Save Me

. . . in the immortal words of Aretha Franklin.

My friend S. used to teach high school French. I called her this morning.

Me: Bonjour!
S.: Bonjour! Ça va?
Me: Ça ne va pas bien.
S.: [in French, I can't remember how to say it] Oh, no, what happened?
Me: La voiture.
S.: [in French, I can't remember how to say it] What's wrong with it?
Me: Je ne sais pas.
S. [In English] I can't believe how much progress you've made!
Me: Merci!

(Which is so nice of S., particularly as my only new word was voiture, and I didn't even use it in a complete sentence. But she is a very good teacher, very encouraging.) I received my superfancy superexpensive software yesterday. This software--oh my goodness. It's so much fun. I'm going to load it on A.'s and B.'s computer, too. I have already been annoying them with the Bonjour! and the Ça va? and the Où est le chat?

I will load it onto their computer as soon as I solve the new problem, a problem that is, I am very sorry to say, one of my own creation. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. All full of herself after triumphing over the virus, Ms. Smartypants (that would be me) decided it would be a good idea to change the Administrator's name AND add a password. But I must have hit a wrong key somehow, as I am now locked out of the damn thing, though I have typed in the name and password a million times. Oh, and I also disabled the Guest account, which action may be filed under Seemed Like a Good Idea At the Time.

The only solutions I've found are to download free password-breaking software (which seems very risky) or re-load the operating system, which disks I no longer have, as that computer is all of 9 years old. Pantalon!

If anyone has a better solution, break it out.

P.S. Just heard from Dumas Bill at the dealer's, thusly nicknamed because yesterday he called to tell me what wasn't wrong with my car:

Dumas Bill: Well, it won't start at all.
Me: Yes, I know, that's why I had it towed to you.
Dumas Bill: And we know it's not a dead battery.
Me: Yes, I know, because all the dash lights come on and BECAUSE THERE IS A DIGITAL MESSAGE ON THE DASH THAT SAYS,"TRANS PROGRAM."
Dumas Bill: [on the inside, and I am just guessing] What a bitch.

Today, I tried to be a little more pleasant, even though Dumas Bill's message can be summed up as "We still don't know what's wrong with your car, but it's going to cost at least $450 to find out, and that's before the labor clock even starts ticking on repairs, and by the way? You don't even want to know how much parts cost. You know how expensive German stuff is."

Now I have to go figure out about renting une voiture, as A. and B.'s 5th grade graduation is tonight, and S. won't be able to drive us, as she has to get ready for a sudden business trip to the Big-Ass State, and I can't ask my mother because I had a little disagreement with Her Crazy the other day and I'm still not over it.