Not Dead Yet

On Saturday, I sat down at my laptop, notes and manuals to my right, coffee cup to my left. I wrote a brilliant recap of part two of the ANTM premiere. I uploaded it. I backed up some, but not all of my site, and, before I began the coding of Paypal into Mild Burning Symptoms, I decided that it would be advantageous to update the software that runs this site. I was wrong. I was wrong in ways I have still to count. To say that I blew up Girlyshoes would be an understatement like saying that George W. Bush wasn’t the best president we’ve ever had, and maybe not the brightest. It would be an understatement like saying that George Clooney and Brad Pitt aren’t too bad looking. It would be an understatement on a par with saying that Paris Hilton is maybe not the classiest girl to ever climb into a limo and onto a trustfundnista. Perhaps I am belaboring the point, but I fucked Girlyshoes right out of the world wide web.

I’m not a total dolt, and I was able to reconstruct my data base, missing only two entries. One (ANTM part one) I was able to find cached in Google. The other? Maybe. Maybe not.

I’m sorry that you’ve not been able to keep up with the fabulousness that is my pathetic life, but them’s the breaks. Hah! Get it? I broke my site.

God, I’m pathetic. And also tired. It took four days of constant help desk consultations on, not one, but two sites (my hosting company and the software company) to rebuild and repair Girlyshoes. And I still have to sit here and figure out the Paypal thing. All I want is to go back into my studio and sit at my spinning wheel. But no. I have to write code. And more code. And try not to fuck anything up again.

And then? More photos, more code, and launch the virtual garage sale.

In the meantime, the birds are mocking me. I hear them, and I see the seed levels go down in the feeders, but the little feathered bastards won’t show themselves while I’m out there watching. Mocking me, I tell you. And the squirrels? Oh, my lord. The squirrels have attitudes. These Miami squirrels don’t do dried corn. My brother’s squirrels up in St. Lucie County, they love corn. My guys? They turn up their furry little noses, and refuse to eat it. They didn’t eat the pumpkin seeds, either. I had to give a big bag of squirrel chow to my brother, because the fluffy-tailed tree rats only want peanuts and sunflower seeds. The little beasts eat better than I do. At least my hummingbird is faithful and doesn’t complain about her sugar water.

The dogs are unimpressed with this sudden influx of fauna. They bark a little now and then, just to establish their territory, but really? they don’t much care. The only birds who’ve come and made a regular stop are the mourning doves, and a couple of ring-neck doves. I like them fine, but I’m doing this for color and song, and the doves have neither. Oh, a little cooing now and then, but half the time, I can’t even tell they’re out there because they are the same grey brown as the dirt under the palms.

That’s it. I’m exhausted. And so, to bed.

Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 03/10 at 10:34 PM in Geek Goddess

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