Disaster Averted … for Now …

Well, things have calmed down a little bit this week from the horrific-ness of Monday.

I was able to get my savings bonds cashed at Chase, which helped take a bit of the edge off the financial burden of two new computers, and my mom said she’d help me a little, too. Once I started thinking of it, I got a weird feeling about having cashed the last of the savings bonds I inherited from my grandmother. I’ve been cashing an average of one or two each year since I graduated from college. They helped me get by in some of my most dire times, but I have a feeling that it isn’t what she would have wanted me to use the bonds for. But then, I don’t know what she would have expected, so …

Aside from the little (really quite crappy, actually) netbook I’m using right now, I also ordered a refurbished Macbook Pro. It wasn’t until I was looking for one that I realized that Apple doesn’t even sell new models of plain “Macbooks” anymore (i.e., neither Air nor Pro). Obviously, I’m not such an Apple fan that I pay very close attention to their product lines.

Since my old computer would have cost lots to fix, and I had already been considering a new one already, I figured I might as well just get another Mac. Plus, my friend Micah pointed out that if just-Macbooks are discontinued, it could be harder/more expensive to get them fixed in the future. So I’m getting a Pro, and it’s on its way.

Which brings me to the question of what to do with my old computer. Even though it was backed up, all my original data is still on it—web history, photos, music, and by the way, every draft of my novel. I’d be willing to sell it for salvaged parts, which someone recommended, but I can’t even turn it on to wipe everything. So I’m not sure what to do about that. I’ll be looking around at my options there, and if anyone has any ideas, feel free to share in the comments.

So that’s that. Sorry for the dull post. I expect to have some more interesting stuff soon-ish.

Some Days, Not Even “WTF?” is Sufficient

Last night, I spilled half a glass of red wine on my computer.

Most of the wine ended up on my comforter (I was sitting on my bed, watching a movie). After I had run back and forth between my bedroom and the kitchen to get towels of both paper and cloth, saying “Ohshitohshitohshit” over and over, I thought I had gotten the worst of it. Of course, the keys were a little sticky, but everything seemed to be running normally. Just to check, I shut down my computer, but when I tried to turn it back on, a few of the keys weren’t working and I couldn’t type in my password. (Even though I live alone, I keep my computer password-protected in case Dr. House or Sherlock Holmes break in to investigate something.) So I shut down the computer again and attempted to prise up a few keys to clean underneath them, and everything looked fine.

I’m not good with the mechanical aspect of computers, OK? Mock me if you must, but there it is.

After a few more attempts, I managed to get onto my computer, only to find out that the delete/backspace key, the up/down keys, the “tap-to-click” aspect of the trackpad, the spacebar, and sometimes the “o” key were not working. Being the incredibly responsible idiot that I am, I managed to type out an email to my boss, using hyphens instead of spaces to ease his reading, just to tell him that my only computer was currently out of commission, and I had forgotten to ask if the office was even going to be open on President’s Day, but I’d call in the morning just to check, and would he pass on the information to the other editors I work with? The end result looked like I was reciting the email in monotone all in one breath, and that I was drunk out of my mind (I wasn’t … I had spilled my only alcoholic beverage of the day, and I had consumed only half of it).

As soon as I sent the email, everything started working again, except for the part about the trackpad, FOR NO REASON. NO REASON AT ALL. A miracle? I guess so!

So I had to send him another email to say, “Hey, it looks like my computer is randomly working again! I’ll keep you updated!”

Then I scheduled an appointment for the following afternoon with the good people at the Apple store. (And you can imagine how thrilled I was about that.)

So I put my computer to sleep, and then put myself to sleep.

I had bothersome dreams and woke up before 6 am. I opened my laptop, and … nothing. No response—not to button-pushing, not to computer-shaking, not to undignified begging. To quote Blackadder, I was “up a certain creek, without a certain instrument.”

After a call to my boss at about 6:30 (why yes, the office would be open! If it had been closed on President’s Day, that would have made things easier for me, AND YOU KNOW WE CAN’T HAVE THAT!!!!!!!) and a text-message-sent appeal to Facebook, I had obtained the use of Bethany’s computer for the day and use of a computer at Christen’s house for the next day. A little later, I decided that it might be best if I bought a little netbook just for work purposes, since all I need for work is internet/wifi, speedy typing, and some sort of word-processing software.

But I still want to have a Mac. Especially since I had backed up my computer right before it went to hell and I can only restore that crap on another Mac.

The thing is, I CAN afford another computer. Heck, probably two. But I’d rather use the money to 1. pay for inevitable car repairs (and a whole new car a few years from now, since mine has 100,000 miles on it), 2. take French lessons, 3. buy a house someday, 4. pay for independent publishing/marketing expenses, and 5. GO TO ENGLAND WITHIN THIS DECADE.

Ah, but I had some ways to soften the blow financially. I gathered up the last of the savings bonds my grandmother had given me, determined to find a bank that would cash them for a non-accountholder. I called a local bank that was open, and the woman on the line said that I did not need an account, but just needed two forms of ID. Fantastic!

I got to the bank, and I waited in line, only to find out that I did need an account with them for them to cash my savings bonds.

(And FYI, I have learned the hard way that no matter where you go, when you cash a savings bond, people act like you’re a five-year-old child emptying out your piggy bank.)

Who had I talked to? Was I sure I had called that bank?

I DON’T KNOW. AND YES.

And so, one of my cash-raising plans had to be put on the back-burner until regular banking hours. And several phone calls, presumably.

After some online browsing, I decided to take the plunge and buy a teensy netbook for $300 that I could pick up that very same day. I am not posting details because if anybody who knows more about computers than I do stumbles across this blog, I don’t want to get any comments about what a horrible mistake I made in my purchase.

I picked up the new netbook right before I took my old computer to the Apple store. Oh, good times. Actually, it wasn’t a bad experience. The guy was nice, and not condescending. I was honest and told him that I was an accident-prone idiot who spilled wine on her computer, and now I couldn’t turn it on and I wanted to know how bad the damage was. He was pleased to know that I had backed up everything right before it died, so I think that gave me a leg up in terms of not being treated like an idiot customer—but being patient and nice also seems to work, too, I’ve noticed.

Repairs through Apple, no surprise, would be costly to the point of … well, pointless, and I might as well get a new computer. I took his references to some other repair places that might be cheaper, but have since decided “screw it” and I’m just getting a new Mac. I had already intended to do so relatively soon ANYWAY — these just weren’t the circumstances I wanted to be in when I did.

To recap: It was a shitty, shitty day. But at least I have something to do my job on now.

Moving expenses in 2010 and 2011, car expenses in 2011, and now computer expenses in 2012. I am never, ever gonna get to go back to England.

Looks like I may have to take my cues from Blackadder after all.

If I Could Talk to the Animals (Part One)

… I’d have asked them to hold still so I could get better shots with my camera.

But I couldn’t. I tried to talk to the kookaburra, and he made some good faces at me, but it was so humid in the Australian aviary that my camera lens kept fogging up. I got the red panda to look at me, though, but the koala wouldn’t give me the time of day.

Red Panda

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I’m a sucker for a good pair of eyes … apparently in leopards as well as men?

It can see into my soul ... right before it eats me.

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Blaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh

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It's nice when the animals POSE for me

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There's something about this Burmese Python that looks "old mannish"

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"Here's what I think of ALL OF YOU."

Harmless Friday-Afternoon Oddities

This may not be a particularly interesting story, but I get paranoid about things related to my car, so the suspense and dread that I felt made this little episode much more thrilling at the time.

I was out running errands just now, and pulled into the parking lot of my credit union to do some banking-type stuff. There I was, sitting in my car, fiddling with my iPod before I got out. I look up to see this guy walk out of the credit union, opening his mouth really, really wide. Now, I thought he was yawning, but it looked like his jaw had dropped in astonishment. And he was looking toward my car at the same time.

As I said, I get paranoid about car-related things, so I immediately thought, “Oh, crap, have I been driving with a flat tire all this time? Is there evidence of a hit and run on my car? Did someone spray-paint ‘BITCH’ on it, and I somehow didn’t notice when I got IN my car?”

By the way, this guy was cute. Yes, that is vital to the story.

So I’m sitting in my car, and this guy ambles across the lot, gets into his car, pulls out of his spot, and is about to drive away. Meanwhile, deep in the depths of paranoia, of course, I’m kind of watching him — doing the super-smooth glancing-toward-then-quickly-away-repeatedly thing. As he’s pulling out, though, he slows down, stops behind my car, and taps his horn, kind of grinning.

Of course, I thought, “Oh, DAMMIT, I TOTALLY HAVE A FLAT.”

Once he had left, I finally got out of my car to look before going inside the credit union, and I saw … nothing. I mean, the car was rather dirty, but nothing looked awry.

Now, I did wonder, “Does this guy actually think I am so jaw-droppingly sexy that he stared and gaped and honked at me (while smiling)?” But I was IN MY CAR. With SUNGLASSES ON. He might have been able to see my hair, but … that was it.

Joy has suggested that maybe instead of thinking that there was something wrong with my car or that I was super-sexy, that he just had never seen a Honda Civic before, and was flabbergasted. Or maybe he was astonished at HOW dirty my car is. She also suggested, ”He was yawning and thought that was a good way for his mouth to be so he left it.” Of course, that doesn’t explain the honking … Or maybe he was a vampire who was so astonished that he was able to go outside in the sunlight, he wanted to share his delight with everyone.

Any other ideas?

Lessons in My Pants

I noticed that New York & Company was having a BOGO sale with their jeans (also known as their “Semi-Annual PANT EVENT!”) and since I didn’t want to pay shipping, I went to one of the several nearby brick-and-mortar locations.

I left with two new pairs of jeans, but I had to vent about the experience. Fortunately, Joy was online.

♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦

me: OK, a shopping lesson for you…

Joy: oh! okay
i am sitting up with my ears perked attentively. somehow.

me: I love, love, love the jeans at New York & Company. They are quality, and look good when you get the right fit.
HOWEVER. Getting the right fit is insane.
DO NOT order them online.

Joy: yeah, that sounds a bad plan

me: I just bought … let’s see….
“Curvy low-rise bootcut” in a size 16 (yeah, I’m fat, WHAT OF IT?)

Image from nyandcompany.com (click on the image to purchase)

…

But I got just “low-rise bootcut” in a size 14
And I tried on a pair of “trouser” jeans in a size 14, and they were too big.

Image by nyandcompany.com (click on image to purchase)

Joy: man. sizes are bizarre

me: ALL WITHIN THE SAME STORE

Joy: WHAT THE HELL.
i have a proposal for the technologically-minded:

me: But on the website, the “size chart” has the same measurements for ALL PANTS.
So even if you go by your measurements, you might still be wrong.

Joy: what. the. heck.
okay, so this is my idea
that they have a box
somewhat like a fitting room, but outfitted with low-intensity lasers, or similar
such that the lasers figure out the dimensions of not just your waist, but your entire leg/hips/butt/waist situation
forming a 3-D model
then, instead of wasting your time with “sizes” which always vary
the store would have it hooked up to a system for their pants
saying “well, these pants over here should work with that particular Dimension Situation.”

me: Haha I like that. Maybe in …
THE FUTURE.

Joy: yesss

me: Mind if I blog this conversation?

Joy: hahah, do it
maybe note that this is our invention, patent pending
or whatnot

♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦   ♦

Overall, the whole experience reminded me quite strongly of a recent Cracked article about why women’s clothing is ridiculous.

But it’s OK. I still like the jeans I bought.

Photography Around My Neighborhood

What a difference a few degrees make, am I right? It was in the 20s for a few days, and then today it was just barely above freezing, and it felt like spring! I celebrated by taking a little walk around to try to get that camera figured out. I didn’t take many photos, but here are a few.

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Latest Musical Obsessions

Oldest and dearest friend Katie posted this on my FB wall today, saying she thought I’d like it.

My response was “I like that song and I like her voice, but I am MAD CRAZY IN LOVE with that music video!!!”

And now I can’t stop listening to it.

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I’ve had a lot of people introduce me to some great songs in the past couple weeks. For that, I thank you all.

From Liese:

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From Joy (to add to my Prostitution Playlist):

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And another video I found today (thanks, Pinterst!) which I’m not posting for the song, but because it made me laugh myself silly.

An Afternoon of Mild Adventures

I’ve been complaining a lot about how bored I’ve been, and how I’ve lost enthusiasm for many of my usual favorite things, and how nothing really sounds interesting to me anymore. Maybe I haven’t expressed this annoyance to a great extent on the blog (though I know I’ve mentioned it a time or two), but between this blog, my friends, and my pen-and-paper journal, I haven’t been able to shut up about it or to figure out its source.

Anyway, today I finished up early, determined to cure my boredom, if only for a day. Originally I had planned to go to the park and engage in some photography to familiarize myself with a camera I got for my birthday in 2010 but haven’t really used. (I have stubbornly clung to the temperamental-but-still-works-darn-well camera that I’ve had for over 6 years and is, in fact, the first digital camera I’ve ever owned.) I was very much into photography for a while, but that was yet another hobby that fell by the wayside. I may be feeling apathetic toward my writing for the time being, but darned if I’m going to let both my writing and photography go at the same time.

Instead of the park, I decided to drive down to Bexley (a whopping 15 minutes!) and explore the neighborhood a bit, practice my photography there, and possibly chill out with some coffee and a book in a cafe somewhere, and see The Artist at the Drexel Theater.

The one hitch was that it turned out to be colder and more snowy than predicted. A pretty effect, but the falling snow was very cold and very, very wet, so I was unwilling to subject my “new” camera to the elements while I took ages fiddling with the controls and buttons to get a single shot of a tree. I ended up taking some photography around Capital University, but I used my old camera.

Then I did walk around town, freezing cold, and had some coffee and read a novel that I had brought (I packed a lot of stuff for my afternoon adventures), and then went and had dinner alone and read some more, and by then it was time for the movie.

I heard good things about The Artist, but as usual, I didn’t read any reviews about it. Rumor had it that it was good, and when one of my favorite normal-people bloggers said she liked it, I decided I did want to see it. For those of you who don’t know, The Artist is a mostly-silent French film styled after the movies of the 1920s. The story, in fact, is about (fictional) silent-film star George Valentin and his response to the new “talkies.” He is played by Jean Dujardin, whom I’ve never watched on screen before, but thoroughly enjoyed. His version of 1920s-style acting is strongly reminiscent of Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain, and to me he looked like a cross between Gene Kelly and Frederic March (I’ve never been a huge fan of Kelly, to be honest, but I looooooove Frederic March). In fact, the whole beginning of The Artist reminded me of SitR. It’s hard not to be reminded, since Valentin has an obnoxious blonde co-star who hates him and he hits it off with a fan-turned-film-extra. Speaking of the fan, their meet-cute is done all in 1920s-style hammy goodness, and it works. The hamminess wears off as the plot gets more serious, so it evolves with the story’s timeline and becomes more a 1930s style movie by the end. The film extra, who becomes a major film star who eclipses even Valentin, is Peppy Miller, played by Bérénice Bejo. I’ve never seen her in anything else, either, but she pulled off the role very nicely and, to me, looks like a younger Mary Tyler Moore. Half the time she was on screen, I was thinking of Thoroughly Modern Millie.

One thing that annoyed me about the “look” of the film  is that they didn’t get all the 1920s styles quite right — they painted the actresses’ whole mouth, instead of doing the pouty, cupid’s-bow emphasis that most silent-film stars had. (Clara Bow is the classic example.) Of course, not everyone wore their lipstick that way, and many women did just paint their whole mouths, but I would have liked to see at least a few moments of pouty-mouth style. The other thing is that towards the end, when the story is taking place in the early 30s, everyone is still going around wearing clothes that look like they’re still in the mid-20s. I don’t know a great deal about that, though, so I could just be speaking in ignorance.

But nitpicking aside, I loved the movie. I already enjoy silent films from the 1920s (and many non-silent films of the 1930s), so I was interested to see how a modern filmmaker would approach it. The very few times that sound is used, it’s very effective. The actors were all excellent at the added physicality required in their roles, since no one would be hearing them speak. The music is also great — if there’s a soundtrack out, I may have to buy it. (OH LOOK!)

The movie did drag in a few places, simply because the plot is very simplistic, and a few things happened just because it seems they needed to happen (including some marital issues). But even in these parts, the music and the visuals were enough to hold my interest. I was so caught up in the 1920s that it was jarring to see current actors that I did recognize (Missi Pyle plays another film star, John Goodman is a producer, and James Cromwell plays Valentin’s chauffeur). The dog was cute, too — despite what I said about dogs yesterday, I have a soft spot for beagles and Jack Russels.

In short, go see The Artist if you get the chance, or rather, make the chance — but only if you are certain you can endure the movie’s lack of dialogue. I honestly don’t think it’s for everyone, but if you’re interested, do give it a shot.

And now for something completely different: A few of the pictures I did manage to take before I punked out and got too cold.

The street I parked on. I thought it was pretty.

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Statue at Capital University

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These trees are all over the campus. I don't know what they are, but the bark was interesting.

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Somewhere on the Capital University campus (See how cold it was??)

So thanks a bunch, life! You were good today.

Letting My Inner Curmudgeon Breathe

I don’t try to be a hipster. I have some hipster-ish styles and habits, but the only time I do it deliberately is when something British, usually actors, are involved.

Example: ”Oh, you like Sherlock? You think Benedict Cumberbatch is awesome? Yeah, I’ve known that since 2007, when I saw him play Pitt the Younger in Amazing Grace. Yes, you should check that out too.”

Also: ”Yeah, Alan Rickman is awesome as Professor Snape, but I’ll always think of him as Hans Gruber in Die Hard.”

(OK, I’ve never said that … but I do love Die Hard.)

I try not to have any disdain for things just because they popular among the hoi polloi (hello, Harry Potter/Bon Jovi/Titanic fan speaking here—yes, I still enjoy the Titanic movie … I don’t know why … I like ships? the costumes are pretty?). I don’t hate Twilight because it’s popular among teenagers—I went to an Nsync concert when I was 16, for crying out loud—I hate Twilight because it sucks. (Actually, hating on Twilight has gotten old to the point that even I’m tired of hating it.)

BUT STILL. There are things and trends that people just love that I simply don’t get. People have every right to enjoy whatever they like, and I have every right to abstain/disagree. For some of these things, however, to say you dislike them is fightin’ words.

1. Cupcakes: Even as a lover of cake, I don’t like cupcakes. You’d think I would consider them the very best vehicle for getting cake into my face, but you’d be wrong. To me, cake tastes better in slice form, with a fork. Yes, I have had Magnolia Cupakes in New York and I still didn’t get the appeal.

2. Red Velvet anything: I don’t like the taste, and I don’t get why people think it’s the most magical type of cake (Side note: please don’t tell me “But you haven’t had [insert name of restaurant or geographical region]‘s red velvet cake!” I simply don’t like red velvet cake … please don’t try to convince me otherwise.)

3. Arrested Development: If I have to tell one more person “Yes, I DID try to start from season one, episode one—I still didn’t think it was funny and I didn’t care about it,” I will lose my mind.

4. Coldplay: Yawn.

5. Star Wars: Goodness knows I am not about to criticize people for getting all geeked out about something dumb, but I don’t get why the first 3 movies are considered cinematic masterpieces. I suppose the effects were cool at the time, but … I don’t understand the lasting appeal.

6. Ryan Gosling: I don’t find him attractive, and I don’t get his sudden explosion of appeal.

7. Ryan Reynolds: Same. (Wait, maybe I just hate the name Ryan…?)

8. Chipotle: Just the thought of walking into one of these places makes my stomach want to run and hide.

9. Dogs: In my childhood, I was attacked by a dog that I had not even been looking at, much less provoking, and I still have PTSD. Unless you have seen me freeze up and freak out when a strange dog starts barking at me, you might think I was exaggerating. I’m also allergic to them, which doesn’t help. I recognize some of the reasons dogs can be useful, but I don’t see how the appeal wins out over the slobber, the barking, the constant care and discipline needed, and that unholy dog smell. I also don’t get why people in Columbus can’t keep their g*dam* dogs on a g*dam* leash when they are in a park with other people that might not find their pets as adorable as they do.

10. Northstar Cafe in Columbus: I went there once. Most people think it was fabulous and to-die-for, but I’m not a fan. I’d go again, but only if whoever else I ate with REALLY wanted to go.

11. Zombies: Medical shows, horrifying animals, and stories about serial killers disgust and terrify me in a fun way. Zombies disgust and terrify me in a not-fun way. (Which, now that I think about it, makes no sense because they aren’t real, while those other things are…) I cannot endure zombie movies, books, shows, games, etc. It just freaks me the hell out. I couldn’t even handle Shaun of the Dead, to my disappointment and shame.

12. Mitt Romney: WHY, Republicans? WHY??? WHY IS HE SO POPULAR?

With that, let me leave you with some happy videos on a gloomy Tuesday:

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A Fortnight of Altitude Changes

Oooohh, y’all.

Let me tell you about sleep.

Sleep is really great. I read somewhere (*cough* Cracked.com *cough*) that scientists don’t really know why humans need to sleep (but I may have read it wrong). I can’t speak for humans in general, but my goodness, does this lass need her sleep.

I’ve already documented my recent troubles with sleeping and a flare-up of depression. I started to get back on track since Saturday night, when things were at their worst (I woke up at 1 am on Saturday morning and never got back to sleep until about 9, 10 pm.), but yesterday was the beginning of real improvements in my mental state. I’m tired today, because I was stupid last night: instead of continuing the sleep pattern I’ve been trying to get back into, I stayed up until past midnight to watch and discuss the newest episode of Ringer. But I feel OK, as in … quite happy, actually. I was just at the grocery and bought some chamomile tea … maybe that will help a little tonight.

Once I started to climb out of the Pit of Despair, I was able to look back at the past week or two and became absolutely terrified by what I saw.I don’t know what sleep does for other people, but it looks like my sanity and happiness depend on it.

I found myself furious and incapable of dealing with things that I can now rationally address, and even shrug off. Things that normally made me a little envious turned me into a raging hell-beast (on the inside, for the most part) and things that I normally overlook turned into matters of great importance. I’m not crazy about shopping, but I went on an impulse-buying spree, and now I get to experience the joy of returning items for a full refund (no, really, I get a little thrill from it).

Normally I’m all for size/body acceptance and I try to practice Health at Every Size, but then I started freaking out about how terrible I’m going to look as the “fat bridesmaid” in a wedding this summer. When I told my friend Lisa this, she diagnosed me with “sleep-deprivation body dysmorphia”—not a technical term, but definitely a thing that happens. Because after a few nights of improved sleep, I’m much less disgusted with myself.

I also found out that I get “depression goggles” much like other people get “beer goggles,” wherein men (specific individuals and males in general) were more attractive the more needy and self-loathing I became. That was one of the scarier things that happened in my sleepless brain-haze. Fortunately, I was not in a situation to exercise poor judgement before the goggles came off.

I really hope and pray that tonight will continue the progress and not be a step backward.

Why am I telling you all this? Why, to raise awareness, of course. Eat your vegetables, play outside, and whatever you do, GET SOME SLEEP.

Thank you, and good night.

P.S. A few things that kept me from going completely off my rocker.

This post by The Bloggess.

This video:

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And this girl.