Nevergirl's

I rooted for Betty Coopers for years, gundemmit.

That girl has awesome oozing out of every pore. She’s one of the smartest girls in school. She fixes cars, mostly Archie’s. She cooks. She makes her own clothing. She runs a doll hospital in her garage. She loves children and the elderly. She keeps a small garden in her backyard. She plays the guitar—and the tambourine to boot! She has a cat named Caramel. She takes karate lessons and at one point, she even developed ESP after an encyclopedia fell on her head by accident. At one point, she spent most of her weekend DIY’ing One Year Anniversary Gifts for all the members of a little-known recycling club she put up in their neighborhood. Did I mention she once became a racecar driver for Veronica’s dad’s company?

Knowing these about Betty and given what Veronica is like, Archie Andrews is an eedjit of the first order for choosing the latter over the former. It’s not exactly state secret Archie has the IQ of a plant, but this takes the cake! How can anyone choose Veronica over Betty?

But you know what hurts even more? I yelped, “Archie can’t marry Veronica!” and Wett turned to me and asked, “Archie who?”

How can anyone be born sometime in the 80s and not know Archie Andrews or Veronica Lodge?

Oh, that’s right. If you’re Wett, you do not know Veronica Lodge because the only Veronica you know is Veronica Mars.

I read about this proposal from MyMariaTV’s feed, and I read up what I could about it. For some reason, all this growing up and getting married business in comic books doesn’t sit well with me.

Everyone grows up, even the kids from Riverdale. This makes me very sad. Some things in life should never have to grow up and grow old—this happy little piece of my childhood included.

Have you ever seen anything this beautiful? I haven’t, and it’s taking all of my willpower not to go raid the piggybank and get one shipped to where I am. After all, this is one of those few occasions when I’ve a reason to be happy the USD to peso conversion took a beating. The way things stand right now, this hot little number actually comes out cheaper thanks to the fact that my dollar is only worth P42.19 upon last conversion!

This baby, it’s sexy—it’s sexy as hell but it runs on a three-year-old processor and its ram leaves me shortchanged. This new Macbook Air has

• 2 GBs of ram
• Core 2 Duo for a processor

That’s fine and dandy if you’re only using it for spreadsheets, and word documents, and social networks, but I’m not. My two-year-old laptop originally came with only 1 GBs of ram, but I upgraded the day I bought it, bringing it up to 4 GBs. It runs on a Core 2 Duo, too–not too shabby, really, for something that’s almost two years old which is why it breaks my heart that this new beaut from Apple doesn’t come with better hardware.

The new Macbook Air is gorgeous, gorgeous but its components came right out of 2008! In fact, my Zhivago (which was purchased December 2008) has better hardware!

In one of the reviews, someone said buying this baby will be a lot like “buying a 2011 Ferrari that comes with the engine of a Kia Sonata.”

Another said, “It’s like humping a hot good looking chic and when you get to know her, she’s an air head with no personality, and all she does is want your money.”

As far as ultra-portables go, the MacBook Air is the sexiest. And, sex sells so I don’t doubt for a minute Apple will be laughing its way to the bank. Please BUY THIS BABY if you won’t be using graphic-heavy software, anyway. If you only use your laptop for spreadsheets and word documents and browsing non-flash websites, or looking up such things as the most popular electronic cigarette for men, go ahead and buy this saucy little thing. I can’t stress this enough: it’s BEAUTIFUL!

If you’re after better computing power, however, you’d be better off with the Sony Vaio Z. At least, that’s what the man tells me. He’s a specs nut, and he says the Sony Vaio Z has

• an all-metal body about an inch thin
• processor options of up to Intel Core i7
• ram options of up to 8GB
• a standard 1GB integrated video card

What does the Third World Nerd say about the $999 Macbook Air, Frances? I’m interested to know (because I’m planning to replace my trusty 2-year-old Zhivago pretty soon). Mine says it’s beautiful but its specs are nothing to write home about.

Ooooh, but really, this Mac is gorgeous. I can’t stop looking at it. I need to stop drooling, though, because this pretty grab-and-go Mac won’t be very useful to users like me who run a gazillion apps upon start-up. It’s exquisite, yes, but apart from its looks, there isn’t much there. In fact, my two-year-old Zhivago outperforms its hardware bar none!

So yes, you’ve got yourself a deal Mrs. Young. Let’s wait for mid-2011, for the 13-inchers with i7 processors from Apple.

The more I know, the more confusing it gets—and no, we’re not talking about rocawear, okay (although just picking out a few from the treasure trove that is THAT online shop muddles me three ways to Friday). But I digress. Going back to my dilemma, is it possible I was so busy trying to believe there’s good in everyone that I totally missed seeing the monster within? I think I shall sit here and do nothing but think, and think, and think some more.

What was that line in Star Wars? Only a Sith Lord deals with absolutes? Well, I could use some absolutes in my life right now. Telling right from wrong should get simpler as one grows older. But aaaaah, adulthood. Whoever said you get easier with practice never knew you at all. I know one thing for certain, though: I am not built for war zones. I don’t have the stamina for inflicting pain or seeing others hurt, whether or not I know them in real life.

Tonight, I shall do nothing but think about the people I hurt knowingly or unknowingly; and keep in mind that only monsters hurt others repeatedly.

I said this before, I’m saying it again: be very happy you’re not me.

Things just went from bad to worse at work, and I ended up wasting close to 30 minutes crying over scheduling woes. Yes, work makes me cry. It also reminds me I still can’t be overlord of this little universe, even if I can get other people in at least four other time zones to jump at a terse email or two. See, the problem with being boss is that there is no one you can run to for a quick fix or two when things go haywire—and things have gone three kinds of haywire at the moment.

I’ve been doing file inventory since 2am. I have not slept. I’m tired, and bleary-eyed, and meaner than an ogre. I tried working the frustration out of my system by playing Indian with the girls. Blue paint on our faces, war cries whooped out in unison, a makeshift tepee out in the deck—these should cheer me up, right? Wrong. I’m still frustrated, and tired, and crabby. I’d bang my head on TV stands if that’d help any; but I know it won’t.

If you happen to hear some disturbing sounds coming from my side of the hemisphere, please don’t call the National Guard. That’s probably just me howling “Why so unkind world, why?”