Dating….The Second Time Around

My name is Katie Harper and I am a widow. My husband died almost five years ago on Christmas Day when I was twenty seven. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Feel bad for me. Are you done? No. Well get over it!! I have. After almost five years of having only a pillow to sleep with, I have decided to venture into the treacherous waters of dating. I hated dating before I got married. Now, I’d like to kill it, roast it, and serve it for Sunday dinner.

I’m not big on going to a bar and trolling for a date. You have to like, take a shower and get dressed and act like you’re interested in Mr. Dirty Martini’s night elf druid World of Warcraft avatar.  So I joined an online dating site. You can date in your pajamas! And if you don’t like someone you can just not respond to their “flirt”. There is no pressure! But, there’s a downside to the whole online dating thing. People are comfortable hiding behind their computer, eating Cheet-os in their underwear. A little too comfortable. A guy who, in a traditional dating scenario, wouldn’t have the balls to hold your hand on the first date, is totally OK whipping out his wenis to give you a taste of what’s to come. How do you not laugh when that happens? I laughed. I pointed and laughed. We haven’t chatted since. Oh well, trust me, it was no big loss.

You also have to be very careful of what you believe on these sites. According to most of the profiles I’ve read, the world is populated with men who are 6’4”, 220 lbs, well built, active billionaires who have gotten tired of the endless parade of women running through their bed and are really looking for that one woman they can take to Paris for a romantic dinner.  They like to spend their time taking care of the elderly and desperately want a family. They are independently wealthy and need someone to travel the world with.

Let me translate this profile for you:  Mr. Right is 6’4” when he straps on his six inch heels. He’s 220 well-built pounds of spare tire and man boobs. He actively plays multiple online, role-playing games where he is the well-respected billionaire prince of his very own kingdom. The parade of women running through his bed are all stashed under his mattress. Their names are Miss January, Miss February, Miss March, etc. He likes French cuisine--French fries and French toast are staples in his diet. He lives in his elderly mother’s basement and only wants children so he’ll have someone to hand his mint condition Star Wars action figure collection down to. “Independently wealthy” is code for “hasn’t worked in four years, but makes enough money to support his Little Debbie habit by mowing his neighbor’s lawn”.  And yes, he is looking for someone to travel the world with. He just needs someone to pay for his ticket in to every Comicon on the planet. And just in case his profile didn’t entice you, he whips out his junk live via webcam. 

Another pitfall of the online dating world is that you can say things in an email or chat that you’d never say in real life. The guy who has a hard time asking you if he can kiss you good night on a real date is the same guy who’s telling you he’d like to tie you up and eat Jell-O salad off your stomach in a chat. He’d never ask you to wear a maid’s costume on that ever important third date, but on your second chat he’s asking you to lick chocolate syrup off your breasts and describe the sensations of your “tongue on your fun bags” (direct quote). And when you say hell to the no, they act like you’re the prude. It’s not that you have dignity or are just not comfortable sending something out into the electronic universe that might embarrass you at a future parent teacher conference. In their opinion, you’re sexually repressed and they have been sent to you by the fates to pry open your chastity belt. And to prove it, they whip out their manhood.

Dating sucks. It sucks hard. And dating online seems to be the hardest. Maybe I’m not looking at this in the right light. Maybe I need to change my view of dating and my view of myself. Maybe I need to “embellish” my profile. “Former Victoria’s Secret super model looking for love. I am 5’10”, 110 lbs, 38-26-36, long blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and flawless skin. I enjoy spending my Saturdays in front of the TV cheering on your favorite team. I like to clean and I hold a degree from the Culinary Institute of America. I enjoy long nights playing Halo with your friends and my greatest wish in life is to attend a Stars Wars convention dressed in Princes Leia’s bronze bikini. I look forward to meeting you. ;)” That little wink at the end is to tell everyone my profile is complete bullshit. Do you think it will help?

Katie Harper started writing when two people showed up in her head and wouldn't leave until she told their story. They had a party. Invited a few friends over. Now she spends her days doing the bidding of imaginary people. She lives in a city made for sin on the edge of a desert with her daughter, no pets, and enough lemon bundt cake to feed a refuge camp.

http://katieharperwrites.blogspot.com/

Happy Birthday to me...

My birthday is this week. 

I will be forty-nine years old.

A couple of years ago (okay, about 40 years ago), having birthdays was fun, and I looked forward to them with great anticipation and planning. My mom always made a big fuss, including letting me have a party with all of my besties and even a few girls I didn’t like, but who always brought cool presents. Plus—make that a BIG plus when it came to holidays, anyway—my mother had remarried. I had nine grandparents as a result, between grandparents, great-grandparents, step-grandparents and great-grandparents. Holy crap, it was a veritable gift bonanza! Why wouldn’t I relish celebrating my birth??

Nine years young and dig that cool Barbie cake.

Now, I’m staring another November 16^th in the face and wondering where the hell the years went and how the hell did I get on the way wrong effing side of forty-five? Seriously, that’s freaking old. At least that’s what my kids think. I’m a mother of five and everyone keeps telling me kids will keep you young.

Liars.

Time has continued to march on, and will continue to do so. Result? My right knee hurts and the left one is considering joining the Arthur club. I think about my bowels more (TMI? Sorry).  I have chin whiskers, or as one of my author friends calls them, chin pubes. I have decided chiropractors are necessary, instead of the snake oil salesmen my college anatomy and physiology professor warned us of. I don’t have many gray hairs (at least not where you can see them. ‘Nuff said). Classic rock is now 80s music. So what does that make 70s rock? Oldies, but goodies? OMG, just shoot me now. But wait! There's more...

I got an invitation to join AARP.

Holy. Shit.

No, I really DON'T want to join, thanks, though.

But moving on and finding the silver (albeit tarnished) lining to this old cloud?

 *I can shave my legs. Or not. My choice.

*I never get asked for ID anymore. Ever. Take that for what it’s worth.

*I can claim forgetfulness. And people believe me.

*When I’m too hot, I can blame it on menopause. And people believe me.

*When I’m a bitch, I can blame it on menopause. And people really believe me.

*I am wiser. I really am. And I’m less judgmental and think that no matter who you are or what you believe in (well, almost anything), I don’t really care as long as you’re a good person and follow the golden rule.

*I can do what I want to do now, with less fear of what others think. I want to cut my day job hours and make half of what I was making so I can follow my dream and work in the publishing business? Go, me.

*I write erotic romance, but others think I write porn? Whatever. They’re just ignorant idiots. (Hey, I said I’m wiser and less judgmental…but I can still have opinions!)

Yes, with age come changes. But most of them are good ones, once I wrap my brain around them (except that damned AARP thing). I like myself better than I ever have, I’ve surrounded myself with people I like and I’m doing what makes me happy.  

Happy Birthday to me.

There's Always Something...

So many rants, so little time...

So to pick one out of the hat, let's talk today about how one thing or another always seems to come into play to make life difficult. You know, that whole, just when you think you've crested the hill and coast down the other side, you see that there's just more uphill in front of you?

Mostly, it's about finding time to write. Now a long time ago, we (my family and I) made the decision that I would be the wage earner and Hubs would be the primary care giver. I am in no way regretting that decision. The kids have reached an age (and frankly, I think so have I) where i can no longer effectively home school them.The arrangement works tolerably well. More than tolerably, actually.

I like my day job. I work part time making sandwiches for business men and cheerfully taking their money. It's a fun job, not very taxing, and it has actually got me moving enough I've lost a bit of weight. WOOT!

I don't hate my other day job, working occasional full time for the government. Lots of aspects of the way the government handles their workers, I take exception to, but that is not something I can publicly rant about :D The people are nice, the job itself is not terrible. 'Nuff said.

There is also the matter of the 'volunteer' work I do for my daughter's dance studio so she can take all teh dance classes she wants to do. I don't mind any of that. Mostly, it's pretty fun, and stuff that's desperately in need of getting done.

What irks me are all the little inconvenient happenings that screw up the schedule. Like a writing conference I would not have missed for the world, that was piles of fun and a wonderful time. And kept me from writing for about three weeks with any sort of consistency as I prepared, made swag, traveled, decompressed afterward... And there are the small issues of hubs health messing with what he's capable of doing. So totally not his fault. But kids still need to get to lessons, the house still needs to be cleaned etc, etc, and while I'm doing his job, his job is getting done. Mine is not.

So when I get a royalty check, and it's smaller than I had hoped and he says why haven't you had a release lately, I want to...yes. I'll say it. I want to rip his arm off and beat him with the bloody stump. Only then he'd have another injury he wouldn't be able to work around....

P.S. don't get me wrong. I'm not blaming him for anything, and more than I am saying I would have forgone GayRomLit so I could stay home and get more writing done. He can't help it. He does the best he can, and I have so very many things to be grateful for where he is concerned. I just wish, for a little while, nothing would "come up" that interferes with MY TIME. damnit!

I Am the Addams Family

Not kidding.

Usually, I'm a nice, affable, happy-go-lucky kind of gal, just like old Gomez. Would that I was also independently wealthy like him, but hey, we can't all have everything, right? I do have the two kids, the adoring spouse (most of the time) and the unfailing belief that the world is a good and decent place, and the people in it are good and decent people (despite all that pesky evidence to the contrary). I'd even be willing to bet that on some days, my girl has a little bit of Wednesday's 'sisterly love' brewing away in her clever, pretty little head. And my boy? If it looks fun, he'll go along with it, never suspecting...

Then there are the other days, when I fee a little more like Morticia: aloof, slightly mysterious, perfectly safe until you piss me off, then better not come too close. I haven't yet cut the heads off any of my roses, but you don't want to be taking any chances. Now, if only I had a head of hair like that woman! I've always envied those long, black tresses.

Sadly, most mornings especially, far from the elegant, graceful matriarch I'd like to declare myself, I'm pretty much a cross between Lurch and Cousin Itt. All shambling, grumbly-voiced, piss-poor attitude curtained with a mop of waist-length, every-which-way hair. Not. Pretty.

So, my pretties, what fictional character (or multiple characters) are you? DO share!

So, You Really Want Me 2 Follow You?

Please help us welcome author Lynn Crain.

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When I sat down at my computer today, trying to think exactly what I wanted to vent about, I had to give myself some boundaries. See, there is so much in my life to vent about, a major move to a foreign country, a husband who is so attentive he's driving me crazy, a new puppy who we call piranha boy because of his puppy teeth but so many of you would see those things as living the fairy tale that I decided to do one that should be nearer and dearer to our author hearts. But I get ahead of myself here as introductions are definitely in order.

My name's Lynn Crain and I write hot, sexy romances for the over eighteen crowd. Right now I'm living in Vienna, Austria with my husband of thirty some years who is following his dream to work internationally. Notice, I said his dream but that's another story and a whole other rant. None of our children or our pets came with us for various reasons: the oldest has his own family, the youngest is in college and the animals couldn't successfully travel the ocean so they are stuck at home with said kids. This is why we have piranha boy, a Parson Russell Terrier the breeder named Harry Potter that turns fourteen weeks old today. Because of this move and the tribulations it brought me I haven't had a book published in a while but that's going to change real soon as I expect to have about ten or so within the next coming year. The first one is a re-issue of a story called, A Lover for Rachel, and it's got one hot cover. It's schedule to be released between November 27 to December 3rd, 2011.

Now back to the meat of this blog ~ I don't know about you but I do daily research on the internet for various projects. Now those who know me well would say that I'm just cruising about looking for the best time possible but really I'm not. Part of that time is spent looking for like minded individuals who I can share blog space with, toss out a comment on twitter and generally share good news and happenings. To be honest, that's how I found this wonderful gem of a blog and I've recommended it to a lot of people and plan to do so even more. Networking is how many books are sold and it's a very important aspect to one's writing career.

It's taken me years to develop this tack on just who I want to follow be it on twitter, a blog or sharing a link on another's website. Too many places and you'll over-saturate those you want to admire you and your work, too little and they will never know your name. I have heard there are many ways to do this. Only follow those who are like minded ~ what does that mean? Only re-tweet those things that will bring you more followers ~ no, really, what does that mean? Never follow those whose background pictures you like ~ why not? Come on now, it's a really cute setup! Some people have even gone so far to tell me that I must maintain a professional attitude one-hundred percent of the time ~ how fun is that?

One is supposed to have fun in their career and if you can't what is the point? Live, love, laugh ~ that's my philosophy and I'm sticking to it. Therefore, when I peruse the net looking for new followers and those I can follow, new places to blog or just new people to hang out yet, I expect the kind courteous response that I would give them. But in the last few months, I've hit a stumbling block or two or maybe it's fifteen as right now I'm so irritated, I could bust a gut.

It's been my habit to follow a few new faces on twitter weekly and to add a blog or two to my list of ones to follow if they're lucky. I choose my victims - er - friends through a careful search and by looking at their tweets or blogs and websites to make sure they are people I want to be around. Doesn't everyone? First, I have to feel I have a genuine connection to them and then I have to want to give my time to them as it is a precious commodity to me as well as to them.

I take great joy in finding new authors and people to follow. It amazing me that there are others out there that think in a somewhat similar mode as I do. I want to be with those people, I want to see what they are saying, learn about what they are reading and I want to share my goals, aspirations, listening and reading habits with them. After all, we may share a common bond and never know it unless we can connect somewhere. The internet is a perfect way to connect to like minds, to those who are in the same struggles, are writing the same genres or reading the same authors. It truly is a reach-out-and-touch-someone moment when you find another like mind on the internet. You can share writing snippets, trade blogs posts and links, talk family, kids, marketing and a host of other important topics.

Imagine my surprise when recently I've run into validation services for everything imaginable. Are you kidding? The one true way to turn off readers, followers, bloggers, reviewers and whoever I haven't named, is to say you don't trust them right off the bat. Sure, I can understand if they have come from a questionable IP address or they have a questionable name as some do but to send the person an email, a tweet, a comment with a link and say, "Hey, if you want to follow me via twitter, my blog, my website or whatever, you have to pass this test! Aren't you happy to do it?"

Sorry, I'm not happy to do it and got carried away there. Frankly, I don't have time for validation services. I can understand the ones where you have a quick email back that says you're a real person but to send someone to an outside vendor and make them answer all sorts of questions about themselves and why they want to follow you, well, you've made an enemy for life and you can be word will get around. After all, I'm writing this blog, aren't I? If I am, there are others out there not venting about their not liking validation services.

Now, if you were a Nora Roberts-type person, I can understand it...after all, you have thousands upon thousands of followers and probably don't need me anyway. If you are just starting out, honey, I would rethink your stradegy as there is no quicker way to piss someone off than to tout your sense of importance. Yes, you are important but some am I...and it makes me wonder...just why am I wasting my time on you again? Those people who you are trying to validate are asking themselves the same questions and trust me, if they can't justify following you in whatever manner they've tried, they just won't answer you back. If you send them something asking why, they will ignore you. Who knows what they're saying to their friends? Are they giving you a good name or a bad one?

As for me, I'll continue to slog through the people who follow me wherever and ban those who are truly bad. I don't know about you but I can spot them a mile away...after all...just how many of them can be on twitter or blog for over a year and not know how to add a picture? Not many. Trust me.

Lynn Crain bio:

I'm a writer of sexy romance. I live in the hot southwest where I weave my tales for various publishers in the sci-fi, fantasy and paranormal genres. I have one husband, two sons, one daughter-in-law, two grandkids, two dogs, three cats and I've gotten rid of the snakes. I love hearing from all of you at lynncrain@cox.net. UPDATE: Wait - if you've read any of this blog recently you'll see that obviously, I'm not in the beautiful southwest right now. I'm on the adventure of a lifetime in Vienna, Austria. An adventure with issues...yup...that's me!

You can find her on her blog at www.awriterinvienna.blogspot.com on any given day as she tells you about her adventures abroad.

Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome

Please help us welcome Nicola E. Sheridan.

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Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome:[fʊt-ɪn-maʊɵ sɪndrəʊm] a socially crippling condition in which the sufferer regularly says inappropriate things at inappropriate times and causes offense or unintended embarrassment to themselves or others.

Embarrassing situations, they happen all the time and I personally love to read about them. They make me laugh and as long as they haven't happened to me, I find them highly entertaining. One of most common causes of embarrassment is due to 'foot-in-mouth syndrome. I'm sure you've all met someone who has it, or you may have it yourself. Sometimes an inappropriate word or thought slips out and causes offense or embarrassment and you're left thinking "Why on earth did I say that?!"

I'm fairly lucky and can quite honestly say I do not suffer this condition. However, I know several people who do.

I have a female relation, who for the sake of this blog I will call *Gloria. Gloria is a wonderful person. She's caring, kind, creative and an all round good woman. However, Gloria has a dreadful case of 'foot-in-mouth'.

One amusing example of Gloria's foot-in-mouth, was actually at my house. We were having a mother's day lunch with everyone coming. My sister-in-law unexpectedly invited a single friend to join us, as she had nowhere else to be on this particular Mother's Day.

When *Lisa entered, the family was surprised. No one other than my sister-in-law had ever met her before, but it didn't matter. I like to think we're a welcoming family, and if she had nowhere else to be, she was more than welcome to join us.

Lisa was a very large girl, to this day I have never seen breasts larger than hers. She loved cats, and even had one on her t-shirt. The lunch was delicious and food and conversation flowed freely. After we'd eaten, I noticed with some trepidation Gloria deep in conversation with Lisa. Apparently they were having a discussion about being 'single'. Soon however, Lisa decided it was time to leave. As I walked Lisa out, Gloria followed, along with several other family members. As we all called our farewells to our new friend, Gloria shouts out above all "Good-bye, Lisa, enjoy your solitary life!"

What?! Did she really just say that to this motherless, lonely, cat-loving single lady?

"Gloria!" I hiss, as Lisa hurries into the car with a worried glance back. We smile cheerfully, hoping she doesn't think we are rude freaks out to torment her.

"What?" Gloria replies, still waving and smiling benignly as Lisa roared out of our lives forever.

To this day, Gloria swears she said nothing wrong. "She likes being single!" Gloria still insists.

There are many types of foot-in-mouth and Gloria's is always unintentional, which makes it funny. However, I have another friend whose foot-in-mouth syndrome is at times quite intentional. This makes for insanely awkward situations, which sometimes result in amusing but permanent changes of opinion.

Here's an example. My friend *Nova, was chiding her husband about their non-existent sex life - in front of me and two other friends. Why you'd do this is still beyond me, but there you have it.

Imagine the scene if you will:

We're all sitting around the coffee table and Nova is enthusiastically, but bitterly lamenting her lack of rumpy-pumpy.

"I could be in my sexy lingerie, doing a lap dance and he'll roll over and tell me to go to sleep." Nova complains.

*Jose looks stony faced, crosses his muscular arms and stares into his coffee. "I'm tired," he grunts. "I work hard."

My other two friends give weak embarrassed laughs.

I am struck mute. I'd always presumed Jose to be a red hot-latin-lover sort, and now all I can imagine is a tiny dysfunctional penis and a man as frigid as England. Unfortunate isn't it? Yet, Nova doesn't stop there, oh no. She waxes lyrical about her high, but neglected libido, and praises the Lord for her secret (now not so secret) drawer of 'goodies' that satisfy her because her husband (still sitting there) apparently won't. It was one of the most cringe-worthy conversations I've ever had the misfortune of being involved in.

Had Nova decided to have this conversation away from Jose, it could have been funny and although I'd still have left the conversation thinking Jose harbours a soggy jellybean in his jocks, we wouldn't of had the awkwardness. In hindsight, I wondered why Jose didn't defend his masculinity, his libido, anything. A grunt explaining his tiredness wasn't sufficient! Perhaps he couldn't defend himself without looking like a bastard. I don't know. What I do know however is that I will not sit opposite Jose and Nova around a coffee table again. Not without a light and witty response poised on my lips at any rate.

A witty response is the only remedy for an awkward situation (other than running screaming). If you, like me, find yourself regularly in the presence of an awkward moment due to your friends 'foot-in-mouth' syndrome, the only real cure is a sound repertoire of witty rebukes and comments. Alas, retrieving said witty rebuke is notoriously difficult during a time of awkwardness. So while the awkward moment ticks by in complete lip chewing silence, here are a few easy comments to remember:

"OK then... Someday, we'll look back on this moment, laugh nervously and change the subject..."

"Hmm, you've got a point there, keep your hat on and it won't show."

"Be careful, that halo may slip and choke you..."

"That's a bit rich from someone who collects Metallica figurines."

"The next time you speak to me, I'm going to have to insist you do not eat shit sandwiches."

*names and relationships have been changed to protect the embarrassed.

Thanks for having me ladies, and remember, everyone is someone else's weirdo, and if you don't have anything nice to say about somebody... come and sit with me!

Nicola E. Sheridan is a West Australian author of paranormal/fantasy romance with a humorous/quirky edge.

You can find her:

• Website
• Facebook
• Twitter

Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

It's been one of those weeks. Who am I kidding? This started about two weeks ago, although I didn't suspect those next two weeks would basically be in the toilet. Oh, there've been some summits that have kept me sane, but the nadirs... Yeah, they've been pretty good. It could be worse, of course.

So, it started with quarterly reports. I wanted to complete them a week ago Monday, and I have this fabulous accounting program that cuts the time down by nearly two weeks. It's just that I have a knack for finding all of the bugs in this program. It seems every time I use it, I break it. (It's a gift, truly.) This time, I accidentally put in a date when importing some data that made the program crash. (See, I told you I'm good.) They knew about this bug, but no one in the history of the program had found it until...me. (g) I had to send my database to the programmers to fix. Luckily, they work fast. However, this, and a few other things, put me back a day.

I suppose this should have been an omen of sorts for these next two weeks. It wasn't. I mean, I'm used to screwing up the program. (g) It was par for the course, and all was well until Saturday night.

That night Lily came down with a really nasty cold and a fever so high she burned to the touch. This was particularly scary as Lily has had seizures. For two days, sleep did not exist.

It's been up and down from there on out with too many troughs and not enough summits that it's almost funny.

I managed to finish quarterly reports and send them all out a week ago Tuesday, nearly a week in advance. That was a first. Yay me! But Wednesday saw me cleaning the biohazard of a front shower as Mom and Jan, a family friend I haven't seen for 7 years, were coming to stay with us on Friday. If I didn't clean it, Mom would, and I'd be embarrassed to let anyone use it.

Mind you, sleep had still eluded me even though Lily's cold had improved to just a cough. With each successive day, I was growing more exhausted and grumpier. They were scheduled to arrive Friday. They did, but not until midnight. Mom had a key, but couldn't get it to work so she called me. I was sleeping, and despite being exhausted, I pulled my ass out of bed and sat up for another hour. I could sleep in in the morning, right?

Hahahahaha

Um, no. Lily was so excited that Grandma was here, she was up, which meant I was up because she had to come into our bedroom first and wake me. (I love her, but sometimes... ;))

My Saturday plans were shot to hell because Jan wanted to go to Malibu and spend the day on the beach. Lucky for him, we had a beautiful day. Besides seeing them, this was one of the bright spots of the past two weeks. I played with Lily, and we built a sand castle. Of course, I ended the day with a migraine. O.o

Note: From here down, my original blog post was eaten by Google mail. This is why the original post was only partially uploaded by Valerie. (Thank you, Valerie!) Because I wrote it on my iPhone, I do not have a copy, so I am having to rewrite this section. Somehow, I don't think it will be quite the same, but it's what I've got. End Note

Things managed to be okay until Monday night. Around 11 pm, I wandered into the bedroom to grab my night clothes and shower. I opened the underwear drawer and...what was that? Something scurried across my skivvies. Oh, my God, it was a baby cockroach. Seriously?

(sigh)

A cockroach had taken up residence in my underwear drawer. A black cloud quickly formed around me. Although few words slipped through my lips, a virulent stream of obscenities swirled in my mind. The drawer came out, and I took it outside where I searched for the little fucker (Never found it, but it's not in there anymore.), sterilized the drawer after getting all of the cockroach turds out of the back (yes, I know. I know. It was disgusting. Even now, my mouth turns down in a moue of distaste, and I shudder.), and threw all of the underwear into the wash.

That done, I peered into the dresser for no particular reason and saw another baby hiding in a groove. Crap! Now the entire dresser had to be torn apart, the cockroach killed, and the cause of the infestation discovered. )They liked my sock drawer, too, but stayed out of the others. Thank all of the powers that be!)

The cause? One of the dresser feet was wet from a shower leak. Yay! Something else. How exciting! (Insert more swear words here.) However, I was taking a shower despite all of that and going to bed.

But, wait! I don't have any clean underwear. (Head to wall) Since I wasn't going to continue wearing my dirty underwear and I wouldn't turn it inside out, it was commando. While I don't mind going commando on occasion, I want the choice. That night, I had no choice, and this just added to my ire.

And then, the final straw came yesterday when my laptop turned off for no apparent reason. It was plugged in, it should have been working, but it just turned off. Frantic, I called my husband Charlie the computer god. Of course, there's nothing he could do from work. So, I tried plugging it in again and turning it on. Voilà, we were in business again for the time being. A few hours later, it died again and wouldn't turn back on.

Charlie came home and pulled out one of the spare laptops we have lying around. One that someone gave him because it was broken, but he magically fixed it. (I have long since stopped trying to figure out how he does that. Truly, he's a magician.) They no longer wanted it and gave it to him. (This does happen on occasion. It's an occupational hazard of being an IT professional.) It's four years old, but runs. I'm happy and love my husband. (g)

Although we'd decided it was just a bad battery, he'd decided to transfer my data to the "new" laptop anyway. I'd be without my laptop that evening. As I'd planned on working after Lily went to bed, this was not good. But I could give up a few hours if it meant having a newer laptop, right? Except, there was an issue with my old laptop's disk, and the data wouldn't transfer properly. And because he has to go to work, I could be without a laptop for several days.

HAHAHAHAHAHA (breath) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (breath) HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I am blessed. Truly, I am. (The only reason I am able to amend this post is because I am able to use the "new" laptop.) I know this, but, oh... if one more thing happens, I might need a straight jacket.