Dec 5, 2007
Life was starting to go smoothly, for me, again. Other than being high as a Geogia pine on my new meds, I was feeling good about things. Then Butt girl and the Demon child came for a visit. Which was fine. I had started calling Butt girl J, even when she wasn't around. The demon child and I had reached an impasse. As long as he didn't pass my house I was OK. But, then I did the one thing a true Internet junky never every does.
I let them use my computer.
I cannot say that the events I am about to unfold lie solely at their feet. But it does make one think.
The Demon child wanted to play some weird game online. Fine. Keep him out of my hair, and the cats could put down their guard somewhat. (They, of course, have discovered the box full of bones kept somewhere close to said Demon child.) And, of course, they run from kids as a general rule. As do I.
While he punched away on my keyboard, his mother, the infamous know-it-all, (I've been a truck-driver, waitress, nurse, psychologist, president) decided to come and help him. I joined the rest of the 'crew' in the living room, having just suffered a small stroke somewhere in the thinking part of the brain.
No drama, no problems, nice evening, and when everyone went home, I got on my computer and decided to browse....actually I launched my yahoo messenger, looking for love in all the wrong places. My first inkling of disaster came when I tried to type. I typed "Hey, handsome....." and it looked like this--h48/ey han943?!!!so8m8...." OK, my fingers could have been in the wrong position. I tried again, and still kept getting h68me6y instead of hey....I then proceeded to do everything known to man to resolve this slight hitch. I figured the driver was messed up, rolled that sucker back, and nada...tried to look for software updates for my keyboard...what a disaster! You have to type to do that.
We are talking about my beloved Natural Keyboard. I hate the little skinny things that come with your computer. For me, the more ostentatious it looks and sounds, the better. Big Dolly Parton fan here.
I decided to do a system restore, which did nothing but made me download software I had already downloaded. If I could have had a computer whiz from India for a few hours or days, hint, hint, I would have been OK. But, alas, the only thing I have around here is Roger who claims to be a quarter Cherokee. We all claim to be a quarter Cherokee!!!
Rummaging through an old box, looking for a ball-peen hammer, I discovered this old keyboard. And voila`, it worked. Now, if I scrunch my fingers up real tight, I can type, and make a hundred mistakes. You must remember, that being a hillbilly, this whole process took a few days. Looking for that hammer took up most of it.
Do I know for certain that Butt girl and Demon Child had anything to do with my mishap? No, darn it. It was probably just me.
A few nights ago, said Butt girl called me at 3 am, complaining of chest pains. Yes, I run an ER out of my kitchen. I rushed down there, cigarettes in hand, just in case she was out, and ended up calling the ambulance (pronounced ammbyoooolance) and sat with Demon child till it was time to get on the bus. No easy feat, being alone in the house with mini-Dexter. But I survived, and found my original diagnosis was correct when I picked her up at the ER the next day. Gas. Lots and lots of gas. Glad she went, now.
So, I'm feeling kinda good about my acts of kindness. A friend in need is a friend indeed, and all that bullshit. Then, I checked my voice mail. A message from Butt girl. "I just woke up and I can't find my cigarettes, you don't know anything about that do you??
I can fling a mean phone.