My attempt to add memory to my laptop has been ridiculous.

First, I didn't have the right screwdriver. I bought an eyeglass repair kit. The included screwdriver was a flathead, not a Phillips. Today I went to Sears and bought two screwdrivers, just in case the one in the directions was the wrong size. Turns out the one in the directions is the wrong size. Thank goodness for forethought. I got two out of the three screws off the memory door and what do I find with the third screw? It was stripped by whoever put that part of the computer together. *sigh*

So I made an appointment at the Genius Bar in hopes that they can get that screw out and the memory in.

All of this so I can install a photo editing program.

Haven't been this excited about a trailer since The Matrix.

Um, I need to see this movie NOW.

I am picky.

I'm trying to get my most recent headshots printed. Spotlight Printing has really good prices, and they offer to do touch-ups as part of the printing cost. Sweet!

Well, I've rejected their emailed proof twice now because it's not what I want. My hair is slightly blue on top, and I know that it's because of some tint the photographer's camera added, but there must be some way to isolate that and take the blue tones out of it. I'm not a regular Photoshop user, but it's so fancy and complicated that there must be a way to do that. If they can't fix it, I might have to get new headshots entirely.

It wouldn't be such a big deal if the only thing I was auditioning for was theatre. But bookings can sometimes occur from a headshot only, and I don't want to get rejected because they think my hair is blue. "Oh, hey! This one's nice. Oh. No. Wait. She has blue hair. REJECT!"

Maybe I should just change them to black and white and leave it at that. I really like them in color, though. My skin looks great. Grrr...

Aaaaand I just got an email from the printer saying they won't know whether or not they can take out the blue until the picture is on the printing press. Which I would have to pay for no matter what, even if it wasn't what I wanted.

Aaaaaand I had an epiphany. I might have to re-shoot with dyed hair if the grey in my hair causes funky colors on digital film.

Aaaaaand if the above is the case then I'm out $300 for the photog session and makeup. Yuck.

Or I could just suck it up, make them black and white, and vow to get new shots with dyed hair in a few months. I could call these my "foot in the door" shots. The next ones would be my "whole body in the door" shots.

Aaaaaand I'm going to shut up now.

One more thing.

Judge for yourselves:



Does my blue hair bother you?



Am I still striking in b&w?

Am I ever going to SHUT UP??

Oh dear.

I've been trying to watch less television. And then Pushing Daisies comes tripping across my path.

I'm hooked on this show. It's delicious. I love the fairytale style, Jim Dale's voiceover work, and Lee Pace and Chi McBride. I'll even grudgingly admit that Anna Friel is pretty good, even though I generally despise the en vogue "quirky white girl" character. She's winning as Chuck, even for a curmudgeon like me.

Fortunately, ABC puts all their shows on line and makes it easy to watch them, so I don't have to set aside time in my evening to catch the show.

One-Person Wrecking Crew

I REALLY can't have nice things.

I love getting gifts. I love getting the kinds of gifts I could never pay for on my own. But when those lovely, expensive gifts are electronics, I seem to become a one-person wrecking crew. My subconscious M.O. seems to be: "How quickly can I trash this?"

I'd barely had my Razr phone for a week before I dropped it multiple times. The battery cover no longer snaps perfectly into place and the flip lip wobbles back and forth.

I'd barely had this computer for a month when I somehow caused a dent in the lid on the outside (which I think is why I have two dark spots on my screen, but shhhh, don't tell the Apple people that).

And JUST NOW, I picked up the power cord and brick to plug it in. Because I do not think sometimes, I grabbed it by the end of the cord, which began to rapidly unwind, more rapidly than I could get a hold of the brick, which subsequently bounced off my laptop speaker and then off the table. My poor computer now sports a VERY noticeable dent and a shiny new scratch on one of the speakers. *sob*

I know it's just a thing and not a person, and that I shouldn't get so upset over an inanimate object. But my family has this habit of making me feel really bad every time I damage something they paid a lot of money for. They seem to think it's because I don't care, but sometimes I'm just clumsy. And it doesn't make me any less clumsy to know that the pressure is on to keep everything in factory condition. I try to brush the incident off as no big deal, but as you can see from my distress over the new bruise on my compy, I've internalized the fact that "I can't have nice things because all I'll do is break them."

I really want an iPhone, but I'm not sure I want anyone else to give me one. I don't want any one to give me a guilt trip if something bad happens to it.

The Aftermath

The Aftermath
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

I woke out of a sound sleep (4am) to the smoke alarm in the great room - the one detector whose battery I prayed would never run out because it's on a 15-foot ceiling - chirping insistently every 60 seconds. After covering my head with a pillow and attempting to get some sleep while the dog went on high alert and climbed all over my chest in his agitation, I got some sleep.

After ignoring it for several hours while I got ready to leave the house, I couldn't let the dog suffer any more. So I climbed up on top of the ledge in the living room in my very slippery tights, clung to the walls and began to change the battery out. As you can see from the photo, this detector is electrically wired, too. Grrrrrrr.

After removing the offending battery, I hunted around various junk drawers looking for a 9-volt battery. Found one, climbed back up on the ledge, knowing that if I slipped and cracked my head open no one would find me until it was too late, and slipped the new battery in.

The smoke detector kept beeping.

I pushed on the lid of the spring-loaded battery cartridge only to discover that it was stuck. I'd interpreted the picture incorrectly and put the battery in the wrong way.

"...."

I struggled with it for another five minutes, sweating and muttering under my breath (and sometimes over it), then climbed down and pulled a knife out of the drawer. I climbed back up onto the ledge, trying not to look down at the sharp little end table that housed the phone and various remotes, and poked and prodded to get the battery cartridge open. (I realize that I was now placing myself in twice the danger by using a metal knife on an electrically wired piece of equipment, but I couldn't take the beeping ANY MORE.)

After more sweating, I finally pried the lid open and pulled the battery out. Flipped it around, put it back in the right way, and closed the lid.

STILL BEEPING.

By now I was ready to rip the whole thing off the ceiling, but I opened the cartridge one more time and made sure I had the battery in correctly.

STILL BEEPING.

I had had enough. The dog would have to suffer. I pushed the whole thing back up onto the brackets fixed to the ceiling and turned. No dice. It fell back down to hang on its wires like a loose eyeball. Tried again, still no dice. I looked at the smoke detector, I looked at the brackets, I carefully lined them up. Still wouldn't go.

At this point, I'd really had enough. I left the thing to hang - still beeping - and climbed down. I knew: the longer I stayed up there the more wild and angry I'd get in my movements and then I'd be on the floor and the dog would eat my carcass and my parents would find him slinking around with a guilty and carnivorous look in his eyes and that would just be sad.

So I got down, took a picture to commemorate my miserable failure, uploaded it to my computer, sat down to compose this entry, and noticed: blessed silence.

I was just lamenting that I didn't get a full-length photo of myself from the Ivey Awards this year, and then they finally posted the roving photogs pictures on the internets.

Here I am.

This is how I feel about blogging right now.