tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54169557953373817452024-02-08T00:14:11.233-06:00Heather CherryBloggety blog-blog-blog. Blog. And stuff.Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.comBlogger194125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-50997783850197441572012-04-08T21:52:00.000-05:002012-04-08T21:52:50.319-05:00He is risen!<br />
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<br />Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-68611864033822754322012-03-17T14:03:00.001-05:002012-03-17T14:06:49.406-05:00A St. Patrick's Day Tribute to the Luckiest Little Clover I Know<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>When I happened upon this lonely little four-leaf <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Clover</span>, she was wilted, trampled on, stomped over by life. A life she didn't deserve. A life that left scars.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>But I picked her. I picked her because I knew she was special. I planted her in my home and nourished her with plenty of love.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>And then, an amazing thing happened:</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>She grew into the most beautiful good luck charm.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>At times a lovely, delicate flower…</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>…but with all the sass of a fiery Irish <span style="color: #b45f06;">redhead</span>!</strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Happy St. Patrick's Day from <span style="color: #6aa84f;">Clover</span>…</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span> </div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>...and Snuggles, too!</strong></span></div>
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</div>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-48231216152542861892011-04-05T17:10:00.004-05:002011-04-11T15:27:17.476-05:00[SNUGGLES] And how was ur day, Mummy?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimj3rR6vyXCVEj-owfgUTTIebzGige9WSmpqm4FiXZo_MjaTEW8Ez70l4fPrb63JG6q4U99vkSXnhfgqnElB2e-laL2vuRgsvJZmIZY9y6l2aK3qTs2_kmGXh3fNAFoNPku2BSiHQfb0w/s1600/I%2527m+listening.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592225455978727314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimj3rR6vyXCVEj-owfgUTTIebzGige9WSmpqm4FiXZo_MjaTEW8Ez70l4fPrb63JG6q4U99vkSXnhfgqnElB2e-laL2vuRgsvJZmIZY9y6l2aK3qTs2_kmGXh3fNAFoNPku2BSiHQfb0w/s400/I%2527m+listening.JPG" /></a> <br /><div align="center">Pls to tell me all about it, k?</div>Snuggleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222731518503590490noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-89830391030799350962011-03-31T12:19:00.000-05:002011-03-31T12:20:54.674-05:00An Open Letter to My Dogs<div align="justify"><strong>An Open Letter to My Dogs</strong></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Dear Snuggles and Clover:</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Good gravy, what in the world did you two eat? Are you even aware that your farts can penetrate Kevlar? The next time I need to sandblast something I'll just bottle some of your abominable flatulence. You have a permanent fog hovering around you like Pigpen from Peanuts. I no longer have any nose hair. Your farts can peel varnish and dissolve acid. True story, I once saw a pit bull fart make Chuck Norris cry. The smell is so bad my eyes are watering and my nose is running. And by "my nose is running" I mean, like, my nose literally jumped off my face and ran away in fear and revulsion. It went into the Witness Protection Program and now I'll never find it. The fallout is truly heinous. The blast radius is the width of a city block. I now have a new theory for what killed off the dinosaurs.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">With nothing but love for you (but not your gas),</div><br /><div align="justify">Heather</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7D49yExD0nikRmuPXMGWqMQx02Jvr0o8TjsuQg6587WUNCCbZbUEjRmWKastFDVbUOcQKmXXPtSTGzfjUteHtUJsojQu49dPgEVJQBl9AR2FJz9xG-0Babwh9Z7-nx6_h0R5SRjDbggL/s1600/snuggle+buddies.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590292926450692258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7D49yExD0nikRmuPXMGWqMQx02Jvr0o8TjsuQg6587WUNCCbZbUEjRmWKastFDVbUOcQKmXXPtSTGzfjUteHtUJsojQu49dPgEVJQBl9AR2FJz9xG-0Babwh9Z7-nx6_h0R5SRjDbggL/s400/snuggle+buddies.jpg" /><br /><p align="center"></a><em>Our bad.</em></p>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-10890631301844155172011-03-16T11:30:00.002-05:002011-03-16T11:32:57.962-05:00What is smellier than Brussels sprouts being cooked?<p></p><br /><div align="justify">Here is a very short list of things that <em>might</em> possibly smell worse than Brussels sprouts:</div><br /><p align="justify"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH4_ugIscoQJuBtb6OxtARB0nrVdlckcupR4TO7TXvT3TPw1-Oy14fdt1u_XYG9W8ufXiTmfz4rgc5iBN8JihWBNDQ1bPBHV675tetGw7tddsU1xrdTfwAhQCqJGIY_ct5KAohvdEnZvm/s1600/brussels+sprout.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 187px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584693445322072034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH4_ugIscoQJuBtb6OxtARB0nrVdlckcupR4TO7TXvT3TPw1-Oy14fdt1u_XYG9W8ufXiTmfz4rgc5iBN8JihWBNDQ1bPBHV675tetGw7tddsU1xrdTfwAhQCqJGIY_ct5KAohvdEnZvm/s400/brussels+sprout.jpg" /></a><br /></p><ul><li><div align="justify">For example, one of those situations we've all come across at one time or another, where a bum ate spoiled tuna fish, then threw up in a pair of old shoes he found in a dumpster, and then decided, <em>screw it - I'm still gonna wear these shoes because, well, they're shoes. And they're better than what I've got... which is no shoes</em>. You know... that old chestnut.</div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">Matthew McConaughey wearing an adult diaper.</div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">Satan's sweat after eating bad Mexican for a week straight.</div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">A pile of jock straps in the Green Bay Packers' locker room after Super Bowl XLV. Worse still: Brett Favre's jock strap. Cuz he's just gross.</div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">The breath of a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Komodo_dragon#Saliva"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Komodo dragon</span></strong></a> with halitosis.</div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">The seafood counter at a grocery store, having been abandonded after a nuclear holocaust.</div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">Maybe this?</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxiehQ7r7yiSKrMxNsbPHZ6mAukuwV7Sft8TnsAZLG0s5Q4TM13SCLsbDyXr1Faeod352rYBDRfVZCeNBJkLaJ2mz6kuXv6rawRYGFAgACf-Zs1hbN9N-KwA3JFVAQ6XPQlUAImHdyJgaT/s1600/cheeseburger+in+a+can.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584694104344401794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxiehQ7r7yiSKrMxNsbPHZ6mAukuwV7Sft8TnsAZLG0s5Q4TM13SCLsbDyXr1Faeod352rYBDRfVZCeNBJkLaJ2mz6kuXv6rawRYGFAgACf-Zs1hbN9N-KwA3JFVAQ6XPQlUAImHdyJgaT/s400/cheeseburger+in+a+can.jpg" /></a><br /><br /></li><li><div align="justify">The big vat of old cooking grease out back of a Chinese restaurant. In 100-degree weather. In a Detroit slum.</div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">The big vat of old leftover pieces of stomach out back of a black market clinic... you know, one of those places that cuts out part of your stomach and then staples it so that you can only eat one grape at a time? Yeah, that.</div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">The "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TY8T9iTUxc"><strong><span style="color:#666600;">Bog of Eternal Stench</span></strong></a>" from <em>The Labyrinth</em>. AFTER David Bowie has thrown those pants in and tossed in some onions and garlic, stirred everything up real good, and made a nice stew out of it.</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1-HNKL3eRcVm6_wBtXynQcZsFs_xeyTkC7l6c8hM7BElbsBIbikxtA6FJBXjNbu4aWiZy94WPmXswXkmdx7zL2uxbLg099-0LuEFLy5Abfs98jDQ_lk2HghTEXzL4FTkZsw6gl1nvBlD/s1600/Labyrinth-2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 216px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584688079028808514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1-HNKL3eRcVm6_wBtXynQcZsFs_xeyTkC7l6c8hM7BElbsBIbikxtA6FJBXjNbu4aWiZy94WPmXswXkmdx7zL2uxbLg099-0LuEFLy5Abfs98jDQ_lk2HghTEXzL4FTkZsw6gl1nvBlD/s400/Labyrinth-2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /></li><li><div align="justify">Jonah, after being puked up by the whale.</div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">That stuff that comes out from between your teeth while you're flossing, if you saved it in a mayonnaise jar for a year straight, then buried it in a hole in your compost heap, then dug it up after another year and opened the jar to take a big whiff.<br /></div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">A giant's butt crack at high noon. (I don't know what that means.)</div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">A bucket of chum past its expiration date.<br /></div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">Rasputin's beard.*</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCoEZifmJO4GzLyyD4JZyaXA4WGErj1gMVixV0VUAusOxMEJLpTeENw0mzn0-2tnAwG_-U4zV0J0FnCmOwuK2Py_tdPRrfxWb7_V8dRxtoyhVHAj2plP7s0XNKUT_7xG164DkW0JhrZSLx/s1600/Rasputin.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 360px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584698086635899986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCoEZifmJO4GzLyyD4JZyaXA4WGErj1gMVixV0VUAusOxMEJLpTeENw0mzn0-2tnAwG_-U4zV0J0FnCmOwuK2Py_tdPRrfxWb7_V8dRxtoyhVHAj2plP7s0XNKUT_7xG164DkW0JhrZSLx/s400/Rasputin.jpg" /></a><br /><br /></li><li><div align="justify">Tom Selleck's mustache. Just kidding. Tom Selleck's mustache should probably be knighted.</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlOtSj3cyFccdSyaTP8hOolC34V6PTOAbE1p0oBB2jH6cNbLD9Yc5znwOkRMAha1m3qtqSCHLXAXXFIb-24E8zStrP5dvi7aOE4vtzMILrRr3PtDI5QLiNEl6KSUGZWzQeoFmC_uePLZj/s1600/Tom_Selleck.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 230px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 133px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584697959886160962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlOtSj3cyFccdSyaTP8hOolC34V6PTOAbE1p0oBB2jH6cNbLD9Yc5znwOkRMAha1m3qtqSCHLXAXXFIb-24E8zStrP5dvi7aOE4vtzMILrRr3PtDI5QLiNEl6KSUGZWzQeoFmC_uePLZj/s400/Tom_Selleck.jpg" /></a><br /><br /></li><li><div align="justify">A line of Porta-Potties outside a Phish concert.<br /></div><br /></li><li><div align="justify">A hippie with a foot fungus standing in the middle of a sewage treatment plant in the middle of a cow pasture in the middle of a hog farm in the middle of a landfill.</div></li></ul><br /><p align="justify"></p><p align="justify">Yeah, I know I pick on hippies. But in my defense, it's only cuz they're gross.</p><br /><p align="justify"><span style="color:#6600cc;"><strong>So here's my challenge to you: come up with the best and funniest description of the worst thing you ever smelled and leave it in the comments. I will put the best ones in a future post.</strong><br /></span></p><br /><br /><em>*Grigori Rasputin was one of the nastiest guys to have ever lived. He always reeked because he didn't bathe. His hair was always a greasy, matted mess. And his unkempt beard was often crusted with old chunks of food.</em>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-58060933994023213222011-03-15T11:55:00.000-05:002011-03-15T11:56:00.411-05:00The Open Letters Blog<div align="center"><br /><a href="http://heathercherry.blogspot.com/2009/05/check-out-new-blog.html"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Almost two years ago</span></strong></a>, some other bloggers and I decided to start a blog together where we could post all of our open letters. We've decided to open it up for submissions and if your letter is good enough, we might post it on <strong><a href="http://theopenlettersblog.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#663366;">The Open Letters Blog</span></a></strong>. Head on over to <a href="http://theopenlettersblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/attention-attention.html"><strong><span style="color:#006600;">today's post</span></strong></a> to read more.</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="http://theopenlettersblog.blogspot.com/p/live-dream-write-open-letter.html"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 338px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584350176309450882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSD2sgJ4ogpfBRWMLXJ2p7FpPSRevHnD_2tkTUERTp_kctLV9xTwJ24qpRlQtz_Z2fWyeu6BXBFjRxnh9jtsmtst-ayv70QE9qosKDP9yd46L8Us7XYAWc2TMWKy2-0CGSOi-qxGq98hvu/s400/submissions+pic.bmp" /></a>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-172145531243948082011-03-14T11:55:00.004-05:002011-03-15T09:22:23.570-05:00Retch-tables<div align="justify"><br /><br /></div><div align="justify"><a href="http://heathercherry.blogspot.com/2011/01/um-anybody-still-out-there.html"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">As I mentioned a while back</span></strong></a>, my parents are staying with me whilst they build a new house. Now, I have to say... when it comes to all things foul-smelling, I thought pit bull farts were bad, but my friends, there is something much worse and far more nefarious, I must tell you. Mom and Dad eat a TON of vegetables. Like, vegetables coming out of their ears. In particular, beans, broccoli, and cauliflower. You may be thinking that I'm going somewhere else with this - maybe that parental farts are worse than pit bull farts. But thankfully, that's not the problem since they take Beano like it's their job.<br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU4BR0vaykVECSE1zqs0aTxOaATLymzw0mLCLJPAbi8RoIkWhUAXW8DbRom99TQAW4gjsOntXEkbR7swVteyr8k_vIfomE2wc0W1im4MElJYFN0RrhXpXnNWY1ek5kVK-9t9QlLd04RIpO/s1600/beano.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583977251810795970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU4BR0vaykVECSE1zqs0aTxOaATLymzw0mLCLJPAbi8RoIkWhUAXW8DbRom99TQAW4gjsOntXEkbR7swVteyr8k_vIfomE2wc0W1im4MElJYFN0RrhXpXnNWY1ek5kVK-9t9QlLd04RIpO/s400/beano.jpg" /> <p align="center"></a><br />Some slogans Beano rejected...</p><div align="center"><em>Beano: "So you don't smell like you pooped your pants."</em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>Beano: "Ew, you're nasty."</em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify">The problem is the veggies themselves. Mom is constantly cooking some abominable smelling retch-tables in my kitchen, which then stink up the whole house. If rotten eggs had armpits and didn't wear deodorant, this is what it would smell like. It's like a diarrhea factory on fire. It's what it would smell like <em>if poop had a bowel movement</em>*. The worst of the lot is the batches of exceptionally malodorous kraut, broccoli, and cauliflower that Mom cooks to smithereens. And in particular, Cauliflower was my enemy numero uno until a new smelly veg moved in last week. I submit to you... the Brussels sprout. Mom has started roasting these things, or frying them, or just torturing them to death, or something. I don't know, whatever. The point is, the stench is so horrifyingly putrid. It's like a rotten cauliflower crawled up a Brussels sprout's butt and died. But before any of that happened, 43 pit bulls farted on a skunk and then the skunk got hit by the smelliest garbage truck in the world, which was incidentally being driven by hippies. The skunk unfortunately got stuck to the tire of the garbage truck like a piece of old chewing gum. Then the truck proceeded to drive into the cauliflower's butt. Really just a chain reaction of unfortunate, stinky events.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify">I think this may qualify as child abuse. Does anyone know of a hotline I can call or something?</div><br /><br />*EDITOR'S NOTE: My brother, <a href="http://jakeandchristy.blogspot.com/"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Jake</span></strong></a>, insisted on me giving him credit for this one since he came up with it. I don't mind doing that. He got his sense of humor from me anyway.Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-19336349587406699492011-03-10T13:00:00.003-06:002011-03-10T13:46:52.209-06:00An Open Letter to the State of Arizona<div align="justify"><br /><strong>An Open Letter to the State of Arizona</strong><br /><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXeEx8RUr_9he223PKqjlC2BuoURzAJLl5zYkeTTNIVzx0lns9_Vg3QeHDSx8dpr63LZN8kfjqX7hxvbbF9e2uxWes2fmWpD8DBfaHxd8X9xwDxRdvIBLZgt1qb90sZ5XGt83mk98cDmq4/s1600/daylight+savings.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 398px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582535463681540194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXeEx8RUr_9he223PKqjlC2BuoURzAJLl5zYkeTTNIVzx0lns9_Vg3QeHDSx8dpr63LZN8kfjqX7hxvbbF9e2uxWes2fmWpD8DBfaHxd8X9xwDxRdvIBLZgt1qb90sZ5XGt83mk98cDmq4/s400/daylight+savings.jpg" /> <p align="justify"></a><br />Dear Arizona:<br /><br /><br />What the crap? Why are you exempt from Daylight Saving Time? That is so unfair, State of Arizona. I, for one, am not a happy camper. This business of springing forward, falling back, hopping sideways, and skipping in circles is getting a little frigging old. And I will be <a href="http://heathercherry.blogspot.com/2011/02/open-letter-to-my-alarm-clock.html"><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">hating my alarm clock</span></strong></a> with that little bit of extra fervor come Sunday. But you, Arizona? You’ll be happy as a clam, secure in the knowledge that 8 AM is still 8 AM and all is right with the world. Except for the part of the world that is springing forward! Lame!<br /><br /><br />Totally jealous of you,<br /><br /><br />Heather<br />Oklahoma, USA<br /><br /><br />cc: Hawaii </p>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-4299223628496709282011-03-07T10:00:00.003-06:002011-03-07T10:14:56.356-06:00More Questionable Decor<p align="center"></p><br /><br />Come on, you <em>know</em> you wanna do this to your house.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 288px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575147723595287730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxvvdRnl-E8W7iMF2Iul1FoLEZcN-_N6aUzT_v2oK-YJpJyYrSoauMtbR_L5-AnjmeBo9l-SXozZ2BJy0AqD0deF90eSW59aInjNAsUg6TZDoTBsdDWBTFH1gEHUYKfaR5k-RE9gHmcZ7f/s400/antler.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">Honey, I know you want to mount your latest kill on the wall, but can't we compromise and just put one antler on the coffee table? Fair enough?</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 317px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575147018980290754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1q65BNC30R3wZsrWv_gSejhoGfFBqUzUMT8akSZsh_Gp7GNlcm8c7t7JeoBhZjdVl2iWAW3h1udxTLuDw03xd9v5zPsIt7i5K8Dx-EHMazlgkmdxCvtZvh9xEbsol39MX15I4L4f3PzYe/s400/poop+chair.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">Yes, I know what you're thinking: <em>I've always wanted a chair that allowed me to poop without having to get up from my seat and walk into the actual bathroom.</em> Well then you need...</div><br /><div align="center"><strong>The Poop Chair</strong> (patent pending)</div><br /><div align="center">"With convenient poop hole in the back."</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSc9RL_T7Taee8uAUOi_G4U8PeqPw7_d2xaa5ZHr1uoZlfq60NgnwFdfZYb9ft_MaxrfAWlHjPdHYb3Oo52r2o2qUuH3q_6kJ15lQP1L8UqnaV8QEOs17JN6C14eMu6C1GPsrxzRl9ajip/s1600/2000.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 325px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 325px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581369396260781426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSc9RL_T7Taee8uAUOi_G4U8PeqPw7_d2xaa5ZHr1uoZlfq60NgnwFdfZYb9ft_MaxrfAWlHjPdHYb3Oo52r2o2qUuH3q_6kJ15lQP1L8UqnaV8QEOs17JN6C14eMu6C1GPsrxzRl9ajip/s400/2000.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong>Poop Chair 2000: </strong>for those with more contemporary taste in poop chairs.</div><br /><br /><br /><p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhhToAB4fs2sPVFKADAiieX_kL1-5IGTLT-Yodrm5Puv_pHIIN4r7_W92Mdpd8UPsHtCQDaULyD-YYavnT7Ujc6s6hg4wwMOEIOEn9utNpc9jIOqjDqS1FUwSXagInecaW1oSC-5wYUNG/s1600/garlic.jpg"></a><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 281px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 248px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581367468424377858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpDjqFVLM_roV9R8hoAeVnn1im1Y46Y-ud96WIyyPSz_-h84c1-mskCAua-CSWkbcxs0uaJbrnaDnfcc2Nj6IhTGyZvczvPbI5lleXgC4nNNN_psQZoQutQcSS8_NGaTUfiOr6Bunodow/s400/garlic.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">I know what you're thinking: <em>I've always wanted a footstool that looked like a clove of garlic with the top chopped off.</em> Today is your lucky day, my friend.</div><p align="center"><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 178px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575144956621922338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMK4fXPGnJh8QkQbrZIkk1CYTJKHPai2j0kvoDTdrkPitE6cjZolFwZyiKFdVSRweA1-3SCZ9CmC1JFfdkO9TAwh11Irv7qt0w4MCYJumUMCkDFxTZAb9fod4SOoJ8MDJ1aOW1jze36a1t/s400/baby+tables.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">In the wild, baby tables huddle underneath the mommy table for warmth and protection.</div><p align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 306px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581367329813289890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXd9NAE2naoGY-e2Ib1R3J4Gj4C0xGoPdNfi7-mUIBpx64e8aSIjkusTFeA7R4FaFOn7PEANkogfvDdJ0W2Dht3wnWPrP-526wy2A94JGyuQyhDIbX-qKrYvd2fvBOpnCu1MPKFk8NsOF/s400/button+dish.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">What's that? You say you don't need a soap dish? Well, how about a button dish? Surely you need a button dish.</div><p align="center"></p><div align="center"><strong>Button Dish</strong> (patent denied)</div><br /><p align="center">"For all your button dish needs."</p><p align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPX4QCQvkcgNpeD1HXRJB1ISgsyZww5BXgTlCWhi9a1-QQRyICF_eCteNVEjG2ieP4-hYTepnrvxNJrqotEmNecHu33J6gRMihhWlCScFNb9ibkMTG2M_GE161_Bji6TldFDkg-ioKZaRR/s1600/mummies.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 325px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 325px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575144131576314546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPX4QCQvkcgNpeD1HXRJB1ISgsyZww5BXgTlCWhi9a1-QQRyICF_eCteNVEjG2ieP4-hYTepnrvxNJrqotEmNecHu33J6gRMihhWlCScFNb9ibkMTG2M_GE161_Bji6TldFDkg-ioKZaRR/s400/mummies.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="center">Shriveled Egyptian mummies make a whimsical statement in this otherwise stark room. Now, let's talk about what shrunken heads can do for your kitchen...</div><br /></div>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-90040523744264726822011-03-03T08:00:00.002-06:002011-03-03T08:49:31.914-06:00Word Verification<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9jKR1kl2e9655WzOc8rfsxeUBkzdtnxe4bdHrLsM_RS53FYhPNxFkAAL2Y7XFxRDdvAsV4oVVpCzDy3VhxOZzjJ_cV98EUkKf1fL68HMSZtxwVhTRF_u2xpkz6Oz5P8xbUu2rfdAXq0p/s1600/spam.gif"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 281px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579863826774999378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9jKR1kl2e9655WzOc8rfsxeUBkzdtnxe4bdHrLsM_RS53FYhPNxFkAAL2Y7XFxRDdvAsV4oVVpCzDy3VhxOZzjJ_cV98EUkKf1fL68HMSZtxwVhTRF_u2xpkz6Oz5P8xbUu2rfdAXq0p/s400/spam.gif" /></a><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="center">Sorry, folks. I know typing in those stupid gibberish words are annoying as all crap, but I'm getting spammed left and right, so I've added it. Sue me!*</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">*Please don't sue me. I'm getting out of debt and I'm on a budget right now.</div><div align="center"><br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">And I don't like spam!</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/M_eYSuPKP3Y" frameborder="0" width="350"></iframe></div>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-68545248600782620762011-03-02T16:26:00.025-06:002011-03-02T16:45:44.005-06:00Smells like freedom... and burning plastic.<iframe title="YouTube video player" width="350" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/XHVCEeF5Zv0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><br />Jake filmed the destruction and posted it on his YT page.<br /><br /><br /><em>(sorry if you see this more than once in your reading list... was trying to remember how to size the video down)</em>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-49752742292869196292011-03-01T20:40:00.003-06:002011-03-01T20:44:45.838-06:00An Open Letter to My Credit Card<div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><div><br /><strong>An Open Letter to My Credit Card<br /></strong><br /><br />Dear Credit Card:<br /><br /></div><br /><div align="justify">I know this might seem like it's completely out of the blue, but... well... how do I say this? To put it as gently as possible, <em>I'm breaking up with you, you jackhole</em>. I know, I know... I'm sorry. We've had some great times. We really have. Remember that shopping spree at Anthropologie? Remember when I got LASIK? Remember when Snuggles had to have unexpected surgery? Yeah... I'm still paying for those things. Not cool, you know? Your manipulative ways have held me captive in your unrelenting grasp for too long. I've come to realize I'm just another number in your little black book. Account No. XXXX XXXX XXXX 0231, actually.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so, Credit Card, I'm cutting you off. I'm cutting you out of my life completely. And, well, I'm actually going to literally cut you up as well. And believe me when I say it will hurt me more than it will hurt you. Because I will actually have to start <em>paying</em> for things. And it's going to sting for a while. But in the end, it will turn out for the best. For both of us. Well... maybe not for you. But definitely for me. And hey, chin up; someday we'll look back on this and laugh. </div><div><br /></div><div align="justify">It's not you. It's me. Well... actually, it <em>is </em>you. It's 100% you, and you suck.</div><div><br /><br />Not so fondly,<br /><br />Heather<br />(your soon to be debt-free ex) </div><br /><div></div><div></div><br /><div>P.S. I've been seeing someone else. His name is Ca$h Money. </div><div><br /><br /><br /> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579297625652535154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEakCoSruyM_dYtuUGE8q0SA4n1YegXtwJatHU5H7hFwLAztmRJ6SxzNzmk_hW795E1xwlhAlFiukvnYCom8cr_iQDWZEdJF35mvTifr1etfl7LnTvX-dsKAEljs9yeNtoEcdWASgihu9Z/s400/006.JPG" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579297934271079842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBFLBB27VeEJINdkeQQZ0q4rscD9147ffhuKgkAAT7jq8AFLRzi6zZGyrz-FSjbko-hUsPEWepA7sa5-nFeAcJCXqjtVMZEGrIZp7kCsedK_hdJsisXnZ8j4UqUyLU7rjO1IG0K6aSVdJ/s400/008.JPG" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579298122190886818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwArWzdpfZc_jfmtg0TEmlkTatz6tOCtRftkjXywHhUZfb5r41dheDmKl2eRUzRWz475dTxIZ2eGf650oy02C8-_imdva1s3KnBW-_sSm_gxq-MU9DQk_5uambEWppQzoZeoNi7HRJBNg/s400/013.JPG" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579298449861856674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkVYptKCpjKIxz2umzUJKG3-rWIjCDSKcG6eXOAvk2azyDUiaBF5QiiCVHcoWM99M4WoaUjaNg0FIVsgoK84ILw0RK0XpIpQzzfSTlXA0LyhvWiOD1oJvRS9aHx6cGP9kE4yP7Rgraenx/s400/018.JPG" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579298578876961554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPKrR8y7ZQcETByBQ0F_NKpDWvpaPvRn3LwN0PXsoXxHN_tBzQRUGoUJh6k6gBNOpRe5Nm9LqG8shrejE9NxnJxFAb6Z9No8RnRjS0RxrWYgg14nvwfPTWkHiFe4ask163XvyFHfLnt2R/s400/017.JPG" /> </div><br /><div><br /><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579302580557958866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxsNgBvSMEig-XJ7RE-PDuHQmc5NwlWGLDno1DZjRQXEW4r00nZgHbw6gXMHlNQSBeMOfOcSoCEJeLIveUUAhH52EurzTzVKUKhJMu57zilSvlPZRb3cCL9nSqZWugRErmR684aiUzlFG/s400/016.JPG" /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-70865702469089176662011-02-28T13:15:00.002-06:002011-03-01T08:44:04.999-06:00Model BehaviorI love the way models pose in catalogs. It's always so... <em>natural</em>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 399px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575154376835507602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimV18h0NUxWK0lB_1jknvLrkDbXBVN0jvNNYDzuI-aZPMp5D84NpIRSPzSt7m-83NlIc9oB9IdmqllsXfzaPCmTlbZhR2rjK_gJ27eil-hCGpBd4MakzqYxktHCqHBvqYv1e7wLjESaNhc/s400/yesofficer.jpg" /><br /><div><div><div><div align="center">Yes, Officer. I understand that I've been placed under arrest for "Modeling While Under the Influence of an Ugly Mauve Shirt Tunic Thing", and yes, I understand my rights as you've read them to me.</div><br /><div><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div></div><div><br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575154226659115778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rkfJ3X_qc1lSBW29RpxjlOU6lgCGLDhgL5YOVFtdJHeH5mKlFA_Uqym1cgcOgiifAKuXQWoVtrPGCjh1Tq-ZPfr0n00t6oZwxGQOIkrV1Iqz7_78vpVX2U3anjz8lrjPYuzCMGHE3YMr/s400/shell+beads.jpg" /><br /><div align="center"></div><div></div><div align="center">They told me these beads were made of shell, so I'm listening to see if I can hear the ocean.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575154973215344786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm4wYa27KoEb4e-fOxH76x8xi7OmVt6ARBlYTjt8jCGivhcBdagBSZfQReyixqozZC2gSQxL2zlZ0Alw7mHN342YCj_zZCcEq1ON7gtNSThzEHZfceZuaEiAJTYAyW1E4f60h5Ugar1CK/s400/large+bag.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">This bag is so large I can hardly hold it up.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 399px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575153924237356610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSy8vzLKIQuqsEohJuZsMdHYHaub-j3nu_aSlVY-3mQ9DeFnZFuwtml9bDOmWCLezm2JEdA_nVcRC44dIb7c9k6s8qw51E3cRoaqTs2V8yAJI1dmQJps2-hlu_tBbfWr0S1sMADtEkgyz1/s400/ireallyneedtopee.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">I really need to pee. Can I be excused from the photo shoot?<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575153752536644962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNdIR4SmXalDIfula4O6Xw0FmifVL-ZptgMRuOY95hrJ1yrsKdW14gpsSke4jLo6wsxll9g0T2lKCaLcy-zbcQt0xdj_GitjadE_WyBEEzQ6sah1hXHbHI4AdXwSMHgWciLXaRnZaZ2ufI/s400/itch.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">I've got an itch right... about... here.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 399px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575153654351501202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mNfH2MpG3XYPD62q8wGeFc4j29g4LT7Gn4KcAIWM4_iAWRPcKcL0_SBctu9-DBuAVXCh15GkpR9Io7ED4M3y6Ahj-NTSdnzyIXRSV4TbIAajWZIJZ8RB62hQXdv1_N-_NJr-7FyZPjic/s400/itch2.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">Really? Cuz I've got one right back here. We should totally start a club!</div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 399px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575153297329744930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17Yp2sH_bwDNY9avpJLx3Jnyk_LCXQKRBc1nXHgSZLLsyu4ADF0PNf6VxqY1oSrasQHby2hBqQBQPcfydqWmSTg9Fz5QSfgtM0GShDoLbKUjENrZkGy57sG0k3P3AMdhBUBbfRTgEwBiL/s400/ihateyou.jpg" /> </div><br /><div align="center">I hate you.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 399px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575153082001563586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0uOt4tgTEpbH7UWiMwXDFiYW1Ethlc4sSCJLUbJcbqvqnTBUEarwjD7e3bBqgFTiiz21tU_8wUspNkg1Skw5KQZJ2la-VUfcP-zDcKoilFzGcK5ijXqTUQANLi7Y68taIhfAXGcHu_elZ/s400/justkidding.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">Just kidding, lol!</div></div><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575152839598351090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89Dbi39Zj7B9s4Awl-NmZPOJm9x1AFwHr4uUNPrQelmdeWcyzTVrxxSsgPZDkMiFhB_Jd47sgS6e8tygplOGSskTdZSujD8lLWx2KLJock4kbNwk2WPd_p9ho-krm1Rue8dMSfXSHDcmD/s400/ihavescoliosis.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">I have scoliosis.</div><div align="center"></div></div>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-85048507346762151982011-02-23T13:05:00.001-06:002011-02-23T13:10:07.326-06:00An Open Letter to My Alarm Clock<strong>An Open Letter to My Alarm Clock</strong><br /><br /><br />Dear Alarm Clock:<br /><br /><br />I hate you.<br /><br />That is all.<br /><br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />MeHeather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-32535650377559753562011-02-18T12:55:00.013-06:002011-03-02T09:24:56.456-06:00[CLOVER] Pawprints, shmawprints<div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBw-ZNFJk9CW47bnYYSPKzz1Y_r1ZLMGoWvZpuEvBRhzS4uBbsz9gOfVOzcfvTpYCvw-qKbEuLlxDovMrbGXm-8_JT-mMhOLUWVAtA_NoVIK-HtQV6b4nIhTh2MiMSZv2vOL3dj_3ptyLO/s1600/oops.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575108131057020450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBw-ZNFJk9CW47bnYYSPKzz1Y_r1ZLMGoWvZpuEvBRhzS4uBbsz9gOfVOzcfvTpYCvw-qKbEuLlxDovMrbGXm-8_JT-mMhOLUWVAtA_NoVIK-HtQV6b4nIhTh2MiMSZv2vOL3dj_3ptyLO/s400/oops.JPG" /></a><br />When Mom bought these fancy cover thingies for all the pati-o furnichur, I was all, <em>why in the world would furnichur need to wear Snuggies?</em> She mentioned sumthing about protecting the furnichur from the wether, so I guess that's what they're for. Cuz I can't imagine any other possible use for those covers. Nope, can't think of a thing.</div><div align="center"><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575108802866911858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJds9FtCB5Yf3oW5tky8t_UYwmEi1DPXpoNpGy54VpFw0-WGMMooLEM_oKimkwNzDdmqFW3UHAUT0sX9M0d2nHzafyRx_O-mh2QCFGXshewDkNJnLQObICV5vTZO24z40cPI3jQMvX3e6/s400/i+didn%2527t+do+it.JPG" /><br /><p align="center"><em>It wasn't me.</em></p><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div>Cloverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359780055242922378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-28776463009757980322011-02-17T13:15:00.002-06:002011-02-18T15:24:52.191-06:00Questionable Decorating<div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Real people that don't live inside catalogs don't decorate like this. But wouldn't it be fun if they did???</div><div align="justify"><br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574737677788099554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5WO0zAhyphenhyphenpYdpDAKupLvv-A-wXNklAqicENRwkUPnve-mdFEsttTCOiO7Q7REBHJLXfjrPp1SQOVtat5vnJ_fZmTfcO2dHuaN4HjLQ5ARDGERMgltZdUuR7lvdfiP6z2JMU1i5OGcP5Qd/s400/camo.jpg" /><br /><div align="justify"></div><p>Oh, dear. How are we ever going to camouflage this Airstream camper?</p><p></p><p>Wait! I've got it!</p><p></p><p>Perfect. Now no one will ever notice it...<br /></p><div align="justify"></div><p><br /></p><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574736733683764050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnMnVaGK-ccSNBtV96tVaW-mfwjjQgNW7LHGUCMB_udSctpGjBpve-5m4rM1hn8CcgeFOEQ2xEhSd1JRCNdz5cLu7Le5LnkgOeOrVESK4e1WeppBb5-gSjaFodD2e4UHpoELxchL0OeYp/s400/crack.jpg" /></div><br /><div align="justify">Oh, honey, don't mind that huge crack in the wall. We can always hide under this gigantic pile of pillows if chunks of plaster start to fall off.</div><p align="justify"><br /></p><br /><br /><div align="left"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574736087647838914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuigp5c7qb4Gv0Wm2M-Yo1OSnMSu4Eo3i8YSjk6VJL9GeJM88Bp7TYjQbNzKgkIS_r_8JEBqXXJIKYId1fjY5t8TJDi9NKTUHYsjCXEfEW5QUM2vzNxuX-3dYJhMzTOlbLeppEv_jeB5j3/s400/Fstandsforfrick.jpg" /><br /><p></p>"F" stands for what. The FRICK.</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">Thisroomhassomuchgoingonmyhedmayasplode.</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">Oh, I forgot. This picture comes from the pages of the newest <em>Hoarders Room Decor</em> catalog.<br /></div><p align="justify"></p><div align="justify"><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574419417362872466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-EJvX9MFtzDd0pEvB1ij3a0yHOGkGTeF0jbgXWDHMn4JREC-Xe6So0Zzb0_YRK14jhE2_O2ArYEWYkKv3aoVCmScFG3YyO9dgy9DrX6yLa51avrI-LsILBFdmI2HbC66rKWqCQTLWSuq/s400/enchanted.jpg" /><br /><div align="justify">Oh my stars. It's the Enchanted Forest of the Wrinkled Duvet Covers. Praise be.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574418466046595746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr6jmQ1wMiUmd4FuoUcXuoWUxtmfdCp0wQIoRTgiXX47wC-WPXlXoR7JNS6ePk9MqFyH6cQdNPZwo9L5WYQ4Fg_yCirn_E263a-wOJ4z_e6slcjGrX1_pEOeHvnrSozSYeLEWdW7wpSGvt/s400/love+letter+sheets.jpg" /><br /><div align="justify">My dearest darling,</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">I am writing this letter to tell you how intoxicating your love is. It is much like a summer breeze gently caressing the branches of a stooped willow tree. It is not at all unlike the way that one guy loved that one chick in <em>The Notebook</em>. Some might say our love is akin to a rushing flood and the world is a tiny beaver dam that the flood of our love is bursting through like so many twigs. O this love, I cannot contain - oh <em>drat.</em> I've gone and written on my bedsheets again. I've really got to stop writing love letters while I'm on Tylenol PM.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574408175615999698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPzG9M7hi5n1u4ghB52kGzEXIfRtmqlBpQIQfFdwfqW4NJiWfa_I9PGJzz-UISse3u6td37byLZAuHWSj-d_HuErHJtBSQdDnIRyGii-CQMG9Za_h-9nW4tuc1NxY6gqyVeJzMfufLmM0/s400/boulders.jpg" /><br /><div align="justify">The matching gigantic boulder nightstand, dresser, and highboy really create a sense of harmony in this space. It was a good choice to move the bed into the shade, though, so as to avoid pesky afternoon nap sunburn. Now if you'll excuse me, the sun is setting, so I shall turn on my 14 bedside lamps and read for a bit.</div><br /><br /><br />More questionable decorating to come...Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-86593605613998127162011-02-15T13:00:00.002-06:002011-02-15T14:04:23.788-06:00'Nother Round of Vintage Ads<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFiZPkRuFbblzFU1XsiauaH0m0slVm3YHyYn8VSqAWx-vvndCHQ57ZL1UW24wkikoOHp6AxDNHhcioe7Qz25iV2xIrgCykBDIgKWUrv_Nb1u05x_VRstXKh0QbTc2jnDzQ5l5Vs6pbdC0M/s1600/i+don%2527t+want+to+know+what+hospital+size+is.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 313px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573998059850954770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFiZPkRuFbblzFU1XsiauaH0m0slVm3YHyYn8VSqAWx-vvndCHQ57ZL1UW24wkikoOHp6AxDNHhcioe7Qz25iV2xIrgCykBDIgKWUrv_Nb1u05x_VRstXKh0QbTc2jnDzQ5l5Vs6pbdC0M/s400/i+don%2527t+want+to+know+what+hospital+size+is.jpg" /></a><br /><p align="center"><em>Two sizes-Regular and Hospital</em></p><p align="center"><br />Seriously, I do not want to know what hospital size is.</p><p align="center"><br /><br /><br /></p><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZZ_NdZJgVded_ulbVRIa8YukmrJFsD9fGtDkSRcH1I_iipwLhbPW3N1BTF4etV0fmym5D9UbDnxlT9VwF8oPYsK-CYeEJXNYKTKJoeyLKNkCWD-tzPRXFSrPoaMzlcIT2UsLgcHo74fU/s1600/holycrapjelloareyouserious.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 311px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573997799903777170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZZ_NdZJgVded_ulbVRIa8YukmrJFsD9fGtDkSRcH1I_iipwLhbPW3N1BTF4etV0fmym5D9UbDnxlT9VwF8oPYsK-CYeEJXNYKTKJoeyLKNkCWD-tzPRXFSrPoaMzlcIT2UsLgcHo74fU/s400/holycrapjelloareyouserious.jpg" /></a> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">And the award for most racist gelatin advertisement goes to...</div><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center">The copy on this ad reads:</div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><em>"Mammy sent dis ovah"</em></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><em>JELL-O is known to all sections as "America's Most Famous Dessert." In the South, for instance, it is inexpensive enough to be found in the cabins of the old plantation. It is delicious enough to meet the standards of good living at the "Big House." It is dainty enough for milady's afternoon tea. It is appealing enough to turn the sinful, of any color, away from his neighbor's melon patch.</em></div><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Yes, please read that again, if you need to. Jell-O: America's Most Famous Racist Dessert.</div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">HolycrapJell-Oareyouserious.</div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ54dOhyphenhyphenzQTG7OB1O7izbaVutAH3TvgT-YuEDUHEp_0BBjt2tqftC4PpvMs1Lg8fl_BSJzFtVjKh7nmAPPBlZG_xqmplevn5eHdyTB5mtYeOdt_oSrziUnxAlgumDQxc-ZDxnylHB5ppHk/s1600/AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573997496323329042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ54dOhyphenhyphenzQTG7OB1O7izbaVutAH3TvgT-YuEDUHEp_0BBjt2tqftC4PpvMs1Lg8fl_BSJzFtVjKh7nmAPPBlZG_xqmplevn5eHdyTB5mtYeOdt_oSrziUnxAlgumDQxc-ZDxnylHB5ppHk/s400/AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">(Looks like fun, though.) </div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdU6AHv2DdDm9CgioZ_48ODxDZd6Xm3mTcKcIolY7Fs3hfXAYTOePYi6DK58qf3RvFlK8xZfpGylJr5Toz0IexgR8CbBcH9DIBlAvxmBQGvbcu_iThyphenhyphenl5BYKj3NSaAyYTgI4Hie_PRYsP/s1600/gimme+back+my+effanbee+doll.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573997052151144338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcdU6AHv2DdDm9CgioZ_48ODxDZd6Xm3mTcKcIolY7Fs3hfXAYTOePYi6DK58qf3RvFlK8xZfpGylJr5Toz0IexgR8CbBcH9DIBlAvxmBQGvbcu_iThyphenhyphenl5BYKj3NSaAyYTgI4Hie_PRYsP/s400/gimme+back+my+effanbee+doll.jpg" /></a> </div><div align="center"><br />Effanbee Dolls, you say?</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">"Hey, that's a really nice effan' bee doll!"</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">"Yeah, you like my effan' bee doll? You want to see this effan' bee doll up close?"</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">"HEY! Get that effan' bee doll outta my face!"</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br />Reminds me of these:</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNvlycaUXfEbUDu19tc7WbxdEiR2vIAWs3nBCD841WjsdYy8Z5-NgvBzJ1TkchvtGElWhRfNcsVIwRK4QndKGG24IE-uL_wVpPY0eYsl2tFTqssLq93bgxDLl4miPLf7DGzBw_29rXwQg5/s1600/Elfin_Crackers1-300x300.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574003549279456674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNvlycaUXfEbUDu19tc7WbxdEiR2vIAWs3nBCD841WjsdYy8Z5-NgvBzJ1TkchvtGElWhRfNcsVIwRK4QndKGG24IE-uL_wVpPY0eYsl2tFTqssLq93bgxDLl4miPLf7DGzBw_29rXwQg5/s320/Elfin_Crackers1-300x300.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">What're you doin'? Oh, nothing. Just sittin' here eatin' some elfin' crackers is all.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEy8Smsp-HCKy5e6JtiEDIQ3L3yQzEIPLCbtHcZpvC5nSc-0cWpFDvA9kwu4djk2mqS_2ZiRBuIvzdvkfnjWgXQruqRC8u-VUr2jF8mB36glbROjPdws8sgEnA1OWSc452PKu_Z8WXMFmQ/s1600/Early+Graffiti.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 269px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573996764284293410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEy8Smsp-HCKy5e6JtiEDIQ3L3yQzEIPLCbtHcZpvC5nSc-0cWpFDvA9kwu4djk2mqS_2ZiRBuIvzdvkfnjWgXQruqRC8u-VUr2jF8mB36glbROjPdws8sgEnA1OWSc452PKu_Z8WXMFmQ/s400/Early+Graffiti.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Early graffiti.</div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Yo, that's a mad tag, yo.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqSBgQPKpUkKH-I0UL4N9mzFcqpbmLIVCERnqWf-IXK-UB8QeJAkF4K2qxfAkNn1LRveWQKRBw56CaxhW41hMyt-MUCBguJkM9CJHZTbrHxc-rAmypIRoTJG2aP8ZB9DBR6M5nyp70KB5/s1600/don%2527t+go+to+a+tom+jones+concert.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 269px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573996292762704690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqSBgQPKpUkKH-I0UL4N9mzFcqpbmLIVCERnqWf-IXK-UB8QeJAkF4K2qxfAkNn1LRveWQKRBw56CaxhW41hMyt-MUCBguJkM9CJHZTbrHxc-rAmypIRoTJG2aP8ZB9DBR6M5nyp70KB5/s400/don%2527t+go+to+a+tom+jones+concert.jpg" /></a><br />How to keep your silk underwear and stockings: don't go to a Tom Jones concert.<br /></div><p align="center"><br /></p>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-87536319855606301422011-02-08T11:53:00.007-06:002011-03-10T16:32:06.576-06:00[SNUGGLES] Pack-packs!<div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Wanna know wut my favorite thing is? I know you prolly does! It's my pack-pack! Mummy got them for us to wear wen we take her for a walk. She puts sum weight in them so we get a workout and we sheep good at night. Mummy always sez, "A tired pit bull is a happy pit bull," wutever that means. I do know that I'm ready for a good rub-down when we get home and that my tung hangs out real far and I smile lots. Mum sez the pack-packs give us a job to do. It's pretty cool to have a job to do. Cuz then I can bring home da bacons. And I like bacons a lot. We walk better wiff our pack-packs and don't try to pull so mush. We like to pull so mush so Mum can go <em>MUSH!</em> and then we pull her real good like one of them super hairy sled goggies. Also, Mum sez sumtimes I am "leech reactive" and my pack-pack makes me walk nicer on leech. I dunno what a leech is, but it sounds slimy. [Note: my sissy Clover just tole me that leeches suck.] All I know is that "Backpack Time" is my most favoritest time and I love when Mummy sez it's that Time!</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br />I shud also prolly tell you that the first time we came home after we weared our pack-packs, Mummy noticed that the straps were "chafing" my big muscley chest. Since I like to flex and show off my chest for the laydees, I tole her we needed to do sumthing about this. So she buyed some neesox from The Targets and sewed them so they wud cover the straps. The straps feel mush better now and we look super cool, too. The sox is stripey and have skulls and crossbonez. I like my new sox cuz for one, any kind of bonez is good bonez. And for two, it makes me feel liek a pirate and that's cool cuz I awreddy has a eye patch! Anyways, if you decide to gets a pack-pack, make shure to tell your mummy to get some neesox. Yours don't hafta have pirate things. They cud have butterflys or pokadots or spayships or wutever!</div><div align="center"><br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571381590486113666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfbzvTin8zLf5Jz-NlzUg2lazUZDIOBp8kubZaucuKjgubi4kHUkaQ05iquNOFURG1oW6aTXfUzLuGHZ6oQFFXVdaj-xgZg5tyhvRHehjzT6Um9yQQfYW6WDWMWTduDGvdljHstjFEfM/s400/pls+no+paparazzis.JPG" /><br /><div align="center"><em>Pls no paparotzis, thx.</em></div><p><br /></p><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571381507108389618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZkjRhG_27yoC1YufbdgLdo7uwaz5K7C5ZWsBO3f5DDU7s1-1dh_0hYaEpZ000baA97bKzCSikvD4zF8pNpTPOnomsc4MLxD2ZLvMw6g43vQZJlrbigrMTypD95bndbu1QIPQRtFxmLhs/s400/pack-packs+for+my+pack.JPG" /><br /><div align="center"><em>Come on, let's go awreddy!</em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div>Snuggleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11222731518503590490noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-26520903763044361112011-02-04T08:00:00.001-06:002011-02-04T09:41:22.008-06:00Snow Blizzard Ice Calamity of 2011<div align="justify"><br />Take the snow, for example. Please.<br /><br />As this crazy weather has gone on, we’ve begun to hear new weather terms on the news, which I suspect are just made up. A couple of them being “Thunder Sleet” and “Ground Blizzard”. Totally not real. So, being the helpful and awesome person that I am, here are some other dastardly weather phenomena you probably haven’t heard of, but might want to watch out for:<br /><br />Slush Earthquakes<br /><br />Hail Flurries<br /><br />Snow Tornados<br /><br />Icicle Storms<br /><br />Snowdrift Tidal Waves<br /><br />Cumulonimb-slush Clouds<br /><br />Rainflakes</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">I'm sure there are other new weather thingies that could pose a threat; I just haven't made them up yet.<br /><br /></div><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 327px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569857683090253570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib15Vny36vO4c6jdLwnRHXAAZowR7oRimJJ1IlLF_fJjrkZHXzcLOWZKwZq5GpA1ad2-eAbBfGhT2YqCLZ8B_inmgvkrGoMcWnLjpOuX4hcaut-Xzx24-WQsQUyiBeUvHNTnqcXT09Q_dW/s400/Two+Feet+of+Snow.bmp" /></p><p align="center"><em></em></p><p align="center"><em>Two feet of snow</em></p><p></p><p align="justify"><br />The other interesting thing that has developed is the media’s insistence that simply “The Blizzard and Snow and Such that is Currently Happening Here but Also Other Places” apparently doesn’t cut the mayo as a name for the blizzard and snow and such that is currently happening here but also other places, so they’ve taken to nicknaming the thing in order to give it a nicer or more menacing ring. For example, The Great Blizzard of 2011 or The Blizzard of the Century or The Blizzard of the New Millennium. My favorite from one of the local news stations is… wait for it… Winter Gone Wild! No, I'm not kidding. I guess the storm wasn’t satisfied with the destruction it has already caused, so now in an effort to get more attention, it has gotten with its college sorority sisters and allowed pervy men to video it and put the DVD’s on the internet. Have you no shame, Blizzard?<br /><br />Some of the funnier names I’ve heard non-news people come up with include Snowpocalypse, Snowmageddon, and my favorite, Snowlonoscopy. Inspired, I came up with a few of my own:<br /><br />Catast-snow-phe<br /><br />Freezing Reign (of Terror)<br /><br />Snow Day Melee<br /><br />Ice Crisis<br /><br />Winter Massacre<br /><br />Plague of Precipitation<br /><br />Dev-ice-station<br /><br />Bobcat-aclysm<br /><br />Curse of the Flurries<br /><br />De-snow shovel-bacle<br /><br />Icicle-bacle<br /><br />Frozen Pipes of Doom<br /><br />The Great Drift Disaster<br /><br />State of Emergensleet<br /><br />Salt Truck Havoc<br /><br />The Scourge of the Dripping Faucets<br /><br />Fiasc-snow<br /><br />Bane of the Tire Chains<br /><br />Snow Woes<br /><br />Blight of the Unique Snowflakes<br /><br /><br />Got any to add?</p><p align="justify"></p>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-20890569792706179132011-02-02T16:15:00.001-06:002011-03-10T16:32:41.119-06:00[CLOVER] I got crabs!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpt8qUptfQMZM7TNAvuRaYqAhAYPZ6CP9CCSH6hujPhLE81Uipf5XmoTFA3E_rNUMigEWzWhIO8XCK8qBZfMs-NF138RlF_9hnxjZPwHjagxLsDCJ-SmQU41s_p3k492wocPnueFLbd44V/s1600/Smiley+Girl.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 371px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569215834128676514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpt8qUptfQMZM7TNAvuRaYqAhAYPZ6CP9CCSH6hujPhLE81Uipf5XmoTFA3E_rNUMigEWzWhIO8XCK8qBZfMs-NF138RlF_9hnxjZPwHjagxLsDCJ-SmQU41s_p3k492wocPnueFLbd44V/s400/Smiley+Girl.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="center"><em>bahahahahahahahaha<br /></em></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">LOL, made ya look. I'm not that kind of girl! You should have already knowed that from my last post!</div><p align="justify"></p><p align="justify">Okay so, my Uncle Jake is a children's worship pastor and he's always doing these super weird things to entertain the little peoples. Like this one time he had the little peoples play this gross game where they had to make two lines facing each other and then race to the middle to pick up a slimy, squishy octopus! Like, a real one! Uncle Jake is so totally weird! And awesome!</p><p align="justify"></p><p align="justify">So, the other day he decided to do a illustrayshun for the little peoples with these two big ol' Dungarees Crabs. I didn't know crabs wore jeans! So anyways, he said he was gonna put the crabbies into a bucket to show how a single crab can crawl out of a bucket wiffout problems. But if there is more than one crab, they all pull each other down in an effort to be the first one out. I can identify, because I always have to beat Snuggles out the door to the back yard. And sometimes we look like the Three Stooges (or just two of them) when we get stuck in the doorway together. I think the illustrayshun with the crabs wearing jeans was about selfishness or about crabs being weird and stinky and gross or maybe crustacean fashion for 2011. Whatever. It had a point. I think.</p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 278px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569216141766782226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_Q-i3QMdFsWoSCmY1nzjo-VhnjLd2U9LO_sc6ZBIAaBoUEtcm9DEAM823AhM33WPFierYonm02GsrCRXlBi-xealFws5LZbpEIOfjyyIr2NZb5V-LXnbF-C4RBro3F889BHmT01XW_Oe/s400/Can%2527t+catch+me.jpg" /><br /><br /><em>I dare you to even TRY and catch me.<br /><br /></em><br /><br /><div align="justify">Here's a video of me checking out the crabs. I was very fascinated with how smelly they were. It made me want to roll around on them like I do when I find a worm in the grass.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxGsOYKK_GAnGsBlT2NIQI8w_hz6Z3CSfcyI0Ev6PVJTeeYL6DFO0HHbIsMxhep-LGCzmUEb7kInoymbHxBeg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br />Snuggles was not at all interested in the crabbies. Here's how he felt about them:<br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569215369423344562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKeUTIdFj1fpjPXkxtBmvahly-ldpPHGmcPRmG1XJKnOjEhWZo25MzctuDwWjRnXam7HgY1WGKDMNh2Bd7YBAxuwOgxo2zr6YU6uPypqoZ7ChdEexf0GMA3wde2mD2B0AMxzNlZZ2xmjUM/s400/Snugs+and+Clover+005b.JPG" /></p><br /><p align="center"><em></em></p><p align="center"><em>Get those things away from me.<br /></p></em><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify">If you ask me, he was acting a little crabby about the whole thing.</div><br /></div>Cloverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359780055242922378noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-81646523336396093922011-01-27T12:40:00.001-06:002011-03-10T16:32:41.123-06:00[CLOVER] Yes, we are HOTT. So what?<div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">So, fun fact... Snugs and I were out walking our Mommy this week and not one, but TWO times, we got stopped by ridiculous peeps with an even more REE-DIK-YOO-LUSS query. No, dummies, we will not have sex with your doggies! Look, I know me and my little bro are super fine, as well as highly sought-after for photo shoots, not to mention all that and a bag of dog biscuits, BUT that doesn't give you the right to proposition us in the middle of da streetses! Ew. As if. We are NOT that kind of gal/guy. You, a random stranger, calling out, "-ey! Are those boys or girls? Cuz I got a girl pit and we're lookin' to breed her. You wanna breed yours?" is not going to get you far with our Mum. She is not pimping us out! Besides, we got no special partses left anyways.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Dummies.</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Srsly.</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">*RME*</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566626727058305554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7hCV_ojHGly8tKbZOpGDmZ43yHJStANfUdj0z68uezE-58V8XBjobH4JwNwmxP9CkUBVFZ9EsLfrv1x4KOd2coFyP1yNGzk-G7eQxbOFcH1xUL4n9Y3YeBcdHmL_DgdPCeTRrfDeKtjAp/s400/Puppies+005.Cropped.jpg" /></div><br /><br /><p></p><p align="center"><em>We only has eyes for each other</em></p><br /><p align="center"><em></em></p>Cloverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16359780055242922378noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-44286834817429670552011-01-20T17:10:00.001-06:002011-01-20T17:13:08.903-06:00An Open Letter to the Remote Control<strong></strong><br /><strong>An Open Letter to the Remote Control</strong><br /><br /><br />Dear Remote Control:<br /><br /><br />Where are you? I'm tired of your little games. I know you're not in the couch cushions; I already checked there.<br /><br />Show yourself.<br /><br /><br />Regards,<br /><br />HeatherHeather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-42001945270686008602011-01-17T16:16:00.021-06:002011-01-18T12:13:32.388-06:00Um... anybody still out there?<div align="justify">I know, right???<br /><br />I have not made a peep on this blog in LITERALLY millions of years (my definition of "pet peeve": using the word “literally” completely wrong).<br /><br />So since you are dying to know, and by “dying to know”, I mean “couldn't care less”, I will update you on my stellar life…<br /><br />My niece, Piper, is still the awesomest thing since unsliced bread. She’s now a year-and-a-half and the new things she does every time I see her are just amazing. And hilarious. She is so awesome, it is just be<em>yond</em>.<br /></div><p align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563287238907485490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbEZ-2UpPPqXAkb4luR7FaFa9tzAZyJJlhaM5aT5OyKJEAD7PIrGfkeAUOxvMxecgCHTeh2Ph239fV7ypEHu5cFj6Rvujz7FmmRvEHMjF_rBzarVFrL-bSWW0gxaLgeFDTul-LgocHDUa5/s400/purple+cardigan.bmp" /><br /><em>Behold the cuteness. </em><br /></p><div align="justify">My nickname is “Aunt Tootle”, so she calls me “T” and that just simply rules. Also, she is turning out to be SO much like her Aunt T, and of course you know I just heart that. For one thing, she laughs really hard and really loud, with a bit of a scream-y edge at times, which only serves to make me go like this: BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! And then I go “neener-neener-neener” to my brother because he always gets mad when I laugh too loud and wake the baby, and now I get to say, <em>you better get used to it, buddy!</em><br /><br />Second, I took the Pipe shopping with me and when I was ready to pay for my purchases at Sephora, she grabbed my credit card from me and handed it over to the cashier as if she’d been doing it all her life. Oh, the pride that swelled within me. On a related note, she’s also resembles a much younger but equally cute me in that she already has a killer fashion sense. She almost shattered the Richter scale of cute when she recently wore tiny baby boyfriend jeans complete with dark wash and fat cuffs and a long cardigan thrown over it. ARE YOU KIDDING ME.<br /></div><p><br /></p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 298px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563576761944169714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZfPodBupv1uYHcZj0y3Ql9QZXq9r7EzrpFmjxVUdTRP1iXi2UN_621w8sm8cima4lJUyOu-qs1YoMacrX8URl5XymHtAooFJknBbzbCsS6Uh8_jO_e-x4UQa8oZocvo1ngZjPHNnwgo2/s400/owl+jammies2.jpg" /><br /></p><p align="center"><em>Wearing the ultra-hip owl jammies I got her for Christmas.</em><br /><br /></p><p align="center"><br /></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563288904042331634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha1Fl_x0yDvMHGK9bnB8A08vYTbdutcV9mD8Q2na-euA9c00rYnL-ADoZKNEcMTJyRVBzKqraOclAYfXBfdKU1dPV_9hvQeveaXXIHomahyyIvxgvnlryLr7gzUuLyYI5QZ-lj_Mojro_G/s400/Here+I+come+world.jpg" /> <p align="center"><br /><em>Modeling for her one-year photo shoot.<br /></p></em><p align="center"></p><div align="justify">And she’s almost as crazy about animals as yours truly…<br /><br /><em>Exhibit A:</em> The “chore” that she’s taken upon herself to do at home is letting the dog out of her crate. She goes straight into Annabelle’s room and opens the latch on the crate (by herself usually) and then it is all business as she leads the little foofy Yorkie-Poo to the back door and commands her to “pee-pee!” And she FREAKS OUT if you try and do her “chore” for her.<br /><br /><em>Exhibit B:</em> She’s also bonkers about my pit bulls. She yells to them incessantly, “Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup-pyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” 43 times in a row if they are not perched right next to her. She yells this as she beckons with a come-hither hand signal and then pats the spot next to her. She has taken to leaning in for a kiss right on their moufs and going, “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmwah!” as she puckers. Then giggles like a school girl when they kiss her back. Also, she doesn’t mind when they try and eat her, as pit bulls are wont to do with small children.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563577424839383698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZH7VC6o87JSHon2rMLn-qFj6SXlktA2nS1DJmIPntrRvPJkjUu_KvqTZAUmG73-soBzsj9rhx8x9Yr7-MUyA95S9wOsO6k8pn24UDarJTW1ME2JLh1l5Mazcoc1MmaJ8g9e5R1spN72B/s400/being+a+dog+is+tough.jpg" /><br /><p align="center"><em>Fear me.</em></p><p align="justify"><br /><em>Exhibit 12:</em> She loves the zoo. On a recent day off work, Christy, Piper, and I went to the OKC Zoo mainly so that Christy and I could torture ourselves after watching <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cove_(film)"><strong><span style="color:#339999;">The Cove</span></strong></a>. If you haven’t seen it, it will shatter you. Anyway, we had a great time despite our guilt over oppressed dolphins. Piper kept yelling to the buffaloes, “Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup-pyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” I mean, it was pretty cute when she called the wolves “puppies”, but come on… gigantic buffalo puppies, Piper? Now that’s just getting a little ridiculous. Despite being in a zoo around lions and tigers and bears (I will <em>not</em> say “Oh, my!”), her favorite animal was always the “duckies”. I taught her what the goat says, which wasn’t difficult because they were “maaaaaaaaaah”-ing away locked behind the fence in their pen. I was pissed because the petting zoo was closed that day and we couldn’t even go in there and play with them. Besides, I really wanted to interview one of them and ask why their eyes are so creepy. Like Satan. Christy and I were gonna teach The Doodle what a giraffe says, but then we decided we don’t know what a giraffe says, so instead we taught her what the goose says. We saw some puppies (AKA foxes) going nigh-nigh (AKA sleeping) on a big rock in the sunshine, then listened to an old man regale his wife with fascinating trivia about the little critters he referred to as “MeerRATS”, and later we caught a glimpse of the rare Great North American Domestic Housecat as he stealthily stalked a trashcan. The trashcans got spooked and started a stampede and it all got a pretty crazy and I think I blacked out for a little bit shortly after yelling to my sister and her daughter, “SAAAAAAAVE YOURSEEEEEEELVES!!!!!” But the best moment of the day by far occurred in the ape house. There was a scholarly-looking nerdy dude sitting by the exhibit window sketching a gorilla. We sat down the way a bit right next to two other gorillas, one of which was pressed up against the glass as if he was leaning on Piper for support. We were pointing out the “monkeys”, naming them thusly for simplicity’s sake, and we were having a rousing game of “What does the monkey say?” when the artist guy, who was clearly on holiday from his home country Pretentioustan, dryly remarks, “AK-tually, these are apes.” *facepalm* I think Christy and I rolled our eyes so hard and so high up into our brains that we actually had a collective stroke. I think even Piper was heard to mutter, “OMG, what a buttmunch.” I’m pretty sure I heard her say that.<br /><br /></p><p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUdi77NW-iDyJOCnHhefvezdhqJidWHFGq7WoXrHVHMzk3810jQvU3UQcQ-X3yp1fqvjR00DDwFplLmPzVLyWkrqVLnwb5raHMEXiiFFphwZDPdYAobXI9Oq33DxSMidnLcBIyhBCle-r/s1600/apes.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 369px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563294208985867122" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUdi77NW-iDyJOCnHhefvezdhqJidWHFGq7WoXrHVHMzk3810jQvU3UQcQ-X3yp1fqvjR00DDwFplLmPzVLyWkrqVLnwb5raHMEXiiFFphwZDPdYAobXI9Oq33DxSMidnLcBIyhBCle-r/s400/apes.jpg" /></a><br /><br />In other news… I’m going to be an aunt again!!! Christy is 6 months along and due late April. Just as Piper was nicknamed <a href="http://heathercherry.blogspot.com/2008/11/im-gonna-be-aunt.html"><strong><span style="color:#993399;">“Tater”</span></strong></a> before her gender and real name were revealed at birth, we have nicknamed the new baby “Beanie” because of that one time when Christy told us she was the size of a bean. Which leads me to the next thing… she... is a SHE!!! Just as they have with all other things baby, Christy and Jake announced this bit of info in surprise fashion. When they found out they were expecting Piper, they showed up to my parents’ house and took off their jackets to reveal these shirts they had made:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-ayHaS85a7ZDv9htr5wb9nx17eBK94xzlBxb_xfIp_90UVHb2WNPIXWaEU3pi6knTaQjaPFf26qqfaYe7oFjDgQFqhUR1lY_39TNTb5XcqnUDHG4vkdpMmZc3LXCa6v9Cv2wfyIkTNpj/s1600/Here+comes+Tater%2521.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563295331268872498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-ayHaS85a7ZDv9htr5wb9nx17eBK94xzlBxb_xfIp_90UVHb2WNPIXWaEU3pi6knTaQjaPFf26qqfaYe7oFjDgQFqhUR1lY_39TNTb5XcqnUDHG4vkdpMmZc3LXCa6v9Cv2wfyIkTNpj/s400/Here+comes+Tater%2521.jpg" /></a><br />Then at my 31st birthday dinner this last September, their gift to me was the tee-ninesiest little onesie that said, “I heart Aunt Tootle.” My reaction? “This is so cute! But…………. it won’t fit Piper………?” To which Christy replied with a knowing look, “That’s because it’s for a newborn.” It took literally a bunch of seconds before it finally dawned on my dad, mom, and me what that meant. Best birthday present ever, though! Even if I was a little slow on the take.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563578794001971938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKW9GeNZXA6WF9FpBdA5spBAOEXswpVuikoSSEEDWxznFsNHBLqa4em5NKRNQo3an3PnX4kItEbqw1XIEip4TYH5BLjRfqQamjJjuvZJPEvTT5kkSh-p-FFm7k4n23KFekKxCtPDslrqnG/s400/present.bmp" /> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563578848211319266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilUSJUbEjPZPLxq9VTiTcLPnlkAI7Zl0i3joN_a2yOlDOPvhRhtXwXdPUjevsKodlI8plrCN5yK15YUJFb07keoUYB17edQHjyJgE-CE4B64b5eAnQiPznR97uehs8dirRnhCAPIrkHzge/s400/what+does+it+all+mean.jpg" /> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563578974396460002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWUaySXiCWoPWcgJiF4Pa5qfgBxSIc2v3qHzClH8wBWMT8XHxhdnO4GHVOlu6B7Jpv8HPnipIYDmUTxMZqivsx_beCm7MAbISgHMjEPot0KlsboeTBrCP2uY96Vxrl4DjJ_42cYGesR4j/s400/omg.jpg" /> </p><p></p><p></p><p align="justify"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563579028581438834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXS-OvRsd6v4l9F3tb6jhahq4Iej0kq_AH8ni-jR9y7B_ELy_2Vm94Ol6i7QMuK5DRBX5PpFwmCitUp_oRqONlmJFAroMhePMx8sx8Fc6oq9H8NsjZM4rFAeVRnQiDLpOTus1yyGCKCY-G/s400/aunt%2521.jpg" /><br />And so, on par with the aforementioned shenanigans, my dad opened a package on Christmas morning labeled “From: Beanie”, which contained a DVD. Jake and Christy said it was the ultrasound they’d just had done. We were so excited, even though we knew that they had planned to wait for the birth of the baby to find out the sex, just as they’d done with Piper. We popped it in to watch and after several minutes of cooing over the grainy moving images, the song “Sisters” from <em>White Christmas</em> suddenly started playing. Thing is, we had watched <em>White Christmas</em> the night before, so at first my parents and I thought something was messed up with the sound and that we were hearing the other movie somehow. Which made zero sense because that DVD was no longer in the player, mostly due to the fact that the ultrasound DVD was. We are not rocket surgeons as you’ve surely surmised. And yet again, it was forever and a day until we finally figured out they were trying to tell us something. And that that something was that Piper would be having a little sister. We didn’t even notice at first that the labels came up on the screen pointing out the “girl parts” as the scan caught the, uh, business shot. Can’t get anything past us, no sir. We’re about as sharp as a feather bed upholstered in velvet floating on a sea of bubbles. As is typical, the response was in this order: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cq7dY9rG4X4&feature=player_embedded"><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">me screaming and laughing, Mom bawling her eyes out, and Dad just sitting there with the proudest grin on his face.<br /></span></strong></a></p><span style="color:#cc33cc;"><span style="color:#000000;"></span><p align="justify"><br /></span>My children, Snuggles and Clover, are still the cutest and funniest inventions since breadboxes were invented in order to store sliced bread. They are just complete dorkwad nutcases and they make me laugh everyday. I bought them backpacks to burn off some of their energy on our walks. I’m excited about that. Plus, they can carry all my crap. Like bottles of water. Poo bags. Trail mix. Mace. Trolls. A first aid kit. Emergency flares. My Smith and Wesson. Red lipstick. And spaghetti. It’s pretty handy.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMMvnby7KZ19TLFCTxLH0wmsBGY3i8ZI2YBHK8dlWDjiz9FWhhFpPqThd8V0P12gri-MpxJG0O9KOvdnwS1lvmAzVd1jA9J39YNXLZwbMDk9UoNCq99mkSVF51EMaWLTPdCgn6EeHTga73/s1600/Trap+Door+Jammies.jpg"></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563582294111341298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMMvnby7KZ19TLFCTxLH0wmsBGY3i8ZI2YBHK8dlWDjiz9FWhhFpPqThd8V0P12gri-MpxJG0O9KOvdnwS1lvmAzVd1jA9J39YNXLZwbMDk9UoNCq99mkSVF51EMaWLTPdCgn6EeHTga73/s400/Trap+Door+Jammies.jpg" /> </a><p align="center"><br /><em>Yes. Those are trap door jammies.</em><br /></p><p align="justify"><br />So……………………………… my parents moved in with me. They say it’s because they’re building their dream house and need a place to stay since their other house already sold, but really I just think it’s a classic case of “failure to launch”. It’s a pretty funny dynamic. Usually it’s a kid moving back in with his hapless parents and things quickly go south. Like when I moved back into my parents’ house in Oklahoma after having lived in Indiana for three years, one of which was spent solo in an apartment, only to find that the parentals were ready to reinstate the 8:00 o’clock curfew I hadn’t had since I was a toddler. During that first summer back home, I spent a lot of time of an evening at a coffee house located in an artsy, granola-type part of town. I would chill with my homies in the outdoor café area until the wee hours, just taking in the sounds of poetry slams, the wafting scent of patchouli, the snatches of conversations between self-righteous atheists, the wafting scent of clove cigarettes, the bitter taste of herbal tea that’s supposed to taste good but really it just tastes like freshly-mowed ragweed, the wafting scent of what I like to call “The Reefer”, and the mournful strains of an acoustic guitar behind an open mic. My Dad didn’t like this one bit. He would chide me, insisting, “Didn’t you know that’s where all the Vietnamese gangs hang out, Heather?” Dad likes to remind me that he grew up in Oklahoma City and knows everything about it, including, apparently, the fact that art snobs and Asian gangstas like to kick it together. I tried to tell him that all I had to be afraid of was dirty hippies. The worst they could do was kidnap me and force me to not shower. The fit really hit the shan the night I was “accidentally” out past 5 AM. Come on… 5 AM is not that late. I mean, actually, it’s early since it’s technically the next morning. So uh, yeah.<br /><br />But that was then and this is now. And we’re having so much fun. I probably should mention that I sold my house and bought a new one back in April. I moved into an awesome 1938 Cape Cod/Colonial on a historic block and it's like a dream home. I will post pictures soon. My parents have an entire guest suite to themselves since the top two stories have a guest room, bathroom, and TV room. The dogs think they’ve died and gone to heaven what with <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/SnugglesM0mmy?feature=mhum#p/u/12/oRko7cg471U"><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Nan-Nan</span></strong></a> and Pa being accessible 24-7. And I have to say, since one of my parents usually beats me home after work, they go ahead and let the dogs out of their room and it’s so nice coming home to butt wiggles at the front door. Mom and Dad are roughing it, though. They’ve had to downgrade from their king-size bed to the queen in my guest room. And since the garage was converted years ago into an office, which has now became my dogs’ room, they are having to get used to the idea of parking Mom’s beloved Mustang and Dad’s F-3000-or-whatever-it-is gigantor monster truck out in the weather. In the driveway! What’s worse is my dad had to rent a storage unit for his Corvette. It must be rough. My heart bleeds for them. In all seriosity, they are model tenants and never complain even though I’m charging them $3,000 per day for rent. What? Baby needs a new pair of shoes. Preferably Louboutins. Speaking of, I get to indulge my love for dressing my mom up like my very own life-sized, middle-aged dolly. I think she doesn’t mind that part either. She’s also declared that she is taking over kitchen duty. And it’s not rare for me to walk out in the yard and find my dad raking the leaves. Word.<br /><br /><br />Let’s see… what else…<br /><br />Oh yeah, almost immediately after turning 31, I received an AARP membership card in the mail. Not just once. But TWICE. Really? 31? Oh, and my little brother just turned 30. LOL. Wow, getting older is so weird!<br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhox9-oKpqwM29xSaLMUhw3LViQKUI_UQIPaFWjPAgW5Iv8T2K_mDrhyphenhyphenrgirH8j5XbYpz8SAJ9R3755PIwojUHijKrThAkE1rimolf3t2k2Li1u27q9gqgfS11Kr8mYNgraPz7SVuU9nH5Q/s1600/jake+30th+bday.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563585151556447426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhox9-oKpqwM29xSaLMUhw3LViQKUI_UQIPaFWjPAgW5Iv8T2K_mDrhyphenhyphenrgirH8j5XbYpz8SAJ9R3755PIwojUHijKrThAkE1rimolf3t2k2Li1u27q9gqgfS11Kr8mYNgraPz7SVuU9nH5Q/s400/jake+30th+bday.jpg" /> <p align="center"></a><em><br />We are so mature.<br /></em></p><p align="justify"><br />Other updates…<br /><br />I am a rapper now. You read that right. I will put the videos up soon.<br /><br />I am no longer addicted to “Words With Friends”. That ship has sailed.<br /><br />I have never played “Angry Birds”.<br /><br />The group I sing with actually got to perform the National Anthem at an NBA game recently. I will post more about that later.<br /><br />I haven’t read any of your blogs in ages so I’m sorry for that and will try and get caught up soon.<br /><br />Michael Jackson is still dead.<br /><br />Snuggles and Clover have been asking to post more on the blog. Thus demonstrating that their mom thinks that just because she enjoys reading dog blogs that everyone else does, too. But how can I tell them no when they are just so darn adorable?<br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxOWoLyV_4GqdNAzFPw2EQRKCBQ3HkgltzyHWkCtm19PFz1BKng0BF6azWd1HcsyqwghlmBa1bPFZInnWH8nTRioxscrN7H3HIVzEBQWBZgkqPk1XZ48nW2i0RXUUbFqIua6yoIWn4M0Zl/s1600/snuggle+buddies.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563585625480908258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxOWoLyV_4GqdNAzFPw2EQRKCBQ3HkgltzyHWkCtm19PFz1BKng0BF6azWd1HcsyqwghlmBa1bPFZInnWH8nTRioxscrN7H3HIVzEBQWBZgkqPk1XZ48nW2i0RXUUbFqIua6yoIWn4M0Zl/s400/snuggle+buddies.jpg" /></a><br /><br />My hair is now a deeper auburn shade of red.<br /><br />I still hate Nickelback.<br /><br />And Michael Vick is still a grade-A, 100% certified, genuine douchebag.<br /><br /><br /><p></p><p><br />What's new with you???</p><p></p>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-10183051284079639192010-04-05T12:00:00.000-05:002010-04-05T16:42:15.224-05:00Piper's DiapersMy beautiful sister-in-law Christy and my niece Piper were on the local news the other day for a story about cloth diapering. Check out Christy's <a href="http://jakeandchristy.blogspot.com/2010/03/woooo-hoooo.html"><span style="color:#339999;"><strong>blog post</strong></span></a> with a link to the vid!Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5416955795337381745.post-43177201378313799032010-04-04T08:00:00.001-05:002010-04-01T17:59:15.304-05:00Happy Easter!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Gga11AJ-rOkCgp2zVrG_hN0UPdX9UHMJ-BSw6Z57MFFjVILRaEZU2HHDNhNaEkwXZpslwpwZvhp8cR5vY_yqd8BlqNFA1Bo036HsM09X5xSvcgIN51r5NBCarktXOI-g_4hO8-sZpzT3/s1600/heartburn.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 273px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Gga11AJ-rOkCgp2zVrG_hN0UPdX9UHMJ-BSw6Z57MFFjVILRaEZU2HHDNhNaEkwXZpslwpwZvhp8cR5vY_yqd8BlqNFA1Bo036HsM09X5xSvcgIN51r5NBCarktXOI-g_4hO8-sZpzT3/s400/heartburn.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455303619595157666" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBTCD2ahYXSvJmYNVZjMZrFiFSwk-o4BeS9r1qqiuf66NeKZ3-m0PeqFXn2p6LwoKXLtrqJbDzY-l4FGxWYBeVFZGdn0fJF_TFIGVAW6uES6FmVfL5xLJlT-uKaZ57F23e35Tgz63VWgPj/s1600/angels.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBTCD2ahYXSvJmYNVZjMZrFiFSwk-o4BeS9r1qqiuf66NeKZ3-m0PeqFXn2p6LwoKXLtrqJbDzY-l4FGxWYBeVFZGdn0fJF_TFIGVAW6uES6FmVfL5xLJlT-uKaZ57F23e35Tgz63VWgPj/s400/angels.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455304265589949042" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3oDru1vxRqSLthrFQ_L2FDgoKno5bVrdAKVX0ZhqM8KaKmbe4qVYOL1NklW7iSVwAl5i6GOQHJwboG1XqjlvCzN-fGkOY5hHgiWhkB5bzi12PYll5iMnGI_3S6_Ci6sxlgJZhDdaMO8a/s1600/heartburn2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 317px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3oDru1vxRqSLthrFQ_L2FDgoKno5bVrdAKVX0ZhqM8KaKmbe4qVYOL1NklW7iSVwAl5i6GOQHJwboG1XqjlvCzN-fGkOY5hHgiWhkB5bzi12PYll5iMnGI_3S6_Ci6sxlgJZhDdaMO8a/s400/heartburn2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455304750390937474" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD3qa4_bK_hr4yQTuxBqHWZaRUvfzAwkLjCiWldV6wZZf1xdhOtM1JQHjL9YeuTZPvb4kaaqCfKLEJdlFKEy_dFkVp9at1kpK94oOE0NjXUzO3-STc9D2HuoohIyjbQAad22lohijdpG2t/s1600/bookcase+Jesus.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 318px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454177694337507746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD3qa4_bK_hr4yQTuxBqHWZaRUvfzAwkLjCiWldV6wZZf1xdhOtM1JQHjL9YeuTZPvb4kaaqCfKLEJdlFKEy_dFkVp9at1kpK94oOE0NjXUzO3-STc9D2HuoohIyjbQAad22lohijdpG2t/s400/bookcase+Jesus.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#ff6666;"><em>I Can Has Cheezburger</em></span></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzoo-WBn1DD9TxQe9xGrW1NpKQra9kzsrd76RlKn-AEppqeceIF2BfpbdEIwkECU6kSe5irh3QzO4Rw4W4TAff1sjBh7QhLo2H8vJ7nA0fJIrsw1nD4fQ3PPjrVPYYbknceHJDnCLRvg0M/s1600/good+shepherd.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 297px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454178653285263458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzoo-WBn1DD9TxQe9xGrW1NpKQra9kzsrd76RlKn-AEppqeceIF2BfpbdEIwkECU6kSe5irh3QzO4Rw4W4TAff1sjBh7QhLo2H8vJ7nA0fJIrsw1nD4fQ3PPjrVPYYbknceHJDnCLRvg0M/s400/good+shepherd.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://ihasahotdog.com/"><em><span style="font-size:78%;color:#33cc00;">I Has a Hotdog</span></em></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtleLBf72nTwvTcDLnVANc1TtDofhM9WsGauw3PkmlViAyiauZ20dao8sXQ3Lcc-mZhQuMdVE-sGrbrtAygYyIdoK_Wf_dG0bPf0iSdsh17wYCDU3bzpIzJ6WHuEsXqQiUS5pbsNMWFr-E/s1600/Easter+Bunny.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 299px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454173688895638386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtleLBf72nTwvTcDLnVANc1TtDofhM9WsGauw3PkmlViAyiauZ20dao8sXQ3Lcc-mZhQuMdVE-sGrbrtAygYyIdoK_Wf_dG0bPf0iSdsh17wYCDU3bzpIzJ6WHuEsXqQiUS5pbsNMWFr-E/s400/Easter+Bunny.jpg" /> <p align="center"></a></p><p align="center"><br /><a href="http://lolmanuscripts.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#6600cc;"><em>LOL Manuscripts!</em></span></a><em><br /></em><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5MP9gEJcWeGvyCYuxlS-wG74117mAdYuiOftZC6Cn1y6j6v2o-H0_cAkYaXnWJC6mKwbtxSSWZF3PijOVwPxv7GH5qYsX8MCinza8vY6gWehngAPMPYJJcxewO1tbUrzM6sRMjNr2Q2iz/s1600/body+of+christ.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 216px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454173619153928194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5MP9gEJcWeGvyCYuxlS-wG74117mAdYuiOftZC6Cn1y6j6v2o-H0_cAkYaXnWJC6mKwbtxSSWZF3PijOVwPxv7GH5qYsX8MCinza8vY6gWehngAPMPYJJcxewO1tbUrzM6sRMjNr2Q2iz/s400/body+of+christ.jpg" /><br /><p align="center"></a></p><p align="center"><a href="http://lolmanuscripts.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#339999;"><em>LOL Manuscripts!</em></span></a></p></div>Heather Cherryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03315027717631291597noreply@blogger.com2