…sometimes, it feels so bad
Thank you, Prince.
It's just wrong. That's all I'm saying.
So I'm sitting here, still trying to recover files from my old external drive. It seems I can retrieve a few measley folders a week. Then it simply refuses to cooperate. I have to restart the entire system because everything locks up. Like now. I was trying a new approach—burn a dvd of selected folders—and it's stalled out at 66.6% verified. Bloody hell.
Might as well finished my blog post. Firefox is still running. Woo hoo!
And as it's like winter again, I'll be whipping up a steaming pot of my friend Margie's husband Jason's prize-winning white chicken chili later today. I could eat liquid-based meals every day of my life. As long as they included chips of some sort on the side.
The other night, Dan made a request for dinner. It was simple: "Something I can eat on a plate."
Initially, I thought, "Dude…be happy for anything that doesn't end with '…Helper." But then I did feel sorry for him. There must be something hard-wired into many of the less fairer sex that says, "If it's liquid-based, then surely it must mean the roast pig will follow."
Sorry to say I did not pick up any pre-roasted pigs at Rainbow Foods this morning.
I'll serve his chili on a plate. That oughta do the trick. You think?