Well, if by some odd reason, I happen to be that blogger, I'm sitting right here, in a sports bra and shorts because it's so stinkin' hot and humid, and because the nobs at Time Warner have pissed me off to the point of not being able to sleep, and because I've got my panties in a pinch about God, The Universe, and everything else.
The Time Warner situation just made it worse. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that the technical support representative I was dealing with was most probably 22 time zones away, didn't speak much English (it sounded like he was trying to help me from the vast depths of New Delhi, India) and I had a hard time trying to keep from giggling when he introduced himself as Tyler. I guess maybe western names are the "in" thing over there nowadays? How much longer until Mr. and Mrs. Derpshawd name there newest little blossom, "Apple"?
Tyler kept trying to tell me to connect to networks that were not assigned to our thingy...yeah, I am pretty fast and loose with the technical verbiage. The long and short of it is that we can't get our laptop connected to the wireless network using the info Time Warner techs gave us when they were here setting everything up. There were three networks showing up in the network list and he told me to try connecting to ALL of them, even the one called "Nerd Herd" using a generic key he told me to use.
Out of curiosity I asked him if deliberately trying to hack into someone else's SECURE CONNECTION was kosher and he got a bit testy with me. Thankfully the generic key didn't work on "Nerd Herd" or any of the other listed connections. Now we get another live visit, sometime late next week. Maybe I'll dazzle them by answering the door in my aforementioned sports bra and shorts.
What else has my panties in a twist? To a bizarre degree, the Casey Anthony trial verdict. I told Gareth they'd find her not guilty on the 4 major charges and tag her with a guilty verdict on the three lesser charges of lying to the police. Simply put, the state failed (an EPIC fail at that!) to prove it's case. It's got everyone in a righteous uproar, but ya know what? I never wished her the death penalty because she'd end up sitting on death row for years and that would cost all of us tons of money and now she'll likely wish she could encapsulate herself in a reinforced steel bubble, when she does finally get a whiff of fresh air, because I reckon she's got some good ol' country justice comin'! The bigger crime, the death of her daughter notwithstanding, is going to be if she ends up profiting from this whole debacle in any way, shape or form. Whoever writes her a check for her "story" is a criminal themselves!
Then there is my earlier mention of God getting me all in a ruckus again. Actually it's God and one of his beloved bloggers. More on that later. I need to choose my words ( probably my battles too!) wisely. God is pretty much in my perpetual dog-house lately. You know what's ironic though? The fact that I am not sure I believe in him anymore (That sound you just heard? That was the Devil structurally reinforcing the furniture down there for me, in order for it to accommodate my big ass!) yet every night I make sure Gaby prays before bed, and when something unpleasant happens to someone she loves or cares about, the first thing she does is ask if she can pray for them. She asks a lot of questions about God and Jesus and is Joshua hangs out with them in Heaven and will she ever be able to meet her big brother? I always tell her that I'm sure Josh is chillin with Big J, playing Legos and generally bother St. Peter too.
When I pray, I'm not sure it's to God, or if it's just a general thought sent out to the Universe and The Powers That Be. Lately I find myself trying to really focus on the positive and bringing that into fruition more than trying to barter with God. I feel like, ever since Josh died, all I do is barter with God. I know that's not the way He works...but then I look around me and see the pain and suffering and the agony my own confusion about Him causes and I wonder how He can actually be there and let all of this happen? I'm not unique to this. I'm certain there are millions of people out there who question if He truly exists. Yet I'm not at the point where I don't believe in some sort of higher power or maybe multiple powers...or maybe even the soul of the single human being, being the ultimate higher power.
See, when people come over to my blog in defense of their beloved Christian mommy-blogger and try and defend her while telling me I'm going to hell because I had an abortion and that's the same reason God took Joshua from me, well, I get a little bitchy. Now, I could be wrong about this, but right about then, I start to think that Happy Harriet Homemaker (who is a loyal reader of this earlier mentioned Christian mommy-blogger), who professes herself, a daily walk with Christ, hasn't been ordained Judge Eternal and is pretty sinful herself, coming over here and attacking me in what I don't find to be such a God-like manner.
What else is pissing me off? My hair. I got 8 inches cut off a couple of months ago and I think I tried to convince myself I loved it, just like I tried to convince myself, when I dyed it darker, that I liked it. Truth be told, I kinda really detest it. I always end up putting it back in a scrunchy or headband anyhow but when I don't, I have to spend time figuring out how the hell to make it look the most flattering and ya know what? The only thing that's going to make this rebellious, dark, and too short head of hair look flattering is to completely bring back the blonde and grow it out. The soccer-mom look is not a look I should ever go with. And while I'm not certain if the old saying, "Blondes have more fun" is completely accurate or not, I do know that being blonde doesn't make me look like a 42 year old vampire who hasn't fed sufficiently in about a month.
My hands. While they have almost completely healed I have become a complete nightmare to live with thanks to the Prednisone. I've also gained 2lbs. Oh sure, it could have a little to do with my constant craving for Oscar Meyer cheese dogs (until a couple of weeks ago, I disliked them so seriously that I'd gag at the mere thought of them!) and steak. I'm not going to hide that, but I am swollen, constantly hyper, a nervous wreck...no wait, I'm a mean nervous wreck and generally a pain in the ass. But hey, on the bright side, my hands don't look like they are rotting off of my body any more.
I suppose I should put this wayward rambling rant to bed for now, along with myself.