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Had a wonderful, awesome time with Ann yesterday. Unfortunately, haven’t had time to fix my ‘puter, so no pictures yet, but know that yes, she really is that sweet. We shopped at ArtFibers (I only got two balls of red silk that actually GLOW, their sheen is so bright) and we walked to the ferry terminal and then came back and had lunch with new friend Janine and old friends Kira and Rachel. Then we came back to my house and had my favorite part of yesterday – we sat outside and knitted, talking and drinking tea and eating my mother’s AMAZING fruitcake (which was a surprise b-day gift to me, and it couldn’t have come at a better time). Just swinging on the porch swing, just talking yarn and little boys and cabbages and kings.

Miss you already, Ann. Hope you found your way to the next house o’fun….

So I’m sweeping this morning. Okay, afternoon, since I get up so late on my Monday. I’ve already been doing laundry, washing all my stuff and a few things Bethany asks me to wash before she jumps back on the road.

I’m sweeping with a vengeance. I hate cat hair and it’s a constant battle. At least hardwood floors show the dirt and are easy to clean. Bethany’s on the couch under her blanket, the one I made her years ago that I’ve been watching for her, the one that’s going with her to Montana. She offers to help by lifting the living room table. Fabulous. She lifts, forgets her glass of chocolate milk that’s on TOP, which hits the couch and then the floor, breaking into a gajillion pieces. We’re both, of course, barefoot.

So I stay in place and yell at the cats, who decide that broken glass is cool, while she jumps into the only shoes at hand, snow boots (from always-thoughtful Greta), and clomps through the house, getting broom and pan for her hyperventilating sister. She helps me sweep for a while, wearing a tee-shirt, clutching the blanket around her waist, tripping over the tassels in her huge snow boots while she pokes the broom under tables.

It finally hits me.

“Are you WEARING anything under that blanket?”

Sheepish. “You’re washing all my clothes.”

“All?”

Sweep, sweep is my only answer.

That was so funny to me I wasn’t even annoyed anymore. Heh.

She gets on the road today for Montana, her wintering spot. Hopefully she’ll be able to blog from there, ‘cause I’m personally gonna miss the crap out of her. And her blanket, too.

You know in Impromptu when Emma Thompson says, “stupid, stupid rain”? Well, that’s what I’m saying about my laptop. Stupid, stupid computer! I can’t bear to work like this – I type a few letters and then my cursor disappears and lands on an effing pop-up, so this is a very brief entry. I need a five hour block of time to fix this stupid thing (and you all ROCK for the suggestions), and I’m not going to get that until tomorrow, I think. Oy.

So, two quick things: I saw The Producers last night. Wow. It deserves the hype. It brought back memories of high school and college, of being SO into musicals, and traveling long distances to gaze at the boys draped on the Les Mis barricade. Of course, last night’s show was loud and funny and farcical, but it brought back that glitz and glam. I was in small musical productions when I was in college, and because of that I can’t help catching what I think are knowing glances between cast members and speculating on which dancer hates which singer the most. It really was fabulously well done, and we had a blast.

And today, I’m seeing someone very special. And we’re going shopping. Heh. It’s going to be a flipping good day.

There are these blackberries outside my window, wrapped around George, the giant aloe vera (wait, it’s not a metaphor, I swear) that are the sweetest damn things I’ve ever tasted. They’re like magic. I can’t seem to pick a bad one. Even the ones that have cobwebs on them don’t bother me. They’re best warm from the sun (like tomatoes). I think I ate one with a bug in it yesterday, and I didn’t even care. Just kept chewing.

They’re not mine, actually. They belong to the house next door. Their yard is almost my yard since they don’t have a fence up yet. When talking to the neighbor one afternoon (why won’t his name stay in my head?), I asked if it was okay that I steal some berries from time to time (read: every morning when I get home from work). He said sure, that they weren’t very good anyway. Then I made the classic mistake by telling him the truth: “NO, they’re INSANELY good.” He tried one, and agreed. Darn it. Now he knows, and there are fewer berries for me.

In my future, way down the road, when I get settled, when I move into a place where I can put things right into the ground without thought of transplant, I’m planting blackberry vines. I know they’re a noxious weed, but I have to have ’em. That and a sheep.

I don’t have much weekend coming up — I have to work Saturday night, and the rest of the weekend is filled with to-dos (including one fun one: going to The Producers on Sunday). I need to spend some time working on my dang computer. (I realized I spent 18 hours yesterday looking at computer screens — 12 at work, 6 at home dealing with the crash and subsequent discovery of the spyware nest.) You’ve all given me fabulous suggestions of downloads, so I’ll add a few more and work on killing those bugs. Such a major pain. Clear your cookies, folks. And eat some, too.

We lost this round.

Addressing Democrats, House Majority Leader Tom DeLay summed up the arguments on both sides at the start of the debate. “You think this bill is cruel and we think same-sex marriage is a contradiction in terms,” DeLay, R-Texas, said.

Yeah. It is cruel. I have to move to Canada.

*** Added later, on second thought. Screw that. While I still want to move to Canada someday, I will not be driven out of my country by people who think I deserve fewer rights than they do because they don’t fully understand love or its different manifestations. Let’s keep fighting, shall we? Togther.

https://rachaelherron.com/we_lost_this_ro/

Go, Marie, go! She finished her wave-along stole! Check it out, isn’t it gerjess?

I love how alluring it looks, leaning provocatively on the fence like that.

All right, so I ran AdAware and Spybot S&D (thank you for your suggestions!), and I’m hoping that’s all I need to do for now. I ran ’em at work, too, on the shared computer, and the pop-ups are still happening. Blast it all.

Eh. Enough complaining about computer woes. We’ve all got them, haven’t we? Why can’t it just be easy? Why can’t there be life without crashes? (You, Mac people, put your hands down. I know you know the answer.)

Instead, I gotta show you this:

Best? Fire?

It’s on all sides of the building, and I’ve wondered about it/at it for years now. Was it someone with limited English skills who just liked the way question marks looked? Or perhaps the printer mistook exclamation points for question marks? Perhaps it was meant to be Best! Fire! But in that case: Huh?

Dunno. But it rocks Oak-town, yo.

I’ve spent the last two and a half hours reinstalling my operating system, which had somehow become corrupted, and now I’m having the dickens of a time logging on to the internet. I’m finally in, but I think the nefarious spyware has latched on to my computer’s innards. I have a strong feeling spyware is a catchall phrase, much like shin splints. My computer keeps throwing all these OFFICIAL, IMPORTANT, READ THIS AND CLICK THIS LINK TO GET RID OF SPYWARE SO YOU DON’T DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH pages at me from my System Administrator, only I can’t help thinking my sys admin would have better grammar. So I ain’t clickin’, but if anyone’s got a good way of dealing with this, lemme know. I need to find a very very small, very very smart child and send him into the depths of my HP Pavilion with a scrub brush. The 21st century American equivalent of the chimney sweep child labor force of 18th century England.

Erg.

But while ye olde laptop was chugging away, resetting itself (bless its electronic neurons and CD backups), I was forced to use the phone. I got a ton of things done, those phone calls I’ve been putting off, like calls to credit card companies. My mortgage broker (isn’t it funny that I have one of those and yet have no mortgage?) thought I should call my credit cards and ask them to raise my credit limit without checking my credit score, as a courtesy. I need to get my score raised by one measly point. Welp, those phone answerers answered the way you might think, with incredulity and a remarkable lack of politeness. Providian and CitiPlatinum, bite me. Just because I don’t know the rules doesn’t mean you should scoff at me. Simply explain that it doesn’t work that way (even though I bet it COULD, iffen you wanted it to). Don’t get so bitchy that I feel horrible that my silly question has had an impact on your personal and social life.

Double erg.

I believe this calls for ice cream.