New Tech Is Pretty

Thursday, March 24th, 2011 – surrounded by chaos, urge to play mariachi songs

Last night I spent an enjoyable half hour shoving Lindor chocolate truffles into my pie hole in a joyous, chocolate procession, while loading 707 episodes of my favourite TV shows (yes really) onto my shiny, new, external drive, to save my computer from expiring under the weight of them. I also moved 97 movies and copied a metric fuckton (official U.N. measurement) of back-up photos and music. Oh it’s so light now. My little computer is a slim, dancing diva, freed from the weight of all my media, its happy little quad cores daintily flitting around like M and Ms, bouncing inside Oprah’s belly, on a spring morning. I will say this. USB 3 is a fine invention. Holy crap yes. Because who has 2 hours to sit and wait for a bunch of files to transfer? Not I. These ones zipped in. I have the attention span of a small, excited fish, therefore, this is paramount.

I also bought a new mouse. A tiny, chrome coloured, mini-mouse that fits precisely in my delicate lady hands rather than my last mouse which was like clutching a dinosaur egg with buttons and obviously made for someone with transformer-sized hands who eats steaks the size of a table top while burping battle songs

As a side note, Google-searching for terms like “lady mouse” and “sexy mouse” can only bring nightmares like a mouse I found shaped like a vagina. Find it yourself. You’ve been warned.

Speaking of mice, I haven’t seen Baxter in months, thanks to those of you emailing me to ask about him. I assume he and Maybelline are living it up somewhere warm for the winter and not hiding under the dishwasher taking incriminating video of me, red faced and puffing, in yoga poses again...

That's Why They Call Me Mr. Fahrenheit...

Friday, June 11th, 2010, in the wee small hours of the morning
Well hey! I see it's Friday and you're all looking casual-Friday-super-cool. Sort of like people who have a party on their mind. Or even just the weekend. You're all smokin'! Work it, baby!

I'm up late! There's a shock to absolutely no one. But Friday is my day of procrastinating my ass off when I should be using it to do laundry and clean toilets and cook things to freeze that I can eat for dinner next week when I know I'll be too lazy to want to cook and do Zumba, instead of what I actually do, which is sit around painting in my old, sexy, grey velour, paint-splashed sweatpants and hair that screams "I just drank a quart of Turpentine and slept in a hedge!" while sipping Coke Zero, singing along to old Queen songs and farting.

If you'd like to date me, line up here.

And yes, I said Coke Zero. Coke Zero is my new best friend. I mean you all know my alliance to Diet Pepsi, right? I'm a Pepsi girl first and foremost. But lately, I don't know. Something's been afoot and I've been hitting the Zero good and hard. It might be because it's always on sale and I'm cheap, or it could be I'm traversing a sketchy period of insomnia again and it's messing with my brain. Either way, I know it's shocking, but try to breathe. I know you must be thinking, "What's next, will she stop pining after cake and request a banana? Have we entered a parallel universe?"

Don't tell anyone ok? It'll be our secret.

Something that isn't a secret is that Jenny is having a giveaway on her blog where you can enter to win a beach bubble bag thingie (you have to click that link to her blog and go find it, suckers), however, as I appeared to be non eligible to enter as I don't do the social networking thing, I told her I was going to make a voodoo doll in her likeness and stick a pin in her head and she suddenly got all contrite and told me I could be in the competition after all because I am wonderful (or because she is wicked scared of me). But if you all would like a beach bag go and enter. Tell her I sent you and she'll be your bitch.