Just eaten an entire tub of olive dip. All to myself. No help required, thank you very much. It was very nice.
In case you're wondering, I'm totally justified in doing this as in a few minutes, I'm going to be in desperate need of sustenance. I am about to head down to the Apple store for the second time in two days, to try to convince them, for the second time in two days, that there's something wrong with the battery on my laptop. And that, in actual fact, said battery not only misleads us as to how much life it has left in it, said battery is suspiciously shady about how much charge it has left and, more specifically, said battery actually tells outright lies about how long that charge is going to last.
Unfortunately, being a complete non-geek, in fact, I'd go so far as to say that I'm a total airhead when it comes to anything to do with computer innards...
...I have no desire to have an intimate acquaintance with anything so randomly numeric and I have an innate mistrust of something whose manuals contain that many acronyms. I mean, really? FTP? Well, I could come up with a few things for what that acronym could stand for (thanks to my friend, Deborah, for suggesting some of them). API? DNS? ICU? No, wait, that's a medical one, isn't it?
Wish me luck. I'm off to the Apple store. Again. Send out the search parties if you don't hear back from me today...
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Hi! I’m Karen O’Connor, hormonally-challenged, menopausal writer, blogger, self-confessed sarcasm enthusiast, mother of 4, wife of 30 years, destroyer of souls... no, wait, that's just in the mornings...
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