Woes

So, my laptop is dead. Nathan's laptop has also kicked the bucket. So far, the problem appears to be beyond the skill of the two repair shops I have taken it to, but I'm still holding out some hope that the data may be retrieveable when I take it back with me to the states. I didn't lose anything more serious than some half-hearted writing, since everything important was backed up on disk. I am, however, quite sore that I don't have a computer at hand, which cuts out a signficant portion of my income. Also, I just downloaded the entire Season 2 of House. Imagine all that fascinating entertainment locked dormant inside the hard drive! The gigs of unwatched curmudgeonly doctors and maybe a few dedicated to Blue Crush. It was horrible, horrible timing. Now Nathan's getting tired of my requests for him to sing ''Billie Jean'' or ''Hey Jude'' because I can't stand writing in silence. I honestly don't see what his problem is; he has a great voice. Not to mention that now I have to deal with writing with an actual writing instrument. On actual paper. Who even does that anymore?

Perhaps I wouldn't be so irritated if one of my favorite pants didn't have a sticky splotch of red ink from a leaking pen in the wash. It was my favorite pair because it made me feel like a bad ass athletic type, with little zippered cargo pockets that were perfect for whipping out pocket knives or antidotes. The only upside to the whole affair is that I can blame it on the maid. Because, did I mention? We have a maid to do our laundry. Apparently she came with the house we're sharing with three other roommates. I woke up and began panicking because my laundry basket was empty before I realized that no one would want to steal my clothes. But when you only have two pairs of pants, they become VERY PRECIOUS.

Since I'm rarely in the house, I rarely see our maid, chi Yen, so the only times when I'm reminded that we have someone doing our laundry is when I find boxers in my clothes. This happens...pretty much all the time. I don't think chi Yen is confused about my gender, but I feel embarassed about bringing it up anyway, since I still feel vaguely guilty about having a maid. The woman does our laundry, so who cares if Colin ends up with my towels and I end up with his boxers? I guess, except Colin, of course. Or possibly Nicholas.