I can’t decide which hurts more today, my brain or my uterus. I like it when everything breaks simultaneously. No really. It’s my FAVORITE.
Not that my uterus is broken. It’s just leaking. If I wasn’t racking my brain with all this computer/web related stuff, I’d probably be trying to dig that bad boy out with my letter opener. Instead I’m spending most of my time focusing on my new computer.
He’s driving me a little batty. Yes, he’s definitely a male. I still don’t know what to name him. I think we need to spend a little more bonding time together first, but I can tell already he’s a he.
He’s not quite all I dreamed he would be. He’s not as bright as I had hoped, but he’s very eager to please. He’s very artsy of course, but a little lacking in some of the more common sense stuff than I had expected.
Frankly, he’s a little narcissistic and obsessed with his own good looks.
I might be a little obsessed, too. He is incredibly sleek and sexy, very metrosexual. In fact, he might be gay. Rocco assures me he is not (the computer, not Rocco – not that Rocco is gay – oh hell). Rocco hasn’t even met him yet so I have no idea from where he’s getting this insight. I guess he’s just feels that my gay cell phone and gay blender are enough gay appliances for one household. (We’re going to have to work on that a little since I think the clock radio is starting to have inappropriate feelings towards the DVR.)
His cubed little ass (again the computer, not Rocco) saunters right along that line of metrosexual vs homosexual. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spent a few of his formative years over on the Continent, as they say. My gaydar is never as good with Europeans.
Maybe I’ll call him Archibald. I’m not sure that has quite enough of a hipster douche bag feel. Perhaps he’s a Gerald or a Martin or maybe a Stanley. Clearly I should have spent less time worrying about names for ponies/unicorns and focused more on possible Mac names. All suggestions are welcome.
Anyway, as soon as I get He Who Has Not Been Named humming along, I’m going to have to deal with the total and complete breakdown that is happening behind the scenes of BugginWord. As I’ve mentioned before, I judge my entire self worth on my site traffic. For the past week, my stats have me sitting squarely at four visitors a day. FOUR. Did I mention that number includes me and my husband? It’s a good thing you kids are commenting. Otherwise Gwen would be fishing my ass out of the Hudson by my butt bow.
I’m rolling up on my one year blogiversiary (that’s a whole mess o’ rambling, kids). That means my contract with my current host is about to end and I can jump ship. The bad news is I have to find a new host, pack all my belongings, and then move into my new home. You guys might recall how well my last big move went. As my kin say, it weren’t no kinda good.
I know, I know. “Elly, what does this have to do with the price of bread? Is there a point here?” Yes, my muffins. Until I get some of these ducks lined up, I’m not going to post on weekends any more. You’ll only see my smiling, shining vagina face on weekdays.
“Are you breaking up with me?” No muffins, it’s not you. It’s all me – me and my poor time management skills. Well, not so much the poor time management skills but more of the slightly mangled brain trying to navigate a world it knows nothing about while working on an operating system it’s never used. This might take me a minute…
I’ll think of you all weekend – both of you – my dear, dear readers. I’ll see you again on Monday, and I’ll have some exciting news! Now in case you’re worried you won’t get enough inappropriate and disturbing crotch references over the weekend, I suggest you order yourself one of these. Wear it and think of ladybugs…and sundried tomatoes. (Thanks for the link, LiLu!)