I am so technologically handicap that I think I may qualify for my own parking space. You know, one of those primo spots up front.

I've been trying for weeks now to figure out how to change my layout. I really can't stand the Diaryland one. Not to sound superficial ... but this one feels like I'm walking around in a pair of rhinestone studded leather pants. It's not me. It just doesn't scream "keryanna".

Well, actually ... it doesn't scream at all. Which,invariably, is a good thing.

So I've been trying to figure out how to change my layout. I copy the code. I edit the code. I paste the code. But, time and time again ... Nada. By this point, I'll have sex with the damn code if it'll get me a new diary layout.

Although, my husband probally wouldn't approve of me prostituting myself. He's weird like that. But hell. Might as well use my body for barter while I'm still in my twenties. Soon everything will start moving southward. Then the only thing I'll be able to barter my body for will be, at most, a Cookie Dough Blizzard at the DairyQueen.

Which, all in all, isn't that bad of a trade. Those things are mighty scrumptious.

But my design (and psychological) issues aside, I just wanted to pop in because I felt like writing today. Wanting to see how you were holding up against the storm.

I meant that metaphorically - so if you are really having a storm where you live ... dont' freak out. I'm not psychic or anything.

Or stalking you.

Well given that I've already mentioned prostitution and stalking - and I've only been writing for about ten minutes - I think I should just end this entry here. If I don't, I sense that it will just continue to spiral downward.

Soon I'll be talking about human sacrifice and opium dens.

See, they're right at the tip of my tongue.

I better get out while I still can.

Anyway, it's good to see you again. You look great. You smell nice.

Be sure to take care of yourself while I'm gone. You do know how I worry. And I'll be back again soon for a chat. Keep a seat warm for me.

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