no crafts, and plus too also I have a hair appointment and not to mention therapy. My weekend is full!
“What’d you do this weekend?”
“Oooo! Sounds fun!”
Talk at you.
P.S. By the way, they painted Peg’s house. Alf my ridiculous handyman was very thrown by it. “Didn’t the house next door used to be yella?” he texted. He always has to text stupid words, to annoy me. Anyway this was just the primer coat but trust me, it’s gray now.
Her house used to match my dogs. Now it matches my cats.
Really going now,