Pretty much what I know about technology is confined to what ever new Apple product the husband hands me. He hands me a new phone or laptop or pad, patiently goes over the 1/2 dozen or so tasks I tend to do. I suddenly have a shiny new toy that I use approximately 1/10 of. Then my brother comes over, hot wires it and teaches me to do things that are in gray to black area of legality. I have thousands of ringtones and don't even get me started on the movies and TV shows.
Recently, some very sweet and well meaning friends gently suggested to me that there are all these great books about how to grow your blog. This is their sweet way of pointing out I have no idea what I am doing. So I sat around for about a week chewing on my thumb nail pondering on how I was going to get a hold of a tech book on blogging and web design. Normally, I would just go to my library, but since every person in that building is a friend or co-worker, that is not happening. Not only would it put a spot light on my stooopid, but I would have to have about 10-20 conversations about what I was checking out just to exit the building. So the entire enterprise would take the bulk of my day. Scratch that.
Which leaves me with a trip to Barnes and Noble, which always makes me a little nervous. You might think with my library bookworm background, that the greatest shopping ever for me would be the bookstore. You would be wrong for so many reasons, namely
1. I avoid non-fiction unless it is about makeup, zen or gardening. Or gardening in full makeup in a zen garden.
2. I am cheap. Bookstores are 100% more expensive than the library.
3.Barnes and Nobles' non-fiction is on the second floor. I have pronounced emotional and physical reasons why that is problematic.
So, I was fairly crabby by the time I got to the elevator in Barnes and Noble. Where I found a sign suggesting that I find a sales associate if I needed to use the elevator. Oh my God. I briefly considered leaving. Then, I reminded myself that I put on my big girl panties today, and go find a sales associate. When I told her I needed to use the elevator, she looks at me and says, "You know, we have an escalator." Because, you know, I appear totally ambulatory.
So, I told her, "Yeah. Well. I can't use the escalator. I just can't deal with it, like AT ALL." Which was followed by an awkward silence. She was staring at me, no doubt trying to make my head explode and thinking, "You uppity bitch. I have all this other shit to do and now I have to go get the elevator key and you're not even in a fucking wheelchair."
It's embarrassing, but I cannot deal with escalators. I blame my mother. Mom always knew someone who died doing everything, but to this day some of her stories haunt me. When I was little, she told me, "I knew a little girl who died on the escalator. She was screwing around and she fell and her hair got caught in the escalator and IT SCALPED HER. Her mother saw the whole thing!" (She also used this as her reasoning behind cutting my hair like my brother's hair for the first 14 years of my life.) Mom also knew children who had died on the bus, shortly after lying to their mothers and not wearing their hat.
Couple that with a crippling fear of heights and random bouts of vertigo brought on by the stairs in my own home, and you are not getting me on an escalator without drugging me like Mr. T. I finally made it to the Tech/Entrepreneur section. It was way scary. I took a picture for you.
I noticed 2 things:
1. I couldn't understand any of them. They were written in geek latin.
2. They were very expensive. (note to self: write book.)
So, I slunk back to the elevator, rode back down with my new BFF, the angy sales associate. Then I hurried to the safe, warm place that is the Bargain Books table, and bought this instead!
I really love chickens. So, it's unlikely you'll see a huge amount of sexy features here. At least not until my brother comes back in to town. Then, I'll have web cams and blog parties and thousands of ring tones.
~dana
