The other day, I took one of those, "what is your "virtual" age, versus your "real" age quizzes online.

It pretended to evaluate my "age" as a result of personal and family health history, exercise and eating habits and then tell you how "old" that virtually made you. Stupid quiz said I was, in essence, 15 years older than my biological age.

How much you wanna bet I won't be allowed to retire early on the strength of that assessment?

I also took a "50 general questions about fandom" or something test. I knew 20 answers is all. And I have doubts about two of them.

So I'm old and stupid and I'd like to thank all of the "friends" who sent me URLs for quizzes in the past couple of days.

I so totally need new friends, don't I?

Actually, considering those results, I think it's my friends who need a new friend.

The Stooges have not yet ceased to annoy me on a variety of levels.

At one point Moe mentioned that they have not yet moved into the empty office they were clearing out the other day because their haphazard approach to "clearing out" left handfuls of nuts, bolts, bent nails, and paper scraps, on the floor. It was the clear inference that it's in some way my job to crawl around that room on my hands and knees, finishing the cleaning job.

The really mind-boggling part of that is that Moe had said he had a "shop vac" which is, we're to understand, a vacuum cleaner that will tidy up such debris that he could use.

He was actually Standing. In. Front. Of. Me. Holding. The. Vacuum. Cleaner. In. His. Hand. when he said that, in his view, it was our job to clean that room up for them.

I mentioned that in Anne's World, them what makes the mess cleans it up.

He agreed that that was a sensible view.

And then he Left. Without. Vacuuming. The. Mess. Up.

There are days when I really do think the world would be a better place with a helluva lot fewer men in it.

Also? I think my computer, this one, here at work, is dying on me. They wiped the hard drive and re-installed everything from the OS on up, but it's getting flakier and flakier. I'm desperately trying to remember what data I have backed up and what data I need to find a home for. Because I work with a bunch of criminally insane lunatics, their "network" system consists of shoving shared files in bunches on one or another of our computers, meaning there's no real "back-up server" you can safely store anything to.

Because I am, I really am trying to stop whining about everything that's going wrong, I'll spare you the saga of the clumsy, poorly designed, user UNfriendly software program I'm struggling to win user acceptance for.

I'm just saying. If you should find yourself saying, "Gosh, wouldn't it be nice to hear from Anne"? No. It wouldn't.

I'm crabby.