Yeah, sure you forgot to save...

I hate that excuse, dammit. I really do. I hated people in high school that came up with that sorry shit. I hated it in college, although I must admit I came up with some even lamer ones myself. I really hated it in the workplace when some frat boy/sorority girl that never quite left college behind asked me to take up the slack for his/her little blunder. I would try to be the nice girl and cover, but then I would get steamrolled for not "managing the situation" properly. I thought about changing my initials to S.G.--scapegoat.

BUT, I swear on the holy mother (which I can do because I'm Jewish and none of our mothers are sacred) that I wrote this huge post about the woman of my dreams. I mean huge. While I was looking for some appropriate visual aids, I clicked off the window and I lost the whole damn thing. Yeah, you read right. I clicked off my own window. My bloodshot eyes were pried open with horror. My stomach began to churn.

I had stayed up until 2 a.m. writing this odd little thing. I was in denial. I hadn't really lost the whole thing, had I? I spent another half an hour trying to figure out how to recover it. I clicked on every link in the history folder (including the techie forums my husband surfs--how many Star Wars references and high praises for Google Ad$en$e can you read?). I tried to look in the trash folder and through my cookies. I checked the clipboard just in case I might have selected the whole text and Ctrl-C'ed it. Bubkis (Bubkiss? Bubkas? What is that word, anyway?).

But, I never give up. Seriously, it's my tragic flaw, my Achilles' heel. Usually, I just get snappy and swear a lot, frightening everyone around me into leaving. Then I figure out how to fix the problem. However, this time I was beaten. Utterly and completely defeated by my own freakin' thumb. Isn't having opposable thumbs supposed to be an advantage? G-sus. It serves me right, I guess, because I had just dished out a little diatribe about how important it is to exercise my writing muscle (as they like to tell you in ye old writer's workshops). Just when the ego thinks it's free...

Somewhere out there somebody finds this all knee-slappin' funny. It must be Google.