Also, my boyfriend thinks he is better than I am at finding things on the internet. Because he's never pitted his skills against mine. (Trust me; I don't think he even knew what IMDb WAS until I came into his life; he cannot possibly be able to navigate the internet better than a seasoned pro such as myself.) (That parenthetical has THREE semi-colons. Too bad that won't fix the economy, but still, I'm pretty proud that I pulled that off, and I think it also breaks some fairly major grammatical rules.) Here is my proof: I have spent the last several evenings feverishly searching for a red bedsread. Comforter. Duvet cover. I don't care what you call it, I just mean that thing that goes on top of your bed and looks nice and keeps you warm at night. Bed-thingy. There we go. Anyway, I have this exact shade of red in mind to complete the look of Chris's new bedroom, since I am in charge of decorating his condo. Well, I had no idea how few red bed-thingies were in production until I actually tried looking for one. Maybe I'm just ahead of the curve? I have a vision of three years from now, when the textile markets are filled with luxuriously red bed-thingies, three years too late to save me from a nervous breakdown.
So I go over to Chris's, and his best friend Karl is there, and I am telling them of my woes, and they are only 1/8th listening, because they are playing Playstation, which is just fine, because I didn't really need them to listen anyway. But enough penetrates Chris's brain for him to turn to me (once he's been shot by another player, and therefore has the time) and say something like, "I bet if I put 'red bedspread' into Google, it would turn up plenty of results."
Ohhh, if ONLY I had thought to use Google! Thank you big, strong, smart boy, I am so glad you came along and fixed my world and picked me up out of the dark, dirty chasm that had been my life. Wait, no.
The only suitable reply was, "Oh, if oooonly your dumb girlfriend had thought of that!" with an extra helping of sarcasm to seal the deal.
So now I will find that bed-thingy if it kills me (if it KILLS me!), and I wish you all the best, please come pay your respects at my funeral, and make sure they're playing appropriately awesome music.
(He apologized, by the way. I don't want anyone out there thinking I'm dating a jerk. He apologized and probably poked me for good measure.)