it's hard to stalk someone when you don't know their schedule

Relatedly (did I just make that word up?), <undisclosed location> Public Library's (now referred to as ULPL) mediocre service just keeps getting more and more so. Mediocrer? Like a clerk who says, "I believe so," when asked if checked out books will be due the same day as a renewed box set. Also, the western branch teen hole? If I lied down in it, I could touch all four shelf-walls. And I'm a short, short girl. It's also such a box that you could probably film porn in there and no one would be the wiser. Yes, I've watched Comedy Central's Porn and Chicken. Shut up.
Some extraordinarily stupid things that have happened to me today:
So I've got this program I'm doing tomorrow, which I really hope people will come to but I'm not holding my breath, because I learned the optimism lesson from my last attempted YA program. I think, music would be nice, but, as has become crazy obvious lately, I know next to nothing about popular music. Damn you, lack of magic free cable! Easiest solution? There's a laptop in the meeting room I'll be holding the program in, and we are all wireless and fancy. I'll just boot up one of those Yahoo stations and it'll be cake. BUT. I can't connect laptop to internet. Then I think to just throw a bunch of cds into Windows Media thingie (so much less intuitive than iTunes), hit random and Whammo! Fun time in Music City. BUT. Although the meeting rooms are more accurately thought of as two rooms which can be connected if attendance dictates, the speakers in them are wired as though it is one large meeting room, part of which can be closed off if need be. Music in one room, music in both rooms. This is so stupid, I think I might throw up. I hate when things don't make sense. Unless it's funny, and this so wasn't this morning.
Then I went to lunch. I deposited my paycheck, then drove down to carplace to pay Buddy's bill. I had forgotten my checkbook this morning, so I went with the good old debit card. Which was denied. Mechanic B (A, who dealt with me last week, was also there) says that he's seen a lot of debit cards have limits. Is this the biggest amount I've put on the card? Yes, because after I was quoted the correct labor time of 5 1/2 hours, Buddy's water pump cost more than the couch. Sure enough, breaking the amount in 2 works. For the first half. Ah, my huge multinational bank-created innocence has been sullied once again.
Just for the record, I've been more or less responsible with keeping up with this bank account, so I know the money's in there. Stupid card.
Some patron insinuated that her translating and archeology degree was somehow more useful than my film studies degree. And was generally insulting. All I did was ask if she needed help, to which she pulled that always annoying (in no matter what situation) move where someone says you never have what they want, implying that their tastes are ever so much better than everyone else's. Then why are you here, mook? At least when I say that, I'm refering to a place I never go, and I try to come off as apologetic or self-effacing, not that my tastes make me cooler or smarter or something.
I was worried that someone would eat my hotpocket from the freezer because my name wasn't on it, but then I realized how Andrew from Buffy I was being, and that shut me right up.
You like how I can call myself out for being a nerd by making a super nerdy reference? My lameness never fails to impress me.
***
I finally finished Planet Simpson by Chris Turner. For the most part, I liked it, and it was fun to be back in that crazy-obsessed Simpsons space I lived in when Meleah, Ben, Cara and I all used up ILL time quoting Ralphie. Basically, imagine Greil Marcus' Lipstick Traces, but about the Simpsons. Turner sometimes comes off as a crank, particularly when talking about capitalism, and sometimes it feels a bit dated how he talks about the under-40 set, almost as though we're still living in the cultural climate of Ann Power's Weird Like Us and/or Slacker. (I could make a righteous Canadian dig right here, but I won't. Because I like Canadians, much as I enjoy all peoples with fun accents and socialized medicine.)
Mostly I like reading a nonYA book that doesn't make me want to tell Dave Eggars to shut up. However, the book frequently uses Poochie to make points about the media and the Simpsons' roles within tvland, while never mentioning Roy. Seriously, what's up with that? Roy's probably my favorite one-time character, too.