Several of y’all have emailed me and said, “Hey, I thought y’all had a contract on another house, but your posts make it sound like you’re looking for a house, and you’re being sort of cryptic, and I find myself perplexed and confused.”

As well you should be, given the vagueness of my vaguery.

So I will now attempt to clarify.

Yes, we had (HAD) a contract on another house. It was very groovy and 70’s and even still had the original shag carpet (bright yellow in the master bedroom, followed bright red, bright green, and rust in the other bedrooms. My brother vowed that if I looked around enough in the closets, I would find a rake). We were planning to replace the carpet, of course, but walking through those bedrooms was like stepping back into 1974, right down to the Honeywell alarm system that looked like something from the episode of Columbo where Ruth Gordon locked her nephew in the safe and spent the next two hours trying to outsmart the good detective.

Now granted, I’ve never pretended to be normal, but it is a little strange to me that while lots of people dream of large, open floor plans and granite countertops and keeping rooms off of the kitchen, I have an almost unexplainable attraction (bordering on obsession, no doubt) to houses that look like Mike, Carole, Greg, Marsha, and the rest of the kids are sitting inside, just waiting for me to walk in so that they can serenade me with “It’s A Sunshine Day.” And the house that we had (HAD) the contract on totally had that vibe.

But alas, it was not meant to be ours. Another couple put in a contract. We had 48 hours to decide whether we wanted to roll the dice and set a closing date, not having any guarantee that our house would have sold by that date – or walk away.

We walked.

So the search continues.

Right now we’re looking at two Brady Bunch houses…one that is way overpriced and needs tons of work and smells really, really bad (sounds charming, doesn’t it? you MUST come for a visit) – but it could be a great house when it’s all said and done IF we can get a good deal. The other one is so groovy that I won’t even describe it because I think y’all would be certain that I’ve lost my mind to even consider it, so I’ll just say this: it looks like Austin Powers may have lived there at some point.

Or Maude. Maude might have lived there, too.

So if our house sells and we end up buying the Maude house, I’ve already warned D that I’m going to need some lounging pajamas and geometric-patterned headscarves (think Suzanne Pleshette circa 1976) in order to fit in with the new surroundings.

He is understandably thrilled.

“I’m part of the fellowship of the unashamed. The die has been cast. I have stepped over the line. The decision has been made. I’m a disciple of His and I won’t look back, let up, slow down, back away, or be still.

My past is redeemed. My present makes sense. My future is secure. I’m done and finished with low living, sight walking, small planning, smooth knees, colorless dreams, tamed visions, mundane talking, cheap living, and dwarfed goals.

I no longer need preeminence, prosperity, position, promotions, plaudits, or popularity. I don’t have to be right, or first, or tops, or recognized, or praised, or rewarded. I live by faith, lean on His presence, walk by patience, lift by prayer, and labor by Holy Spirit power.

My face is set. My gait is fast. My goal is heaven. My road may be narrow, my way rough, my companions few, but my guide is reliable and my mission is clear. I will not be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, deluded or delayed. I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice or hesitate in the presence of the adversary. I will not negotiate at the table of the enemy, ponder at the pool of popularity, or meander in the maze of mediocrity. I won’t give up, shut up, or let up until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up, and preached up for the cause of Christ.

I am a disciple of Jesus. I must give until I drop, preach until all know, and work until He comes. And when He does come for His own, He’ll have no problems recognizing me. My banner will be clear!”

-Found among the papers of a young Zimbabwe pastor after he was martyred

Our house has been on the market for almost two weeks now, and aside from the fact that I’m certain that it’s never going to sell, EVER, it’s going really well!

And I totally get how ridiculous my despair is, seeing as how the housing market has slowed down and houses are staying on the market way longer than average, but the average time for a house to stay on the market in our neighborhood is fourteen days (I know! FOURTEEN DAYS!), and since we’re right on the fringe of that timeframe and the house hasn’t sold, then clearly, CLEARLY, we’re destined to languish on the real estate market for the rest of our natural days.

If you think this is fun to read about, imagine what a carnival-o-fun it is to live with me right now.

(Paradise!)

Seriously, I’m really not all doom and gloom about our house, because I know it’ll sell eventually. Plus, it’s not like we’re in some big urgent hurry to move, so I don’t even have a deadline looming over my head. But y’all know how obsessive I can be, and I’m just not very good with the waiting game.

You may insert your favorite lesson about patience at this juncture.

Yeah. I know. I know. You’re right. I know.

I will say, however, that if there are two words I am sick of hearing right now, those words are “buyers’ market.” Of course, once our house sells and suddenly we switch from being sellers to buyers, I’ll be all, “Oh, ‘buyers’ market’ – those are the most beautimous of all the beautiful words in our language of beauty.”

Also.

This morning I was on the way to meet our realtor at a house that D and I looked at yesterday, and in the middle of all the traffic I kept seeing those bumper stickers that are knock-offs of “W – The Hotel” and “W – The President.” It would seem that it is now in vogue for every single political candidate to use this type of promotional campaign, so I spent much of my time in the car trying to decipher what the various stickers meant.

For example.

I saw one that said “BR” – and I thought, “Oh, Baton Rouge!” But when I got close enough to the car in front of me to squint really really hard and figure out what the words below the initials said, I discovered that it said, “The Governor.” So the “BR” stood for Bob Riley, and I kind of got the reason for the sticker because he’s running for re-election and all.

Then I saw another one that said, “C” – and I thought maybe it was for a local sports team or something. But when I looked closely I realized that it said, “The Sheriff.” I then proceeded to wrack my brain for the last name of our sheriff, determined that his last name starts with a C and thereby judged his bumper sticker to be cryptic but accurate. I for one do not feel that “C” is quite as identifiable as, say, “W” when it pertains to a local elected official, but hey, whatever works, because it did make me think of the sheriff and, you know, remember his name.

And then I saw ANOTHER one that said “C” – and I thought, “Oh, the sheriff must have several colors of stickers.” But then I realized that it said, “The Christ,” and I thought OKAY, PEOPLE – I think we’ve driven this particular fad straight into the ground. I mean, I’m all for evangelizing and spreading the Good News, but putting Jesus’ initial in a knock-off of a W Hotel logo?

He must be so pleased.

Anyhoo.

Never one to want to be left out, I have created the following image for your enjoyment, because I am nothing if not two years behind every pop culture trend and dare I say light years behind anything remotely resembling the cutting edge (unless it’s sassy pants – I try to stay up-to-date with sassy pants):

What do y’all think?

Sure, the concept is pretty tired, and yeah, the colors are pretty plain – but the initials?

They make me giggle.

Because I am a bastion of maturity.

A veritable beacon of propriety in the blogosphere.

So a few weeks ago I got a lovely package in the mail, and the package was instantly deemed Even Lovelier by yours truly when I realized that it contained large quantities of coffee for my perusal, consumption, and review.

I haven’t posted any sort of policy regarding product reviews on my blog, but just in case there’s any confusion I’ll say this: I’m going to be honest. I’m sure I would get way more free stuff if I clapped my hands and squealed with glee over every single product I receive, but that would be selling out, and I am not selling out OH NO MA’AM I’m not.

Unless it’s for a reallllly good price. And then we’ll talk.

Oh, yes, the coffee.

I’m a pretty picky coffee drinker; in fact, when D and I first moved to Alabama, I ordered our coffee because no store here carried the brand we liked. I like really strong, flavorful coffee, which is why I have not had a cup of coffee at my mother-in-law’s house in almost five years because while she’s a perfectly lovely person her “coffee” is actually more like “hot beige water.” And it’s not tasty. You can try to pretend like it is because you wouldn’t want to be rude, of course, but the grimace on your face will tell the true tale. It’s bad.

Anyway, the coffee that the Large Marketing Organization sent me was the new Folger’s Gourmet Selections, which I’ve actually seen on the shelf in Target. They sent me three flavors: Lively Columbian (which is a far better name than Lethargic Columbian or Morose Columbian, I might add), Vanilla Biscotti, and Morning Cafe’.

I had a mixed reaction to the Lively Columbian…it had a nice flavor when I made a milder pot of coffee, but in the mornings, when I want some really strong coffee and add an extra tablespoon to the filter basket, I found that the Lively Columbian was, incidentally, a very Bitter Columbian. D didn’t care for this variety at all and kept asking me if we could go back to our regular brand. So it wasn’t really a hit in terms of taste, but it was free, so I’m not complaining.

As for Vanilla Biscotti…I have an aversion to flavored coffees because I find that they have an annoying aftertaste and also ‘infiltrate’ my next few pots of regular coffee with leftover oils or scents or whatnot. So D was the sole participant in reviewing this flavor, and he actually liked it. He said it didn’t have a strong aftertaste, and it didn’t taste oily (another one of my complaints about flavored coffees). So, if you like a little flava in your coffee, this would probably be a good one to serve to company or to have as “dessert” on a chilly fall night.

My favorite of the bunch was Morning Cafe’. Even though it isn’t as strong as the Lively Columbian, it doesn’t get bitter if you try to make a stout pot of coffee that’ll make your eyes snap to attention at 6 in the morning. It has a mild but really pleasant flavor, and of the three it’s the one that I would buy again. I’ll be having some tomorrow morning, in fact – and I’ll raise my mug in a toast to my interpeeps before I take the first sip (as a thank you for reading my blog even when I’m reviewing Free Product).

And if you’d like to try a sample for yourself, click here – it’s free!

Alex has gone to sleep with his stuffed Froggy every night of his life.

Until tonight. Because we cannot find Froggy anywhere.

Which means that D and I have been looking in every corner and crevice of our house for the last hour.

And I’ve never felt like more of a crazy woman.

And I can’t think of where to look next.

Any suggestions?

Update: Froggy has been located. He was behind the couch where we’d looked, oh, sixty four times. Give or take a ten. And he’s now in the bed where he rightly belongs. :-)

If you haven’t read it yet, this post over at Sarah‘s is hysterical.

I laughed out loud.