There has been no word yet from Tony regarding this alleged �baby� he and his wife are supposedly having. I mean, he called yesterday morning to say that Rita (his wife) was experiencing contractions and stuff, but nothing since then. He didn�t call today, and he didn�t come in to work, either, though, which I think means he�s fired. Kidding! Sophie is well aware of this (so-called) �baby�, so I think Tony�s job is pretty secure.
Not so secure, it would seem, is our office building, which was broken into last night, again, and from which was purloined one of the computers. Again. You know, for the third time. Is our office built on an Indian burial ground, or something? Seriously! No, seriously. This is the second time since April, y�all. That�s not just a kooky coincidence, that�s THE DEVIL HIMSELF AT WORK!
Of course, the lucky bastard whose unit got filched is none other than yours truly, like what I really needed to cap off the week was for all my files to go silently into the night. Because what�s life without a challenge, right? Already they�re starting to make little jokes about how I�m pretty much the common denominator since these little electronics heists began last summer. A fact I kind of can�t deny, but then again, in what exactly am I suspected of having made my getaway? A shopping cart? That wouldn�t look fishy at all, me running pell-mell down the street, pushing a rickety-ass cart ahead of me with my own damn computer in the basket, cords all a-dangle.
Oh, did I mention that they didn�t even bother to unplug the damn thing before just yanking it bodily from my desk? Because they didn�t. I mean, this was pretty much your basic smash-and-grab operation, here. Not a lot of high-tech gadgetry or, you know, planning went into this caper. They tossed a car jack through the plate glass door (another fact which kind of rules me out, as if I�d really be a serious suspect in this; I mean if anybody knows how worthless that computer was, it�s me), charged up the front steps, picked up the computer, and then basically just heaved at it until all the cords snapped and fell off. I mean, the poor little mouse was just left dangling all down the stairs like a deflated slinky or something. Good luck selling that thing when you can�t even plug it in anymore.
Of course, I�m not so dim as to believe resale is the ultimate plan, here. Probably they�ll just plunder it for various odds and ends and sell them off to�whomever buys such things, I don�t know. Who does buy that stuff? Anyway, I was all pissed off and disgruntled and shit, because historically I haven�t fared very well at completing my job without my computer, and I just had this horrible feeling that they were going to get one of the dilapidated old modules from the electronics museum in the storage room (seriously, there are all these ancient contraptions down there that are pretty much made of Bristol board and Scotch tape, and Sophie can�t seem to bring herself to throw them out) and I really wasn�t looking forward to sending email from a machine whose modem is basically two tin cans and a string. Fortunately (for me), Sophie decided to take Corinne�s computer and repurpose it for my needs. Poor Corinne is S.O.L., I suppose. At least, until Sophie can get another one.
Also fortunate for me is the fact that I didn�t have any personal documents or anything stored on my computer at work. It�s certainly a more advanced model than the one I use at home (a laptop the size of a suitcase that takes about three days to boot up, and freezes if I inhale while its loading the internet), and I use it to do the bulk of my web-related activities, but I didn�t have anything of personal value on its hard drive.
That�s kind of cold comfort, though. I mean, I still had a lot of work-related stuff on there that I may or may not be able to replace with a modicum of difficulty. Although, it�s still better than it could have been. It would seem that ours was one of three eerily similar break-ins in the immediate area last night, and then there was ye olde attempted murder, which the officer who reported to our particular crime scene mentioned but wouldn�t go into detail about, like who are we going to tell? He disclosed in his public, online journal. But, seriously, I don�t think they can keep that sort of thing a secret forever. Anyway, my point is that our break-in did not culminate in an attempted anything, thank God.
And you know who has the perfect alibi right now? Tony. Tony, Tony, Tony. I knew that �baby� thing sounded suspicious.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: About a million people in Hong Kong are reaching this site by Googling for �Yoanna�, which I think is pretty fuckin� cool. I�m Watching: A rerun of the last North Shore. And Wishing: It really was �the last North Shore�. I mean, it�s no more crap than is The O.C., say, or a million similar shows, but�I�m getting a little sick and tired of �a million similar shows�.