Epson, I am going to ruin you.

I was not going to post about this project as it is quite personal in the sense that it involves me wearing knickers. But it's taken up the greater part of my night, and I've had to deal with some ridiculous bullshit from Epson that I can't go without raving about.
For Policecops birthday, I have very limited options regarding what I can and can not send him. I feel that Sergeant so and so would not appreciate a carton of menthol parliaments and a bottle of Cutty Sark. Photos however, I can get away with.
I was inspired by a certain event that happened yesterday. I sent out two pg-13 picture messages to the boy, showcasing my new fancy knickers. At 1.3 megapixels in poor lighting, viewed on a cell phone screen I could pass for a Vicky's angel. But so couldn't Mickey Rourke. Anyway, that's beside the point.
Policecop got all excited and went on trying to figure out how to blow these images up on his cell. Which was a terrible, terrible idea for multiple reasons. The first being total negation of the flattering aspects of 1.3 megapixels. The next being that as he was doing so, someone came up behind him and in an attempt to preserve whatever was left of my dignity at this point (he is obviously better at this whole dignity thing than I am), he fumbled to hide the phone, dropped it and BAM! Broke the screen. No more pictures, no more texts, no more voicemail, no more fun. Just a little black screen. I think he said that the phone lasted him two or three years. It's last moments were spent zooming in on love handles.
My bad.
He was all sorts of bummed out, and is looking to have a new cell sent to him.
So I figure, why not make a sessy album for his birthday since I can't send photo messages? Better yet, a countdown album. Holding a sign with the number of days left, counting down from his birthday, for a grand total of 29 days. This ups the cute factor and slightly reduces the shame factor (in my mind).

I took off to Target and reluctantly bought some new ink for the printer. For obvious reasons I don't want to have to saunter into CVS for prints of me in my undercrackers. The Halloween costume prints were bad enough. (Refer back to bit about preserving that one last strand of dignity...I'm holding onto it for dear life, but it's slipping away with each word I type...)
Printer ink costs a New York fortune by my standards. I shoveled out $30, long story short, five prints later Epson the mofo BAAAHSTAD is telling me I'm low on ink again. Let's do the math: At home 4x6 prints cost $6 a piece. Bitch, come again?

I'm not spending my last cents on ink that will only serve to create an album of me looking like Miley Cyrus having a bathroom iPhone camera session. I decline.
I kept the old ink cartridges, I'll figure out a way to marry the damn things.
As a side note, I can not even explain to you how unsettling it is to take pictures of yourself in your knickers with a 12.2 megapixel camera. I have far too intimate a knowledge of how close I am to Bridget Jones after about 200 shots with 10 deemed acceptable. Junk in the trunk. It's there.
'86 my prized shard of dignity, cyan, magenta and yellow.

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