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About two years ago, I thought XPath for AS2 was the bees knees. That was back before I’d switched to AS3 and encountered the power and ease-of-use of E4X.
Making the switch has turned out to be something like leaving an abusive spouse and then marrying someone who brings you breakfast in bed every day.
Unfortunately, one of my pre-switch projects needed a touch up this week and I was forced to deal with my ex. I had to wrestle with it a bit, but I eventually got it to do what I needed, and I consoled myself with the notion that by this time next week, I would be back with my sweetheart E4X, and XPath would once again be a distant memory.
I try to wrap up my techy posts in metaphors so my non-techy followers aren’t too put off by them. I’m sure it’s as effective as trying to hide a pill in some cat food.
It’s annoying enough when someone misspells your name after they’ve received e-mail correspondence from you (which, coincidentally contains the correct spelling of said name).
It’s even more annoying when they misspell it on paperwork to be used in a professional capacity. Like, say, ID verification.
Remember that scene in Grey’s Anatomy a few weeks back? The one where Dr. Shepherd scrubbed in for spinal surgery and then just stared at the dude’s exposed spine for 10 hours.
Yeah, I just had that happen on a much smaller scale… and with code.
I think Tomorrow!Marcela will be better equipped to handle the task.
To the cigar-smoking gentleman who opened the door for me.
I would have preferred to have opened my own door if it meant not having to walk through your noxious cigar smoke.
Still gagging,
-m
But you can’t take the coding out of the girl.
Dusting off my tech writing skills to write up a readme document for my latest project. I keep wanting to end my sentences with semicolons.
I keep catching a whiff of something and I don’t know where it’s coming from. It’s pretty close to the smell of spreading mayonnaise on a toasted piece of bread.
To the “lady” that left a poop splatter on the front inner-rim of the toilet. I’m not even mad; I’m impressed.
But seriously, the reverse cowgirl position should be reserved for the bedroom.
As I approached the door to the ladies’ room, I could hear someone inside grabbing way more paper towels than what is needed to dry one’s hands. When I got to the doorway, I looked down to see a spill—coffee, if I’m not mistaken—seeping underneath the door and make it’s way onto the hallway’s carpet, following suit: the aforementioned paper towels.
A friendlier person would’ve opened the door and offered to help. I am not that person; I turned around and quickly made my way back to my desk. Plus, who the fuck takes coffee into the bathroom with them?
