Saturday, March 04, 2006

Damn Spam-Protection

Don't get me wrong - I truly appreciate Blogspot's effort at keeping out the spam posts. When I first saw the extra information I had to type into a box, those little letters you have decipher and retype, I had no trouble. I believe the first code was "XYPIL". Xypil. Sounded easy enough.

Except over time I keep coming across unreadable letters. Is that a "G" or a "Q"? Is that an "L" or an "H"? Resulting in the inevitable failure to post, calling for a repost.


Am I alone in the struggle for clarity?


A couple of days ago I left my daughter, M, at my sister's house for the afternoon since she was having such a good time with her cousins. I didn't dare disrupt her bliss. So I drove home, picked up A, and spent the afternoon trying to get him to do homework. In the end, I slunk into my office to trudge through the internet while my 12-year old banged on his drums mere feet away from me, A's homework unfinished because after an hour or so of useless urging, I gave up. J, likewise, was playing drums rather than doing a report on Pancho Villa (chosen because my great-grandfather was a colonel in Villa's army) and thus I further had to endure my husband lecturing him. And agonizing.

Read blogs, read silly stuff, wrote some.

Dinner. Threw some frozen stuff into a pan, added some more frozen stuff to that, pan-fried cut-up, frozen chicken breasts from Trader Joe's. Mixed everything together for my own unique concoction that the family generally enjoys.

Time, freedom, quiet ... I really, really wanted that.

Near 7, I packed pajamas, a robe and slippers for the girl, figuring that she'd fall asleep on the way home. I planned on giving her a bath at my sister's, needing to work on a huge tangle she'd gotten in her hair from a braid my husband forgot to take out when putting her to bed (I'd been teaching the previous night). In fact, I'm reminded that in my darker moments, when I wonder what would happen to my family if I died from some horrible disease or accident...(not suicidal thoughts, just depressive ones), one of my main concerns is my daughter's long, curly hair. After a bath, you have to brush it out using a heavy-duty detangler otherwise she'll end up with the kind of dreadlocks homeless people get. My poor girl would end up with a buzzcut if left alone for long with just my husband.

Anyway, I grabbed a Fleetwood Mac CD and got into our VW Passat to take the half-hour drive to my sister's place. Time, freedom, quiet...the night was a welcome relief. I pressed on the gas, speeding some the dark road out of our neighborhood.

As I was turning left on one of several streets to get to the 210 Freeway, I noticed a brown-colored blur next to me as I accelerated. I turned to look out the window and there was a pug dog, running its little heart out next to me. I slowed the car, and watched as it crossed in front of me and leaped-ran across the street into the big dark of our suburban town. Had to be the funniest thing I'd seen in a long time - its belly round beneath, the run a matter of jumping with all four legs in the air, sort of a squeezing movement. Fast, fast, fast.

I laughed hard, thinking, I must look like that pug. Leap-running away from home.

For at least a half-hour. Or so. Hope my belly doesn't scrape asphalt.


Diana said...

1. I have that problem with the letters, too, and have several times almost blogged about it. It sometimes takes me three tries to identify the stupid word. Could they not at least use real words? Do spam-bots read?

2. I also worry about my daughter's hair in the case of my untimely death. It takes constant attention, which I do not have, to not be a snarled mess.

3. Loved the description of you driving away...

8763 Wonderland said...

Nice sketch, A. Great visuals of your daughter's hair and driving away into the night.

Anne said...

Great place you've got here. I'll be back. Yea, those letters suck. Poor vision makes me crotchety...

Hmm can't comment unless yer a blogger user? Nasty. Haven't used blogger in 2 years, but OK.

Adriana Bliss said...

Thanks, Diana! How funny you have the same concern about your Brushing hair is just not very often a father's job.

Thanks, RJ.

Nice to meet you, Anne - thank you so much.