Throughout this blog, I have given remarkably few helpful hints for people recovering from hip replacements. Well, I'm pleased to report that I finally have some advice to dole out: if you know that your left leg sort of gives out every once in awhile when you stand up, do not stand up when holding a cup of coffee directly over your laptop. Just FYI.
That is, of course, exactly what I did this morning. I was busily working at my job, watching the Olympics, drinking coffee and generally enjoying a sweet-ass morning, when I stood up with coffee cup in hand. My Freaky Cyborg Hip saw its chance and caused my hip to short circuit a little. I tripped, spilling my coffee all over my brand new Macbook. And my couch. And my leg. And most of my living room. As the youngsters on the internets say: FML.
Fuck. My. Life.
I immediately sprang into action (well...maybe not "sprang" so much as "swore and limped at great speed") and googled "coffee on Macbook," which yielded several helpful tips, most of which involved dismantling the machine and cleaning it out. Well, the chances of me successfully dismantling the laptop and putting it back together again in one piece are about the same as the chances of me winning the Olympics in downhill slalom, but I tried my best to use Q-tips to soak up the coffee between the keys, then a hairdryer to dry everything up. Somehow during this process, a bowl managed to fall off the drying rack in the kitchen and shatter into a million pieces for no particular reason, just to make everything that much more exciting.
The computer seemed dry, but the keys were still sticky, (shut up, those of you with dirty minds) so I called A. to see if he had any computer-cleaning solution. He came right over after referring to my mishap as a "very Arley thing to do" (why is that among my circle of friends my name has become a synonym for fucking up? is that a bad sign?) and helped me to clean off the computer. He also convinced me that I probably should take it to the Apple Store to be on the safe side, which I agreed was probably for the best.
When I got into the car still stinking of coffee, the first sound I heard from my speakers was "it's going to be alright...it's going to be alright." Dan Bejar singing "Snow White." (As I've said before, I've had a single Destroyer CD in my car since probably last spring). I felt greatly cheered. Clearly, this was a sign from the universe. If Dan Bejar is telling me that everything is going to be alright (it's going to be alright), then it is going to be alright, because Dan Bejar speaks the truth. Was he wrong when he said "remember the wolves that you run with are wolves?" He was not. Was he incorrect when he said "love is a political beast with jaws for a mouth?" No he was not. Was he lying when he said "Praise be the delightful muezzin tending his flock and praise be those alabaster hands running amok on your body?" I have no idea, but probably not. Point is: Dan Bejar speaks the truth. And also the Truth. I had nothing to worry about.
Which I believed, until I got into the Apple Store and some skinny-jeans-clad undergrad wearing studded wrist cuffs that kept tapping against the machine took my laptop apart, dried a few things off with a piece of paper towel, then said with the seriousness of an emergency room doctor that the computer was (to paraphrase from the technical language he used) supremely fucked. I could, if I wanted, dry it out for 48 hours to see what happens, but it's probably better to buy a new laptop. Well, fuck. This is, by the way, my new laptop: the one my parents surprised me with for Christmas. Dan Bejar, you've been telling lies! Cryptic, allusion-laden, poetically dense lies!
So, yes, I recently consumed the world's most expensive cup of coffee. (Apparently, Maxwell House's "good to the last drop" motto should have the caveat of "...unless those drops are residing on the video card of your brand new Macbook.") Even worse, this is entirely my fault. I can't even blame this on my Freaky Cyborg Hip (well, I kind of can, but I knew full well that standing up is not my greatest skill). I have only myself to blame.
So my laptop was DOA and there were only two things left to do: buy a chai latte (which the barista, who recognized me because I am such a Starbucks yuppie, gave me for free...which kind of restored my faith in humanity), and go out shopping for the tightest, sluttiest little black dress I could find for my friend Bridie's birthday party tonight. After all, I need to save money for a new laptop and those nine-dollar appletinis aren't going to buy themselves! Alas, this was not to be. The atrophy on my left side has gotten so bad that all the tight dresses sagged out around my left hip, which looked ridiculous, and there was no time for tailoring. The Freaky Cyborg Hip strikes again.
Anyhow, the bottom line is this: if you're looking for me, you can either find me at Boltini's tonight drinking to forget (men of Champaign-Urbana, plan your night accordingly) or else tomorrow morning at the Urbana Free Library, wildly hung over and attempting to get some work done without being distracted by trying to figure out whether the guy jiggling his leg up and down while looking at porn via Google images is masturbating or just....overcaffeinated?
If anyone has a spare laptop they can lend me, give me a call/email.