Well, really! I finally caved in to coercion and pressure and switched over to the NEW blogger that is powered by Google instead of whatever powered it before; Wheaties, methane, cyber nano-bots.
And then I could not access my account for many days! Many days in the desert with things to say, and all the while thirsting for my blog of old! As the sands of thought slowly sifted away on the parched wind.
How the hell am I supposed to remember what name I registered under? It's not like I use my REAL name! This is why I have an anonymous blog! So I can use one of the many fun identities that I made up! Miss Pinks! Miss Pink Butler! Miss Pink Ponsonby!
I suppose I could write all this stuff DOWN, but with the new Google-managed Blogger, I have to register at Google under a gmail account and in a fit of hurry-up-and-get-this-done-ness, I signed up under an entirely different name which I've now forgotten.
Which leads me to the conclusion that whoever runs Blogger and Google are in the under-30 crowd. Where memories line up like little soldiers with sabers drawn, ready to throw themselves into the battle fray of serious cognitive achievements.
But I'm 50! My thoughts list about in drunken fashion, their sabers left behind at the dinner table stuck into day-old moldy bread. None of my thoughts line up because they are on Furlough, dammit! Drunken and Disorderly Conduct Detention! Dishonorably discharged for sloth and no longer considered fit for active duty.
And now I've misplaced all of the thoughts that were earmarked for the blog posts I wished to write. So I'll just have to make up something.
Which leads me to a rant about PHONES. And phone construction. What idiot-savant decided it was a good thing to put all the dial buttons and the hang-up button and the flash button on the inside of the handset portion of the phone?
Don't they know I need to lean my FACE on that part? I can't tell you how many times I've hung up on someone or worse yet caused sudden deafness and toothache when I hit some number button with my cheekbone, causing a loud piercing BEEP!
Whoever thought up the design for most modern phones obviously never rested the phone between face and shoulder while they fixed tea, opened their bills, cut up day old moldy bread with their sabers.
I would like a removable dial-pad on my phone. Or some bulby protruberance on the top of the handset that would contain the buttons and keep them far removed from my cheek and chin. I don't know! Hopefully my friends are not aware of just how much of their scintillating conversation I miss entirely because I've accidentally pressed the 'flash' button and switched over to an empty phone line for a moment. Oops.