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IT'S ALIVE!
2005-01-24, 8:15 p.m.

SHE LIVES! SHE LIVES! She�s still buried in boxes and suffering from computer withdrawal, but there�s a palpable pulse. Administer more coffee and a dose of D�land and a full recovery should be in order.

We are almost out of the old house completely. Almost. There is the last pile of goods in one room that must be sorted and hauled over, but it�s this last mile that�s the hardest in the moving marathon. We have only �til Monday to have everything cleaned and repaired and painted and outta there, which from my vantage point looks like an insurmountable task. I want it to be ooooooover. Puhleeeeeeeeeeeeze.

The Cirque Du Cable is in full swing, with a technician coming out tomorrow morning for Attempt No. 4 to connect us properly. Attempt the First: Technician checks signal from box on the street, gets nothing, puts in order to have a new line buried. This would involve rooting under both ours and the neighbor�s driveways, the neighbor whom we haven�t yet met. That�s a fine introduction. �Hi, we�re the ones having your yard destroyed in the name of the almighty sitcom.� Call former owner, find out our cable box is in the back, not the front. Drive to cable office and set up Attempt the Second. Another technician comes out, finds the correct box, bad signal in the house because the house is wired incorrectly and must be rewired (at their expense). Drive to cable office to set up Attempt the Third. First technician returns, aghast that someone found the correct box. All televisions mysteriously develop clear pictures EXCEPT for the expensive new HDTV in the living room. Technician informs us that the problem is the new tv, as we don�t subscribe to the HDTV service yet (with it�s 8, count �em, 8 current channels, none of which we watch). House not rewired. Fine, because putting in the wires is covered; connecting them to the cable jacks is $40 a pop. One long outing after dark in the rain and cold to return the HDTV and get a plain ol� boring set (32 inches, but who�s counting?), and we figure we�re in the clear. Wrong. Same fuzzy picture. Same fuzz that comes and goes on all the other televisions, provided the cable guy isn�t here. Drive to the cable office and set up Attempt the Fourth for tomorrow morning.

I want my Sci Fi channel unfuzzed, dammit.

In the midst of all this, Hubby ordered a nifty new computer for us. His company pays for half the price of a new computer every other year, plus they get an employee discount. Factor in the 20% off sale on the whiz-bang models, AND free shipping, and he paid next to nothing (all things considered) for a 3.2G model with DVD burner and LCD monitor. It�s a skinny little screen which will be wall-mounted and is the coolest thing EVER. So between the computers and the stereos our home is being assimilated into the Borg Collective, but what the hey.

I got a nice surprise today. While in the middle of taking a break from unpacking boxes, which is a pleasant thing to do before you even start unpacking, I got a phone call from my favorite Nut Magnet. Nut Magnet is just about the sweetest, most innocent, honest, kindest, most talented person anywhere, but there�s something about her aura that attracts loons like an electromagnet. (I can attest; she met ME after all, didn�t she?) We lived in the same Midwestern town for two years, and she brought forth a parade not seen since The Gong Show. Where do these people come from? Even she doesn�t know. They just appeared on her doorstep in various guises. Nothing a good solid steel fence and some Kryptonite can�t fix. I introduced her to Diaryland today; start watching for the crazoids.

Hubby is slowly learning one of life�s valuable lessons: Always listen to the little wifey. When we loaded the HDTV into the back of the pickup to return it, I brought forth the rope to tie it down. �Pshaw, we don�t need rope, use a bungee cord,� the Big Strong Man said. I used the rope. �Silly woman, that�s a waste of time, use a bungee cord,� the Big Strong Man continued to say. When we loaded the huge box with the new tv into the truck, I proffered the rope. Big Strong Man whipped out a bungee cord and stretched away, satisfied that he kept the little woman at bay. Halfway home there was a mighty THWIP and THUD, and God only knows who all we took out with that bungee cord. It was never seen again. Big Strong Man had to pull over, right the box containing the big expensive tv, yell a few expletives, and glower the rest of the way home.

In an effort to ignore homework, Son is brushing my hair. He knows it�s the fastest way to lull me to sleep. I guess the store-brand dandruff shampoo isn�t working, because he just informed me I have a �dry scallop�.

There is a tiny patch of paint still in my hair, but everyone�s told me I�m turning gray. I think I'll keep it, and pretend I�m Rogue from X-Men. As long as they don�t notice it�s actually lavender.

Back to unpacking.

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