Today I woke up to Pop-Tarts and bacon. I don't believe I've ever had that combination of breakfast items before in my life. I figure, if you're resorting to Pop-Tarts, why put forth the effort to cook bacon? On the other hand, even if you're already cooking bacon, why give the meal such an anticlimactic ending with a toaster pastry?
Standing in line for breakfast ahead of me was a new guy who takes the bed beside me, in front of Tyrone, who is also to the side of me but a bit to the rear. This new guy looks like a smaller version of Kim's dad, with thick, seventies-style sandy-blonde hair, a weathered face and huge reading glasses. He looks to be about in his early sixties, but he's probably about 49. The air conditioner in the building was set way past stun, and he had his hands in his pockets with his elbows stiffened, keeping his arms close to his side and his shoulders hunched up. It was pretty early, about five in the morning, but he must have taken some pretty powerful narcotics of some kind the night before - prescription or otherwise - because he kept nodding off in his hunched stance. His feet more or less led the rest of his body along the line as it moved, though his sneakers often used the wall to get their bearings since the man's eyes were pretty much closed most of the time. He reminded me of the dead alien priest from Beetlejuice, top-heavy and clumsy while occasionally mumbling about promises.
Last night I had to restore my computer to its factory settings, a tragedy due to the amount of music, movies and shows I had on it. Five GB of music, 20 movies and all 5 seasons of Futurama were among the casualties. I believe the cause of this catastrophe is from the website I was sent to to watch an episode of The Sarah Silverman Program. I'd seen John DiMaggio had made a guest appearance on it and I wanted to see it, but the site I went to loaded up a ransom survey. Complete this survey, and we'll show ya the episode all right. In the end, something corrupted a boot file that was required to load Windows properly, and I eventually got stuck in a reboot loop that had Windows loading its Startup Repair program every time. There was on option to restore Windows only and keep a copy of my personal files in a backup folder, but my hard drive didn't have the available space to make a copy of all my data before deleting it for the reinstall. So instead I had to wipe it clean. I finally convinced myself to go ahead with the full wipe by keeping in mind that I could technically re-acquire everything I had...eventually.
So with the my entire system refreshed and restarted I figured I could use this opportunity to start things anew and keep better track of my file system and downloading procedures. I had been getting pretty slack about it anyway.
I'm finishing up laundry now and afterwards I'm headed off to my parents house to load up my Led Zeppelin CD on to iTunes, download recently lost programs (such as iTunes), and fill an order for someone who wants an R&B CD made. I've even created a text file for keeping records of transactions and music downloads for customers. Go Team Organization! So starting fresh I have 123 GB of free space. Out of the 160 GB that the packaging claimed. I seriously doubt Windows 7 is over 30 gigs. It was kind of a bitch getting some of the factory program crap off here, but I did it. Everything's down to its bare essentials.
Shorty came up to me, now I've got to look up some stuff for him via Samantha from Executive Focus. Splendid.
I may have inadvertantly caused a small wiffle of drama here. The new guy apparently has known James, the cancer guy who calls me Gizmo, for years. James came by my bed and showed me his newly acquired phone. "Can you help me put minutes on this thing when I buy them? I have no idea what I'm doing here."
"Sure," I replied. I looked at his phone. "Hey, that's the exact same one I got. I almost had to buy another one a few weeks ago when I lost it for a few days, but they don't sell TMobile products at Wal-Mart anymore, which sucks because this thing was only like fifteen dollars. Luckily I found it later on though."
"It's only fifteen dollars at the store?!" James looked over at the new guy. "Hey! You said you paid a hundred and fifty for this!" He turned back to me. "He sold this to me for forty dollars and said he paid a hundred and fifty for it. I can't believe this." He snapped back at the sleeping man,
"I can't believe you!"
My clothes are almost done drying, and I'm hoping I see my current client to get his name and name my price ($6). In the beginning of our conversation he said the money was no problem, so hopefully by mentioning the price he'll get that to me before I leave. Otherwise I'll just have to get it afterward. Sigh.
<9:34>
