November 15, 2011

Life, Soap Opera Style

Apparently, the oh-so-ironic Decider of Fate thought that my life was going a little too smoothly. What with my husband being deployed and my dad's battle with the big ugly C word, you know. Somehow that didn't seem enough. Ladies and gentlemen, you just can't make this shit up:
 -- Yesterday, the furball had to go in for his yearly check-up. The earliest appointment I could get was 9:30, so I stuffed four flailing legs and a wayward tail into his cat carrier and set off for Take Your Feline To Work Day. I was a proud mama through his visit to the office and his appointment: he was quiet, laid back, and even let the vet clip his talons nails. Yup, everything went great until we were about 3 minutes from home, at which point little Toby just couldn't hold it anymore. Within seconds, there was cat pee everywhere: the carrier, the floor, the car seat, and my purse. And of course the cat himself. Who proceeded to flick his little paws and fling it anywhere that it wasn't already. Sorry, is that too much? Just be thankful you weren't there to smell it.
 -- Last night, my trusty little android phone alerted me that there was an available system update. I was a little nervous but decided to go ahead and get it over with. After the installation finished, it took three tries to turn the darn thing on again (sign number one of the problems ahead). Once I finally got it started, several of my beloved apps had disappeared from their respective home screens. I redownloaded a few, but proved too sleepy to bother with anything else. This morning, though, I discovered that several more apps were not working, my email was not syncing, and there was a rather persistent new "low on space" notification. I deleted a few old apps and, thankfully, the message went away and my apps worked again.... for about two hours. When the "low on space" reappeared, I checked just how low I actually was: 40%. Meaning 60% of my memory was free and clear. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't call that low. So I marched on into the V*rizon store across the street and spoke to several employees who had no idea what was causing my problems nor how to fix them (including one who remarked quite articulately "Welp, it's probably broken." Gee thanks, Sherlock.) After poking around the internet, it appears that mine is a common problem... and one for which no one has yet found a solution. At this rate, I'll have deleted all my apps by Thursday in an attempt to keep that nasty little notification at bay. There's a certain support line that will be receiving a very polite but peeved phone call tomorrow morning.
 -- This morning I pulled the overflowing trash bag out of the can as I made my lunch and walked it to the front door. I headed back to the kitchen to grab a few things when I heard a noise and froze. I could make out a low hissing noise -- faint but enough to make even the cat pause and look around. My heart started to pound and I was sure that I was about to come face to face with either a snake or an intruder... and I wasn't sure which was more terrifying. It took a few minutes of creeping around and peeking around corners before I realized that the sound was coming from the trash bag, and it hit me exactly what it sounded like: a can of whipped cream. A can of whipped cream that had not only scared the daylights out of me, but ejected its remaining contents all over my wall. Lovely.
So there you have it... the story of my week. What's that? Only Tuesday night? Oh good, so there's time for this tickle in my throat to turn into a full-blown cold and provide a little cherry for the top of my sundae. No no, I wouldn't want to call it a week just yet.



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