Amanda Takes Off...

Something has gone terribly wacky with my website. If you made any comment within the last five days, it's entirely gone and there is no way for me to recover it.

To be brief, I couldn't upload photos, my email suddenly got corrupted and went haywire. Posts went missing (and comments, of course). All of my /files a href links need to be changed to /files.shtml links (or, rather, that's the only solution I've found so far). I can send email FROM my account, but can't get email TO my account, unless it's sent from another Squirrelmail account. All changes I've made in the last five days are gone. I had to change some permissions (no, I don't know what that means, but yes, I figured it out by myself!) in order to generate a static file. I had to change nameservers.

Do you know what any of this means? I didn't. Now I sort of do. Nothing like a "trial by fire and tech guy."

I currently have a help ticket open with my host that has, oh, 22 messages in it.

This morning there was gnashing of teeth, crying. Good Man, who was up until 1:30 doing tech support with Costa Rica, went into Girlfriend Tech Support mode.

He hugged me. "You'll be OK, we'll use the cache, get the posts, no problem. I can help you. Give me your passwords, I'll work on it today."

I was crying. He works too hard, he doesn't need to do my tech support at work. And since the HostPC guys were already at it, I didn't want another thumb in the soup. "This is my whole life in Korea! And now everything is going crazy and I can't even back anything up!"

But, Good Man kept up the Girlfriend Tech Support. He rescued me. He found the files, I reposted them. (Three times. Yep, first two times they didn't stick.)

Meanwhile, the tech support guys over at HostPC rescued me (still working on email), upgraded my account, backed something up, restored something else... I made one of them blush, telling him I'd kiss him if he got it to work.

You know, computers were supposed to make our lives easier.

Idiots I
Yesterday some women dressed like prostitutes came into the corner store I was in. (Most women dress like prostitutes here. The days get colder, the skirts get shorter!) I was signing a credit card slip and they hollered over my shoulder for some cigarettes. Suddenly they froze.

"Wow! She's writing English so quickly!" one of them said.

I caught the clerk's eye. I said in Korean, "Well, it is my name."

"Oh," the second one said in English, "What? Sorry, no Englishee."

I said it again, slowly and loudly this time, still in Korean. "Well. It. Is. My. Name!"

When I exited the gimbap place, I saw the two women smoking on a bench. Smoking. In public.

They were prostitutes.

Idiots II
Good Man, pissed at a coworker for royally screwing something up, messaged me, "I'm going crazy."

"Why?"

"Because he is still dumb."