No, no, silly. I'm not dead. I haven't been too busy to write. Things certainly haven't been boring. The Internet situation HAS TO GO. You see, somewhere around last Tuesday, we started experiencing excruciatingly slow speeds with our broadband connection. I remember it well, as the timing out of the Cyber-God's deliberation caused me not to post all about how Nick told me that I could totally be on that model show with Tyra Banks—except for my lacking height and thick legs—to sum it up.
The old Laura would have had Charter Communications on the phone right then and there to remedy the problem, but the new Laura simply does not rely on a virtual reality any more. "It'll get better in time," we both reasoned. But it did not, in fact, remedy in time...and Nick was the one barking at the service reps at the cable company while I got my highlights touched up at the salon.
Meanwhile, he managed to tear the house apart.
Fix his own months-dead computer with a new power supply.
Kill my laptop's surfing capability.
And the speed never...sped up...
...until days later when he extricated a cable splitter from the wall.
Tonight I was all primed to tell you about how I used my sewing machine to hem a pair of pants by hand, my relationship with my mechanic (and how after my last interaction with him over an oil change I exclaimed whimsically to my aunt, "He's like the father I never had!"), how Nick and I spent the weekend in Chicago watching the Big Ten Tourney (and how Nick talked up my drinking abilities to a few of the enemy Ohio State fans when they suggested that I wouldn't finish that 30-some ounce tankard of beer—"SHE'LL HAVE TWO!"), my overwhelming happiness with Ikea (which I visited for the first time EVER on Sunday) and the nifty little joyride they give shopping carts there, how broke I am paying off my butt-care, how the perks of working with my aunts (much less living in state!) pay off with a loaf of homemade banana nut bread delivered to my desk, and that we scored free tickets to catch the Badgers' first game in the NCAA Tournament this Friday. (Did I really manage to squeeze that all in [illegally] to one sentence? MASTERFUL!) I could give you a detailed blog on each of these subjects, complete with corresponding picture, but you'll just have to imagine instead...
And yes, my highlights really are that cute...when my stylist pointed out that I had a bump on my noggin, a bump of which I had no knowledge, I told her that maybe Nick was beating me in my sleep. She laughed a deep belly laugh and then stopped abruptly. "That's really not that funny." I calmed her fears by telling her Nick was more of a shin-kicker anyway...unlikely his aggression was focused anywhere but my thick legs.
Nick's bootleg copy of Photoshop isn't anywhere near as spiffy as my bootleg copy of Photoshop, so I find the end of my nose turning upward as I refuse to so much as re-size a picture there. Sure, I could go over and do it on my laptop (Nick hasn't broken that part of my computer so far as I can tell), but then I would somehow have to get the images back over to Nick's computer...and while it isn't impossible by any stretch, the spirit just isn't willing.
So, today, I was going to give you a run down of the goings-on in my life, or at least one of them...probably the thick legs that I plan on clubbing Nick with while HE sleeps (He later exclaimed after an afternoon of under-the-breath epithets, "I MEANT TO SAY MUSCULAR!"), but after some-thirty minutes of guess-and-check passwords to my blog software's administration suite, my energy for all writing of an artful sort dissipated and you're left with a rant, a grammatically poor one at that—but really, should a rant be anything but? I think not.
The end. My thick legs bid you adieu.
