While the laptop mellowed out, I went down and hit the elliptical, during which time my iPod hopelessly froze up. I’ve tried every damn thing to unfreeze and restore it, but it’s still sitting here next to me, three hours later, all a-damn-glow.
And just as I was about to resign myself for the night, my cell phone rang and the shiny lightbox on the front of my phone indicated that it was my good friend James. Oh God, I thought. Something drastic has happened.
It wasn’t quite the emergency room horror I was expecting (this is why D calls me a fatalist), but rather he and Kristi were concerned that maybe, just maybe, things were seriously awry over here at the bachelorette** pad.
“Your blog keeps puking up all this old stuff from like 2003,” he said. “Kristi just read an old blog post about your lost mitten and finding some holiday ass for your roommate.”
Oh, the humanity.
I don’t know what is going on with the blog, but this is the first time I’ve touched it all night. In fact, I thought I hid those damn archives like a month ago.
SO. If things are looking askew ’round here, I apologize. I’m gonna close up shop now and run about 80 virus scans. And so the Nancy Drew mysteries continue at the apartment. The odd story of the partially eaten Ethel Merman may be forthcoming, should nothing else break.
**I’m pretty pissed that bachelorette has yet to make it into the dictionaries of Firefox and Microsoft Word, giving me all that red squiggly line biz. I’m not trying to get all Andrea Dworkin on everyone, but seriously, WOMEN CAN BE SINGLE AND PRETTY AND SELF-SUFFICIENT AND STUFF. AND NOT SHREW-LIKE. That is all.