The air conditioner doesn’t work. Need to put a call into the repair service. Again. They said they fixed last week, but they lied.
My blog migration isn’t working. I can’t get the friggin’ data into the friggin’ blog. I spent two hours on tech support yesterday, and one hour today. They have created a ticket for me, which I suspect means that they are shoving my problem under a bed with dust bunnies.
The car has been serviced. I need to drive to the garage near my parents house, pick it up, and drop off my folks’ loaner car.
Sigh.
I might need a Egg McMuffin. Eight hours until I can uncork a bottle of wine without judgment.
Apt. 11d 
The blog migration will be worth it but it’s never as easy as “they” say. Always some hiccups.
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It’s 5:50 pm in Moscow. I say the sun is over the yardarm.
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My sisters and I had a great idea for a tv show. Well, all we could come up with was a title: It’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere.
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Your life is sounding perilously close to mine. I just got back from leaving the car at the mechanic because the Service Engine light was on. I have a horrible feeling it’s the transmission, and I’m bummed about that because the transmission on our other “good” car fell apart about 5 weeks ago, a week before our move. Alas, we have no loaner car.
We also serviced the central air last week, and today I have some guys putting up the part of the fence that was ripped out, apparently, by the septic people when they replaced the septic system a few months before we moved here.
I’m just going to go read GoT fanfic.
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Roof leak — check. Something wrong with the swimming pool pump — check. Irrigation system leaking — check.
My husband was being very zen about it the other day — basically arguing that the fact that everything is broken means you have too much stuff. Less stuff means less stuff to repair and service.
Wondering if he’s onto something . . .
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