Great Locations

I've tried to take this apartment thing in stride, even to the point where I’ve told myself that since this is my very first apartment that I’m embarking on some new adventure. But the more I live here the more I realize that it’s just like dorm living, which I am quite experienced at since I lived in a dorm (Davis-Gary—WHOOP!), for four years in college, I've come to the conclusion that it's pretty much the same. You deal with noise and the fact that many other people are living around me, and you have to be respectful of that-nothing more.

In other news, I’ll relay that I’ve been thinking about ways to make improvements around this joint. For starters: there are many people here with dogs. And I remember being 19 and wanting a pet, and realizing that if I were given the opportunity, I may well have made the same bad decision of getting a puppy that would have turned into a 60 lb dog, knowing full well that the 40 square feet I was paying to live in was not the best environment for a big dog. And these folks will just have to learn that lesson themselves. Meanwhile- there are a few green patches around the complex I live in, and it’s very tough to navigate your way throughout this land mine when folks are not willing to follow the letter of the leases we all signed and pick up the crap that your dog lays around the place. And having a 6 lb dog that only lays pencil sized “biggies” I do feel a certain amount of animosity for those who let their dog drop massive piles of shit all over the areas leading up and around my apartment, and not taking care to pick them up. They even provide bags, people! So I’m thinking of starting a campaign which would at the very least include flyers posting :

“Don’t be a Douche…
PICK UP THE POOP!”

I’m thinking I will be enlisting the help of Texas State in the way of stealing paper and printer ink from the office in order to post them around my immediate living area. Now, I’m not normally someone who want to be the first to crash a party, but dammit, I counted no less than 6 (SIX!) dog patties on the from my car to the front of the building, so I’m thinking it’s not just a problem affecting me, but one also that relates to those non-pet owners that neighbor my apartment as well.

As an aside, I'd like to admit that I’ve made some spurious decisions as of late that have not made me feel good at all. I’m not a stupid girl, but I’ve been acting like one, and all of that noise just needs to stop. And so it will.

Steppin' Out

The company picnic was ok. Actually, I ended up with a great overall sense of accomplishment in light of the fact that I can remember my first picnic when I was very shy, didn’t speak to many people, and ended up sitting w/Melissa and Gloria as they watched me get drunk until they stopped serving at 8:30. This year I was all over the place, meeting new people, joking around w/folks from other departments, shaking hands, kissing babies, and by choice ended up sitting w/Melissa and Gloria as they watched me get drunk until they stopped serving at 8:30. (If it ain’t broke….)

That night I also happened to meet Ed, a man from the Registrar’s Office, who extended an invite for the following evening to downtown Austin. I did take him up on his offer (while informing loved ones of my whereabouts just in case.) and had a spectacular time at Oilcan Harry’s. Yes, I’m single, finally in a town full of young, upwardly mobile people, and the first group of friends I hit upon are gay men. (S’ok though…baby steps…first I get into the general vicinity of singles who own cocks, THEN I move on to singles who own cocks that might potentially be attracted to me) :-)

Anyway, we went b/c Lady Bunny was performing, who is the creator and star of a festival in New York called Wigstock. I first saw Wigstock, a documentary, when I was in college, and have always secretly hoped that she’d make a Wigstock II. I have so much respect for someone who was raised in the south (Tennessee) and was able to break away and achieve something that means so much to so many people. I have been to Oilcan Harry’s once before, and it was OK, once you get past the requisite “What is THAT vagina doing taking up space in our club” looks from particularly meaney queenies, but I’ve got a fairly sharp sense of humor, so I just turned my “fag hag” skills up to level 9.4, and it was all good.

The show was hilarious and raunchy. Luckily we were standing pretty close to the stage, with a great view of it all, and after her first set she began talking to a group of guys who came in drag on the side of the stage farthest from us. All of a sudden some really beefy guys began to part the crowd right next to me. Some signal was given and she made a beeline for us, which was apparently the path she was taking to her dressing room. When she walked by me I was cheering and clapping and she GRABBED MY HAND as I yelled how beautiful she was. Lady Bunny is the FIRST celebrity I have ever met, and yes, I totally did all the fawning and pelting her with excessively obsequious verbal diarrhea. Then, later on she gave me her autograph and a free Oilcan Harry’s t-shirt, but by that time I was 3 martinis to the wind and from what I can recall, I believe my first words to her were “I wish that I had a cock so that I could fuck you.” Not the most congruent of pick-up lines, but it did score me a free shirt.

I guess that the worst part of all of this is that almost none of my friends knew who the hell I was talking about when I texted at 3am: “Lady Miss Bunny just grabbed my hand and shook it!!! AND she gave me a free t-shirt and her autograph!” But I had a blast, and that’s what matters. Later that morning we found ourselves at the Magnolia Café, and I stayed in Austin w/Ed in his guest room. He was even gracious enough to let Rootie stay there too! All in all, I had a wonderful time. This, my second weekend living in San Marcos.

Yep…that’s about all that happened this weekend. Uh-huh. Nothing extraordinary or out of character for me- straight and narrow. Weell…except for the hours directly after the company picnic where I took occasion to drink a bottle of shiraz thereby unleashing Sasha, my druken, horny alter-ego who then sent nudie pics to an old friend. (Damn that Sasha!) When taking into account my previous drunk texting, this is by far the least regrettable. And though I did have to suffer his texting back a picture of my right breast with the message along the lines of: “Don’t these come in pairs, where’s my picture of the other one?” (He did this days later when I was sober as a judge and practically blinded by the whiteness of my own knockers), but all I can say is that he wouldn’t have those pics unless I gave them, so I can only be upset at the woman in the mirror. (And yes Juan, I’ve decided to place a moratorium on our late night drunk talks.)

Lastly, I managed to see Superbad. The scenes w/the cops seemed to slow the movie down, but most of it was funny enough, and any movie that includes doing donuts in an empty parking lot to the Van Halen song “Panama”, is fucking aces in my book. I will admit that there’s nothing planned for my upcoming 4 day weekend, except for Rootie’s teeth cleaning on Tuesday, but if stayed along my present course, I’m sure I’ll have something to write about soon. Lots of love and luck to my two favorite teachers!

Movin' On Up!

In the new apartment now, and it's going OK. The very worst part about it so far has been missing my little Rootinski, but apparently my grandma has taught her another dance, so I guess they're doing OK. Yes, you read that correctly. Grandma has it in her head that Rootie dances w/her. I've seen this "dance" that she speaks of, which is not dancing as much as Rootie trying to dodge my grandmother's stomping feet while my grandma hums off-key, but whatever keeps her busy, y'know?

Work has been a madhouse as today is the first day of classes, so I've been going w/out lunch and getting home around 9:30 or so. Sunday I baked some tilapia, Monday I ate those leftovers, and last night I walked into my apartment and it REEKED of fish. Great- it took 3 whole days but my new neighbors now know that I'm the old lady who smells like fish. I'm just not used to having to take out the trash and wash dishes every day! I used to put all that cleaning stuff off until the weekends, but that place is so tiny that I'm going to have to clean as I go, and though I'm not dirty, I would not call myself a neat freak. I mean, I like it when my house is clean, but when I'm "doing stuff" I just don't focus on putting things right back where I got them from. Maybe that's a good thing, and a byproduct of this coming year will be that I learn to be more tidy. Or maybe I'll just get used to the nickname "wrinkled tuna".

List 'o things I forgot to bring:
1. power cord for my computer
2. ethernet cord for my computer
3. lamps
4. bowls of any kind
5. dishwashing liquid and sponge
6. poodle...sigh.....

The reason I'm not w/My Little is because I spent my pet deposit on the septic tank situation, so I have to wait until I can swing it next month. In the meantime, it's REALLY tough to get to sleep w/out her, which is further exacerbated by the fact that the fully furnished apartment is crammed with ultra stylized furniture that was purchased for solely for their aesthetic qualities. In my tiny little room I have 3 (THREE) chairs, and 2 (TWO) more outside on the balcony. What moron is going to pack 5 people into a space that size?! Oh wait, those asshats across the way who were playing some kind of guessing/shouty boardgame until 2am on their freakin' balcony last night. But I digress…The mattress is a piece of crap. The "gumbies" in my dorm room at A&M were nicer! (So named as they were huge bright green rectangles.) I think it's a full-sized bed, but Tuesday morning I woke up and my right thigh (nalga) was completely sore from the springs, I'm guessing. I'm not really picky about where I sleep as long as the temperature is agreeable. I've slept in the mountains, passed out on chairs, packed in with friends on floors, but I've never ever woken up as sore as I did on Tuesday. Well…on the outside heh heh heh.

THAT'S ANOTHER THING! So far, I know that the person across the hall, to my left, and diagonally to the left are all guys; that's 3 of my 5 neighbors! There is definitely something to human pheromones, I SWEAR! Another reason I can't sleep is because being horny is actually keeping me awake! Normal methods of dealing w/that issue are just not cutting it! Having been relatively celibate (fooled around, but no intercourse) for quite some time now, I think I've handled it fairly well. I haven't gone buck wild and fucked some stranger or woken up humping my pillow or anything, and besides those lonely times of the month (due to a rise in testosterone levels before a woman's period), I normally don't suffer too terribly much. For the past three nights, even though I'm getting home really late and am very tired, I am tossing & turning and having freaky-deaky dreams and fantasies. I just want it to stop!! Stupid evolutionary responses!

Speaking of fellas, I have cut out most all refined sugars from my diet for the past 9 weeks or so. I haven't exercised much, but I definitely have more energy and feel better in general. This afternoon I tried to go to lunch w/a coworker (I have a gift certificate for a steakhouse), but the place was closed. She INSISTED that we go to Johnny Carinos and that it was her treat. I would have gotten a salad, but since she ordered a dish for $6.90, I didn't want to get a $10.00 salad. (I hate that it always costs more to eat healthy in America.) So I got a pasta dish, NO SALAD (b/c it was extra and she didn't get one), and water. My body is FREAKING OUT w/all the carbs! And I'm feeling bad about my mental congratulations for eating well and looking towards adding exercise when I've just taken a huge step backwards. Oh well. "Fuck it Dude, let's go bowling."

On tap this weekend is the LBJ Welcome Picnic for all employees here at Texas State. Free food and booze? I'm IN! I've got to get through 10 more days of being broke (talkin' fishing for quarters in my car, ya'll!) before I get paid again. Any way I can get tanked for free and I am DOWN! There's always the fear that I'll make a complete ass of myself, which is why I normally don't drink at functions such as these, but since my affinity for my job has waned, I'm thinking this just may be my last chance to moon some Texas State bigwig. Yee HAW!!! And much love and thanks to all who've been checking in on me lately. When you think of me, just picture Mary Tyler Moore spinning around and throwing up her hat. :-)

Milk Milk, Lemonade. 'Round the Corner...

Once we realized we had not hit pooville after all, we were in a scramble to shut off the main water supply. I'm glad I had the foresight to show up, as no one else would have known where the main shut-off is. Eric made a quick run to Home Depot, replaced the punctured pipe, and we were back at square one. He promised to come back the next day w/his backhoe in order to try to find the septic. When I asked him how much I owed him, he said it was his mistake and so when we found the tank, he'd pump it and the charge would be the same. Having been screwed around by most every man ever to repair anything I have ever owned, I was swooning over Eric the Septic Man. (Not like THAT, he's married w/3 kids, but if he had a brother….) :-)

Next day I get a call at work from Eric who tells me his uncle, who has been emptying septic tanks for the past 20 years, went out to help him look/dig, but still no septic. At this point Eric suggests I hire plumbers to find it, as they have the equipment and expertise to follow the pipes. Once I find the tank, he'd be more than happy to empty it. Despite the fact that's it's late registration, the busiest time of year in our office, I took a half day off in order to do some research at the courthouse (just can't BELIEVE there's no record of it!), and to try to get someone out there.

The plumber I call was gracious enough to fit me in on short notice, and then I found out why. They sent TWO plumbers from San Marcos, and while their ad in the phone book boasts that they don't charge by the hour, the first thing out of Plumber 1's mouth is "We can either charge you by each piece of equipment we need to use to find it, or you can do an hourly rate. Since we'll need to probe the pipes, we'll use a device that has a camera on the end. I'm telling you right now, that will cost you $400 just for us to use. Then you're looking at being charged for the digging equipment." Under the pretense that it would take only a couple of hours, and knowing that they charge $165 per hour (!!!), I think I can do better w/the hourly rate. FOUR AND HALF HOURS LATER, and having missed the entire work day, they've finally uncovered a portion of the pipe that leads to the septic tank. The camera did not find it; just an old rotor rooter and the plumbers listening to where it was traveling underground. By the time they expose the pipe, I'm in $750. There is still no way to get the contents of the tank out, AND the plumbers do not empty septic tanks.

JR, lead plumber, tells me they can come back tomorrow to make a "clean-out" (connect a pipe to the tank which will allow us to clean it out), which will be $798, not counting the rental of a backhoe which normally goes for $400 but since I'm so friendly he thinks he can get away w/charging me only $200. (Yeah right, buddy...any thoughts of you doing me any favors went right out the window when you charged me $750 for finding a pipe.) So at this point I'm in $1,748 and I STILL need to get Eric to come back to empty it! By my count, this shin dig the girls threw is costing me $2,048. Or is it….?

I call Eric and explain that they've exposed the pipe. He says he'll make the clean-out and pump it for $475, backhoe included. One problem: the expensive guys will let me finance it, but Eric needs cash or check. I just spent my rent money (due on the 18th, mind you) on the plumbers who stated that payment could count as a down payment so that I'd only need to make two more payments w/in the next 90 days to pay it off. What's a girl to do? That's how I found myself on my knees Wednesday night after work, asking my grandma to spot me $400.

The work was done last night. Turns out the level in the tank was OK, but a bunch of roots had blocked the ability for "stuff" to get into the tank. The frequency of flushes from the girls and their guests brought out the problem as the drainage was happening so slowly; since before then it was just me, I never noticed it. OH, and even though I did get to pretend I was Nancy Drew or Encyclopedia Brown while looking through all the old records at the courthouse, it turns out the septic tank was exactly where the first plumber was probing, just 5 feet deeper than any other septic tank has been buried in the history of cesspits.

That morning, on another job, Eric broke his backhoe, which will cost him $4,000 to fix. Did he cancel my job? Nope, he rented a smaller backhoe and was at my house. He fished out the bundle of roots, pumped the tank, and discovered the showers have a separate pipe to the tank, which was also broken. He made a clean-out, customized it w/a y-bend pipe in order to accommodate whatever idea the maniacal fuck who put a stealth septic tank w/out a place to pump it from pulled out of his ass when he constructed the tank, and put all the dirt back. He was there from 3:00-8:30, and still only charged me $475.

I've decided that at some point in time I will need to name something that I love very much "Eric" in order to pay homage to this very honest, compassionate, generous Godsend of a man. And if anyone at all in this area needs a guy, or know someone who needs a guy…call King's Septic, (830) 708-7867.

What I now need to figure out is how to come up w/the rent and pet deposit by Saturday, my move-in date. By the way, because that is THE move-in date for everyone, and will be very busy, they will not accept credit cards. Sighhhhh…. "And for my next trick…."

Stay tuned.

(Not THAT kind of trick!)

Septic Tank Adventures, Part Deux (Get it?! Doo?!)

Saturday I had to come into work, but before I left I talked to the extortioni…uh, I mean, plumber, Ramon Palomo. He said he thought he knew where the septic overflow valve was, and that he would find it in order to release some of the pressure. That way the girls could use their toilets and such until the septic tank guy could come out. Mr. Palomo is a friendly man, VERY talkative, and does a lot of work for my dad. This is why I called him. Note I never said he was cheap; he charged me $45 to change out the flapper on the downstairs toilet on Friday. Anyway…it was already after 11am and I thanked him for helping me. I told him that since I have to pay the septic guy $300, we could just wait until Sunday, but he insisted on staying, told me he would be digging in the shade, and at least the girls would be OK for the evening, AND he could mark the valve so that the septic guy could do his thing the next day. I did agree and asked that if anything went wrong, for him to please call me. And as is my way, I jokingly told him that I hoped I wouldn't hear from him.

And I didn't! Sunday morning I meet w/the septic guy, Eric Thomas, at the house and noticed a bunch of holes in various places in the yard. I begin to gather that the overflow valve was not found. Huh…. But Eric starts anyway. I know he and his wife have church at 10:30 am, but he's pretty sure he'll be done by then, and in the meantime, I'm off to run errands. I guess it was about 10 when he called to tell me he couldn't find the overflow valve either. Now I feel a total ditz b/c I don't where my own septic tank is, but I do remember my Dad hired some folks to fix some underground line after I first got the house, and I was thinking it was for the tank. Now how to nonchalantly inquire as to the whereabouts of my septic tank w/out around parental suspicions….

Eric goes to church and I promise to ask my Dad if he knows where the tank is. At around 10:30 the girls call and sure enough, when one of them tried to take a shower, the downstairs bathroom flooded again. Thank you Mr. Palomo! Why didn't he call me yesterday?! So the girls aren't happy w/me, I'm not jazzed w/the girls b/c AGAIN that morning there were 5 cars in the driveway, along w/some beer cans (different ones b/c I had picked up and thrown away those from the previous day), and this time 2 empty Whataburger cups in the yard, and a Whataburger ketchup tub in the driveway. Since I'm guessing they're having to drive to a gas station to "do their poops" (I believe sorority girls and 5 yr olds both use the same terminology), I wasn't about to nag about the state of the driveway a second time. I tell them I'm on it as best I can, and that I'm waiting for Eric to call back after church.

Now for my part; I have the kind of Dad that when told of any mechanical problem under the sun will say "Well…call a _______." For example:
ME: "Dad, my brakes are squeaking, what do you think it could be?"
DAD: "I don't know. Call a mechanic."
ME: "Dad, my light switch just stopped working and I know it's not a light bulb"
DAD: "Well…call an electrician"
ME: "Dad, I think I hit something w/the lawnmower and now it rattles."
DAD: "Well…call a repair man"
ME: "Dad! The flood waters are coming up close to the back porch!"
DAD: "What do you want me to do?"
These are ALL actual conversations that have taken place, and if anyone ever wonders why I am so fascinated/attracted to men with working hands that can actually fix things, wonder no more. (Also remember that he got me out of all of those Animal Control tickets when I had some squatting stray dogs, so he's not all bad.)
So when I did ask my dad about it, he simply rattles off the name of the company he hired to fix it the first time, and says he's pretty sure it's under the side balcony. Well, that's something at least.

Eric can't make it back to the house until 6pm that evening, so I'm in my room reading all afternoon. I get a call from Mr. Palomo who relays that he never did find the septic tank (No shit, Sherlock), but he was there the entire afternoon so his bill comes out to $280. For NOT finding the septic tank, and NOT calling me yesterday when I still had time to insist a septic man come out Saturday. I kept my cool b/c Seguin is a small place, but I remind him that he never did call me (he claimed his diabetes was acting up and he was too tired to call, though he had previously told me he had gone to a party the evening before.), and that w/in the first hour of him NOT finding anything, he should have warned me that he would need to charge me by the hour. I already knew Mr. Palomo could not fix my problem, I was going to have to pay a septic man $300 regardless, which is why I tried to get him to go home Saturday morning, so this whole thing was just ridiculous. I told him I'd give him $150 for his troubles sometime Wednesday. Methinks that is the end of my working relationship w/Mr. Palomo.

'Round about 5:45 a huge storm blows through, and I'm very worried that this will mean that he can't pump the tank, but Eric the septic man comes through! On a Sunday. In the rain. This guy is aces in my book. BUT WE STILL CAN'T FIND THE TANK! I decide to go to the house to try and help (I know that sounds stupid, but I just felt like I needed to "be" there, y'know?), and Eric did hit upon a spot where fluid immediately bubbled up. This did make me nervous b/c though I need the tank emptied, I'd prefer to find the hole it's designed to be emptied from, not make any new ones, but I trust Eric. So he's pumping it out and one of the girls' parents and grandparents are over to help her move in, and we're all in the driveway watching Eric do his thing. I whispered "Is that really sewage?", and one of them said "Yeah…it should be.". My response: "Then why doesn't it stink?" Naïve as it sounds (or crass, I can see a case for either), I had brought up a relevant subject, for it turns out he did not find the septic tank at all; he hit and punctured my water line.

To be continued….

Mama Told Me There'd Be Days Like These...

So the renters are in as of yesterday. I am proud to say that except for the furniture, I single handedly packed, moved downstairs, and lugged to the storage shed, the entire contents of my house. Yeah, I've got more bruises than whoever Ike Turner is currently dating. But in a way it feels good. Don't get me wrong; the last 48 hours have been the worst in recent memory. I was packing, moving and cleaning for 22 hours straight, still didn't get it all done, but at 4am, knowing I had to wake up at 6:30 in order to go to work, I just had to stop. I had packed EVERYTHING (at some point I think I just went on autopilot), so when I took a shower all I had was some dandruff shampoo I had found under my sink, which was left from my ex. I was so thankful to have it, until I realized it was the "cooling" formula. I'm sure that under different circumstances it may be have been a titillating experience, however the tingling sensation on every part of my body was quite a burden, especially since Rootie and I were vying for space on her pillow (yes, I had to sleep on my dog's pillow), and also competing for the coat we used for a blanket. Just an FYI: if you have to choose a dog to keep you warm in chilly conditions, a tiny toy poodle is the WORST option. After about an hour, "Redneck theatre" began next door. It's 5am and the bumpkins next door were up, on their porch having yet ANOTHER screaming match about who's on probation and isn't supposed to be talking to whom, blah blah blah, while having morning coughing fits where their smoker's lungs are presumably being spat out mouthful by mouthful.

So, after THAT night, I still had to go to work, and afterwards load and deliver the last 20 or so boxes out to the storage place . Thankfully my Dad did let me borrow his truck. He was not so generous w/his time or manpower. Sighhh…My family doesn't support my decision to rent out my house and move to San Marcos, and so I made the decision anyway and just did it myself. Anyone that knows me realizes what a big deal that is. My biggest worry is that something will go horribly wrong and I'll have to admit that they were right and I shouldn't have rented out the 'stead and moved to SM.

Last night I spend the first of 8 nights upstairs in my old bedroom at my parent's house. Talk about full circle! I found all the books I used to read as a child and it's been cool to take a look back. Due to all the moving mentioned above, I didn't get home until 10:30pm, then my folks came in from having dinner (I had a can of tuna), and talked to me a bit and up I went to bed. My nails looked AWFUL so I had to paint them (major peeve about chipped nail polish), so I was up until 12:30 or so.

This morning I woke up at 8 (Dad never used to let us sleep past 8 and I really REALLY didn't want to chance one of Dad's wake-up calls of yore), and by 9:30 one of the girls renting the house called me. This morning they flushed the toilet and the downstairs bathroom flooded. I calmly told her to shut off the water and that I'd call my plumber directly. W/in the next hour I'm back at the house, driving into the driveway which is packed w/5 cars, not including the plumber's truck. In the driveway are 3 empty Keystone tallboys, and two Jack N' the Box ranch packets, one of which has been smashed. When I enter I see greek letters in the downstairs room. None of the girls are there, but there is a guy downstairs in one of the beds, and another guy on the couch upstairs. Both of them are feigning sleep, and I know this b/c I called out the names of my renters many times and neither of those guys budged. It dawns on me that I've rented my house to sorority girls. The good, hard working, responsible, non-drinking girls I rented my house to are in reality sluts who had the christen the house the first night, and have such great personalities they have to pay into a society in order to belong to a group of "friends". What I had taken for the uncertainty of youth is actually what happens when a cold, snobby bitch is being nice to you. How could I know?!

They had some people over and it overloaded the septic tank, which will cost $300 to clean out. It could have been much, much worse. I told two of the girls that they cannot flush t.p., nor can their guests. I explained that I had been the only occupant for quite some time, and the maximum amount of people living in the house at any one time had been 3. If they were to have friends over, they had to take into consideration that this is not a new home, and that b/c of it is not new, I would pay for the septic bill, but if it happened again they would be responsible. I did not raise my voice. I most certainly mentioned the fact that there were many cars out front and beer cans in the driveway. I also told them that it is none of my business what they do in the house, that I want them to enjoy living there, and I fully expect(ed) them to have a party. But I could not bear the brunt of their house guests in the future.

Half an hour later I get a call from one of the renter's mothers who is very gracious and nice (I actually really like her), and she says the girls are worried that I'm mad at them. I'm not "mad" at them, I'm upset that in less than 24 hours the bathroom is flooding! I fear that this does not bode well for the future. She was very sweet, and assured me that the girls are taking care of the house. Tomorrow at 8am I will go back to the house in order to give the septic guys their money. I pray that the system is not bad as I hear replacing it could cost upwards of $6,000. And in the back of my stressed mind I keep hearing Adam Yauch: "You reap what you sow when you plant the seed." You slit your wrists vertically, not sideways, right?

PS: The folks live in the boonies and my cell doesn't work well out there. While my Dad does have a laptop, I will NOT revert to asking any such question as "Dad, can I use the computer to get online?". Please keep those things in mind if you'd like to chat me up during the coming week.