When my MacBook tried to die this weekend, I thought I was dead, too.Thanks to Facebook, I've taken enough quizzes to know that if all women in the world were broken down into four Sex and the City categories, I would be a Carrie. It is so obvious. First, I'm a writer (though I've always wondered how she got away with an apartment in New York City on a one-column-a-week salary. Bitch.) Second, I am a clotheshorse. But the icing on my Carrie cake is that I whine to get what I want -- especially from men. I went all Carrie at the Apple store this weekend, when I took my beloved 2007 white Macbook in for what I thought would be the reading of its last rites, pouting and sobbing and squealing with girlish misunderstanding of all things technical to the man assigned to listen to me. Turns out that even though (like Carrie) I didn't back up the novel I've been working on or any of my stories and research from the last year, a sweetheart named Kevin said everything would be okay.
The above photograph, which serves as my final installment in the Colorado Mills' "Week of a Woman" photo contest entry I've been working on, was taken on my roommate's MacBook, while I was in complete and total distress over my potential loss of vapid words. I used the soap opera/daytime drama filter that the Mac photobooth comes with to add a dimension of feminine softness and helplessness.
The irony to my plight is that I know I should have backed up my work a long time ago. And I know this well -- because I used to work at the Apple Store.