evidence of mental malfunction
On Friday I woke up to no hot water and, upon further inspection, a big-ass flood. As the workmen worked and Nero ignored them (as in, did not even get off the couch as plumbers traipsed in and out), I decided to do the only reasonable thing a person could do in that situation: Find compatible software to hook up my printer.
I failed, although while hunting for various needed electronica and such in my home office, I found a box with memory for my computer that I apparently bought and never installed. I then contemplated installing it, but decided (after receiving a variety of conflicting and very male advice on facebook) to hire someone to install it. And then forgot about it some more.
On Sunday, after the Valentine's party, the boy and I headed for our weekly joint workout at the GC3. I put my stuff in my locker, locked it. Went back a few minutes later, opened the combo lock and stashed my sweatshirt. Forty-five minutes later, after racing the boy around the indoor track, we went to our respective locker rooms where I was completely, 100 percent, unable to remember the combination for a lock I have used, oh, maybe five times a week for the last two years.
So the workmen came into the locker room and broke the lock with bolt cutters.
The boy was very understanding of this short-circuit in my synapses. As he said, he would never expect to remember a combination lock; that's why he uses one with a key. And when I, a little whiningly, said I didn't want to have to carry a key around while working out, he made me a key holder that slips around my wrist. I mean, if that isn't love, what is, people?
Speaking of love, we had many nice loving photos taken at our pre-Valentine's party last Saturday night, at the Lodge, by photographer Jonathan Tercero, and here's the sneak-peak at the slide show I put together today. It will be up on the Reporter website tomorrow.
I failed, although while hunting for various needed electronica and such in my home office, I found a box with memory for my computer that I apparently bought and never installed. I then contemplated installing it, but decided (after receiving a variety of conflicting and very male advice on facebook) to hire someone to install it. And then forgot about it some more.
On Sunday, after the Valentine's party, the boy and I headed for our weekly joint workout at the GC3. I put my stuff in my locker, locked it. Went back a few minutes later, opened the combo lock and stashed my sweatshirt. Forty-five minutes later, after racing the boy around the indoor track, we went to our respective locker rooms where I was completely, 100 percent, unable to remember the combination for a lock I have used, oh, maybe five times a week for the last two years.
So the workmen came into the locker room and broke the lock with bolt cutters.
The boy was very understanding of this short-circuit in my synapses. As he said, he would never expect to remember a combination lock; that's why he uses one with a key. And when I, a little whiningly, said I didn't want to have to carry a key around while working out, he made me a key holder that slips around my wrist. I mean, if that isn't love, what is, people?
Speaking of love, we had many nice loving photos taken at our pre-Valentine's party last Saturday night, at the Lodge, by photographer Jonathan Tercero, and here's the sneak-peak at the slide show I put together today. It will be up on the Reporter website tomorrow.
posted by Julia at 3:31 PM
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