I got my laptop FIXED!!  Booyah!  Well, let me put a qualifier on that.  My AC jack is now fixed.  The laptop itself is still slower than the second coming due to the extraneous crap that is bogging it down  like so much sludge in the bottom of the septic tank that is my processor.  And no, it's not porn.  Just in case you were wondering.  The Dell tech came to my house to fix it, which is always a little strange for me, despite knowing they are bonded.  This doesn't mean they can't snap does it?  Almost made me want to carry my industrial strength pepper spray in my back pocket when he showed up.  He called and asked if it were okay if he were here between 10 and 11 am.  I said it would be, but that I had a dental appointment at noon.  At 11:30 he shows up, because he had been "stuck in traffic."  Yeah, like I've never used that excuse before.  I figured it shouldn't be a problem, because, hey!  How long can it take to replace a motherboard?  Apparently, longer than the 20 minutes he had before I had to leave.  As he sat puttering around with his anti-static bracelet at my kitchen table, I was suffering paroxysms of anxiety to the point I had to run to the bathroom six times due to nervous pee.  At noon (you know, the time I was supposed to be checking in) I checked to see where he was.  As he was putting the keyboard back on, I called the dentist's office and told them I would be 5-10 minutes late.  No prob.  Except, when I hung up, I remembered I lived 10 minutes away.  Crap.  So I said to the Dell man, "I'm actually late for an appointment; would it be okay for me to leave you here and you just leave when you're ready?"  He looked at little taken aback and said, "Well, yes, if you're comfortable with that."  I thought to myself, "the kids are in daycare, the dogs are outside, if you find anything you want to steal, I'm sure my homeowners (and DELL) will be willing to cover it."  So I buzzed my ass right on out of there.  It wasn't until I was breaking the sound barrier on the highway that I realized he could very well be trying on my panties.  Or, barring that since he was a big, fat man, sniffing them.  ACK!  What the hell, I'll just do a shit ton of laundry when I get home.

I have been slightly remiss in my bi-yearly dental appointments.  I was sure it had been at least a year since I had last darkened the door of TM, DDS.  And then, my little white-girl-with-dreadlocks-tooth-fairy-helper informed me that we hadn't done xrays since 2005.  Erm...then when was the last time I was in here?  2006???!!!????  Holy crap!  It's not like my dentist is this guy:


I had to endure much chastising from the Hygienist of Guilt, about how it would probably take more than one appointment to clear the gunk off my teeth, and I shouldn't be surprised if my mouth was completely fucked up, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  Ha!  Little did she know, I am blessed with the ability to bullshit my way through a concept paper 15 minutes before it's due, and the teeth of a goddess; no matter how much I ignore the "floss twice daily" command.  She was praising my dental hygiene so much, I thought there should have been a choir of angels behind her.

I've been on vacation the last week..not that we went anywhere.  Originally, I had taken the time to go to my father's family reunion.  Which they have every FREAKING year.  Really?  A year isn't enough time for me to miss them that much.  And before someone comes down on my ass about being a cold hearted bitch, not that I'm denying it AT ALL, you have to understand my dad's family reunions.  He, his remaining brother, and his sisters (who can't spend  three days together without getting a tad..um..cranky with each other) sit around and tell the same stories.  At one time, like 30 years ago, my cousin and I decided that we should assign each story a number and then they could just call out the assigned number and we could get the reunion over in half the time.  Good, yes?  The last three years the reunion has taken place in a YMCA camp a few hours away from Denver.  The family got a deal if we committed to three years.  Unfortunately, Colorado suffered from an infestation of the Pine Boring Beetle, or some other damn boring insect, that killed all the trees at this camp.  Beautiful vista?  Not so much.  50 acres of kindling, that's what we have here.  Not to mention, we sea level dwellers find it difficult to perfuse anything at that altitude. Lungs, brain tissue, heart, it's all cyanotic.  So I spent my time forcing my offspring to help me get below the first level of grime/detritus in the house.  Yay!  Who needs Disneyland?  We have Baseboardland!  And Swiffer-up-the-animal-hair-ville. Whee!

Today, to celebrate my last day on vacation, I mowed the lawn and then decided to clean my couches.  I have leather couches, just like I have leather interior in the Planet Killer, because I have children and dogs.  And children.  Easy clean up and usually no staining, even when it's black Sharpie marker.  And yes, I know that from experience.  I usually have a pretty practical eye when it comes to furniture and furnishings.  I knew, for example, when I married the hubster one of the first things that had to go was the pedestal kitchen table with the 800 pound glass table top that was secured with 4 little suction cups.  I knew this because I got pregnant about 14 seconds after we got married.  All it would take is the curtain climber crawling up on that thing and presto!  Flounder baby!  Unfortunately, I have periods, as we all know, where I am freaking RETARDED!  What kind of carpet do you want in your new house?  How about oatmeal colored Berber?  Yeah!  That will be great, especially when I add two kids, two dogs, a cat, and everything that comes with them.  Same with the couches.  Did I get brown?  Did I get black?  You know those colors that would hide crayon, Sharpie, DIRT?  No, I got Oyster Shell.  Oyster Shell is a cream color with a hint of a pinkish tinge.  Just the thing for a family.  And it's not like these are couches that are in the rarely used living room that one might sit on twice a year.  No, these are the couches that have been lived on, slept on, eaten on, you name it.  You wouldn't think it would be hard to pick the right kind of couch for the right kind of situation.  You know what I'm saying:  don't buy a microfiber couch if you plan to have sex on it; don't buy an Oyster Shell colored couch if you plan to take it off the showroom floor.  Anyway, I'd been thinking that I should clean these suckers for some time, but I was stopped by, well, sheer laziness, really.  It's a pain in the ass to clean these sonsabitches.  One is 8 feet long with recliners on both ends, the love seat is regular size with recliners as well, and they are kind of poofy with the cushions.  Makes them comfy to sit/sleep on, but, seriously, pain in the ass to clean.  To make this easier, I decide to use the Kirby vacuum.  It is an extravaganza of attachments.  I'm almost sure it could launch the space shuttle if I hooked up the right tube/handle/head. I slathered the couch with leather cleaner, started up the upholstery cleaner head and Great Hera's Ghost!  The filth!  I'm almost inclined to let friends and relatives know they should get swabbed for MRSA!  How the hell did these things get so disgusting.  Apparently, I have macular degeneration. 

Michael-The-Extremely-Gay-Hairdresser decided that he liked the blond highlights in my hair, and so he decided to make me ALL blond.  Wowzers.  I feel downright Barbie-ish.  Good thing I'm so down to earth, otherwise it might go to my head.  I'd buy a condo, a corvette, and start having an unfulfilled relationship with a sexually ambiguous metrosexual.

Michael has quite the menagerie in his backyard.  I noticed a Stellar Jay and the following conversation ensued:
Me:  "That's a huge Jay!"
MTEGH"  "Yeah, I call him BJ.  BJ bobs up and down.  And he comes when I call him.  He can swallow one nut while holding another in his mouth."
Me:  *snicker* *snort* *choke* *snerk*