A short one from me-more on my weekend tomorrow.

I've spent all day trying to get the internet to work.

I spent over an hour and a half on the phone to various absolutely clueless technicians, battling through screen after screen of settings, making me want to tear my hair out . I was on hold for a total over 45 minutes throughout the process, when in the end, I was finally being assisted by 4 product specialists and one telecom engineer. In return, I painted my toenails, read a whole magazine, and managed to pee undetected while allegedly going through settings on my pc (it helps that the bathroom is next to the study). The diagnosis, in the end, was thus-our broadband router has bit the dust. One would be ordered and made available within two working days.

With a sigh, I closed the pc. Unable to check work mails, unable to blog, unable to even look up a phone number for the Alfa dealer that was providing a 12,000 mile service to our car, I had to resort to-sob-the actual yellow pages. The paper ones.

So Karl and I went to the movies. We saw Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, which I advise you to see only if people are holding guns on you and every person you know. And even then, you need to decide how altruistic you are prepared to be. I mean-are you willing to lose your Aunt Edna if you don't have to sit through one of the worst cinematic pieces in history?

I'll let you decide.

Karl and I go to pick up the Alfa. The men there take Karl outside to show him the car and discuss the issues, while I pay the bill. It amuses me-not only is Karl not remotely inerested in cars, it's not even his car. They just assume that he must be my partner and he must be the "car person". In the end he smiled a lot, nodded, looked grim, and thanked them for their help. I paid the bill and got a nice mechanic to cut us a deal on a car part. Sometimes it helps to flash a big smile (as is expected of the chick, I guess).

The Alfa's paint isn't doing well-it has some blisters and flaking paint from where bird poo landed on it. Apparently, birds in England are different from birds in America, as they have Super Acid Screaming Shit, which eats through paint in a matter of days if you don't remove it (which we now do, having learnt our lesson). They say it isn't under warranty. I ask how much a new paint job might cost.

He scratches his head. "I don't know, luv. I reckon it'd cost about £4000.00"
"Bloody hell!" I exclaim. "I could get new breasts for that price!"

There is a moment of silence as I realize that my internal dialogue mechanisms have failed and I have actually said that out loud. Karl doubles over in laughter as I weakly smile and apologize. The men smile shakily. Karl and I bid a hasty retreat.

I get home and see Mr. Y at the computer...with the internet working. All he did was open it, move one cable, and voila. Houston, we are go for liftoff.

Figures.

So I am off in a second to catch up on work. Just one more thing. Do you want to cure cancer? Yes. Of course you do. Do you have $50? Do you want to donate it, perhaps?

Because Mr. Y and I are having a photo session tonight, all in the name of a good cause. We will be taking photos-one clothed, one unclothed (and I'm hoping it winds up being a romp session, cause I could really use a round of how's-your-father). It's the unclothed ones that cost you but it's for a wonderul and fantastic cause-we will be donating the pics to the Blogging for Breast Cancer Boobiethon.

What the hell. I've shown them for plastic Mardi Gras beads, this is the least I can do.

So open your wallets, your hearts, and your eyes.

Umm...interested?

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 06:18 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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