2004-07-26 @ 9:13 p.m.
|Thanks everyone for all the info on battling banners. I downloaded a few more things and then made like "In John Malkovich's Head", and became one with my Aptiva. I also used every single program I could find on my computer that would scrape out the very innards of my increasingly elderly IBM, and thus far, unless they're planning some kind o f "Apocalypse Now, I smell napalm in the morning" type attack when I type the letter "Q", everything seems to be going along swimmingly.
I helped my mom with her computer yesterday. Talk about the blind leading the blind. One of her married boyfriend (she's far worse than me...she's had several married boyfriends in the last couple of years and she's nearly a hundred). Anyways, one of her many amours, just randomly gave her one of his many computers (he buys a new one about every 13 months).
Well, its hard to please this woman. She had another computer that somebody else had given her, to replace another computer somebody else had given her, etcetcetc. In other words, she has never bought a single computer in her entire life. She has always had somebody give them to her. At least I did buy my second one.
My Dad bought my first one. I bought my second one. "A" gave me my third one. And my uncle bought me my fourth one, which is what I'm currently using. Its about 5 years old and getting rather long of tooth and pretty damn slow. And I can only hope that the Computer Fairy visits me again real soon.
So this old guy, who was sweet on my mom, dropped off this nice little Compaq over to her house which has about 93 gigabytes bigger than her other one, which I think had about a 4 megabyte hard drive. I mean you could cook a twelve course meal, while waiting for it to boot up. So I hooked up all the wires, turned it on, and it fired up really quickly (like 3 times faster than mine at home, dammit). And my mom looks at the monitor and says:
"I don't like it. The icons are too big. They look funny."
And then we had to make sure her beloved AOL worked, so we clicked on that, and for her, that screen was "WAY TOO BIG".
Mom, this is a different computer, things are going to look a little different.
So I proceeded to clean up the desktop of stray icons, making them smaller. And there was this one file on the desktop which I clicked on. It was a cartoon of a man's penis stuck in a garage door with his wife on the outside of the door trying to work it with a remote control. The wife kept saying, "But Henry, the batteries...the batteries."
When I asked my mom if I should put that in the recycle bin she said no, because she thought it was funny. Oh, ok. For me, at this point, it would have been alot funnier if the remote control did work and the guy got yanked up and down in the garage door a few dozen times. heh, heh.
OK, guess I was thinking about how perturbed I am at Married Guy. I sent him my wonderfully funny memento newsletter about our trip to the mountains two days ago and I have not heard a word from him. He's usually really good about getting right back to me on things like that, but I guess he's busy with wifie catching up on three weeks worth of nookie.
Damn, I really wish she would have been spirited away by a dingo or something. Yeah, I'm hurting. Can't help it. And I know when I see "A" tomorrow, he will be absolutely no help. He'll just grin like the Cheshire cat and go "see".
I do think I had him worried slightly when she first left, that I would work my womanly magic on Married Guy, but what a crock of shit that turned out to be. You should have known that "A". I couldn't seduce a cadaver.
I have definitely lost my mojo. I was feeling so good about myself at the beginning of the summer. Slinking down grocery store aisles thinking all the men were looking at me like I was a freakin' goddess. My God witty, what were you thinking?
I actually think its been a deadly combination of several things. The ghastly Sir G and his unscheduled unveiling. Who asked you buddy?
I feel rejected by "A", because he's dropping me as a patient. I mean it has nothing to do with the way I look, but I'm taking it to heart, because its somewhat based on who I am as a person. Our eight year history together isn't enough, because it appears it only come down to my lack of income. And that makes me feel really, really terrible. Like our eight years together meant nothing and I'm only important as my CO-payment. Thanks.
And then Married Guy. This one is entirely my fault. I have fallen in love with the one married man in the universe who doesn't want to cheat on his wife. Isn't that commendable? Of course it is. But it also crushes my ego, because I take it personally that I can't change his mind.
Am I not sexy enough? Am I not pretty enough? If I were more aggressive could I change the course of things? Probably not, because deep down I don't want to be responsible for someone cheating on their spouse.
My mom cheated on my dad and it really ticked me off as a teenager watching a man sneak out of my mom's bedroom early in the morning when my dad was away. She had a sliding glass door which I could see from my bedroom window and our building contractor used to spend the night and leave around 6 a.m. I never said anything of course, but I knew what was going on and it made me really angry.
But despite all this righteous on my part, a tiny part of me, did still fantasize about sleeping with him. So I'm a flawed human, what can I say? I wanted to partake, at least once, of Married Guy, perhaps to get him out of my system, and perhaps move on, but it didn't happen and I am bitterly disappointed.
Oh, and just as I was writing this I just finally heard from him. "Thanks for the funny pages. Wifie got home Friday and we celebrated our fifth anniversary Saturday."
Yeah, just want I wanted to hear about...your wedding anniversary. Thanks. I even had the honor of going to their wedding five years ago. That was fun. Of course, I wasn't an actual guest, mind you. Married Guy had hired me (as in bartering for free massages) to photograph his wedding.
And it would be an understatement not to admit, that I was not thrilled at the prospect at seeing M.G. marry this little much younger, yuppie twit. And their wedding was very nontraditional. It was out in the woods, and it was performed by a defrocked priest (he had married a nun).
When I arrived Married Guy didn't even say hello to me, he just shoved a bag of film into my hands and said thanks and then scurried away. And wifie? She never even acknowledged my existence in even the tiniest way that day. No hello. No eye contact. No nothing. She just looked right through the space where I was standing like she was a Nazi guard and I was a Jewish prisoner. And that really hurt, because I knew her.
And then I took some really lovely pictures of their wedding, including a really pretty picture of her and her grandmother which she has enlarged and framed in her living room. It's said to be her favorite picture of her and her grandmother. Gee, I wonder who took that picture? Oh, it must have been that invisible photographer who didn't exist and who didn't get paid, but only got a massage.
My only semi-revenge was that I left early. The wedding was plodding along really slowly, and people were just out in fields chatting, and I wasn't sure if much else was going on so I left, thus missing the cake cutting I guess. Whoops! I did cry all the way home in the car though. Married Guy, who had formerly just been Guy (as in not Married), was now officially taken and my five years of looking at him longingly was just beginning.
I'm such a stupid-head.
So I'm hoping that "A" is in a kind, gentle mood tomorrow. Last week he was just slashing about saying things that an ultra-sensitive girl like me, just totally took like a right jab to the abdomen. I've been taking clonopin like crazy this week, mainly because my anger has been broiling up so intensely between tears.
And its rather ironic. I'm graduating from my Anger Management Class this coming Wednesday. ha, ha, ha. In ten weeks, I've only been to the class like 5-6 times. I sorta feel like a fraud picking up a certificate saying that I am now an Expert in the Fine Art of Anger Management. Because obviously they didn't see me thrashing about and screaming obscenities last night when 10 pop-ups invaded my Aptiva simultaneously and I nearly went postal.
So I don't really feel like I'm a graduate of Anger Management. If anything, I've gone in the total opposite direction in the last ten weeks. I am the Anti-Anger Management Icon. So no...don't give me a certificate....just give me a clonopin, and everyone will be safe.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty