Home Networking: Printing from a Laptop to a PC Made Easy.

I’m stepping back from my usual rants and curse filled writings to actually write something a bit helpful. I know, don’t faint.

I take a lot of calls on how a user can get their laptop to print a page to the printer that is hooked up to their PC in the other room. Unfortunately, windows makes it look harder than it really is. There are several options that I’m sure a much more qualified person can go on about, but I am going to write about the easiest way to get your printed page from point a to point b.

The key to this is to make sure your network (in this case, I am going to assume 1 PC, connected to a wireless router, and 1 Laptop, connecting to the network wirelessly) has file and print sharing on. If this is the case then you may proceed. If not comeback after someone else holds your hand through that process.

On your PC, go to the Printers and faxes panel found under Start > Printers and Faxes. Imagine that.

When you see the icon with your printers name on it, right click on it and then left click on sharing. Select that you want to share this printer with the network, and then click OK.

On your laptop, you must first make sure you are in the same “workgroup” as your pc. Most people have this as MSHOME. Then again, most people don’t secure there network connection and invite hackers in, so who is surprised on that one…

One guy raised his hand in the back.

If you are not sure if your “workgroup” is MSHOME, sit the laptop down, go back to your PC, under the start menu, right click on My Computer and select Properties. Click on the Computer Name tab, and under there you should see Workgroup: (your workgroup name). If you are reading this, I am going to assume it is MSHOME. If you want to change the name to something different, click the CHANGE button. Down at the bottom of the window, you can type in a different name. For the rest of the article, MSHOME will no longer be used, lets call the Workgroup….HORSEANDBUGGY.

If you change the name, you will have to restart the PC. Once it is up and running again, go back to the laptop

Follow the same steps for the laptop, making sure that the Workgroup is HORSEANDBUGGY, or whatever you may have changed the name to. If you had to change it, you will have to restart the laptop also.

….waiting….

Ok, now, on the laptop, under Start>My Network Places you will see an icon for View My Workgroup Computers. Click it.

You will see your PC listed there under whatever name it is known as. If you didn’t change it at install time, it may be a series of number or something like MyPC or something like that. Double Click on the icon.

Next, if you set the printer on the PC to be shared correctly, you will see an icon called Printers and Faxes. This is not the same one for your laptop, this icon will show you the printer that is connected to your PC when you double click on it.

If everything is working properly, you should see the icon for your printer that is connected to the PC. Right click on the icon, then click on Connect. You will get a window saying that the laptop needs to install the drivers for the machine, just click OK. If your laptop has never been set up for another printer, this printer will become your default automatically, and you are good to go.

Print a test page to be sure.

Hope this was helpful.

My Job: A Rant #2

I tend to meet some of the most interesting people over the phone when they call in for tech support. One of the first memorable calls I took was from a few months back when a lady admitted to me that she thought she got a virus on her machine from surfing too many porn sites. Before letting me speak she continued on to tell me how she was newly divorced with no prospects and when she gets lonely and horny, in her own words, “Sometimes you just gotta, you know, HEEWWWW!”. That is the closest thing I can get to putting into words the sound she made. It was as if a wild badger was going to come through the phone and mount me.

The next memorable calls I received have already been written about, see My Job: A Rant and To the Woman That Told Me to Go Fuck Myself Today.

Just a few minutes ago I finished a 32 minute conversation with a man that was obviously:

A. Self employed and worked from home.

B. Between Jobs or just unemployable.

C. Can get away with some major shit at work.

I’m really pulling for A or B, because the thought of C is just too scary.

I say this because at first I thought this man was mumbling for a reason. I have had at least 3 customers that are older and on oxygen masks, and everything they say sounds muffled or like they are talking into an empty metal coffee can. The first 5 minutes I managed to make out the words IBM, bad, partition, and Screen. That was it. After the asshole stopped holding the phone with his chin and neck, I also managed to make out this, which I will try to type the way it sounded. “HHHWhen I doosh the repair insta. Nothing. Goesh back to IBM loga”.

And by this point I appropriately responded with a “Huh?” Which is my very nice and well mannered way of going “WTF!?”

He then told me “Sorry, I’m think I hab a bit toooo Mush at Lumch.”

So I am now dealing with a drunk. A drunk that needs tech support for his computer. Someone that probably couldn’t explain what was going on with his machine even if he was sober, but now I have to decipher this guys problem while using a Jack Daniels sound filter.

What proceeded, and I don’t have enough time to write it all since I should be doing class work and not spilling my verbal seed onto this page, was the drunken nerds equivalent of “Who’s on First.”

Me: What is wrong with your Machine sir, could you describe your problem?

Him: The firsh partshun ish Bahd.

Me: So you have a drive with two partitions?

Him: Hmmm Yep. Second Partshun.

Me: Are you able to access that one?

Him: Firt?

Me: No. Second.

Him: I doosh the repair insta. It jush reboots at the IBM loga. Sesh winda ish loading, and then reboots back to IBM loga.”

Me: Sir it sounds like you have hardware failure, either your motherboard is bad or the hardrive.

Him: I doosh the repair insta. It jush reboots at the IBM loga. Sesh winda ish loading, and then reboots back to IBM loga.”

Me: Right, either your motherboard is bad or the hardrive.

Him: I don want, I don want to loosh my filz.

Me: Are all your files you want to save stored in the My Documents folder?

Him: Yep.

Me: Well sir when you do a repair install, I know it sounds counter intuitive, leave it up to Microsoft, but the My Documents folder is often damaged or completely deleted anyway in a repair, so there is a good chance that even if the repair had worked, you would have lost your files.

Him: I doosh the repair insta. It jush reboots at the IBM loga. Sesh winda ish loading, and then reboots back to IBM loga.”

Me: Right sir, either you motherboard is bad or the hardrive.

This went on for about 10 minutes.

He then started talking about his monitor and how the drivers won’t work and that it only has a 640-480 resolution. Ok. Nice transition you drunk fuck. I really couldn’t help him fix this problem since he doesn’t have a working machine. I eventually got him to agree with me that once he has a hands-on tech fix his pc, he can take care of this problem with a simple download from Compaq, the maker of his monitor.

I just can’t help imagining him sobering up in the next few hours and thinking his computer wont run because of a monitor driver problem.

Mentally Drained. Physically Exhausted. Emotionally Constipated?

It is Confession time. This isn’t as light hearted and fluffy as my other posts.

I have spent a large bulk of my 20’s going to school part time and then full-time. This translated into going to school for close to 5 years for a 2 year degree. The last few semesters I went full time and saved myself an additional semester of class. On top of doing this I managed to father 2 kids with my wife, so you can say my everyday life keeps me busy with a wife that works nights, a 6 year old and an 11 month old, and a full time job. After earning my degree I promptly jumped back into school and am now in my second semester toward my bachelors.

And I was to the point of just being burnt the fuck out.

I couldn’t concentrate on my school work, I didn’t feel like playing with my oldest boy and when I did it was really halfhearted obligatory kind of play. I managed to love on the littlest one because I knew he needed me to change his ass a few times a minute day, and he just happened to be in my arms most of the time when he wasn’t crawling around looking for something bad to stick in his mouth. (I wish his mother was more like him…but that’s another story)

I felt like I walked around in a daze most of the day. I felt like maybe I should have taken a semester off or something, but then I would probably fall into a trap and never got back.

Just when I think I am about to crack, I decide it is to time to teach my oldest boy to ride his bike.

I had been dreading this because our neighborhood doesn’t have sidewalks, our yard is bumpy and rocky as hell, and my son listens about as well as the rocks he would have been falling on.

He gets up on his bike and instead of following along beside him, I just give him a real hard push and tell him to pedal. He takes off, makes it half way across the yard, and then just lays the bike down on its side like a pro.

Second time he crashes into a bush, but manages to stay on his feet and again, lays the bike down without him falling down.

A few more times and now he is staying up on the bike for as long as his little legs will allow him to pedal through the grass.

I ask him if he is ready to try it on the cement in the cul-de-sac. He says he is. At this point I am still half expecting a trip to the emergency room.

First try, he does about 4 circles around, going right (clockwise) the whole time. Lays the bike down and the pedal scraps along the back of his calf. Usually at that point he throws his hands up, stomps off saying he is never going to do (insert activity here) again.

He bitched for about 5 seconds and then was ready to get back on again.

About 10 minutes later, after riding around in endless circles, practicing using the break, and slowing down and speeding up, he looked at me and asked this:

“Daddy, are you proud of me?”

And just before I answered him yes and began hugging him and kissing his head, I felt the pit of my stomach drop out and all of a sudden I felt sick.

He shouldn’t have ever had to ask me that. Had I really been so wrapped up in my school and work that I didn’t tell him I was proud of him the moment I first pushed him and he made it halfway across the yard? So while I am kissing him and holding him, there I am, a man of 29 years trying to hide the tears from my son and neighbors.

Then he decides to let loose with this:

“I’m proud of you too daddy, because you go to school just like me. School is hard, just like my bike.”

After that, everything seemed so much clearer.

I know this sounds like it came from a cheesy religious pamphlet, especially where you read the word “fuck” and my insinuation about oral sex with my wife, but every word is true.

I wish I could see the world with this kind of clarity all the time.

To the Woman that Told Me to Go Fuck Myself Today

Thursday, March 27, 2008

I took your call around 3:30 central time. I helped to cancel your account with us that you admittedly signed up for, and then I asked you if I could help you with anything else. You proceeded to inform me that there had better not be any charges on your phone bill for our service, despite the fact that you let the 10 day free period fly by over a month ago. Then you felt the need to be all lady like and lapse into language that is normally reserved for bar room situations or just laughing it up with your friends. Indeed, I am not your friend or would ever talk to you in a bar, so per our company policy I promptly hung up on you.

You proceeded to call back, and as your luck would have it, my insanely manly voice and top flight demeanor greeted you once again. For some reason this seemed to anger you even more, and after uttering what sounded like “Oh great, I think you are the one that just hung up on me…”, I readily informed you that I hung up on you because you were using foul language while talking to me and our company policy is that I do not have to listen to your potty mouth. You mumbled some more incoherent language, and at the tail end of your sentence I heard the words “you can go fuck yourself.”

I really must thank you for this. It is like a beacon of light exploded around me showing an option in life that I, being of the male sex, had forgotten about. Yes! Yes indeed! I could go fuck myself! How in the world did that manage to slip my mind after all the years I spent as a teen doing just what you suggested? It is like a whole new chapter in my life has opened up, the pages just waiting for me to get them to stick together. Thank you so much Client ID 500955. Thank You. Really.

- AA

“C**T”: A Definition Revealed

*Again, my work, but repost. About 4 weeks old.

Two weeks ago I finally found out what the definition of a “c**t” was. I normally never, ever use that disgusting word but let me warn you now, this is the last time in this post that I am going to edit the word out…so if you don’t want to see it in print I suggest you go to another post. Hopefully this is the last time I will have to ever use it. I highly doubt it.

You see, I watched a woman publicly destroy her husband on national television for money. Through a series of questions while hooked up to a lie detector, she freely admitted to the following:

A. Not loving her husband when they got married
B. Still loving her ex on their wedding day
C. Taking her wedding ring off to appear single
D. Extramarital affairs
E. She would leave her husband for her ex.

all these and others she answered for MONEY……..until………………………

She could not answer this simple question truthfully: Do you think you are a good person?

AND SHE FUCKING SAID YES! Needless to say, the machine came back false, she then lost all the money after destroying this human being she called a husband.

Now, I know what you are thinking, I am calling this woman a cunt…

NOPE. WRONGO! She is just a money loving tramp.

While she was taking her time, trying to apparently WILL herself to believe that she really is a good person, her father can be heard in the background saying “She is. She is a good person. She is.” along with her mother being shown nodding her head yes.

Cunts! Cunts! Cunts!

This is the exact reason why this little whore still has enough fucking nerve to try and say she is a good person, because her parents are disillusioned enough to look the other way while their daughter freely admits on T.V. to being a filthy skank. I wanna know the shit she got away with while growing up!

Websters is going to have to come out with a special addition, and I know just the family picture to put next the the entry “Cunt”.

Dear Heath Ledger: I am going to burn in hell

*Again, to get the ball rolling on this site I have pulled this from an old social networking site I was on.

I have enjoyed most of his work and I think his passing is just as sad as River Phoenix’s was, but when I heard the news yesterday, after the first shock of the announcement, my first thought was “Well, I guess ‘Brokeback Mountain 2: Corn Pole Canyon is out of the question.”

Emo Readjustment

*This was a post I had from a social site a few months back. I figured since it stated my thoughts on the subject of “Emo’s” I would go ahead and post it here for your enjoyment or pain. Hell, both if your into that sort of thing.

Since this was a private conversation I won’t post the profile name out of respect for her privacy. I just wanted to thank her again for pointing out my profile might seem hostile towards all Emo’s, and I wanted to repost my reply to her here so that maybe I can clear something up:

Her message:
“i thought i would drop back and say hi, take the time to read your profile, but now i kinda wish i hadnt as you wont talk to me, on the count that i am an “emo” but hey each to their own and i dont slit my wrists i find that a very unfair comment as i know a lot of “emo’s! who DONT slit themselve!”

My reply:

“Thanks for coming back, I really appreciate you taking the time to write me. I think I should clarify something though, and maybe change my profile so it isn’t so hostile.

It’s not the fact that I don’t get along with emo’s, i have a few friends I do get along with it. It’s one thing to be a person that has no trouble relating your feelings to others, feelings that are actually justified like if someone hurts them or if you are upset and need to talk to someone. I can truthfully say that on the opposite end I can’t stand people who NEVER say how they feel.

But, and this is a big BUT, some of the people that take this whole emo thing too seriously and sit around and write poetry or do video blogs because they see a dead ant on the sidewalk and it really relates to their life “so lets stand around in a group hug and cry about it”, are clowns. Its one thing to see something like that and get a creative idea and write a story about it, but to have it take over your life as a way of “living” is the dumbest thing I can think of.

I have talked to a lot of emo’s and most of them are middle to upper class people under the age of 25 that have never really had to struggle for anything. But because their mommy or daddy told them NO one time when they were 14, it ruined their life so now they wear dark eye shadow and cry because a gnat splattered on their windshield, and that is somehow a metaphor for their crushed dreams of not going to that party/event/thing they were told “NO” to.

I have things that I regret and still get emotional about from when I was 14, but it is actual real life issues, like I feel regret that I never remember telling my Uncle Tom I loved him before he died. Why didn’t I punch that asshole Bill Jennings in the face after he hurt my cousin Julie?

I was told NO plenty of times, and other then my mild addiction to porn, I think I turned out to be a pretty well adjusted person.

I don’t sit around and analyze the consequences of me taking a flyswatter to a fly. I’m just happy it isn’t buzzing around my food anymore, and I have better things to think about.

Anyway, I know that was long and rambling, but I was sharing my feelings and emotions with you, so don’t judge me too harshly. Don’t be scared to stop by and say hi anytime if you want to.”

On Britney’s Beaver…

*Posted this in an old blog on an social site. Wanted to repost it because I think it is right up there with the works of Hemingway and Hefner.

It’s official: Britney Spears vagina has swallowed her and everyone else’s sanity. For fuck sake people we flock to her snatch like everyone did to Jennifer Anniston’s hair style in the late 90’s.

“Gee, wonder what her puss is gonna look like this week”
“Oh did you see it, it has layers and highlights!”

I mean the thing looks like she has been feeding it fried chicken and moonpies!

Imagine a society of women sporting the “Spears”. ~ shiver ~

My Job: A Rant

*Reprint of a blog entry I had on a well known social site.

In my line of work a person runs into a lot of stupid people. Most of the time a person that calls for tech support can’t help that they are stupid for one of two reason:

1. They are older. Their generation missed the internet bandwagon.
or
2. They are at, and have been at, a financial disadvantage for most of their life.

The above two types are the usual suspects. New PC purchasers trying to figure out this whole “internets” thing.

Today I get a call from someone that could not have been much older or younger than me. One of the reasons I can guess her age to be between 20 and maybe 35 is the tone of her voice and the slang she uses. The other reason I will get to in a second. It is the reason why I am venting here. Stay with me.

It was obvious by the way she spoke that she was a some what intelligent person who had at least some experience with computers. She was having a virus and spyware problem. Again, that is a typical subject.

Now close your eyes.

Ok, don’t do that you can’t read the rest of this.

Picture that you are talking to someone you just met. Maybe at a business meeting. A coffee house. Hell, Books-a-million. Someplace that is typically free of background noise. They ask you about a part of your job, how you like your coffee, or what is your favorite author and why. Conversation goes pretty smoothly, right?

Now, imagine having to answer that same question over the phone with EMINEM (reason 2 ) BLARING IN THE BACKGROUND AT DECIBEL LEVELS MORE SUITED FOR AN OUTDOOR CONCERT. To top it off, thier brother is interrupting every 30 seconds for highly philosophical questions such as: “Where is the beer?” and “Hey, did I leave my lighter in your car?”

At the moment, I am on edge and believe all Phone users, Beer drinkers, and smokers are going to hell. And Eminem too.

I need a drink.