poor unicorn

My computer is dead. Dead as dead can be. Back when I first bought it almost four years ago, I called it my beautiful, mythical creature – the unicorn. I actually named it that. You know how you can name a new computer? Yeah, I named mine Unicorn. Then I forgot that I named it that until earlier this year when our internet was down and I went to McDonald’s and had trouble getting on the wireless connection. I called the technical helpline and they looked for my computer on the network and asked, "Are you Unicorn?"
So there’s something wrong with the port where the adapter plugs in, and the Computer Doctor or whatever his name is, won’t call me back.
But you don’t want to hear about my boring computer woes. You want to hear about the dead bodies.
It was the estranged husband in the library with the candlestick. See www.bolivarmonews.com for more details.
I’m at my mom and dad’s, paying my bills online and wondering how my bank account is getting so low. Then I remember it’s Christmas. Also, I have this tendency to buy more crap for myself than for other people when out "Christmas shopping." More like "Sarah likes that and impulsively buys it shopping."
While shopping with Michelle last week, she laughed at me for buying more for myself. After she was done guffawing, we ate at a restaurant with live music. The musician sang and played all the modern standards on his guitar. We were impressed until we noticed the sound of the guitar was continuing, although he had put the guitar down. It was some sort of guitar karaoke machine. I called it the "It Sounds Live" karaoke machine.
Mom is force feeding me toffee brittle and other delights. I may be exagerrating the "force" part.
Virginia Slim
I went out with Michelle, her husband Brett and some friends Friday night. We ate sushi at Umi, which I think is more appropriately called Oompa Loompa, mainly because that’s easier to remember.
Yes, I ate sushi again. What is this world coming to?
We also went to this hilarious place called Cartoons. I believe it’s named that for the comedy inadverdently performed nightly. Brett’s friend Jeff was almost *almost* picked up by a woman with more class than teeth, and that’s not saying much. Lucky guy with his stock in Gold Bond powder.
On the way home, we all harmonized that country song "It’s Your Love." I said it reminded me of every high school dance I’d ever been to. Jeff, who’s slightly older than everyone else on the planet, said "Me too."
Good times.

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