I finally got my wireless router working with the help of an adorable-sounding female from the Philippines. She actually seemed amused by me, which I will take from any female at this point. She was a little freaked when I said I wanted to name my connection "Flesh Suit." I named it something else instead ("Mephisto Gate" so that if someone came across it they might think it is some sort of portal to Hell). While we were working on it I asked her about the weather in the Philippines (humid) and how she liked it there (very well, thank you).
I had attempted to do it on my own, and it was driving me absolutely apeshit. I was told it would take two hours. It didn't. When I was doing it, however, it was this slow, maddening grind where I was getting increasingly frustrated with IP addresses, MAC cloning and other such nonsense. All I wanted to do was set the laptop up so I could blog in the bathroom and watch the Daytona 500. (Matt Kenseth wins by default after the race ended early due to rain. He was all choked up, and I know it's the big race, but come on. Yes, a win is a win and you get the points, but it's not a real win. It wasn't earned. On the plus side, however, Kyle Busch was knocked out. I hate that fucker.) But no. I had to call customer support.
I was just happy I could understand her.
Nothing deep tonight. I don't have it in me.