take it like a man

You ever wonder who those fretards are who drive 50km in a 80km zone? In the left-most lane? Who push the pull door? Who trip up stairs? Who spell "their" "there"? Or call customer service when their computer isn't working because it's not plugged in?

Well, wonder no more, my friends. Because I AM THAT FRETARD.

I didn't call customer service. But I did call my father.
My internet has been on the fritz for about three days now. I've been frustrated beyond belief, resetting the wireless router on average about three times a day, rebooting, generating new WEP keys (I have no idea what they're for, but apparently sometimes getting a new one helps), and one frustration just led to another. I COULD NOT, for the life of me figure out why in hell my internet wasn't working. The other two computers in the house ON THE SAME NETWORK were doing fine. (First hint).
My father walks into the room. Asks if I've rebooted. Asks if I've generated a new WEP key. Asks if I've reset the router.
Yes. Yes. Yes! I yell, frustrated. "Don't you think I would've tried all of those things before calling you in here?!"
"Is your wireless switch flipped "on"?"
MY JAW JUST DROPPED.
I look down, and the FUCKING SWITCH is OFF. I must've hit it or something without noticing. FAACK.
For three days, I've been trying to find a very complicated solution to a very simple problem. STARING me in the face in the form of a light that wasn't on.
Idiot.

So while I still drive like a normal person, and haven't tripped up any stairs in at least a week, I AM THE FRETARD you wonder about sometimes.
I fell down my stairs the other day with a sandwich in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other. The juice spilled ALL OVER me and the staircase.
The floor is still sticky.
My mother wonders why.
Haha. She'll never know the truth.

P.S. I hate pussyteases.