So, I assume this blog will be shut off towards the end of this week.
I haven't even remotely come close to transferring all my posts (because I have to do each on manually!! UGH!!) But, the new posts will be on the new blog, as well as hopefully all my old ones. It's just a ton of work!!
Anyhow, the new address will be www.redheadsunite.blogspot.com
Adjust yourselves accordingly!!
Sorry for the pain in the ass, but I'm a broke beeyotch right now.
Okay, so I'm broke right now, and spending money on things like a blog...well, not really smart.
So, I already owned a blogspot domain that is the same as this one (Only blogspot instead of typepad.)
I've got it set up, only I don't want to lose my old posts on typepad. So, does anyone know how to transfer posts over to blogspot from typepad, without having to manually do EVERY ONE??
Help!!
It's been a while since I've posted a "stupid Martin Trick" story...
So, let me preface this little tale by stating that Martin was in the kitchen making sandwiches. COLD sandwiches.
Now, we have a small kitchen. For some reason, Martin had the front burner of the stove on. Since he was making sandwiches....well, not really necessary.
But, regardless....I was looking in the fridge for something, and he was leaning back, being a sarcastic little butt about something.
Did I mention he was leaning back?
Against the stove?
The stove that was ON (for some unknown reason)?
Yeah, I think you see where this is going.
Anyhow, knowing him as I do, I reached back and pushed him forward, saying something along the lines of "Martin, scoot up, you're going to set yourself on fire."
Then, he turned around.
The next words out of my mouth were "In fact....you did. You might want to put yourself out." (Said w/ respective drollness, I might add.)
He craned around to look at his back, said a few choice swear words, and went running, flaming, through our house, trying to extricate himself from the fiery shirt of death. My daughter is screaming, Martin is panicking, I'm in between laughter and minor worry, and his friend, who is visiting, is staring at the whole scene w/ eyes as wide as saucers.
Martin managed to rip off the shirt, throw it on the floor, and both men pounced on it, putting it out w/ myriads of stomps.
Queue laughter.
After we'd managed to breathe again, he looked at me, and said "You're going to put this in your blog, aren't you?"
Oh, you'd better friggen' BELIEVE it!!
You want photographic proof?
Clicky the extended entry.
READ ALL ABOUT IT!!
TEXAS IS MISSING! TEXAS IS MISSING!!
SEE? I HAVE PROOF FROM THE MEDIA!!
WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN???
**************
At any rate, I'm going crazy not working. This lack of wondering how we're going to pay stuff is killing me. I broke down and put my application in at the local big box grocery store. For those of you that know me, you know that I vowed never to work grocery again.
Right now, I don't care. I just need money.
Also, I've slammed my kneecap into like 20 things in the last day, and now I can barely straighten it.
Fun Times.
Jack THIS year on the 4th of July:
and one of my psychotic daughter:
I have a guilty little secret.
I like to read romance novels.
I'm picky about which ones I read. Cowboys do nothing for me, nor do I like cops, firemen, or military types.
All in all, modern romances make me roll my eyes, and nearly gag. I'm really not a romantic, most of the time.
However, there is something about the historical ones. Maybe it's some sort of throwback from my youth, of being forced to watch PBS, and countless British Period Dramas....
At any rate, I do read the historical ones, and there are some author's that I swear by...that write funny, smart and engaging books.
But, for some reason, a lot of the historical writers seem to get all "purple prose" when it comes to describing the sex scenes. Seriously, sometimes it's so ridiculous, that I sit there and laugh hysterically, when I KNOW that's not the reaction they were trying to invoke. I mean, come on...."her HONEYPOT"??
I ran across one the other day....that actually said "his steaming jet of love." Um, seriously? STEAMING? Does he have a disease?? I swear, sometimes I sit there thinking "Do they REALLY think that was a good description? Could we have not come up with something a little less cheesy?"
So, it's actually become a bit of a joke w/ me and the neighbor girls, as they read a lot of romances, too. If we find a particularly horrible description, we'll immediately relate it to each other, laughing hysterically.
So, tonight, we were out lighting early fireworks for the kids, when one of the girls saw me holding a Roman Candle as it was showering its cascade of sparks from the end. She laughed, and said something about that being a good description for a love scene, and it took us like 2 seconds to come up with THIS winner:
"His Roman Candle of love exploded all over her quivering ground bloom flower" (You know, for a 4th of July themed book.)
Seriously. Can't. Stop. Laughing.
I may have to make a list...
Last night I dreamt I was watching a police interrogation. Actually, quite a few interrogations.
The police guy had this thing on the bottom of his shoe, and he would keep clicking it during the questioning.
*ClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClick*
Until, finally, the suspect would scream "ALL RIGHT, I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!! I DID IT!! I DID IT!!!"
This happened for quite awhile. Always the same....ClickClickClick.
So, this morning, I wake up, and in my haziness, realize that Martin has been playing Diablo all night on the computer in the bedroom, and the clicking that was so perversely invading my dreams, was, in fact, the mouse click.
Yeah, apparently, it annoys me.
The top of my head is sunburned.
Ow.
I went to the beach yesterday with Stacey. We were going to get an early start, but she had to wait at home til about noon.
For her dog. To. Poop.
Yup.
For the dog to poop.
You know it's bad when your schedule is dictated by your dogs bowel movements.... :)
At any rate, we had a good time, it was a gorgeous day. I took an enormous amount of pictures, which can be seen here, as well as some of my favorites in an extended entry below.
Other than that, I've just been fighting allergies and boredom. Seriously, Oregon is out to kill me.
Ah-choo.
But....it's so PRETTY, as evidenced below...
So, Friday morning, about 7:30 I hear Martin's phone ring. I don't get to it in time, but I see it's from his mom in California, and she left a message.
I check the message, and it's all "Hi martin, this is your mom. I'm in the Sacramento airport right now, and will be up there in a few hours. Your sister is picking me up. I'll call you when I get in."
AAAAAAAAGH!!
How's that for notice? So, I'm looking around my thrashed house/yard and silently panicking. She calls later that night, and says she's coming to visit us on Sunday.
One day.
ONE DAY to get everything ship-shape.
She owns this place, you see....
So, Saturday consisted of OVERHAULING the inside of my house, and overhauling the yard. My poor neighbor was out on her hands and knees digging up the front, raking up pine needles, mowing, edging, you name it. In short, we worked our asses off. By Saturday night, we were exhausted, but looking at what we accomplished, thinking "whoo hoo!". (and I totally forgot to get before/after pics)
So, fast forward to Sunday. His mom shows up late afternoon, and is here for about 2 hours, before she heads back to his sister's. TWO HOURS PEOPLE!! I am sore in muscles I didn't even know I had for a TWO HOUR VISIT!!
So, later that night, I go to borrow something from our neighbor, and she asked if Martin's mom was still here.
Me: "Uh, no...she left a while ago"
Neighbor: "Is she coming back??"
Me: "No....well, maybe Tuesday for a little bit, but otherwise, no...."
Neighbor: *Blank stare*
Me: "Heh....yeah, we did a lot of work for such a short visit...."
Neighbor: *Weak laugh* (Followed by what I'm sure was beating her head on the wall once she shut the door)
In short.....OW!!!
And I stayed up til 5 this morning playing Diablo on the computer.
Kill me.
