Good idea. I’ll do that tomorrow.
And no, drae, I won’t use Pachabel’s Canon.
I’m laughing so hard I’m crying–I assumed the first post was a joke.
It wouldn’t make any sense without someone singing the words, but I’m sure we’ve all been to at least a few weddings where Spike Jones’ *I Went to Your Wedding * would be appropriate. The last line of the song: At last we got rid of YOU!
I didn’t preview either. :o But I do agree with **drae ** that it’s been way overdone.
Thanks to everyone for the support and kind words…I love this place. 
I received a call yesterday from the Chief of Police of Melrose Park. He seemed to take my complaint very seriously, and even used the word “termination”. I would smile for the rest of the year if this guy got fired.
He (the chief) wants me to come in and speak to him in person on Thursday night. So, although I had hoped to NEVER drive in Melrose Park again, here I go…
Wish me luck!
**Mom ** - those tiles… Glued onto the wall? You’ve got my sympathy.
About the easiest way to rid yourself of them is to completely cover them with duct tape, gear up with long sleeves, gloves and glasses, and start prying. The tape will help prevent showers of shards from spraying all over the room.
If you’re phenomenally lucky, they might be held up with double-stick foam tape, in which case, you can use dental floss to “saw” through the tape and remove the tiles whole.
Alas, no, those things just scream avacado shag carpet and Mediterranean swag lamps! The Seventies are gone and, if we don’t piss off the gods too much, they’ll never return.
For a new headboard, I recommend Mission style – elegant lines, simple to make but warmer than Scandanavian, especially if you use a mahogany or plain walnut stain on red oak. Footboard is optional. I imagine he already has a long list of woodworking websites already bookmarked but if not, I have some recommendations.
Good luck with the house. Razorette and I are two years in our new home (on the farm she grew up on!) and we’re landscaping like crazy. I gotta’ figure out how to post some photos so I can show y’all the incredible retaining wall, arbor and patio we added to the front of the place – dresses it up nicely.
That’s a very good word to hear in such a situation!
You do realize you’re working yourself right into major fudge production to send to the Cool Kids by December, don’t you?
Cruella DeVille???
Or there’s the handy-dandy 12-Gauge. 
Okay ladies, I wanna talk to you about the Wife Code[sup]TM[/sup]. Let’s say your man has just spent an hour anna half literally tearing apart the drain assembly on the bathroom sink and replacing it with a new one, accompanyed by a great deal of banging, thumping, and swearing. Is it really necessary to walk in and not say anything except “Did you clean out the ‘J’ trap?”. Now I know it’s against the Wife Code[sup]TM[/sup] to ever let a husband feel good about himself or anything he does, but couldn’t you throw him a little bone once in a while? (There’s a joke in there, but I’m not gonna touch it.) A smile and a nod would have been sufficient. Wild sex on the bathroom floor woulda been better, but I’m talking real life here. 'Sides, the floor was pretty filthy by that point.
Swampy Beer, beer, and more beer. You’ll feel much better by Friday, I promise. Oh, and have a beer.
I need one too.
Six!! Six!!! Six!!!
To paraphrase one of my favorite jokes from about fourth grade.
does that joke have it in somewhere a kid saying “I know Five! Call on me! Five!!” or something to that effect?
Nope. It has to do with people walking past a fence and hearing a bunch of people yelling “Ten! Ten! Ten!” So, a curious guy sticks his face to the fence to look through a knothole and promptly gets poked in the eye.
… At which point, the voices behind the fence start yelling “Eleven! Eleven!”
Very funny when you’re ten years old.
Drae, that reminds me of a similar joke my 6th grade math teacher told me. This joke is best told in person, with lots of wild gesticulation (like most jokes), but text will have to do.
So.
About half a dozen teenagers are chilling out on a street corner, their usual afterschool hangout. They’re laughing, joking around, maybe lighting up a bit, whatever. Suddenly this middle aged guy comes around the corner. He’s tall, gaunt, wearing a battered old trench coat and he has the biggest stereo you’ve ever seen on one shoulder, with loud music blasting. He’s shouting along, “Seventy TWO! Seventy TWO! Seventy TWO!” And he’s dancing as he moves down the street. The weirdest dance these teenagers have ever seen. So they’re laughing up a storm, and finally one of the kids stands up and says he’s going to demonstrate how much better he can dance. He starts following the guy, and dancing even worse, if that’s possible. The middle aged guy sees this, and keeps going. Now the other kids are literally rolling on the ground with laughter. Which is why they don’t see the middle aged guy stop halfway down the road, pull out a crowbar, and remove the manhole cover.
The kid falls in, and the trench-coated boombox-bearer continues his shouting: “Seventy THREE! Seventy THREE! Seventy THREE!”
You guys remember jokes from when you were in the 4th or 6th grades?? I’m lucky if I remember a joke from five minutes ago!
No, I remember jokes from my 6th grade math teacher, because he was awesome and made them memorable.
As it happens, we have several sets of plans for mission furniture. And about 600 board feet of assorted cherry and walnut from a local Amish sawmill. Are you spying on me???
Actually, they are held on with the little foamy sticky thingies (that’s the technical term) and we figured out how to remove them when we did the dining room. We only broke 3 of the 35 tiles in there! Unfortunately, much patching was required on the drywall. I’m wondering if we shouldn’t just use textured wallpaper on the bedroom wall. Something to consider.
Okay, pictures. And as previously mentioned, I do not have a scanner, so I actually took pictures of pictures. I’m crafty like that. 
My First Birthday.
Maybe about three?
Summer, 1980, I believe. The night before my family left for Disney World–and I ended up sick the entire time. Worst vacation ever.
I take that back. This vacation was so bad, I don’t even remember where or when it was. It was probably the summer of '84 or later, though, as evidenced by my super-cool Return of the Jedi shirt. Wish I still had that.
March, 1994. Senior year of high school (second from left), backstage before a short one-act play called Nobody Sleeps.
Less than one year later. College does bad things to your fashion sense. It’s blurry, but I had to capture the idiocy.
Wiith my nephew, November, 2003. Pretty much what I still look like.
And, of course, Hell’s Wedding, this past October.
taxi, you could have this played at your wedding.