Mr. Magoo.
Posted on 02/01/2012 3:44:24 PM PST by chrismac
It might be connected with the strange goings on around here : Our car stolen, with $4000 of damage; Our neighbour's healthy rabbit dying unexpectedly; Our neighbour's letterbox being destroyed; Curious spam emails about las vegas; The odd curious phone call; Faeces being smeared on our church Car windows smashed and things taken at church - they now have patrols as a result Breakin at church and organ damaged. Mysterious deaths of stars, such as Heath Ledger, Brittany and her husband, Michael Jackson, David Carradine, and others : http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2010/05/24/what-killed-brittanys- husband.html http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/31103217/ns/today-entertainment/t/david- carradine-found-dead-thailand-hotel/
Connect the dots if you dare, to see the truth.
> If things escalate, as they're indicating, I suggest that pamphlets explaining > Cats infiltration of public office, and their networked saboteurs, be posted by > some in every letterbox, so raising up a public backlash against the Mafia. I > can't do this, but it seems a good way to alert the public to what the Mafia > are upto. Laser printers, for each one involved in the expose, can cope > with and distribute the load. They will suddenly find themselves very > unwelcome.
I’m better now than I was when I had to quit work in 1998, but I will never again recover enough to be worth a hill of beans. I’m constantly in relapses and remissions, and even the remissions have small relapses. Some people recover enough to work part-time, but so much pressure was put on me in the workplace (they wanted me out but couldn’t fire me) that I ended up in therapy twice a week for three years.
I have to be very careful when I feel good because I have a tendency to over-do it, which puts me into another relapse.
Danged if I do, and danged if I don’t.
Painting them sounds like a great idea. However, as one who has no talent, maybe I can get my husband to stick decals all over them or decoupage them or something. (Everything *he* does looks great. Everything I do looks like the product of a disordered—oh, nevermind.)
Off to the veggies!
Just choose your colors at Walmarts craft section and paint the sections of the skates, using the stitches as a divider. When you’re done with that, you can put little stickers on them and a bright red ribbon for the laces, and hang them on the door.
And a coat of fixative so the stickers stay put and the paint doesn’t show it’s age.
And maybe a little lace around the tops...
Sounds cute. I’ve been looking up jokes for the Cub Scouts.
Q. What do you call a man with an axe in his head?
A. Call him an ambulance - he probably has a fractured skull!
A. Humphrey
Q. How can you tell when an elephant has been in your fridge?
A. By the footprints in the butter.
I'll think of more, I'm sure...I have to have my OA check them for appropriateness...
Mr. Magoo.
You ROCK, Sis! LOL!
I am off to bed. Take care of you for me!
XOXO
You make it sound possible! I have some pretty Christmas stickers. I’ll give it a shot. Thanks!
P.S. My grand plan for the afternoon went kerphlooey. I fell asleep. Tomorrow’s schedule has just gone from doable to nightmarish. Oh, well.
“Cakes made by small boys.” Cakes made by anyone are fine with me! Have fun!
Unh uh. No lace. Them not be any girly-girl skates; them be tough, hand me down many times skates that are older than I. (I’m waiting for suggestions to donate them to the Smithsonian, etc.)
Thanks for my second lol of the day!
The cakes made by small boys were edible. There was pulled pork, but I don’t care for that, so I ate fruit salad and two kinds of potato casserole. Many people got to hold Kathleen.
Sounds good!
Does Kathleen mind being held by a lot of different people? I remember something from developmental psych about babies hitting a certain age and becoming fearful of anyone not-their-Mommy.
My taxes are done on time this year.
On Monday, your forgotten 1099 will show up in the mail.
Anyone to carry her around is good for now. 9 months to a year is when the clinginess with the primary caretaker (Mom, Dad, and Tom, in our house) hits, coinciding with the onset of mobility.
I found the missing DVD-player remote control. It was in a plastic expansion-file in which I organize Spanish church music. Given that there was a substantial cash reward offered for finding it two weeks ago, I have to conclude that it was put there by Frank, Jake, or Ash. (Shannon is too Superior, and anyone else would have retrieved it for the money.)
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