Jesus Online

For whatever reason, I've experienced an influx of "Like" if you want to live forever/have good fortune/are against penguin trafficking posts on my Facebook feed. While, yes, I do support, encourage, and desire those things, I hardly see how my one-click mouse action will influence a change in the world. In light of this revelation, I've created a badge of my own. Click the image to see it full-size.

Seriously, if you don't share this, any number of things could happen in the coming week ... but they probably won't. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Hope you all had a pleasant holiday.

Peace. Love. Happy blogging.

Slightly Abused Mailbox 'For Sale.' Only Ran Over Once.

You're doing it wrong...

Let's go back to the beginning.

So, my wonderful husband whom I love dearly borrowed his bro-mance's boat the other day. For whatever reason, he decided to pull it out of the driveway just enough to tinker with something in the back. Our drive, like most, has a dip at the entrance so water runs away from the house. Nice in the sense that your yard doesn't flood. Not-so-nice in the sense that it makes for a heck of a bump when your unsecured trailer hits it.

Yeah. Renegade boat coming right up.

I hear my guard dogs (realistically a yorkie and a mixed breed deemed a Franken-weenie) barking like someone's throwing steak balls at the front door, and they can't get to them. After several failed attempts at calling them, I wander to the front door.

Lo and behold, there's a boat in my yard, my husband futilely pushing against the hull, our SUV is in the middle of the road, and the mailbox ... well, I feared the worst for old Rusty.

I open the door and calmly ask, "Do you want some help?"

"YES!" Matt huffs, the giant vein popping in his neck.

"Be specific. What do you need?" I asked.

I think he mentally slapped me at this point, but I can't actually prove that.

Now then, our house is the last before the street takes a Niagara-esque plunge on down into the neighborhood.This might be an absoultely horrifying-slash-morbidly entertaining problem except we have a home-owners association, and they specifically prohibit fun. They're like Nazis but with well-manicured lawns.

"What does that have to do with the price of eggs?" 

It means we have imposed rules of no 2x4-in-the-ground-as-your-mailbox-post. For once, the HOA has thought of something beneficial. The decorative kryptonite rod that serves as the post stopped our runaway boat.

Needless to say, the DH left on his trip, abandoning me with only a mail-bucket. A week later, it isn't necessarily better but it is more functional, and I think the mailman stopped leaving threatening messages. ...okay, that last part I made. He didn't really stop. Kidding.