I’d Like to Buy a Q, Vanna. In Fact, Sell Me TWO of Them!

Today at work I cursed my computer sideways into the landfill because it plum quit working.  I could use my mouse to move that cursor-thingy all over the place, and yet I couldn’t accomplish anything by actually clicking the mouse.  Because I live with an IT guy, and because his favorite phrase in the entire world (Nay!  The entire universe!) is, “Did you try rebooting?”, I did just that.

(And also, where does the comma go up there in that last sentence?  Because clearly I need the question mark, because of HELLO!  QUESTION!  But then I need the comma, because otherwise the sentence is a complete run-on of WHERE IS SHE GOING WITH THIS THOUGHT, BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T HAVE A COMMA THAT MADE ME PAUSE FOR A SECOND AND REALIZE THAT WE WERE DETOURING A BIT?  I hate to admit it, but I think I just came to a punctuation issue that I have no answer for, and punctuation is my spiritual gift.)

(My spiritual gift used to be typing, but then my friend, Susan, blew me out of the water with the Typing Maniac game on Facebook, and then my friend, Arian, blew EVEN SUSAN out of the water, which means that I am in a very distant third place, and third place is really more commonly known as THE SECOND LOSER, and so my thoughts on Typing Maniac now are just WHY BOTHER?  I mean, really.  If third place is as good as you can achieve, then just quietly bow out and let everyone know that you’ve never even really LIKED typing in the first place!)

(Hence, I gave up listing typing as my leading spiritual gift on important documents like job resumes.)

(And I jest there, because what I really DON’T NEED in this world is another job, because Hubs already makes me work two of them.  Oh, he’ll sugarcoat the issue and claim that I ENJOY my two jobs of being a PE teacher AND a church secretary, and even that the hours of both of my jobs COMBINED still only total twenty per week, and that leaves me with twenty FREE HOURS during the work week to get manicures and lounge at Starbucks, but really?  I have to do the laundry, and that is a MAJOR TIME COMMITMENT, and the floors aren’t going to vacuum and mop themselves, and I have to have time on Tuesdays to sit down with Beth Moore on the big screen, and I do need a couple of hours each week to beat my own head against the wall because of some atrocious crime that either Cat 1 or Cat 2 has committed.)

(Hence, I am not putting any job resumes into circulation right now.)

(And also?  Oh, sweet mercy, but I played [PLAYED, PEOPLE!] dodgeball with my 4th grade PE class yesterday, and when I woke up this morning, my right arm was achy, and my hypochondriac self had half-decided that it was probably another blood clot clogging up a vein in my bicep.  And then I remembered:  DODGEBALL.  And I remembered, with a big smile, all of my efforts to get 4th grade JP out, because 4th grade JP is a Dodgeball Force to be reckoned with.  JP is one of the boy’s buddies, although they are not even at the same school.  JP, who is a month older than our boy, outweighs the boy by a good  forty pounds and is also a good eight inches taller than the boy is, because JP is built like Superman-and-The-Incredible-Hulk all rolled into one, while our boy was not blessed with any Tall Genes at all.  Hubs and I always tell the boy, “Stand behind JP if you ever mouth off to anyone in high school.  No one will be able to knock HIM down.  Use him as your force field.”  JP is tough, but he also has one of the sweetest hearts of all time, and I adore him!  Absolutely, 100% adore him, and I would love it if his parents would let me adopt him! Unfortunately, they seem to adore him, too, and they seem rather intent on keeping JP at THEIR house.  JP is also the last one to go down in a dodgeball game, and he can throw a rubber playground ball as hard as Ben Stiller can.  So, I decided to play on the team who was across the center line from JP, and I focused my entire attention on getting that kid out.  I threw balls at him like he was under siege fire.  The 4th graders on my team, who can’t get JP out to save their lives, fed me balls, and I chucked them…bang!  Bang!  Bang!  Bang!)

(And THAT is probably why my arm ached this morning.)

(And also?  JP managed to dodge everything I threw at him, and then!  THEN!!  The dang kid TOTALLY CAUGHT A BALL THAT I’D BLASTED HIS WAY, which made ME out!)

(And yes.  I thought about cheating and trying to pretend that it hadn’t been ME who’d thrown that one, only I’ve been working with my 4th grade class ALL STINKING YEAR on the concept of NOT cheating at games, because OH MY!  That is a class full of Dodgeball Cheaters.  So I took the OUT graciously, and I sat down on the side of the gym, where I proceeded to scream with the other kids sitting with me, “FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD!  SOMEONE, PLEASE CATCH A BALL!  WE WANT TO COME BACK INTO THE GAME!!”)

Where was I?  You know…before all the parentheses?

I was telling you about my mouse at work.  And how I could move the cursor-thingy, but how I couldn’t accomplish any real work (or even access iTunes or Pandora), because I couldn’t successfully click on anything.  I was convinced that I had a virus.  I announced to the pastors and to Susan that my computer was PLUM FROZEN!  And PLUM INFECTED WITH A VIRUS!  And how I should just go home for the day, because it was clear that I wouldn’t be getting much done.

So I called my IT guy.

His name is Hubs.

And Hubs, in the middle of his OH-SO-VERY-BUSY day, came out to investigate the virus on my computer at work, and the very first question that he asked me was, “Did you have Facebook pulled up when this happened?”

Hubs, you see, HATES, LOATHES AND DESPISES Facebook, and he is convinced that every computer virus known to man originates on the Greatest Social Network of All Time.  I told Hubs, “No!  No, I did NOT have Facebook running,” because HELLO!  I was at work, and what kind of a slacker checks Facebook on the job?

Hubs gave me a raised eyebrow.

Yes.  I received the raised eyebrow, even though my statement was TOTALLY TRUE.  I had NOT logged into Facebook at all this morning, because, in all honesty, I wasn’t even thinking about it, because I was focusing all of my early morning brain activity on Words With Friends, which I’ve downloaded onto my cell phone.

(Words With Friends is SCRABBLE, people!  Scrabble for your phone.  And you can play it with real-live people, and I am in the middle of Game Number Two with Missi, and Missi plum beat me the first game, even though it took her sixteen days to do it, and I vowed that I would be victorious this time around, and then I tried to rationalize things by claiming, “Hey!  Game Number One with Missi was my VERY FIRST WORDS WITH FRIENDS GAME EV-AH, and hello!  It was a PRACTICE RUN!  And really?  Nothing counts until GAME NUMBER TWO!”  Only in Game Number Two, I have two capital Q’s in my bank of letter tiles, and let’s face it.  Having two capital Q’s spells out DEATH to any Scrabble player.  Plus, I might have mentioned to Missi that I have, in my possession, two Q’s, and Missi is now refusing to play any more words with big U’s in them, because she understands strategy, and she totally gets the concept of A GOOD DEFENSE, and I do NOT get the concept of A GOOD POKER FACE.  Kenny Rogers would tell me, “You’ve got to know when to hold ’em, and know when to fold ’em, and know when to just keep your mouth shut about what letters you have!” Actually, I know the Q’s are from God, because I very vocally bragged about how I was going to beat Missi in Game Two, and God doesn’t like a bragger, so he gave me a run of letter tiles that is completely unmatched in utter ugliness.)

(And another thing?  I totally, 100% KNOW that you don’t use an apostrophe to pluralize something, because an apostrophe SHOWS POSSESSION.  So putting an apostrophe after a capital Q to show that it’s MORE THAN ONE is completely wrong.  But…Qs and Us looks weird; hence, I decided to go with the more aesthetically pleasing Q’s and U’s, regardless of the fact that it is a complete misuse of the apostrophe.)

So yes.

My computer was broken at work, and Hubs came out to fix it, and I assured him that my brain energies were completely devoted to my cell phone and how to magically play two Q’s for an ENORMOUS LOAD OF POINTS, and that I had NOT opened Facebook at all.  I convinced Hubs that my computer was infected with a virus.  I assured him that my computer was in dire and desperate need of an exorcism, and that maybe he should summon a priest.  I told him that it’s never really worked quite right, and that’s because it’s a dinosaur, in the world of computers.

Hubs prepared himself for the worst.

And then the guy looked at me with a blank stare that is usually reserved for GREAT BIG STUPID ACTS CARRIED OUT BY OTHERWISE INTELLIGENT PEOPLE, and he said, “The button on your mouse is broken, and THAT is probably why you can’t get yourself into Pandora.”

Well, then.

I’ve never claimed to be technologically gifted.

And then, because Susan has been having massive problems with HER computer at work, in the form of being COMPLETELY UNABLE TO PRINT ANYTHING, Hubs took a look at her Dell.  He asked me if she’d had Facebook open, because apparently Facebook can generate some virus-type germs which disable printers and stop the earth from rotating.  Naturally, I threw Susan under the bus and said, “Yes.  She was on Facebook.”

And I sort of WHISPERED THAT, like I was saying, “Yes.  Susan stole the Hope Diamond.”

Hubs sat down at Susan’s computer and clicked the PRINT icon.

And her computer printed.

It did, in fact, print BEAUTIFULLY.

Hubs looked at me and said, “So what, exactly, is the problem on THIS machine?”

I said, “Well, it doesn’t print.”

Hubs opened another document on Susan’s Dell, and he hit the PRINT icon, and it printed.  And Hubs said, “I can see that it doesn’t print.”

That was sarcasm, people.

And then Hubs stood up and said, “I charge $85 an hour, with an hour-minimum.”

And I said, “I’m making tacos for dinner tonight.”

And, as it turns out, tacos for dinner is exactly equal to $85 an hour.

And then tonight, while we were eating tacos, the boy asked Hubs, “So, Dad.  How was work today?”

And Hubs said, “Well, I had a bossy little woman call me because she couldn’t tell that the button on her computer’s mouse was broken.”

And THAT made the boy howl with laughter as he said, “Was that woman stupid, Dad?”

Clearly, the answer is a firm YES.

However, that bossy little woman is not too stupid to find a way to throw down two Q’s on a digitally-enhanced Scrabble board.  If it’s the last thing she does, she’ll find a way to use them, regardless of how badly her right arm aches today.

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