My camera is well and truly dead. It’s pushing up the daisies. It’s run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. It’s an ex-camera.
Bad timing, too, because I have so many things to show you. Imagine, if you will …
[socks in progress here–CASHMERE, people!!!]
[green matte nail polish here]
However! My birthday approaches, and I have been tipped off that a new camera with my name on it may be headed in the general direction of southern California. And don’t be surprised if the occasion of its arrival is celebrated with an Office Space-style dismantling of the old camera, which has driven the Mister and I well nigh insane with frustration over the past week or so. Why does it refuse to focus? Why does it turn itself off immediately after you turn it on? WHY does it say “Paper Jam” when there IS NO PAPER JAM???
All I know is, it’s making both of us crazy. It was a good little camera while it lasted, and, to be fair, I could have taken better care of it. I could have put it in its little travel case instead of just cramming it into my purse. I could have bought it new batteries sooner when the old ones started to go south. And I definitely could have not dropped it on the floor of the gondola at the Sterling Vineyards. But it’s become a pain in my ass, so I think it has to go.
Damn, it feels good to be a gangster.