Dear Diary. When I was a child I kept a diary, one of those kind that had the little locking tab on the front with the teeny tiny key. In it I recorded my pre-adolescent fantasies about Richard Duvall and Mike Nichols, the atrocities committed upon me by my two sisters, and anger at my parents.
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Less is more, so the old saying goes. MYOB takes a forward step backward with their new accounting program FirstEdge, which gives small business owners and entrepreneurs a piece of workable software that is not bloatware.
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My brain hurts, and I am tired. In the aftermath of the event (what will we end up calling it, because it has no fancy name yet; the horror? the destruction? September 11? the terrorist act?) my brain has frozen. Words cannot be formed, my opinions change daily.
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Me and the rest of the old fogies here at the home were surely glad in this year of the lord 2017 that we had befriended those lost young millionaires back at the first of the century.
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In my younger, less enlightened years, I was one of those people who would shun the pocket protector, pimply type young man as one not worthy of my free-spirited, braless and pantiless existence.
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Man, I gotta get myself off that Maternity Mall mailing list.
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As gestations go, this one was the lengthiest in the history of the Macintosh world. 15 months from the announcement of conception, to birth.
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I wasn’t the best mother in the world, I’ll admit. My maternal instinct didn’t come easy. I didn’t choose the traditional method for having children; husband, mortgage, dual-income.
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For most people, January is a dull month filled with after-holiday blues, lethargic weekends and weight loss programs.
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Rarely do I talk about politics in a public forum. There are several reasons for this. One reason is that regardless of how people
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Comparison CKS was complaining about gasoline prices. Well, here is a comparison If you want to get really scared about the Bush administration, visit
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I was getting a little pissy the other day because here it is, almost the year 2001 and I’m still not living like the Jetsons. Where’s my Rosie the Maid, my AirCar and my Automatic Dressing Machine? Sheesh…
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I live in Utah, or as I so fondly think of it, as Stepford. There are God cages on every corner and Sundays are pleasant and peaceful because most of the neighbors are in church for three hours, giving testimony and crying and studying scriptures.
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Well, it was just another boring week. Get up, go to work, log on, do the usual.
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I was at work, minding my own business over by the copy machine when my boss asked me where the checkbook was. (I get to write them, he has to sign them. )
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Every life is worth living and sharing, and you did that good, girlfriend. You lived and shared your your life. Finest kind.
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A rambling discourse on the non-scientific principle of WooWoo
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Drawing me in…sucking me in…little by little…day by day, you, my darling iBook, are a harsh master. Demanding and jealous, you want all my attention, continuously. It’s as if I no longer have a life of my own.
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I’m sitting here surrounded by half-packed boxes planning what I’ll take in my truck to the new house tomorrow. The computers and the booze, definitely. Everything else is somewhat incidental to my life. I’ll drain the waterbed tomorrow. I won’t mind sleeping on the couch for a few days.
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“Astrology is a fascinating subject. While almost everyone knows his or her astrological sign, they are not always familiar with the personal characteristics associated with it. Those who turn their interest into more understanding of the subject itself will gain some truly unique insights about themselves and others. I have rarely encountered a person totally immune from wanting to know more about astrology.”
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