Bad Computer! Bad Bad!

I want a new computer for Christmas!  Ok, maybe not.  The fact is:  I am Hell on computers.  Two years with me and they collapse, stuck in a neverending cycle of Lock & Load.  My sister says I don't protect my computers from dust & other malevolent particles, so a month ago, I started covering my current machine with a pretty ruffled pillow case. Alas, my computer continues to cough & sputter, and after taking over 6 hours to shut down, I finally had to call an AT&T technician to check its kidneys.  He will come on December 24, Christmas Eve, between 8 and 9AM, and I will have to pay him the princely sum of $179, whether he can fix it or not.  The $179 charge will automatically be added to our monthly AT&T bill, so no filthy lucre changes hands, but now, I'm wondering how much I should tip the technician. Any suggestions?

Meanwhile ... HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE! 

                                    

Mammograms: When the World Is Flat!

Have you ever had a mammogram when your mammos stopped growing at age 9?  Yes, girls, not only do I wear an alluring A Cup, but I do believe I am an A- !  I've seen cheese wontons that put my chest to shame.  So you can imagine my embarrassment & frank dismay when I go to KAISER for my annual mammogram.

This year, they had a new machine.  No, it didn't have a microscope (that would have been more practical with my nut-like specimens) but it had A TRAY!  A TRAY!  A tray upon which to pour one's *lush womanly curves* so that it may be examined for unnatural growths (like, an additional fat cell maybe) by the charming nursie/technician.  Fortunately, Startled Nursie saw my dilemma, discreetly removed the tray and replaced it with the customary glass plates on which to photograph my near invisible thingamabobs.  Poor Nursie!  For 15 minutes, she squeezed, pummeled, kneaded, twisted, moved my arms this way & that, and exclaimed, "Oh dear, did that hurt?" and that was just the first breast.  By the end of the mammogram, I was in tears, convinced that if I didn't have cancer before, I certainly had it now, since the pain was near unbearable.  Did I have any breast left?  Surely she had squashed my meagre endowments to the size of a sausage patty.

At last, Exhausted Nursie left the room with the 4 precious plates of my mammogram. Five minutes later, she returned and said, smiling, that I would get a letter in 2 weeks.  It sounds like good news, but we'll see when I get that notice in the mail.  At this point, I'm just hoping my breasts will grow back in time for the next mammogram.

 

When Waterboarding might be preferable ...