Hi, people. This is yearstricken’s computer; you can call me Baby. That’s what she calls me. “Where’s my Baby?”  “Don’t touch my Baby.”  “Baby needs Apple juice – where’s the cord?”

 

Every day she sits in that rocking recliner with her coffee. Back and forth, back and forth just like a politician’s opinion but she doesn’t get huge donations from corporations to do it. She drives me crazy, and she’s a fast driver. (You guys know she’s bonkers, right? When she says, “I’m going crazy; anyone want to go with me?” she isn’t kidding.) So she sits and writes her little blog and makes her little points and you know what? She couldn’t do it without my help. But, you know what else? She didn’t buy me a single thing for Christmas!!

 

Last night, on Christmas Eve, they opened presents. That’s just wrong, six ways to Cleveland and back. I mean, as sure as steam rollers and toilet paper roll over, presents should be opened on Christmas morning. She had some fancy excuse about having family over, and then that family could sleep in on Christmas morning. Yeah, right, Miss I-got-a-new-coffee-pot-for-Christmas-smarty-pants blogger. The only one who thought of me was her brother, and you know what he got me? A patch cable that says it’s for PC-to-PC connections. Like I’m gonna hook up with some PC. I’m a Mac, for Christmas’ sake!

 

The worst part is her smart little iPhone that talks way too much. It got a brand-new leather case. Ring, ring it says all day long, which is phonish for  “Hold me! Hold me!” I’d like to slap it. You should see the two of them together. She holds it up to her ear and says the most inane things, and then it whispers nothings, allegedly sweet but probably also inane, in her ear.

 

So, Barely Christmas, y’all. It wasn’t merry for me, but don’t worry about me and my daily bouts with seasickness from that incessant rocking.  I’m the one who keeps all her files, and although she’s got a lot on me, trust me, I’ve got a lot more on her.