The boys, as ninjas:
Guess what their costumes were since they were three and could scream their demands in the store? Ninjas.
2002 was a banner year. Brett was a bat and Daniel was a vampire.
This year, hey hey hey, Daniel is a ninja. But Brett, he has made an abrupt departure from the rule of ninja and is going as the devil. Well, the choice of a devil isn’t exactly a departure.
The cats are going as Oh.My.GOD.The.Door.The.Door!
Dear All,
Having been through a good and blah relationship with Blogger, followed by a short but slutty fling with TypePad, I am shamelessly whoring myself out to BlueHost and WordPress.
For those who are interested, I enjoyed the free Blogger but felt limited by its features. I loved TypePad until I realized that my barely-subdued control freak couldn’t make changes through code unless I paid for the Pro package.
So, welcome to BlueHost. I’m already hosted by BlueHost for another project (someday, I’ll unleash that shit on you), and for the $6.95 I’m already paying I found I could get up to 5 domains. That means this blog’s hosting is free. Free, bitches.
And, welcome to WordPress. This is a free platform. Free. I think it’s even more beautiful than TypePad and I have infinite modification control. They have a dizzying amount of templates and since you can alter your code, you can personalize your blog any way you want.
All in all, this entire beautiful thing is free. Except for the domain registration (which is also free if you sign up for BlueHost’s glorious $6.95 package).
I must give a special thank you to my geeky husband, Mike. I’ll be furiously blowing him later for all his help.
Soon to come are imported posts. At present you can view these at Evening Star.
Welcome to this version of how I prostitute myself to all that is free and holy. That is all.
Melissa
I orgasmed this: Sugared Harpy.
Like a newly broken virgin on her prom night, I’ve fallen in love. That masthead picture, with the trees? That’s part of a picture I took of a gorgeous, but mangled tree at Mike’s family farm. HOW COOL IS THAT? Typepad is soooo much easier than Blogger to use and modify without knowing html codes. Also, my god, it’s beautiful. I still have some things I need to work out, but I am loving it.
Check it out. Tell me what you think, please.
Friends, in a vodka punch-inspired decision, I have changed the blog to Sugared Harpy.
Based on the drunken opinions of the Penny Candy ladies and the man I smooch most often, I went with it. I think the new name is a better fit and sounds much, much less like a Cheryl-ism (which tends to involve fancy geneological rants, princess crowns, and witches).
Also, I’m going to be testing out a Typepad account in the next few months. If I dig it, I may move the whole kit and caboodle over there. I will still be using this space for all my posts, but I want to play with the Typepad features since I get 90 free days using the promotional code, “movable.” But note, I’ve already registered www.sugaredharpy.com. Shazam!
In the great search for a new name for this blog, I’d like to put another name to the vote. Someday, I swear I will stop and get on with it already.
What do you all think of “Sugared Harpy”?
I like it. I think it’s a fairly good description of me since I tend to be this sugary-sweet person with a biting, snarky attitude.
From Dictionary.com (with whom I make out with several times a day in a luscious threesome along with the ever sexy WordReference.com):
Sugared: Sweetheart – Used as a term of endearment; To coat, cover, or sweeten with sugar; To make less distasteful or more appealing.
Harpy: a malicious fierce-tempered woman [syn: vixen, hellcat];
Eh?
Currently being held for ransom at the Evening Star household:
1 (one) 9 x 13 pan
1 (one) plastic lid
These items will be held until all demands, especially those involving gin, are met.
Be warned! The brownies did not survive the first night in captivity.
Thank you, Mike.
People, I try very, very hard to figure out a certain woman in my life. Underneath she’s fabulous and strong and wonderful. However, on top of that sits the judgmental, bitter, control-freak victim I must deal with all the time.
With the knowledge that Mike and I are going to try to conceive in – hmmm….let me check my ticker – one year, two months, three weeks, and one day, I sometimes try to figure out what parenting style she approves for us.
No, her approval is not required. We obviously parented two children already, with some success it would seem. But, I’m curious to know what will be judged and what will be smiled upon when there’s a new baby. With my two kids, my parenting style was established before she came on the scene. With a new baby, she’ll be there from the beginning and her opinion will affect our lives. Either she will judge or bless our parenting style, but it will be done out loud. At Christmas. Or, Thankgiving. Or, July. But it will be done.
Thus far, she has disapproved of the nightly (good! imported!) beers the boys need to sleep and the whippings (at the permanent flogging post set up in the backyard) we give when they anger us.
So, sometimes when I hear of something in parenting I’ve never heard of, I mention it to her. Let’s call it casting a wide net to see what I catch. Today, I learned of elimination communication (EC).
Waaah, you say?
I learned of this over at the Leery Polyp. Okay, elimination communication is a way of handling a baby’s potty times without diapers by parents learning how to read their baby’s signals and then taking them to a toilet or container to go. The big idea is that if you never teach your kids that their clothes are a toilet, they won’t have any issues when potty training. Also, you cut down on the diapers you use, get rid of a smelly diaper pail, and the constant mess of wiping poo of your baby’s bottom.
Now, part of this intriques me. I’m okay with less diapers in a landfill and in my house. I’m okay with less diaper rash and so on. And it totally flies with attachment parenting, which I mostly like and which this woman I’m discussing wholeheartedly endorses. Even though I’m not exactly interested in doing this since, well, diapering seems so much easier and I’m a lazy bastard, I use my mental record of her blessed parenting techniques and assume she’s all for it. I think she will pour sunshine from her lips about the loving way you and your baby communicate together and the respect you give your child when you don’t make them sit in their own feces and so on.
Did you see that? See me trying to be funny and cute and think I can figure her out? Ha! Ha. ha. ha. Bleh.
When I mention elimination communication, I get a screwed up face and a list of no, no, and nos a mile long.
This pregnancy and baby thing is going to be a fucking blast.
Behold, another ticker.
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday dear Lindy, my little baby sister who smells like wet feet and laughs out loud at my sad jokes and makes everyone near and dear to her smile like a new sun after a hard winter and loves little baby kittens and would never ever hurt a damn soul even when she really really should and who I love more than anything and who I would never ever slap in the eye agaaainnnnn,
Happy Birthday to you!
I love you sweetie. You rock harder than Anthrax ever did.