Monthly Archives: July 2006

Why I married a computer geek

Posted on July 6, 2006 by | Comments Off

Yesterday afternoon, I started having problems at work with some of my documents. My computer was converting headlines into jibberish. I eventually figured out that it wasn’t jibberish, but Czechoslovakian. Some part of my computer recognized the jibberish as Czech and kept popping open a window to inform me that it didn’t know Czech spelling and grammar.

I wanted to scream back at it, “But you obviously do know Czech! You’re translating my documents into Czech!” I guess the computer realized it only knew conversational Czech, not the sort of technical language needed to write textbooks.

Well, 45 minutes and three IT people later, my computer was fixed. Somehow the Times New Roman font had been corrupted. The IT people said this was just random, but I know it wasn’t. My computers have “random” problems pretty frequently, and I’m starting to think I might be releasing some sort of magnetic forcefield. I’m scrambling these poor machines just by sitting in front of them.

And now that my computer is back to speaking English, I have a new problem. It’s capitalizing all the text I look at online. But in my world, that is a minor problem.

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Posted in Humble pie

Not quite the cream of the crop

Posted on July 4, 2006 by | Comments Off

Greg and I both have a fondness for pathetic, homeless creatures, but this trait is more acute in Greg. When we helped out at a dog adoption in the fall, we both fell in love with this German shepard/corgi mix. He was the sweetest dog, and he looked just like a German shepard — except for this legs, which were about four inches long. We really wanted to bring him home, but we resisted. Greg stopped attending dog adoptions after that because he just couldn’t stand to see any dogs be returned to the shelter. He wanted to take home all the creatures that were too lowly to be adopted.

Well, Greg is realllly going soft in his old age. When we got home from the grocery store Sunday, I unpacked the fruit. We bought several peaches, and against my better judgment, I let Greg select those delicate balls of fuzz (normally I always choose the fruit because I’m picky). Most of them were a little green, but one stood out like a sore thumb.

“Greg what is the deal with this peach?” I screeched.

“What?” Greg asked, playing innocent.

“It’s all bruised,” I said, giving the peach a look of disgust. “It’s on the verge of rotting.”

“That peach needs a home, too,” Greg urged. “Who else would have taken it? It deserves a chance.”

Yes, but why does it have to live in our home? Forget dogs. We are now a safe haven for unwanted fruit.

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Posted in Conversations