Dear Friends:
Three weeks might be a little early to be declaring victory over the hormone monster, but I’m feeling celebratory, so humor me. I think the fact that not a single freshly-dug grave has appeared in the backyard recently is an excellent sign that I’m back to normal. Which doesn’t mean I’m not still crabby as hell, I’m just far less likely to have violent outbursts. They’re really not my style1. Since I finally have health insurance again, I was able to get back on the pill. The patch turned out to be less birth control, more sinister jekyll/hyde device. And speaking of health insurance, HealthPartners surprised us all and did something good for once: they now offer a program through the YMCA, in which they refund $20 of your membership fee every month you work out at least 8 times. Since I go 7 times a week, I think this won’t be a problem for me. Rock on. I was so so so happy to go back to the Y yesterday, that I think I was maybe a little too enthusiastic. I got there at exactly the wrong time of day, so had 40 minutes to kill. I did two sets on the weight machines, and lifted 14,000 pounds (2 VW Beetles, or possibly one VW Mini-Bus, minus hippies). Then I got on the cross-trainer, and after 15 minutes or so, looked down and saw a heart rate I had never seen before, about 20 points higher than it should have been2. I think there’s something really beautiful about the idea of killing myself with good health. So, I was going to go on and tell you about the magic that is my cellphone, which is, at this very second, sitting here next to me, having a ‘Close Encounters’ moment. I think it might be contacting aliens without my knowledge. I hope they like High Life, because that’s all we’ve got in the fridge. But I’ll wait on that, and tell you this instead: ‘The Butterfly Effect’ is so bad, it’s awesome. We were laughing so hard on the way home, Stephanie almost plowed our silly asses into some parked cars and killed us. And the best part is that people paid to make this movie, and other people paid to see it. Like Stephanie. I paid for dinner, and Luce is worth every cent. Gnight.Jenni
1 Add this to my extensive list of tshirts I need: will threaten violence if provoked.
2 Noting that, I composed a list in my head of whose heart rate it could have been: Heather’s, going over the Sunshine Skyway Bridge and almost puking in our supersexy rental car. No, my heart rate when I discovered that our web host had erased all traces of plinko.net, including our email yesterday3. No! That thirteen-year-old kid who just discovered the barely-scrambled porn channel on cable. Yeah, that’s about right.
I also noted that the too-high heart rate was probably directly related to the sharp pain creeping from my left shoulder up the side of my neck. Hello, heart attack.
3 I cried about it. Yes, I did, after hanging up on the asshole customer service guy, which happened after I begged him to be an actual feeling human being and do me the favor, just this once, of reinstating DNS service for one week, a mere 7 days, so that I can transfer hosting smoothly and not, say, threaten my entire livelihood. Since this is my work and all.
I’m not just bitter, I’m fucking pissed.
So in the next couple weeks, we’ll be transferring four domains and several associated websites to a new host. My future nightmares will involve databases, xml parsers, dsn-less connections, email scripts, custom errors, reindexing, and such. Nice.