Monday Dare: This probably means I’m a genius

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Project started, and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: Learn to use the computer. 

I feel like I should share something with you today. Something life-threatening. Wait, I mean life-changing.  I thought about it all weekend while I was in Vegas. Then, I remembered something I learned just recently.

Here it is: HTML is not an abbreviation for Hotmail. Tah-fucking-dah.

So maybe that wasn’t life-changing, but I hope it gave you the Well, I’ll be damned moment it gave me when I first found out a few months ago. Unless, of course, you already knew this piece of information, and then I just have to ask you- Why didn’t you tell me? Are we not at that point in our friendship?

I’m more of a pencil-and-paper person. At least that’s what I told myself until I got my first computer in high school. Then, I was all Oh, I should totally be a computer geek. I already have thick glasses. I have trouble even opening a can of tuna by myself, but this computer thing didn’t seem like a big deal. After all, I owned a typewriter. An electric typewriter. How much harder could it be?

After a few days of fiddling around with the volume button, I got the computer to turn on. It probably helped that I finally pushed the on/off button. This computer geek thing was not working out, so I called my friend, Dave, to walk me through a few basic functions. Nothing complicated. Maybe just a tutorial on the word processor as a start.

It was simple. All I had to do was click on the program icon with my mouse. I clicked it over and over again. Nothing. I’m not a crier, mostly just a huffer-and-puffer. Pimps don’t cry. But, I felt a little something in the corner of my eye. I still maintain to this day that it was dust. Dust makes people do the ugly cry. Since Dave only lived five minutes away, he offered to come over.

We fixed the problem in less than five minutes. The problem? Well, it’s something else I wanted to share with you today: The mouse stays on the table. No need to hold it up to the monitor to click on an icon. You’re welcome. 

Your own computer or technology goofs?
Recommendations for computer programs that made an impactful difference or you love just because?

UPDATE: Cal offered to be my computer instructor this week. She started by asking if I have ever gotten Mac’s Spinning Wheel of Death. Guys, this could be interesting.
image via pimpprint shop @ etsy.com

Someone’s going to get hurt. Probably me.

Harv gets a twitch in his eye when I start a conversation with “I swear it wasn’t me, but….,” or “Seriously, I think this could have happened to anyone,” or “I’m going to Vegas.” I think it’s fear. Actually, maybe it’s not fear and there’s something wrong with him. I think that’s it. Something’s wrong with Harv.

I’m going to Vegas today. I plan to come home with both shoes this time. Okay, “plan” is a strong word. I will try my damn best.

If you don’t hear from me by Monday, maybe call the LVPD. Or start a bail fund.
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I’m thrilled that pimptastic Roo of Nice Girl Notes gave me the opportunity to guest post for her this week. Sometimes, I like to pretend that we’re in a gang, and I’m her west coast affiliate. I’m just bummed that both of us are getting on planes this week, but we’re landing in different spots.

Support a fellow homette…go on over. I talk about the time I dressed up as Mulan for a six-year-old’s birthday party. I sucked. Hard.

Click here to read Don’t Hire Me.

p.s. I’m closing comments on this post. But, I’ll be responding to comments as usual on my guest post over at Nice Girl Notes.

p.p.s. Just so we’re clear, I wasn’t kidding about calling LVPD. Or the bail money.
image via blueq.com

Monday Dare: Practicing the five-letter word

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help, and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Projectstarted, and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: My Name is Earl Elizabeth (a.k.a. fixin’ the wrong I done to people).

I was going to start this off with an introduction about four-letter words. Words like “damn” and “shit” and “sorry.” Then I realized that “sorry” is actually a five-letter word. I hate it when words trick me.

Do you remember the TV show, “My Name is Earl”? The one where the main character, Earl, believes a series of unfortunate events happens to him because he’s piled up a lot of bad karma by not making amends for all the wrong he’s done in his life? Each episode, he tracks down a person he’s wronged and offers to make it up any way the victim sees fit.

Since my only two talents are swearing and making mistakes, if I fully commit to the “My Name is Earl Elizabeth” challenge, it could take years. So, I’m making a short list. #1: My mom.

My parents didn’t have a matching set of bedroom furniture until I was in my teens. The nightstand came from this person, and the headboard came from that person, and the ugly-as-sin dresser came from another person. My mom finally took the plunge and bought a five-piece bedroom set from our local Levitz. The mahogany-like veneer promised “the look of elegance without the expensive price tag.” It was pretty pimpin’.

Shortly after the furniture was delivered, I laid out all the essentials for a home spa manicure on my mom’s new dresser. Before I even started, my elbow knocked over the uncapped bottle of nail polish remover and spilled its contents everywhere. When I tried to wipe it off, the acetone spread and removed even more varnish from the dresser.

I did what I thought was best. I ran.

When my mom questioned me about the damage, I played dumb. She never asked me again or accused me. My mom kept that dresser for ten years. Maybe she figured I would confess when I was ready. I’m just sorry that she gave me so much credit. My name is Earl Elizabeth, and I’m calling my mom today. Even if it doesn’t make a difference, I feel like I should own my mistake…finally.
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Would you apologize for something you’ve done in your past, even years later? Anything in particular?
Or, has anyone ever tracked you down to say “I’m sorry”? Did it make a difference?

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image via knockknock.biz