10 Minutes? My Ass.

My addiction has a first name
It's G-O-O-G-L-E,
My addiction has a second name,
It's B-L-O-G-G-I-N-G,
Oh, I love to connect up every day,
And if you ask me why I'll say,
The Internet has a way of keeping this mama sane each day.

Do you remember what you were doing the last time your connection went out? I do. It was Monday, June 22nd, 2:05pm. I was drinking an ice-cold Raspberry Snapple while sitting at my laptop. KROCK was spinning one of the six songs it plays all day long.

At first, I thought the outage was a computer wig out. I rebooted. Next, I thought it was a WiFi wig out. I rebooted. Then, I started to wig out. I ran back and forth between my laptop and Mike's desktop to see if I could get anything. Negative. We had been cut off from the outside world. Luckily, I bought groceries two days earlier. So, I had enough bread and milk to last us awhile if we had to hunker down.

I looked at the landline by mistake. Oh no. Would I have to use that brick and actually talk to a person about my predicament? I thought about running upstairs and hiding in a closet until things settled down. Instead, I rebooted again. And again. And again. Finally, I broke down. Sobbing, I called my neighbor:

OMG. We are down. I repeat. We are down. What about you? Do you have a connection? ANYTHING?

OMFG. Let me check. Shit! I'm down, too. Wait. I saw Time Warner vans at the front of the neighborhood. Something must be up.

Roger that. Getting in the SUV stat and stalking cable guy. To hell with the neighborhood 25 mph speed limit. Too many kids live here anyway.

2 seconds later...
My SUV screeched to a halt, the hazards were thrown on and some poor cable guy was accosted by panicky, fidgety Indian who really needed to comb her hair.

4 seconds later...
I reported back to my neighbor:
He said 10 minutes! 10 MINUTES! By the time I pull back into the driveway, we should be back up.

Right. And, if any of us believed that noise, we'd be selling some sweet ass bridges. I'm a Mom. I know what 10 minutes means*. Don't bullshit a bullshitter, you mother f-er!

I could have done what most mentally-balanced mothers would have done: cook dinner, clean house, fold clothes. But, you have to remember, I'm an IT addict. So, instead, I then did what anyone in need of a fix would do. Drove like hell to the nearest hotspot. In this case: the library. I sprinted from the parking lot, busted through the front doors, hurdled some chairs like O.J. and landed in a seat. I booted up and BOOHYAH.

The Google and I were one again.

Nirvanaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

*10 minutes = 1 hour or never.