I've heard about this Mercury retrograde crap, and it's probably a lot of hooey, but I'm still going to use it as an excuse for why I haven't yet attempted to replace my hard drive. Yeah, it's because Mercury is retrograde. Yeah, right. It's because I'm chicken, really, but y'all can keep a secret, can't you?
The Celtics are finally not sucking too much. This comes as a relief. I'm sad about Dennis Johnson's death last week, and a little frustrated that I can't reminisce about that glorious starting five with anybody (DJ, McHale, Parrish, Larry, and Danny...ah, those were the days...) that I'm likely to run into today. Um...the C's beat the Knicks last night. The Knicks are sucking almost as much as the Celtics this year. Still, a win is a win. I'm trying to decide if I want to try and get a small gang of women together for the Rockets game next week - the beloved Green sucks so much this year that they're running promotions to try and get people to show up for the games, and one of them is a Girls Night Out thing. We'd get hot dogs, basically. Anyone?
I still haven't sat down to figure out precisely where Charlotte's Web went wrong - it's one stitch, it should be easy to find, but I haven't been able to concentrate for a few days. Soon, I hope. Socks are progressing. We had a fine ol' time at Javaroom last night, helped along by the new wine bar, I suspect.
I'm going to bitch about the new Blogger now for a sec: I used to get comments to the blog forwarded to my email, and then I could reply to you guys. Now I just get the comments with no email info for you, and it's a pain in the ass. So I'm sorry that I haven't been responding, Carole and Lucia and Lynne and Carla and I think Suzanne and everybody - it's frustrating and I'm clearly going to have to do my least favorite thing: RTFM*. Sigh. Sorry. Please bear with me.
*"RTFM" = Read The F*cking Manual; standard help desk advice.