i am blind with rage at technology. and Harvey. not the invisible rabbit Harvey, but Harvey the very visible and uber-helpful (and odoriferous) frame shop guy at Hobby Lobby. i just JUST wanted some frames, backings, and D-rings for the love of God. but Harvey was intent absolutely finely tuned focused on providing me with the best customer service HL had Ever Seen. and while Harvey is a nice enough man, i'm sure, and while Harvey can whip together frame, matting, backing and wire faster than you can say Mona Lisa, he. does. not. know. jack. about. hanging art in a gallery. And AND will argue his point about using 3M Command sticky strips till your ears bleed, despite the fact that you've said NO 5K times. all this while Old Rugged Cross plays over the loud speaker in a rendition even sadder than the original God intended. when he finally asked what i was going to do with the "pitchur" i was TRYING to frame, i told him it was to be included in an art show. his reply: REALLY? as if to say THIS?! which set my teeth grinding, my insecurities screaming HA HA and my Timbos tuning up for a boot up Harvey's ass. every cell in my body wanted to yell STEP OFF, Harvey, STEP OFF, and flee what was beginning to feel like a social experiment with hidden cameras. give me the goddamn kool aid and put me out of my misery already, i think. then felt bad for thinking "goddamn" while the Old Rugged Cross was playing and Harvey was sweating & purple in the face and really really needed an Old Spice stick for his pits. somehow, unasked and unwanted, he slapped together 3 frames with backing and wire, but no pitchur inside. no glass. and no Command strip. STEP OFF HARVEY. and he reminded me maaany times that it was his day off, and he wasn't really there. if only. but he meant well, somewhere in that socially retarded head of his. he meant well. all this after having Mobile Medic at my house at 10am to collect bodily fluids and ask all manner of personal questions of me (in front of my stepson). apparently the insurance company doesn't think i am worth as much dead as i think i should be worth. there was just something horribly creepy about handing over a clear plastic cup filled with urine to a woman who i think was a nun at some time. at my dining room table. just wrong. feh. all this hullaballoo and i still have to finish painting some cradled frames and gluing up a bunch more that husband cut for me. i fell asleep on the couch for 2 hours, no doubt in attempt to put myself out of my own misery. alas, i awoke. and decided to print out my grocery list from the handy wegmans site that categorizes everything by aisle for you and adds menu items and is The coolest tool yet. but the printer is having an identity crisis, and won't print. maybe it's a toaster now, who knows. maybe tomorrow we'll see if it can fly. but i am angry and ready to go amish. i have a printer that won't print, a swervy new phone that i bought for email purposes that won't send or receive email, a framer that tried to kill me with blood pressure, and a nun at my table asking for pee pee. to quote Nancy Kerrigan, "WHHHHHYYYY?" i am moving to amish country. believe it.