In other news, my boobs hurt. This might just mean that I should not have done braless arobics the other day. Or it might mean that I’m going to have wicked-bad-awful PMS soon.

Or it could mean I’m pregnant again, in which case I will kill myself.

I had the very last of my many horrible miscarriages last December, thank you very much, and I do not want to have another. Not to mention that I don’t much fancy the idea of another month – or three – of moody, weepy hormonal insanity followed by three solid hours of hemorrhaging.

Last night at the picnic table I told Mr. Brett that my boobs hurt, and that if I’m pregnant I’ll be killing myself so he’ll have to find a new wife.

Naturally, he asked immediately if we could go upstairs and have sex.

I rolled my eyes at him and said, “No, we can’t have sex, you dumb whore! I just told you I’m freaked out!”

He giggled.

I said, “It’s not funny! Miscarriages suck!”

He said, “Oh, I know it’s not funny. It’s not funny at all, babe, and I’m not laughing about that.” He sobered. “But you’re funny, Mushlette.” And then he patted me on the head.

I guess he thought the part where I said I’d be killing myself was a joke, then? Or maybe the finding a new wife part? God knows he can’t talk to women to save his life. I’ll have to mail-order him one before I go, I guess, because I doubt he could get through that much paperwork by himself. Snort!

I love this picture so much.

Makes me want to run right out and buy an Airstream. Or a convertable.

I can’t help it, this love I have for all things Google. I have no idea why Google has suddenly become a software house, but I love all their little doodads, including Google Desktop.

You know what’s cool?

The Internet. The Internet’s cool.

I used my blog yesterday to bitch and moan and blow off domestic steam, and in response my worthless self got several comments that made me laugh out loud and an Amazon.com gift certificate from Shegeki!

CAN YOU STAND IT?!?! Of course you can’t. It’s too wonderful.

(I now have two books and two CDs on their way to live with me in Iowa. So fantastic! Yes, inanimate objects can make one happy!)
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And this little ivy-growing-on-a-telephone-pole guy already knows it:

Not that I needed yet another IM application, but I downloaded Google Talk today anyway.

It’s adorable. If you have a gmail account, you can use it too. (It’s still in beta.) My gmail addy is mushmook@gmail.

If you need a gmail account, let me know, I’ve still got invites.

The only thing I’ve ever wanted my TiVo to record was the final episode of Six Feet Under.

It failed to record it.

It recorded every other episode this season with no problem, it just forgot the final freaking episode of the whole show.

Dumb thing.

Luckily, Shigeki put the episode up on his site and let me eat up his server space and bandwidth downloading all 716MB of it. Thank you so much, Shegeki!

Okay, it’s official. Google has a crush on me.

I added a gallery to my site last week (old pics of our 2004 trip to the Telluride Blues ‘n’ Brews fest). THREE DAYS LATER, I was third for the search string “Telluride Blues 2004.” Third!

That’s just crazy! Do you know how they do these search ranking algorhythms? Successful click-throughs! Links! Relevance! None of which my gallery has! Do you know what people pay for that kind of rankage?!?

Google is clearly in love with me. Which is fine, because I’m soooo in love with Google.

A guy in Support transferred a call to me, saying, “Angela was on hold for you regarding a personal matter?”

“Uh, okay,” I said. He clicked off and I said, “Thank you for holding, this is Michelle. May I help you?”

“Is this Michelle?”

“Yes.”

“Michelle Mook?”

Ah. I know that style. This is a collections call. “Yes. Now who are you, and what do you want?”

It was a woman from Capital One’s pre-legal department, calling to collect a debt. Continue reading I just hung up on someone →

God, I miss coffee.

I love coffee. I used to drink a cup every morning. I love the smell of coffee, the ritual of making coffee, and the nice buzz I used to get from drinking it.

I don’t drink it any more, of course, because I now function in a state of constant ampedness due to having developed this stupid panic syndrome, but I still love coffee.

Walking into a coffee shop makes me faint with desire. Getting up on misty, cool mornings makes me long for a hot cup of something bitter and rich, with cream and sugar. Seeing a bottle of Bailey’s makes me wish I could still toss a shot of it into a hot cuppa joe.

Oh coffee, coffee, I still love you so! Don’t forget me!