Technical Angst, 101

I'm going to my WoTech lunch today. This is a Women in Technology group I started a few months ago, filled with techie women. And me. I'm just the marketing girl that got them all together, and I'm a volunteer, so they can't fire me. Plus they need comic relief.

But after my little snafu yesterday, they might fire me. I figured some of them might like to see my new blog. This way, I could pretend, once again, that I was sort of one of them, because I do know how to make a blog. Never mind that my blog's not as fancy as Jen's. I'm still learning, I'll get there, as soon as she comes over here and shows me which buttons to push.

So anyway, I emailed them this link. But something strange happened when I hit Send. Nothing happened. So I hit it again. Huh. Weird. So I hit it again, and I hit return, and pounded my mouse on the table a bit, and did all those super technical things tech women like me do. But nothing happened.

So I checked the sent file. Nothing.

So I closed Outlook, went to Blogger to check my site, went back to Outlook, checked sent file. Nothing.

So I went to get a glass of wine. Came back. Nothing.

So I went to find my husband to help me. He was busy, like usual. Blah blah blah programming.

I Checked my inbox. Well, what do you know? There was the message (I'm on my own mailing list.)

Okay, problem solved, all done, time to watch Bewitched with the kids.

We have the first two seasons of Bewitched on DVD. We saw Tabitha for the first time last night. She was so cute, her chubby little baby legs stuffed into 70's lime green footie pajamas. She had so much hair! Just like my sister Angie's baby pictures.

Tabitha stared and stared at Darren the whole time. He is kind of funny looking. I stare at him too sometimes, and think "Huh. Samantha is so beautiful, she could have had anyone, why on earth did she pick him?"

But back to me and my problems:

That message never did show up in my sent file. Such a mystery. Technology is like that.

The next day, however, I logged in and HELLO, there were 7 of my sent messages sitting there in my inbox. They magically found their way there during the night, I guess.

And then I went to a business networking thing last night, just in case anyone wanted to give me a job (don't laugh, someone did!) and one of my WoTecher friends was there with her Blackberry.

She yelled "Stop spamming me!" She's way more technical than me. I mean, she has a Blackberry.

She was STILL getting those messages! She got one last night at 5:01, a full 29 hours after the first one.

If I cared about my image as a technically savvy person, I'd be embarrassed. Thank God, I never really presented myself that way to that Tech group. As if they couldn't have guessed anyway. Those tech girls are pretty smart.

My husband finally took pity on me last night, and offered to look at my inbox (oh get your mind out of the gutter!) After saying "I hate hotmail!" like he always does, he couldn't figure out what went wrong. I didn't tell him how many times I hit send the other night, though. The thing is, he probably knew that instinctively, since I do that kind of stuff all the time.

Like when the printer stops working (it's so mysterious!) he'll say "how many times did you try to print after it didn't work the first time?" Why does he ask that? He always just looks at the printer Que, and viola, there's the answer in black and white. Six. Or Ten. Or whatever. Why the constant need to rub it in?

So now, I'm going to go to lunch with those tech women today. I make them do a name tag contest each time, as an ice breaker. Its good to do crafts, really. And I give them prizes and candy. It's not like I'm bribing them to be there or anything. No one's forcing them to show up. They enjoy this group, really, they do.

I'm meeting about another job today, before the WoTech meeting. After that meeting, I think I'll buy a can of spam, write my name on it, and try to attach it to myself. Maybe rig something up with magnets, or duct tape. I'm so innovative, really.

I'll be Julie Spam from now on.