hijacking begets hijacking

Thursday: pop-ups began popping up constantly

Friday: YOUR SYSTEM IS INFECTED message took over my desktop

Saturday: Peter and I spent hours trying (to no avail) to resurrect my pc friend

Sunday (Today): My computer won't even turn on... as soon as the "logging on" screen appears, it instantly begins logging off.

Tomorrow I'm taking her to the pc hospital, to see if they can bring her out of her coma.

(We've figured out how to get to where we can wipe it clean, and get her back to her original state, but ouch... all my music... all my photos... videos... unpublished blog posts... my software... basically my life for the past four years.)

A clean slate is better than no slate... but again...

ouch.

I'm only able to post this tonight on Mr Medical's precious Alienware because he's away concocting a classic Peter culinary creation; tomato rice.

So... lets fish around in his photo vaults for a change, shall we?

surely.

This here picture is what pops up on the hubby's phone,when it's me on the dialing end.

This is the Mitsubishi Lancer we used to drive back in SXM , oh French liscence plates.

Here's the Lord Of The Furniture sitting on the coffee table I found on the side of the street before I stripped it down and awesome-ified it. (sorry, all I have is this cat filled "before" shot for you... the awesome "after" pic is on my computer... sigh.) And to wrap things up, here's a pic of Peter from last Summer. Ah... a Yankees game, then goofing off in Central Park. That was a fun day.

Mostly cause it didn't involve debugging my computer.

Advice for husbands...

Dear Husbands, Here is a tip: If you come home from work 5 hours early, and your wife, thinking she is home alone, is taking a shower and singing at he top of her lungs, do not, I repeat DO NOT, bust open the bathroom door while yelling "MURDER!!!!" because your wife will promptly freak out, scream so loudly people twenty floors above will hear (and truly be convinced that a murder is in fact occurring), she will hurt her back really badly, and there is a good chance that you might just have shampoo thrown at you.

Just a tip.

You're welcome.

-la sha

**************POST EDIT***********************

Later, while laughing about the incident, it was brought up that no actual murderer would scream "murder!"..... unless the killer was a pokemon.

Building a Better Bird

I have had some wonderful pets.

Radar... Beavura... Beauvra's mother, Panda

(Someday I will have to write a post about the 8 lb bundle of insanity that was PandaCat and my absolute love for her. I can't think about it too much, though, cause it inspires so much melancholy for me).

I've also had some bad pets... verrry bad pets.

i.e. Fiefel the hampster... my first (very poorly named) cat "Good Kitty"... and my involuntarily adopted pet skunk.

I can't think of words that describe how unwelcome that skunk was-

having a skunk living and BREEDING in the crawl space just below your bathroom is noooo fun.

Trust me.

Because, you see, the toilet makes a loud sound when it is flushed, which scares skunks, and when skunks are scared... well, you know what happens then.

"Hello... animal control? How fast can you get here?"

I don't know what compelled me to get the hampster... I guess he was pretty cute... but when all a pet does is bite you and run away, it gets pretty uncute quick... plus he learned this neat trick where he propped his back legs up into the corner of the cage, and propelled his pee outside his cage.

Did you know hampster pee is incredibly sticky and hard to clean?

Cause it is.

But there is one pet I would never imagine keeping... and that is a bird.

1) Why would you put something blessedly built for flight in a cage?

2)Birds do not WANT to be with you. I promise. They really don't.

3)They are LOUD.

4)Bird poop.

But I do LOVE birds...

as evidenced by my art:

Also, check out this pink lady who just took up residence in my studio:

Do you recognize her?

Yep. She's the message bearing birdy from this painting.

Adopt her today by clicking here.

I promise she won't poop on your couch.

much.

When the lease is up...

Dear Peter, Radar, and Beauvra,

We're moving here, and playing with hula hoops and hay. (But we're not wearing tomatoes as jewelry, cause they'd probably stain).

LOL as if I'd ever have a say about where we live.

I think if I could only watch one music video ever again for the rest of my life it'd be this one.

Blogging from bed

Today was one of those days where you wake up and don't really feel like getting out of bed

So you don't

Cause they'll understand if you call in sick to work just this once. So you go back to bed cause you can always get up around noon and still have a productive day.

But you don't.

Noon comes and goes and next thing you know it's one o'clock and the closest thing to a Saturday Morning cartoon marathon you can find is Nat. Geo's Locked Up Abroad series. And you give yourself permission to watch just this one episode, cause geez, Venezuela's Los Teques prison is insane when you're a chubby American dude who just got caught with a bunch of cocaine in hairspray bottles. You'll get out of bed after this show is over.

But you don't, and you fall asleep again around three in the afternoon thinking that Americans do a bunch of dumb crap when they're overseas.

At four you DO get out of bed

because of the impending need to hurl. But then it's straight back to hiding under the covers until your brainy freak husband insists you need to eat something "because your body requires protein to make antibodies and blah blah blah and I'm a medical know it all and here drink this Gatorade and lets play scrabble because you love scrabble and I love you and I hope you feel better and bleeble blabble"

So you do.

But then he puts on his scrubs and leaves cause he has an overnight shift in the ER.

So you put on new PJs and go back to bed, but you decide to write one quick blog before you embark on your 19th hour of sleep for the day.

It's one of those kind of days.

Space Deer: a deer from space

Peter: What is it?

Me: Art.

Cause, sometimes, it just is. And it is also for sale.

With love, blue bird

Some of my paintings are finished, viewed for a week or two, listed for sale, and put safely into storage until I can find it a happy home.

Some paintings become ingrained into my daily life. Though they're listed for sale, it's hard to imagine them being gone.

This is one of those paintings.

I listed it for sale, along with high quality print versions a while back, then promptly gave it a place of honor in my tiny kitchen.

It greets me in the morning, and bids me adieu as I leave for work.

It's become a pleasant part of every day life.

Here, it can be seen behind my Christmas Pot roast!

So when I learned the art of soft sculpture I knew I wanted to make a 3-d recreation of this, one of my favorite paintings.

I don't know why I love it so- It isn't my fanciest or most time consuming piece or most valuable, I mean- it's on an old cracked cutting board, but I can't help but find it utterly charming.

So far I only have one of the birds made, but I plan on creating him a mate before too long.

I went ahead and listed it for sale, but he's already made an adorable nest on the shelf while he waits for his mate to arrive.

****************************Post edit************ I was originally going to call this post "Be like the bluebird who never is blue" because of my undying affection for Cole Porter, but then I decided to change it at the last second because it was too long.

Secondly, in this wordy post edit of mine- I'd like to leave you with this video of Frank and Ginger dancing to "Night and Day", by the talented Mr Porter. It is the most romantic thing ever.

Feel like watching another video?

Ya!

Here's some Dutch high school kids in Anything Goes singing "Be Like The Blue Bird"

classic.

Obeskitty

Beau was once a musclebound Caribbean cat.

Spending most of his time outdoors chasing iguanas and mice, he was a prime specimen of the feline physique.

Svelte even.

Since we've been living in New York, however, he's given up the whole "chasing things" game, and taken up the sport of professional napping.

Professional napping requires practice and a high degree of skill- After all it isn't easy to get the covers pulled up juuust right when you don't have thumbs.

Diet food be darned- This is what fat and happy looks like.

Whichever One Applies/ Tourist Edition

Dear Tourists

I understand that you (are 21 years old/ have way too much money for your age/ don't know how to order a drink) but that does not exempt you from behaving like a decent human being. I realize that you (have never been to New York City before/ are big stuff where you're from/ didn't know there's vodka in a cosmo) but can you please pretend to be an adult. I don't know who gave you (their credit card/ such an inflated ego/ permission to be such a brat) so let's try to reign it in a little while out in public. Also, you should probably know that in Manhattan there are several subway stops that require you to use a (mile long/ incredibly slow/ probably Victorian era) escalator. On these escalators standing traffic keeps to the right, while people (walk/ jog/ run like their life depends on them making the next train) down the left. Didn't you think it odd that you and your little group were the only ones (not standing on the right/ blocking the entire path/ yelling the lyrics to a Keisha song)? Thank you for letting me by after I said, "Excuse me, may I pass". That was kind of you. Just so you know, I DID (catch your dirty looks/ hear you say "Ugh, What is her problem? B***h! Congratulations, you're like 30 seconds ahead now. Whatever!" / pick up on the fact that you all seemed to be wearing an entire bottle of Victoria's Secret Body Spray... each.). I truly appreciate the fact that you conceded to move to the right like everybody else NOT WALKING, but probably not as much as the Asian men behind me, who nearly knocked me down the aforementioned mile long escalator as they literally sprinted down the left side. I like to think they were (trying to get to a hospital/ carrying the antidote/ spies). I've lived and worked in NYC long enough to know that late at night, the trains don't run very frequently. I also usually know when they're coming, so if you see me hustling, it's for a reason. Your rudeness annoys me, but happily vengeance is (swift/ mine/ best served cold on a dirty subway platform) because I was seated comfortably in the train, as you all came within view of the train and immediately fell all over each other trying to get down the last stairs and across the platform before the doors shut. Enjoy (waiting 30-45 minutes for the next train/ watching rats playing on the tracks/ the smell of what I call perma-vomit) because you're going to be there a while. Making eye contact with you when the realization that you were 30 seconds too late, for the train that I was on, hit your faces was priceless. Enjoy the rest of your trip to NYC, but next time, don't forget to pack (some dignity/ manners/ less fake looking hair extensions).

Thanks

-la sha

Gifts of Christmas past

Remember that holiday you just spent a fortune on?

Now that it's January it seems like a long time ago, huh.

(And to think, Martha already has the next one planned and prepped!)

Well, now that it's over I can blog about gifts that were given and adventures that were had!

RIVETING!

kind of.

Okay, not really. It was actually pretty quiet.

...and by pretty quiet" I mean excruciatingly loud.

Because the hubby got his wish for an accordion. And in good time too- I hear there's an opening in the Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band. (R.I.P. Danny Federici.)

We had to travel to a distant land (Philly) to get it, and hoo boy, that trip deserves a post all of it's own.

Christmas shopping also took me to the magical NYC neighborhood known as Chinatown to buy my sis a 100% genuine fake Gucci watch.

I've got to hand it to the toothless African American gentleman who sold it to me- he was friendlier and more helpful than any of the sales clerks in stores where actual Gucci watches are being sold. Of course, those sales people don't have to abruptly close their shop up into a suitcase and run into the subway when a cop comes near.

I think they're spoiled.

I made a Bami Ballen for my eight year old bro (ala Cart Before The Horse- thanks again for being awesome! btw, my ballen came out super bumpy too.)

It's lots of tiny gifts wrapped up in hundreds of feet of crepe paper. As you unwrap the layers, different gifts come out.

Also, I have a now long standing tradition of getting him gifts that are going to annoy the socks off my Dad and now ex stepmom (RE: DRUM SET) so along with the candy, cash, gum, matchbox cars, and farm animals, I made sure to include a shiny new (ultra loud) whistle.

Did I mention he lives 12 states away?

Did I also mention I adore him? Cause I do.

He said it was a lot of fun to unwrap. I wrapped my sis's watch in the same way (with candy and junk included) but she thought it was less fun.

...less fun and fairly annoying. I guess how much fun unwrapping hundreds of feet of crepe paper is is largely determined by how close to eight years old you are.

I'm thinking the closer, the better.

How was your Christmas?

Merry and bright?