This Is Getting Annoying

So here I am blogging from the Bikers' computer.  Mine finally shit the bed after one final tease, the beast. Thankfully all my information made the jump with me, and when my new computer arrives in a few days I can stop being pissed off.  If I have to. I guess.

I now have so many pins and passwords and usernames and accounts for the account to get into the account-type set-ups that I have to keep it all on paper.  Wood pulp squished flat with little lines on it that you write on.  I have backups for my backups and copies of my copies and still, one good thunderstorm will take it all out.  This is way more complicated than it needs to be. (YES I should have gone with a Mac but I wuz afeared.)  I'm a gardener!  I'm retired!  I can't imagine what it must be like if you worked at a financial institution and had a social life.

Even during my last job as a maid they were requiring all the girls to have a smartphone.  Still, I recall things working just fine lo these many years gone past, back when we didn't have to purchase an expensive toy with a screen that breaks just to scrub toilets.  It worked out OK.  I distinctly recall that.  We used this thing called a telephone.  It plugged into a wall. You talked on it.
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There is a phenomenon associate with my husbands side of the family I like to call the Biker family ski slope.  The seat of every single upholstered chair on that side of the family is worn so that your hind end sits several inches higher than your legs, so you're always having to brace yourself against the floor to keep from sliding out of the chair.  The chair I'm sitting in right now at Biker command central is worn that way.  Finally I just said to hell with it and I'm sitting here cross legged, perched on the thing, and it creates just enough of a 'door stop' effect to keep me from landing on the floor.

When my in laws were alive they had an upholstered dining room set that I dreaded.  They were swivel chairs, and they had wheels, and every single seat sloped like a log flume.  I'd spend the whole meal jiggling and situating myself and accidentally pushing my self away from the table, or cracking into the side of it and making the glasses jingle. They just could not understand what my problem was. 

My problem is that I do not have little stubby hobbit legs.  I can buy pants off the rack, and they fit.  Every single pair of pants the Biker wears has been sent to a tailor to take five inches off the length.  The Biker family:  built for comfort, not for speed.