It is no longer my birthday, obviously, so I'd really best post something new, hadn't I? Unfortunately, I just spent well over an hour completing a handful of simple Internet-related tasks that should have taken a mere few minutes, if my computer weren't older than my blog (which just turned four a few days ago, in case you want to bake a belated cake for Stefanie Says as well), and apparently the effort involved in those very strenuous commands was too much for this aging Dell; it's now insisting upon a one-minute rest after nearly every click or keystroke. I waited a full thirty seconds for the blinking cursor to return after typing that last sentence. Friends, I may be content to be old school a good majority of the time (what with my land line and my paper checkbook register and my still-in-use VHS recorder), but frankly, this is no way to live.
I do have stories to tell you... or rather, a story, but that particular story incites enough rage all on its own without my agitation at my inferior in-home technology heightening my ire. Hence, the story will have to wait. This, meanwhile, is just a pointless interim post--a courtesy, "I'm still alive" note so you don't fear that I've gone the way of The Buddhist and simply vanished without warning. The Buddhist is very much alive, by the way, and, as it turns out, very much worthy of all the kneecap-bashing threats generated in the comments on that post. More on that later; I promise.
I'm well aware it's almost rude of me to type that much without continuing, but seriously, it just took me a full six minutes to create that last hyperlink and type the two sentences that followed it, and it wasn't because I was editing and re-editing to fine-tune my thoughts. No, this computer is clearly crying for some shut-eye, and in the spirit of "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em," I guess it's the same for me.
Meanwhile, I hope you all had a lovely weekend. I had a German dinner at a Spanish movie night, held a preemie who is so tiny, I'm pretty sure the Chipotle burrito I had last week weighed more than her, and celebrated the first Sunday of spring by not leaving my house all damn day.
What about you?