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One of the things that happiness is, is a 50-minute conversation with one's bondmate and best friend, said conversation including some giggling and geeking and especially the bit where said bondmate outlined his cunning plan/comedy routine about what he'd do if someone asked him how to find the C: drive (they'd end up seeing the drive, all right...) and Naomi had to be jumped upon with the same sort of promptness that one must take when supressing Naismith before she could declare undying love and fealty to said bondmate. Said bondmate also snarked about getting a psych degree so he could charge me per minute for my calls. We talked about how he's the one who knows when to whack me over the head, and we also discussed the maximum number of simultaneous whack connections my head could sustain given a standard-sized whacking implement.
I called Dawn, and she and I giggled together, and she told me, "Thank God for Darkside," and she made me promise to tell him that she'd said that.
There was a call from Problem Child. He called and asked if so-and-so was there. "Who?" He repeated the name. "I think you've got a wrong number." The wrong, of course, was me handing out the number in the first place. He got the machine when he tried the number thirty seconds later. I know his voice. I spent untold hours monitoring his calls at the workplace, and he didn't even have to say his name for me to know who he was. There's another specific ID on the caller ID to screen for, now...
The Problem Child called again while I was in the shower; Sis got the phone and was equally confused as to who he was looking for, as said person clearly didn't exist at said number.
Then V called, and she had perhaps a computer client to push my way (she thinks I should fix people's computers) because she ran into the sweetest lesbian couple and they needed a reliable computer person to take a gander at their computer, preferably a female computer person, and did she know anyone? Of course she did. V knows everyone. I was skeptical of my own computer know-how, because I still don't feel like I'm that much of a serious geek, but V thinks otherwise. I figured it out myself later, in an e-mail to Mama: I still don't think of myself as being particularly technical, but the truth of the matter is, I don't appear particularly technical to myself because I surround myself with technical people, and if someone isn't technical enough, then I educate them to a point where I can stand to be around them. We'll be working out the dance with the car later.
As if that were not enough,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tygerr IMed just as V and I got off the phone, and he tested out his spiffy new cellphone by spending a mildly epic amount of time on the phone with me. We gossiped about good old times, which was not in the slightest hampered by the fact that none of said good old times were experiences shared with the other, except by general class. Since he can identify himself as not-Problem-Child, and knows my online name as well as my offline name, and comes up differently on the caller ID, things are unlikely to have him collide with the "Who?" factor.
So, glee. A good evening. Now, for some sleep...
I called Dawn, and she and I giggled together, and she told me, "Thank God for Darkside," and she made me promise to tell him that she'd said that.
There was a call from Problem Child. He called and asked if so-and-so was there. "Who?" He repeated the name. "I think you've got a wrong number." The wrong, of course, was me handing out the number in the first place. He got the machine when he tried the number thirty seconds later. I know his voice. I spent untold hours monitoring his calls at the workplace, and he didn't even have to say his name for me to know who he was. There's another specific ID on the caller ID to screen for, now...
The Problem Child called again while I was in the shower; Sis got the phone and was equally confused as to who he was looking for, as said person clearly didn't exist at said number.
Then V called, and she had perhaps a computer client to push my way (she thinks I should fix people's computers) because she ran into the sweetest lesbian couple and they needed a reliable computer person to take a gander at their computer, preferably a female computer person, and did she know anyone? Of course she did. V knows everyone. I was skeptical of my own computer know-how, because I still don't feel like I'm that much of a serious geek, but V thinks otherwise. I figured it out myself later, in an e-mail to Mama: I still don't think of myself as being particularly technical, but the truth of the matter is, I don't appear particularly technical to myself because I surround myself with technical people, and if someone isn't technical enough, then I educate them to a point where I can stand to be around them. We'll be working out the dance with the car later.
As if that were not enough,
tygerr IMed just as V and I got off the phone, and he tested out his spiffy new cellphone by spending a mildly epic amount of time on the phone with me. We gossiped about good old times, which was not in the slightest hampered by the fact that none of said good old times were experiences shared with the other, except by general class. Since he can identify himself as not-Problem-Child, and knows my online name as well as my offline name, and comes up differently on the caller ID, things are unlikely to have him collide with the "Who?" factor. So, glee. A good evening. Now, for some sleep...
