I know it's out there...

What up, peeps?

I have a favor to ask. I recently (and by recently I mean sometime in the last six months - I wish I could narrow it down more, but I'm old and forgetful (and by old I mean nearly thirty)) read a blog post about why a person would do something as ghastly as tainting a perfectly good bouquet with baby's breath. I don't remember who wrote it, but I assume it was either one of you or someone you know. I would be ever so grateful if someone could kindly direct me back to that post, as it will probably affect my entire mental, spiritual, and emotional well-being. Or just make me very happy. So no pressure.

Thanks!

Binary schminary

I just spent the last two hours hunched over my keyboard, setting up a new email account. Do you know what I learned (apart from the fact the Gmail is awesome because it imported all of my contacts for me, which probably saved the last shred of sanity to which I had been clinging)? I learned that waaaaay too much of my personal life is floating around in the form of ones and zeros. Because in addition to importing contacts and creating new groups, I had to go through a mega-huge list of all the sites that have my old address, sign in, navigate the treacherous waters of account settings (which are not always labeled as "account settings"), and type in my new address. Eight billion times. True story. I mean, seriously - three different banks, Amazon, lds.org, utility companies - where does it end!?

So what am I doing right now? Yeah, I'm still at the computer. Blogging. It could be because my rear end is now permanently attached to the computer chair and I'll have to spend the remainder of my days right here, never again to feel sunshine on my face or smell a sweet, sweet rose... Oh, wait. Or it could be because all the real friends I have are only accessible online. Or maybe I just don't have a life beyond these ones and zeros. Sob!

Actually, the real reason I'm still here is that I wanted to whine about this on Facebook, be done with it, then move on to something more productive. But it turns out my account has mysteriously been disabled. (In case you're wondering, this is not the reason for all my email drama. I've been meaning to switch to Gmail for a while, though I will be keeping my old email address to use for this blog.) Apparently, the only way to get my account back is to scan a government-issued ID, complete with photo, and send it off into the abyss. Um, that's so not happening. I'm just going to have to learn to live Facebook-less again. I won't go into detail about the wailing and gnashing of teeth that precluded the acceptance of this fact. Let's just say that I'm glad Blogger still wants to be my friend.

So in other words, I really don't have a life beyond these ones and zeros. Shocker.

P.S. I do have "real" friends. You know, people I can actually see. Please don't be too jealous. I still love you.
P.P.S. I'm getting off the computer now. Really.
P.P.P.S. Right after I check my email.

Honest-to-goodness true love

When your husband rolls his eyes at you because you're supposed to be in the car, driving to a meeting, and instead you're doing the dishes and putting away random papers because you just can't face doing that stuff when you get home and then he tells you that he could do it and you remember the night before when you came home and nothing was done and you had to do it all yourself anyway but you refrain from uttering the words "yes, you could, but will you?" because he was, in fact, playing with your children the night before, that's true love.

When your son wants to know what a lazy Susan is and you explain it to him and then add as an afterthought that you're not sure why it's called a lazy Susan and half a second later he asks why it's called a lazy Susan and you don't pull the car over and tell him to find his own way to school, thank you very much, that's true love.

When your three-year-and-one-month old daughter still won't give you any inkling of when she needs to do her business and you can't go anywhere unless you put in her in a pull-up, which only perpetuates the problem, and you begin to fear that she will never ever ever ever potty train and you won't be able to send her off to college or marry her off to a nice boy because she'll still need assistance when she does a number two, and yet you still kiss her thirteen times before sending her off to bed because you really do think that she's the most adorable little girl that has ever been, that's true love.

And that's the truth.