Archives for December 2007

Well, it’s Monday, and Melanie’s blog is still very aqua. But I have continued to use great restraint in terms of staying far, far away from her template. Because you see I enjoy the internet and do not want to be directly or indirectly involved in its untimely demise.

But just in case y’all are worried that this whole HTML incident has put a strain on my friendship with Big Mama, I want to assure you that it has not. Oh, I’m still apologizing profusely, mind you, as I probably will continue to do FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE, but Saturday night Melanie and I actually finalized some plans for a trip we’re taking in June, a trip where we will be sharing a room and hanging out with some friends and eating queso dip and basically having ourselves a big ole time.

So see? We’re perfectly fine. Not even broken HTML tags can come between us. Internet-BFFs 4EVA, yo.

However, I’m sure Melanie will password protect her computer on our trip so that I can’t sabotage her blog in the middle of the night and then act like I have no idea why her posts are suddenly chock-full of exclusive behind-the-scenes info from Dancing with the Stars.

Not to mention being absolutely clueless about how in the world it could have become the new international headquarters of the Jane Seymour / Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman online fan club.

Oh, I kid because I RURNT her blog.

So anyway: WHAT ABOUT ALL THE SOUP?

I was completely blown away by the response, and I have to tell you that I find it oddly comforting to know that if I wanted to serve soup for the next 155 nights, the internets have provided a way for me to do just that. I haven’t made it to everyone’s blog yet, but I really am thrilled by all the great recipes I’ve seen so far. I’ll try to remember to put a permanent link in my sidebar to make it easier for y’all to find the links when the post rolls off of my main page.

And do you know what? Just this morning a non-blogging friend of mine said, “Hey! I tried the curried chicken corn chowder recipe I saw on your blog, and it was great!”

And I smiled.

Because I felt like a bit of a Soup Ambassador.

Who is making disouples of all nations.

Badabing!

Thank you! I’ll be here all week!

Also.

I just wanted to remind y’all that the Christmas Tour of Homes is one week from today (ONE WEEK!), and I cannot wait. If you still need the button for your blog, there’s a link to the code over in my left sidebar, so you just help yourself. I’ve gotten a lot of emails from people who want to know if they need to sign up ahead of time or if the tour is already “full,” and I just want to state for the record that the whole idea of any sort of pre-registration for participation implies a level of organization that is leaps and bounds beyond my capabilities.

Remember: I am lazy.

So come one, come all to the Christmas Tour, unless of course you plan to make fun of the birth of baby Jesus, in which case I probably would wonder why you even want to participate, and besides: NOBODY PUTS BABY JESUS IN A CORNER.

(By the way? That last line? That reference to “Dirty Dancing”? Made Jesus TOTALLY PROUD.)

(Which is a good thing because He was probably not at all happy with the whole “disouples” thing.)

And seriously, if you happen to celebrate Hanukkah instead of Christmas, I really hope you’ll participate, too, because don’t even get me started about my fascination with the traditions of the Jewish faith, not to mention my deep desire to learn how to make really good potato latkes without causing some sort of grease fire in my kitchen.

Finally, if you want to know what kinds of pictures you should post for the Christmas Tour, just click here for some general guidelines.

Okay. I believe that is all.

Merry Christmas, interpeeps.

Happy Ho Ho Ho to you.

So yesterday Melanie called me and said, “You know, I think I want to move such-and-such on my blog,” and I was all, “Oh, I can do that for you right this second; I actually moved that very thing on my blog this past week,” and so we chatted and giggled as I logged in to her blog and worked my bloggy magic because I AM A TOTAL BLOGGING PRO, Y’ALL, and then I clicked to view my changes and when I saw what had happened I simultaneously screamed and laughed nervously as my heart dropped straight into my stomach.

Because clearly something had gone horribly awry.

I attempted to move one little thing for Mel – one TEENSY WEENSY thing – and the whole template went haywire. And the weird thing is that I didn’t even delete critical parts of code like I have done on my own blog about four hundred and twenty two times. I just copied and pasted some stuff to a different area of her sidebar, and then suddenly the header was gone and the verse of the day was stretched sixteen miles long and the posts were all at the bottom and I’m pretty sure that I saw some jet-black smoke pouring out of her blogroll.

And like I told her last night: as much as I want to log in to her template again and try to fix whatever it is that I did, the rational part of my brain knows that I’d better stay away because any more tampering with HTML on my end of things may cause the whole interweb to explode in a fiery ball.

So I’m staying away. And Melanie and I both have summoned the professionals to undo the damage.

Really, it’s sort of a shame that Mel and I aren’t some sort of bloggy rivals, because if we were this whole HTML fiasco would be like that episode of “Designing Women” where we find out that Suzanne was sabotaged in the talent portion of a pageant when another contestant put extra fuel in Suzanne’s fire batons, thus causing Suzanne to wipe out the power of an entire arena when she threw one of the fire batons up in the air and accidentally ignited all manner of wiring.

Or like that girl in that pageant in Puerto Rico who says that someone doused her evening gown with pepper spray.

So I guess basically what I’m saying is that if y’all will provide Big Mama and me with some evening gowns and some crowns, we will turn my ineptitude with HTML code into some first-rate bloggy drama. We could even stage some sort of catfight in the tradition of Krystle Carrington and Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan. Of Moldavia.

Except that Melanie and I would want to skip the catfight part and just eat chips and queso in our evening gowns.

And also: perhaps if I devoted as much attention to HTML as I apparently once did to Dynasty, I could have avoided this whole hot mess altogether.

Anyhoo.

There’s actually a very important lesson in this woeful tale: if you’re going to inadvertently tear up someone’s blog template (I RURNT it! I just RURNT it!), it makes things much easier if your victim is a very close friend with an extraordinarily well-developed sense of humor.

Because yesterday? When I got so flustered on the phone with Mel that I dropped a box of lasagna noodles and then knocked myself in the head with a cabinet door because my NERVES, ohmylands my NERVES? She laughed so hard that I think she began to wheeze.

But still. I am so very sad. And so very sorry.

Did I mention that I am sad and sorry?

I believe I will eat some more chocolate now.

D went to Costco this morning to pick up a few work-related things. He got home right about the time that Alex and I were sitting down for lunch, and in a sweeping romantic gesture, he handed me a surprise:

(!!!!!)

IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY.

Because DO YOU SEE, INTERNETS? DO YOU SEE? IT’S TWICE AS CONCENTRATED.

And there’s enough detergent in there to wash ONE HUNDRED AND TEN loads of clothes.

ONE HUNDRED AND TEN!

(!!!!!)

My joy, it knows no bounds.

And I can’t help but wonder: aside from some sort of full-time maid service, is there any household product someone could give you that would send your heart soaring?

Or do I just need to accept that I’m beyond weird since I get a touch of the butterflies over, you know, LAUNDRY DETERGENT?

p.s. Gain is always my first household product love, but as I’ve mentioned before, this is a very close second. I heart it more and more every single day.

And sometimes I clean my countertops just so I can smell it.

p.p.s. I’m so embarrassed that I just told you that.

p.p.p.s. Please don’t judge me.