Oh dear. What will Pat Robertson say?

I'm afraid I've been having way too much fun with my computer. So God punished me this evening by letting me pick it up too quickly and then drop it on the floor, cracking the monitor so that weird rainbow-colored lines, strange, creepy shadows, and various other impediments to my reading ease now sully its formerly pristine surface.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. To backtrack:

Today I got into some halfway decent clothes (for once) and drove downtown to have lunch with Susie Sunshine, Jen (the governor of Jennsylvania), Law Mom, and lakeline. OMG the hilarity. If you blog and you haven't met your fellow bloggers, you've got to do it. But be warned; unless you're a photo blogger of few words and many images, you are mostly dealing with a bunch of wordsmiths. Who have a performance thing going. So you will find yourself in a lively, outgoing, articulate group of people. Basically, NONE OF YOU WILL BE ABLE TO SHUT UP.

The proof that this is true? When Jen joined us, we had to move from a booth for four to a larger table. The restaurant staff took the opportunity to put us in the most secluded booth in the restaurant. I think the booth was code-named "Las Vegas," with all kinds of secret codes and spy-like procedures to make sure that the events in that booth STAYED in that booth. They could just tell we were going to act up, see. And this was before Susie announced that lakeline is "knocked up." And way before the margaritas arrived.

OK, now we skip forward to almost the present moment. I came upstairs to blog about this fabulous, fabulous afternoon. I grabbed my laptop off the floor--and inconveniently forgot that it was plugged into the printer. The USB cable didn't want to let go, and BAM! the laptop landed on the floor.

One cracked monitor later, I remembered that after Hurricane Katrina slammed the Gulf Coast, Pat Robertson announced that it was New Orleans' fault, what with all the drinking, carousing, homosexuality, jello shots, and beignets. And then Ariel Sharon has a stroke and guess what? Pat Robertson said that God is punishing him for letting a lot of the wrong sort of people traipse all over Jesus' back yard.

Well, I can put two and two together, and I see where this is going. Obviously God is punishing me for hanging out sucking down margaritas with these fine blogging babes when I should have been at home updating the kitchen calendar with all the children's school information. Or alphabetizing the spice rack. Or dusting the Mr. Potato Heads. Or some such.

But no, I swagger my big fat dipsomaniacal ass down to the big city and hang out with cool blogging chicks. So it just serves me right that I can't see a goddamned thing I'm typing.

--P.