I Am The Internet's Bitch

(I was actually going to name this entry "I Am The Bitch Of The Internet," but know what? That sounds not very friendly. "Reigning unfriendly bitch" is not something to which I aspire. Instead, what I am getting at, is that I am the internet's bitch. As in, the internet has made me its bitch. Like in prison. And this concludes my paragraph analyzing a five-word title, guess who was an English major and hasn't slept in a while, THANK YOU.)

But, anyway. Oh, hello! HI THERE! So, did I up and disappear? AGAIN? Am I a major pain in the ass to everyone? The answer, quite obviously, is yes. Yes, yes, resoundingly yes, in particular to the last question. I am totally a pain in everyone's ass! I am a pain in your ass! I am causing grief and aggravation to asses all over the place, that is just what I do.

On second thought, maybe I am the bitch of the internet. At the very least, I’m kind of a tease. I am really sorry about that. And, once again, I am really sorry if anyone thought something bad had happened, beyond my usual Life o’ Privilege and Manufactured Crisis. It did not. In fact, everything is fine, with the exception of the massive amounts of work I've taken on lately, and one small other thing, which is that, once again, I have found myself asking: Why is some component of my website always, always broken, seriously, why, God? Did I piss someone off? Was it Al Gore? Did I piss Al Gore off? Because, Al Gore, I will heartily apologize, if you will please leave me alone. I will recycle! Just for you! I will cart all of my groceries around in eco-friendly bags! I will weave them from hemp! Whatever the hell you want!

At any rate, it has finally been determined that all the problems associated with this site hearken (they hearken!) back to the fact that the version of Movable Type I am using is both obsolete and incredibly vulnerable to attacks. So, people attack me (AL GORE) and then the whole thing goes crazy and shuts me out, and opens up closed comments, and crashes servers and creates digital mayhem. Meanwhile, this keeps happening, because I have no earthly idea how to upgrade my version of MT without losing everything. (And, I would ask you to email me if you know, but guess what is still broken? Email. So, never mind.) So, there's that, but now in addition, THIS time an entirely different branch of my stupidity emerged, and nearly resulted in me losing the site altogether. Yes! That is just how good I am. I can't log on, but I can still cause serious damage. Fear me! For I can create destruction by proxy.

I don't know whether y'all noticed this particular insanity or not, but a few weeks ago, I was working in the manner of a Pasty-Skinned Diligent Lawyer Person when Cookie came into my office and said something along the lines of, "Um, your website is...not. Anymore. Yours, I mean." So, I pulled up the page, and sure enough, it was all these ads, ads for dachshunds, and long haired dachshunds, and breeders, and dachshund dating services, and dachshund fetish sites, and basically a whole plethora of shit that I myself had not written, and which I had exactly nothing to do with. So, I said all of the curse words I could think of while I tried to figure out what the hell had happened now, and what was fucked up THIS time, and do I blame the hosting company or do I blame Evil Gnomes or hackers or just fucking WHO already, because I am going to FIND them, and I am going to EAT their EYEBALLS, so help me God.

And I said this with all the frustration and rage of one who has been the Internet's bitch one time too many, and I worked myself up into a really attractive, bloodthirsty froth, until...you know. I kind of had to shut the hell up when I finally concluded, many hours later, that this particular spectacular fuck up was, in fact, entirely my own doing. Naturally. And, for our mutual misery, here is the short version of that very boring story:

1. I bought this website a zillion years ago, back when I had things like spare time (HA HA HA!), a rosy-pink complexion, and no billable hour requirement.

2. When I registered the domain, I set up an account using what was, at the time, my work email address.

3. I paid with my credit card, and signed up for automatic renewals, because back in those butterfly-tinged rainbow days of giggles, I was significantly smarter than I am right now.

And all that was fine and dandy. Until:

4. I switched jobs.

5. That credit card expired.

6. The Registrar sent me 14,698 emails warning me that I was about to lose the domain, except:

7. They were all going to a dead address.

So:

8. My domain expired.

9. Because I am stupid.

10 And now you know.

But, hey! It got fixed, thanks to the vigilance of my co-workers, and the fact that the Registrar had some built-in grace period before my site became the internet's leading wiener-fetish provider, and I gave the Registrar a non-expired credit card and a non-dead email address. So we should be good to go at least until 10/09, when this card expires and I possibly I will have changed my name to Bathsheba, and then we will get to go through all this excitement all over again, I CAN'T EVEN WAIT.

And, with that, I will stop talking about this forever, because seriously, this is turning out to be the most boring entry of all time. I mean, you don't even have to lie to me, I know it is. It's all, look at Leigh, bitching about her computer issues, again, only this time she's mixing it up by moaning about how her credit card had the gall to expire, O THE NERVE YOU PLASTIC JUDAS, and none of this is even remotely entertaining. So, to sum up, once again, I sincerely apologize. And I sincerely move on from this hideously boring topic. And I sincerely hope that I am able to install the new MT before this whole damn thing happens all over again, or else, I seriously will eat my own eyeballs. Or possibly Al Gore's. Because I bet they are just scrumptious. And if that's not a way to end these paragraphs, then I just don't know what is.

*** (Now the boringness shall end) ***

*** (Relatively Speaking) ***

But, moving on to other things! I have ever so many other things. I even have entries I've written but could never post, so I will try to get through at least...some of them, I guess. Some of them are kind of pointless now (like my pre-Thanksgiving bitching), but maybe I can edit them into relevance. (Again, relatively speaking.)

But first of all, I swear to you, I have not abandoned my CRAP plan, even though that was supposed to be a seven-day project that began...oh, about four years ago. Back in the day, I started a flickr group and everything, PLUS I spent a good chunk of time manually scanning all of the most hideous pictures I could find. I mean, no lie, I've probably got 50 pictures all waiting to be thrust upon you in the manner of an infectious disease. I even came up with little LOLCRAP captions, because once again, I am pretty sure I am funny about that. But, I am postponing that for right now, because first, we have to travel back a MONTH, and visit the Halloween entry that I wrote, but which wouldn't post. And, y'all, I even Photoshopped for this entry. I Photoshopped for you! And then it wouldn't post, and I screamed a sentence that included the words "Fuck". "Perpetual," and "Spoon", and then I stormed off in a huff. Probably in the direction of some wine. Or, horse tranquilizers.

So, that being said, now it is the time when I tell the Halloween story.

*** We'll Have A Gay Old Time ***

*** In Theory ***

I have already written all about my love for Halloween, but in short, I am a big old crazy lady freakshow when it comes to this holiday. For weeks in advance, I busy myself with decorating the house, putting together costumes, and tormenting the dogs with adhesives. Every year, I've been the one who gets completely into the spirit of the thing, with fake cobwebs clinging from the bushes and realistic dead bodies slumped out of windows. I set up a graveyard under the tree, where skeletons sprout from the ground. I buy dry ice and play CDs of vaguely disturbing, ghost-like noises. Every Halloween, I've got macabre delights at every twist and turn. And yes, that is just...odd, but it is my creepy little thing! I look forward to it! I mean, y'all, I have invested actual spending money on fake corpses. And that is some dedication to the holiday spirirt, right there. Especially when we are talking about a backordered fake corpse, which appears months later in an enormous, unmarked box, which you open after coming home late from work, but prior to having a heart attack and dying because AHH CORPSE IN THE MAIL, CORPSE IN THE MAIL. Even after THAT incident, I have continued to buy dead people. This is how deep my love.

(Also, fake corpses are very fun to hang in guest room closets. Or to position on the guest toilet. I get my money's worth, is what I am driving at.)

But, in spite of my dedication, it was all for a big fat nothing this year, because I had to work through Halloween. As in, on the night of Halloween. I was conducting an investigation in California, and so I was on a conference call at the office, and I didn't even get home until 11. And before that, I'd had to work for the two weeks leading up to Halloween. So I missed the whole fucking thing, and if you think I am not feeling significantly sorry for myself, then you have no idea how much of a big old whiny person I can actually be. There may have been some hints.

So, I missed Halloween, and that completely sucked. It sucked for the kids, because I wasn't there to do my usual "Oooo, who's the crazy neighbor?! Ha ha, just kidding NO SERIOUSLY I WATCH YOU SLEEP" therapy-inducing routine at the door, but it also sucked for me, because...well, because this is all about me. And also, because we had the most awesome costume ideas planned for all of us, and we did not even get to realize those ideas. Like, Cookie and I were going to go as something we like to call "Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton Have A Tough Time In Cars." To accomplish this look, Cookie was going to put on a hoodie and pass out in the front passenger seat, mouth agape, and spectacularly drooling. I, on the other hand, was going to park myself in the back seat, pull my hair up all unwashed and askew, cuff my hands behind my back, and wail hysterically as though I was being escorted off to face me some Justice. Dukay and Spam were going to be paparazzi, and they were going to hop about with cameras with huge flashbulbs, while wearing unattractive hats. (I do not know why I think paparazzi wear unattractive hats, but in my fantasy, they do. Like, '40's newsboy hats! And they wear vests and shirts with the sleeves rolled up! Also possibly jodhpurs.) Basically, it was going to be awesome, the unholy marriage of the two most idiotic vehicle-based "news" photographs of the year. And it was all going to take place in our very own drama-, tear-, and vodka-soaked automobile. And, bonus, we would get to sit the whole time! Cookie could even nap! With the exception of one small detail, that being how we could not actually leave the car all night, or else the entire effect would be ruined, it was a very solid plan.

But it was not to be, because instead, I was working. And so that was a disappointment. But it's not the biggest disappointment, even considering how spectacular that would have been, because it doesn't hold a candle to the amazingly awesome costumes that I had conceived for the dogs this year. In that regard, I possibly outdid myself, call someone. Seriously, call an almanac. This may have been my one single stroke of genius, so don't expect anything else for a whiiiiiile. I'm empty.

However, my genius won't make any sense unless you have the backstory, and thus, hello, backstory! So, Ziz came into town not terribly long ago. And, as we all remember, Ziz is all Big in L.A. and having a very big time and meeting very spectacular people. So while she was up here, she showed me all manner of Big Important Projects that have been making the rounds out there. Many of these projects were very excellent. Some of these projects were very...I think we can go with "experimental." Or "God Awful." But there was one thing, one wonderful, luminous stroke of brilliance that outshone all the rest. And that was: Planet Unicorn.

Now evidently, everyone except me knew about Planet Unicorn. But because I live under a law-shaped rock, this was my first exposure, and I'd never heard of it. If you, too, have been living under some interestingly shaped rock and are therefore totally perplexed about what I am all on about this time, I will briefly explain.

Planet Unicorn is a series of five little animated videos, each of which is about 3 or 4 minutes long, and...well, actually, I am not going to try to summarize all the complicated plot devices and meticulous character development involved therein. No. Because that has already been DONE, and you can pretty much learn all you need to know about the subtle nuances of the show by reading the spoken-word intro that precedes the theme song:

In the year 2117, an 8-year-old gay boy named Shannon
found a magic lamp. He was granted three wishes.
The first, a fur jacket. The second, a flying car.
And the third was a planet full of unicorns.
This is the story of that planet.

Okay, now. PEOPLE. Are y'all still with me? Did you get all that? Because: LET'S REVIEW.

This is a show about a gay unicorn planet. In the future. That was wished into existence by an eight year old gay boy. Now, y'all...I ask you. WHAT ABOUT THAT IS NOT AWESOME. YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO TELL ME.

And, oh. Oh, you guys, it only gets better. For example, did you know that the three unicorns who inhabit Planet Unicorn are named Feathers:

Cadillac:

and Tom Cruise?

Are you aware that, in the episodes, eight-year-old-gay-boy Shannon appears to the unicorns in various forms? Did you know that these forms include (1) a bird, (2) a bubble, and (3) Tyra Banks? Are you sold yet? Because, this is pretty much everywhere my life has been leading, all these years. I am done, mission accomplished, I have found what I am looking for, and I can die happy, the end.

So, the five Planet Unicorn videos (Dear Planet Unicorn People: MAKE MORE OF THOSE NOW) (please) have cheered me up immensely whenever I've been in a shitty mood lately. In fact, if you are one of the few people who did not know about this phenomenon, and haven't heard about it on NPR or read about it in roughly six trillion magazines or newspapers, then you really should go watch one now, both because (a) height of awesome, and (b) the rest of this entry will make a lot more sense if you do. And be funnier. To me. Look, I will even wait for you!

(In which I wait.)

See? So good! Now, seeing as I can recite, oh, all of the Planet Unicorn episodes, word for word, and have forced everyone I know to view, memorize, and recite them along with me like we are in some sort of cheerful, well-dressed doomsday cult, it is fair to say that I have had some Planet Unicorn on the brain these past few months. And so, it was not too terribly long before something occurred to me.

There are...three unicorns, on planet unicorn.

There are also...three dachshunds, living in my house.

There is ...a Halloween holiday, during which I agitate said dachshunds.

And, I know...where we keep the glue.

Dum dum DUM!

*** Wait, Hold On, For Now I Go Off On Tangent ***

(Ooo, not to leave you hanging in the manner of a commercial break, but this totally reminds me of something. I know I have referenced, but never actually told, the story of How We Found Out That Mister Gimmme Was Not Gay. Here is the conclusion part of that story: Mister Gimmme is not gay. We learned this back when this painfully (painfully) beautiful man was living with me a few days a week. (Score!) This guy was a good friend of ours who was going to school in Athens; during his last summer there, he landed journalism internships at both Southern Voice and Creative Loafing. Each job only required him to work in Atlanta one day a week, which was good; what was bad, however, was that they didn't really pay, so he also had to keep working in Athens. He couldn't afford to rent a place in Atlanta in addition to his place in Athens, so he was going to have to drive back and forth. So, I declared that to be ridiculous and told him to shut the hell up and live in one of my guest rooms already. And that is how I ended up with a Gay House Boy. And how he ended up with that nickname is because that is how he answered the phone.

So, [Gorgeous] Gay House Boy spent the summer with me, during which he and I had more fun than is even reasonable. He was the one who came up with the Swan Drinking Game, you guys! Where we had to drink to "journey", "transformation", and "princess"! That pretty much started the movement, right there. He was a pioneer! A very gorgeous pioneer.

But, anyway. So, GHB loved the dogs, but he was particularly fond of Mister Gimmme. He carried Gimmme everywhere. Like, Gimmme does possess legs, but when GHB was there, Gimmme did not have to use them, ever, because GHB would walk in, pick Mister Gimmme up, and the two of them would cuddle together on the sofa all night long. Gimmme loved GHB, and would start hopping in little circles every time the door opened and GHB emerged. It was GHB and Mister Gimmme, all the time, and their love was pure and true.

On GHB's last night with me, we threw him a huge going-away thing. As I was gathering all the dogs to go upstairs to bed, he asked me, very shyly, if it would be okay if he slept with Gimmme that night. And of course, I was like, "Oh, please, PLEASE, FEEL FREE."

So GHB carried Gimmme upstairs, and Gimmme was wagging and filled with great happiness, just apoplectic with ecstasy. GHB and Gimmme disappeared into his guest room, I hopped into bed with my crew, and off we all went to sleep.

Less than six minutes later, I was startled to hear an enormous crash, as something smacked hard into my bedroom door. It flew open, and I jerked upright to see Mister Gimmme -- who had apparently headbutted his way into the room -- scramble across the floor, bounce off the back wall, and ricochet in the direction of the closet, all at maximum Gimmme speed.

While I was trying to make sense of this utterly ridiculous spectacle, GHB appeared in the doorway, soaking wet and looking frazzled.

"?" I said to GHB, as crashing sounds emenated from the closet, where Gimmme had apparently knocked over an entire hamper of coat hangers.

"Gimmme," GHB panted, "is NOT GAY."

Turns out, he was right. Oh, sure, Mister Gimmme was just fiiiiiine with the cuddling, kisses, and snuggly. But as soon as GHB climbed into bed with him, shirtless, and curled up next to Mister Gimmme, the two brain cells that live in Gimmme's head collided, and it occurred to him that maybe he had been giving off the wrong signals, because GIMMME DO NOT LIKE GHB THAT WAY. And so, in total heterosexual fashion, he COMPLETELY freaked out, peed all over GHB, and made a break for it, tearing blindly down the hallway before slamming headfirst into the safety of THE ROOM WHERE THE STRAIGHT PEOPLE ARE.

"I think he committed a hate crime on you!" I told GHB, as a still-reeling Gimmme knocked over the trash can in the bathroom. "I think he committed a hate crime on the sheets," GHB responded.

And, that is how we found out that Mister Gimmme was not gay. He was just experimenting! It was an experimental time! Everyone does that in college!

Hee. And thus concludes my tangent. The end, on to our scheduled story about gay unicorns.

*** End Of Tangent ***

Right. I am back! Planet Unicorn! There are three unicorns! I have three dogs! And adhesives! Do you see where I was headed up there?

Now, sadly, because I missed Halloween (Did you know? Y'all! I totally fucking missed Halloween! Did you hear that somewhere already?), I therefore missed the opportunity to abuse the dogs with false eyelashes, hair extensions, and a crimper. But, that does not mean I can't fantasize about the awesomeness that could not be. And that is where I harness the unholy power of Photoshop, to show you what would have been, if only I lived on a beautiful unicorn planet far off in the future, where conference calls and mortgage payments are things of the past.

As such, please give it up for Feathers:

BO HATE YOU.

Oooo, Cadillac:

GIMMME HATE YOU.

And Tom Cruise:

HI! PUGSLEY LIKE HIS PINK HAIR! PUGSLEY PRETTY! LIKE A PRINCESS.

Planet Unicorn, Heyyyyyyyyyyy!

*** Now I Am Current Through October ***

So, that was Halloween. Now I am...oh, about 1/5 of the way caught up. I've still got to upload the CRAP photos, and tell y'all about being an unloved Thanksgiving orphan, and how, after watching the Grinch in a vaguely inebriated state, Dukay decided that he is going to make his fortune by marketing actual cans of Who-Hash, and consequently I fear for us as a species. (Okay, that's actually pretty much the entire story about that incident. Who-Hash: Coming to a crackhouse near you!) But at least, this is something for now, plus it is both colorful and complain-y, my cup, it runneth the heck over.

But, hello again! I hope all of y'all are doing well! I am sorry I keep breaking my website, or almost losing my website, and hopefully the upgrade won't cause all of your computers to spontaneously explode at the same time, while also giving you something disgusting, like eye boogers or genital warts. I'll try to continue the catch up as soon as possible, so long as the dogs don't mete out some sort of revenge. And Al Gore and the internet stop making me their bitch.

Kisses!

P.S.: Wait, HA. So, last night, I wrote this whole entry out in Word, as I now do because MT eats my entries half of the time, and I got sick of writing something and having it disappear, etc. And, I finished editing, and I went and tried to upload it to the site. Only...no. I tried for hours, but I just couldn't get online. Not at my house, not at my parents' house, nowhere. And so I figured I was just doing something ELSE wrong, yet again, because I suck at life. Only then, I got to work today and saw this:

Southeast U.S.'s Internet Spontaneously Dies Monday Night; Millions Minorly Inconvenienced

I mean...DO YOU SEE?! The internet knew I wanted on! It knocked out ALL those other people just to keep me from posting! And that, you guys, is why I am the internet's bitch, my point is made, I rest my case, send me a drink, and heyyyyyyyyy.

Posted by doxie in The Innernet | permalink | Comments (268)

Day 6: LOL CRAP

Hello! I am back! And I am up to my eyeballs in work again. Which rocks, as normal, in my usual manner of being exceedingly lame.

But, hey! I did go to Vail, though. Which was not lame, but not much of a vacation, either, given the insane amount of travelling involved, and the fact that we were only there for a total of...oh, maybe 30 hours. Still the 30 hours was a little break, and was very gorgeous and wonderful. The other parts, with the multiple layovers, and the part where we had to leave the hotel at 4 a.m. to fly home, and everything else that involved either the "getting there" or "coming back" components of the trip, were not gorgeous and wonderful. Those parts also took about 30 hours, and every one of them sucked mightily. But during the happier times, I got to wear my coat AND boots because it was cold in Vail, and that pleased me, as did the fact that we got to see some snow. Not, like, a lot of snow, but let us not forget that I am from Atlanta. In terms of what I am used to, snow flurries = blizzard, and I joked about leaving the wedding so I could go stock up on vodka, Dura-Flame logs, and wine. Which I said with some authority, because that is actually a comprehensive list of what we did stock up on the last time we had a snow situation in Atlanta. Notice how we forgot "food."

(I am really not joking about that. We ended up making chili out of a jar of spaghetti sauce, which is something I would not recommend that you try.) (Ever.)

But, Vail! So, we went, and the wedding was really sweet and personal, and the whole town is just gorgeous now in the Fall. I took a ton of pictures, and if you are looking to get yourself into a Fall kind of mood, I will put them up on my Flickr account just as soon as I figure out how to use the mysterious uploader (Hey, Uploader! You are an Uploader of mystery, with the only working sporadically! So coy). So that is fun for all.

But, an – oh, wait. Want to hear our awesome travel stories? There are two tales of stupid events that could only happen to us. They are as follows:

First, it turns out that our flight was slightly later than I’d thought, but we still left at 4:30 a.m., because the Atlanta airport on a Friday morning is a clusterfuck not to be believed. So Dukay and I figured we would just stay awake all night, which we did, and we got to the airport and parked in Siberia before blearily walking the wrong way for ten minutes, both of us spitting profanity and hollering, "DUDE HOW IS IT THAT WE HAVE LOST THE WHOLE AIRPORT," until we found ourselves looking at an explanatory sign in the airport parking deck. My camera was in my suitcase, so I will have to recreate the image for you using Microsoft Paint, but this I will do in the interest of science:

Yeah, so. We flipped a coin, found the airport, and went through security, where neither one of us was chosen for a body cavity search, which was really just shiny of TSA given the fact that we were both disheveled to the point of looking like we’d spent the last year living in an isolated cabin somewhere, stockpiling weaponry and furiously typing letters to governmental agencies. And also Dukay was wearing his red pants. Which is just Crazy on legs, right there.

But, all this awake and walking and general confusion meant that by the time we got to our gate, we were starving slap to death. However, it was morning, so all anyone was serving was breakfast. Neither of us is particularly fond of breakfast food; I don’t really eat it, and Dukay can’t even look at an egg without convulsing in disgust, so we were both hoping to discover something a little…lunch-ier. But there wasn’t anything, so we got some coffee and figured, hell, we’ve got a two hour flight and a layover; we’ll just eat something at the next stop.

Only, guess what they have now, in this Brave New World? Time zones. We weren’t really thinking about those, though, and so when we got off the plane in Memphis, we were less than thrilled to be greeted by the smell of rubbery sausage and eggs. Because at that point, it was 9:00 in the morning. Again. And we just had that time.

So then we flew to Denver for another two hours, and again, we got off the plane, and again we were immediately assaulted by the smell of airport-breakfast-fare, because now it was 10:00 in the morning. And we’d just HAD THAT TIME TOO, SEVERAL TIMES IN FACT, and OMG WE ARE STUCK IN THE BREAKFAST WORMHOLE.

The upswing of all this is that we learned something that day, which is that Quiznos workers will take bribes. Especially if you are wearing red pants. Then they just want you to leave as soon as possible, and they will do whatever it takes to get you off the premises. Woo, Quiznos workers! Power to the people, and thanks for the sandwich!

But our never-ending morning just set the stage for our second adventure, because after we’d managed to apprehend some lunchmeats, we had to pick up the rental car for the trip to Vail. Now, the trip from Denver to Vail is about two hours, and Dukay thought it was a straight shot on I-70. Given my abilities to get lost while two blocks away from my office, however (yes), coupled with my tendency to infect and befuddle normal people with my inherently-incorrect instincts, resulting in them being equally lost (example: I recently got our firm’s managing partner so turned around after leaving a funeral that we completely missed the graveside service, despite the fact that the cemetery was within walking distance of both of our houses. This is how great my power) – anyway, I totally got off track there, but point being, we rented one of those Garmin Navigational devices, plopped it on the dash, and headed off to Vail.

We were not, at that point, concerned about the lack of instructions for the operation of the Garmin. We figured it must be self-explanatory, like TiVo, or most refrigerators. You just type in your destination, hit go, and voila, directions happen. So easy, we thought. SURELY WE CAN HANDLE THIS, we thought.

But, no. No, we thought wrong, because we left the parking lot and hopped on I-70 to Vail, and we coasted along without incident for about five minutes before the little Garmin started chirping at us to exit, you GUYS, exit NOW YOU GUYS, HURRY!

And because we are obedient sheep people, we did so, and thus began the most pointless romp around Denver ever experienced by anyone, because we’d drive all over the city, and then the Garmin would tell us to get back on the highway, and we would, only then five minutes later, it would change its tiny mind, and command us to exit, and we would, and then it would lead us through downtown in a sputtering, labyrinthine journey of stops and starts, before screeching at us to get our asses back on the highway to do the whole stupid thing all over again.

And, because neither one of us wanted to argue with technology, it wasn’t until we found ourselves stuck behind a school bus on a residential street for the THIRD time that Dukay finally chimed in with: “Uh.”

After spending the next 20 minutes accosting a gas station attendant, purchasing an enormous map, and pressing every button on the little Garmin’s face, we came to the realization that:

1. So it is a straight shot to Vail. If you stay on I-70, YOU END UP IN VAIL. You can’t HELP it. It is REQUIRED of you. Except:

2. The Garmin had been set to “avoid highways,” so it was trying to get us to Vail without resorting to interstates at all. Which one cannot do when going to Vail (see: “straight shot”, #1, above) and this contradiction had blown Garmin’s mind, much like the computer playing tic-tac-toe at the end of War Games (only with less nuclear war!), and so the machine had decided to just lead us in confused circles all about town, hoping we’d forget our original destination and just decide that KNOW WHAT, SCREW VAIL, DENVER’S FINE; which is why:

3. After one and a half hours of driving, we’d made it a grand total of four miles away from the rental car lot, GO TEAM.

So, you know. That was all very adventurous, in a Lewis-and-Clark Griswold kind of way. And then we drove to Vail on the highway like normal people, and had no further drama until we left the hotel at 4:30 Sunday morning to do the whole business all over again. Only this time we turned off the Garmin. And Dukay did not wear his red pants. And things were somehow much improved.

* * *

CRAP ABBREVIATED

Now that I have spent ten years compiling our travel log, I am all tired of typing. Which is unfortunate, seeing as I am just now getting to the actual point of this entry, which was supposed to be Day 6 of CRAP. But forces are clearly aligning against me, because in addition to leading us all off on a tangent, I also thought I had the disc where I saved all the scanned pictures, but the CD I grabbed has actually turned out to be a burned compilation of the greatest hits of Air Supply. Which…I mean, obviously not a bad thing, and o, happy discovery!, but while they can make love out of nothing at all, I can’t make an awkward teenager out of a power ballad. Not without a shitload of alcohol, anyway.

So instead, we are resorting to a sort of odd assortment of pictures I have found on this laptop. They are kind of amusing to me, but I’ve definitely seen worse. Plus, because I am rapidly running out of cleverness, and also because I am unoriginal, and I continue to be entertained every time I look at I Can Has Cheezburger, I have decided to make today LOL CRAP day. For all of you who have no idea what I am talking about with this LOL business (hi, Aunt Rie!), I apologize. Pretend it is something hilarious, only in another language. Like Sanskrit. And…well, actually, that goes for all of you. Let’s act like this is funny to people other than me! And let’s do it together.

So, here we go, in no particular order and covering no particular time period: LOL CRAP, brought to you by travel, some old photos, and Air Supply. Which, now that I think about it, sounds like a recipe for a bomb.

Why, hello, Tiny Dancer!

My Milkshake: Failing To Bring All The Boys To The Yard.

My milkshake did, however, bring Ziz to the yard, where it appears that she is getting very handsy with my lady business:

Dude, tone down the perv, toddler.

And now, jumping forward to a demonstration of (1) how much I clearly valued my parents’ attempts to broaden our horizons by taking us to foreign lands when we were growing up; and (2) how to match your scrunchy socks with your shroud.

Bet those tan lines looked pretty.

Know what? This LOL talk is actually kind of hard. This has ended up taking longer than actual entry! Maybe it is easier with dogs.

Or, I could do a series!

Or...not. (Hee, though. A little!) But, okay, maybe it is easier if I actually steal one of their pictures from their actual factory and try that. I shall try:

Hee. Now, see, THAT is kind of funny. If you speak Sanskrit.

I am off, but will be back ASAP. See you all soon, and KTHXBYE!

Posted by doxie in Times I Fell Down | permalink | Comments (119)