I have a wee addiction to ye olde tech. And by wee, I mean giant. And by tech, I mean anything that requires a manual that I could have written but would certainly not be caught dead reading. And off we go. It’s hip to be square. Right? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Published on May 31, 2013 I’m pathetically dependent on my cell phone.  It’s so bad I take it on walks with me. Which is a damn good

The last post with no real purpose served me well because I wanted to get some junk out of my head that was taking up real estate, so I’m doing it again. But this isn’t going to be a habit. I’m reasonably certain. You, however, should be pretty certain I’m lying. Here come the bulleted items, people! Yay. Federer is out of the French. However, Nadal is also out of the French. So, I’m going to call this even because

You know when you have those kinds of days that don’t seem to have a thread of connectivity running through them to ground you? So, you’re kind of like the tasmanian devil dude spinning around everyone, and …. Look, let’s just be honest. I was manic today. And it’s Tuesday. So, according to The Bangles, I can’t even do manic correctly. But anyway. It was a wild kind of day. Rollercoastery. No, spellcheck. Rollercoastery, NOT rollercoasters. I’ll write my own

I don’t understand. More and more I find myself behind people in checkout lines who appear completely baffled when the cashier looks at them after announcing the total. It’s really bizarre. Is there some new type of store popping up across the land where people grab a bunch of items, load them in a cart, have a cashier scan each item, announce the total of the items, and this is the end of the interaction? No money is offered in

Let’s just say that you’re kind of not a winter person. Like so much not a winter person that when it’s winter you go around all grumbly like when the temperature dares to depart the lovely regions of 50 and above and you want to just start beating INanimate objects with a tire iron. I SAID INANIMATE OBJECTS, people. Nobody’s getting beaten with a tire iron around here. There are some objects around the house that are curiously-shaped now, but

I was raised to be polite. And I’m proud to say that I’m still polite. Painfully polite. But the veneer is starting to wear off, I’m afraid. I can tell you who is doing the sanding on my manners, if you’re interested. If you’re not interested, feel free to ….. well, bye. That was fast. As I was saying, I know exactly who has worn down my firmly entrenched southern manners. No, that’s not some kind of statement about northerners.