I hate you, technology

I am the girl whose laptop shorted out during the middle of an evidence exam. No, I did not trample anyone or cry out like a raging wildebeest, but it was close. That's not nearly as bad as the story I heard today about a professor's laptop quitting in.the.middle.of.the.BAR.EXAM!!!!!!!!!

I have a love-hate relationship with technology; that is, I love technology and it indubitably hates me. I have been dropped from my insurance plan due to the three telephones I have gone through within the past eight months. All probably my fault, although certainly not intentional. I wouldn't INTENTIONALLY throw my Droid into a toilet. I didn't intentionally place my cell phone on the trunk of my car and crush it to bits. And I certainly didn't mean to crack the screen on my latest phone when I dropped it to the pavement (again, on accident).

My computer now is literally two years old (which is still, like, 60 in computer years, but I digress). It has, however, had problems since the beginning. It began with all of my picture files corrupting. It wouldn't let me run a chkdsk, and when I finally wiped it clean and started over, I though it would be the end of the troubles.

Today, however, I received bad news. My laptop's hard drive has the equivalent of cancer. This means that it is slowly dying...although it could decide to hurry up the process at any given, arbitrary time. Since my parents are tired of my love-hate relationship with cell phones (and their money--again, I love their money; they hate giving it me), they automatically told me there is no way on God's green earth that I am getting a new computer.

My parents have had the same computer for EIGHT YEARS and the desktop is completely filled with icons because they don't understand the use or meaning of a folder. They also think all computer problems are solved by unplugging it from a wall while it's still running. No sympathy there.

So today, my computer had a biopsy. I took it to the school's computer guy (who has mad skillz btw), who told me the news with a somber face and a very good bedside manner. He told me that my hard drive is very sick. He said nothing can be done to save it. He also congratulated me on my slight case of OCD backup mania, and recommended a hard drive I go out and buy. When I mentioned the possibility of the hard drive rising from the grave like Lazarus, the expression on his face told me that Jesus himself could not heal the shitty hand my poor piece of technology has been dealt. 

I sucked it up and ordered my new hard drive. I seriously doubt it will be here before finals start. When they do start, he will be unable to replace my cancer-ridden hard drive until after I am finished because of the damn testing software regulations.

I won't even go into that one time I accidentally left a magnet on the TV and my dad whooped my ass because it ruined the color scheme.