Bitch, my monitor, was fine and looking beautiful as usual. She brought a smile of pure joy to my face. I don't think I've ever loved a piece of inanimate hardware, but for close to a grand, she's all worth it.

Highlight of the evening: it took me nearly 2 hours to open a box. It was an ordinary box, used to ship computer processing units of all shapes and sizes. Perfectly form fitting.

It was perfectly form fitting because of the spray on foam surrounding and encoating the entire bloody CPU.

For those of you not familiar with spray foam: you eject liquid crap from an aeresol can, which quickly hardens and molds itself onto whatever you have sprayed. My mother had the good thought of covering the plastic case in plastic.

However, I think she failed to realize just how incredibly difficult slicing through hardened foam is. It's like digging into bare earth with your hands, except you can cut it with a knife. At first I did so in logical chunks, abandoning that for strips, then finally randomly stabbing the living hell out of the foam.

Finally I cut away half the box, practiced on old yoga move allowing me to spread all four sides of the box open while using my foot and hand to dislodge it...and finally, after two hours, the bastard came out.

I feel like a father insect dislodging its child from the sticky warm ooze of my brethren's abdomen discharges. Wait, no, I feel like calling up my mother and asking what the fuck she was thinking.

Maybe she's in on this entymological conspiracy. The foam did look like remnants from a bad sci-fi original series set. No no, musn't suspect family members, must suspect woodland creatures, colleagues, friends, and THEN family. Yes...

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