It seemed like such a simple procedure really. Move a few files, disconnect one old computer, decommission the piece of caca, then plug in a new one. Right? Right.
Now, let it be known that I am not a propeller head by any stretch. I can move around a computer, do basic to intermediate stuff and, as the astute observers among you might have detected, I can post to a website.
Since a fair amount of my work requires being connected, I also try to know how to prevent too many collossal, ass-baring mistakes. (Yes, even though I know they will eventually make me successful.) As my mother taught me as a wee child, rule Numero Uno is: read directions.
My beautiful, brilliant, butterfly of a bride? Uh, not so much.
"If there is a button to click, I shall click it. Quickly, furiously and with reckless abandon", is her sworn to credo. And yes, even if the button is an error message that says "if you click this, 1000 pygmies will come stick bamboo under your toenails while you sleep". Of course, we'll never know what the button said because, yep, it got clicked before we could read its critical admonishment.
2 hours, a few grumbles (okay, more than a few) and a few giggles later, the 'pooter showed signs of life (no, not THAT pooter). Time will tell if everything is functioning properly, besides the buttons that is.
I know one thing for sure though: I'm wearing knee socks and steel toed boots to bed, just to be on the safe side.