I probably should have mentioned this before, but my cell phone recently died. It’s okay because I have a new one, same model. It’ll cost me a bit not too far down the road, but it suits me and the new models didn’t. Also, they were even more expensive.
The problem is that I forgot to do one very important thing before boxing the carcass of the old one and shipping it back to the factory. I grabbed my memory card and transferred it over. I grabbed my SIM card and transferred it over.
I forgot to use the bluetooth (the phone’s main screen was shot, a result of my unfortunate and unintentional rough treatment of equipment) to do a remote dump of the phone’s internal memory, which was where I had stupidly allowed all of my contact information to be stored.
So I’m trying to rebuild my cell phone’s phonebook, because I never made a backup of it on either of my computers or hardcopies. If you’re not in my Five (and you’re not) and I haven’t called you in a while, you might want to give me a call, so I know where to reach you.
Note: Clearly, if you don’t already have my phone number, this entry is probably not intended for you.
So I got tagged again. Wombat, fairly annoyed at having been tagged an excessive number of times with dumbass sex surveys, unfairly retaliated against a large group of her friends including the innocent non-tagger, yours truly. I don’t really mind, and I certainly don’t blame her.
I’m not taking the stupid quiz.
Firstly, I have a policy regarding mail, e-mail, blog or what-have-you chains of any kind: I am the last link. No chain letter, no pyramid scheme, no forwarded e-mail or game of tag will ever get through me. This means that if I get tagged, I don’t pass it along. This still leaves me some discretion regarding *reading* forwards or responding to stupid-ass blogosphere memes on my own blog, but I usually don’t bother.
Secondly, it is a stupid quiz. It deserves nothing but mockery, and while Wombat’s response to it wasn’t exactly perfect, it was priceless, and a hard act to follow. I don’t feel up to the challenge.
Finally, I just don’t bloody feel like it. If ya’all are really burning to know about my sex life and my philsophy on things sexual…well, I can go into some of that, but I need a better stimulus than a quiz written by someone who doesn’t know the difference between “your” and “you’re.”