She keeps Moet et Chandon in a pretty cabinet

Sunday night was supposed to be a night of serious blogging: Finish at least three posts in drafts and think of ideas for new ones. But instead my computer freaked out, as it often does, and Sunday and Monday was spent trying to figure out why it wouldn't connect to the Internet, why there was no sound, and why the classic restart option -- attempted no less than 10 times -- failed to work.

Thanks to my supreme Google-fu and an alarming amount of fellow 'net denizens with the same problem, the solution was found, implemented, and Francisco is back in service. (Until the next time he decides to act out like the surly toddler he is.) Of course now, at this point, there is no energy or brainpower left to intelligently blog so I resort to the writer's crutch: bullet points.

• Since writing about Anne Shirley, one of her blossoms has died. Hoping that's just the lifespan of an amaryllis and not a statement on my sickly green thumb.
• Last weekend, I tried on more than 30 items of clothing, and bought none. This weekend, a trip to Georgetown and trying on about 10 outfits, ended empty-handed. Sunday's trip to Target only set me back $14. What has happened to my shopping-fu?!
• Sunday the roommate and I went to brunch with/exclusively for bottomless mimosas. So many years wasted because of a disdain for orange juice; if only I had realized my glass was just missing the champagne.
• It's season finale time. "30 Rock" was amazing and the summer is going to be long and dry without it. "How I Met Your Mother" is pissing me off and it better stop being lame. Or else I'll still keep watching it but not happily.
• The oil spill in the Gulf is breaking my heart. I think every person that ever uttered or even thought the words "drill, baby, drill" should have to personally clean off a bird or sop up some of the mess from those wetlands.