Posted on 05/15/2004 12:00:14 AM PDT by snippy_about_it
All I can come up with to say is awwwwwwwww.
Thanks so much.
Samwolf you know it was you. You should have seen your eyes light up. LOL.
Hiya Darksheare. How's your evening going?
Wandering!
*chuckle*
Had hail here earlier, some of it tennis ball sized reportedly.
Not that this will make teh evening news, but it was interesting.
And then the sun came back out.
So teh places that didn't get rain got baked, while the places that got the hail got temporary fog..
*snort!*
ME?????
I can't get over that adorable smile in the first picture. I wouldn't be able to tear myself away.
Yeah, like that.
Thank you. Yes, she is. Grandma has been going crazy with the shopping too! Msdrby and I are just please that she's healthy, the rest is a bonus from God.
LOL. This morning, I had to force myself to put her down so I could retrieve her brother from a birthday party. That was very hard to do.
The counter girl at Starbucks must've suggested it.
Is it just me or is she getting bigger?
Shhh, I'm not ready yet! When she starts dating, I plan to be sitting at the table cleaning a thunder stick, when her date arrives. I haven't had time to decide which one yet.
Something to post on your front door, or as a handout.
Eight Rules for Dating my Daughter
Copyright 1999 W. Bruce Cameron
When I was in high school I used to be terrified of my girlfriend's father, who I believe suspected me of wanting to place my hands on his daughter's chest. He would open the door and immediately affect a good-naturedly murderous expression, holding out a hand that, when gripped, felt like it could squeeze carbon into diamonds.
Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how unfairly persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my best to make my daughter's suitors feel even worse. My motto: wilt them in the living room and they'll stay wilted all night.
"So," I'll call out jovially. "I see you have your nose pierced. Is that because you're stupid, or did you merely want to APPEAR stupid?"
As a dad, I have some basic rules, which I have carved into two stone tablets that I have on display in my living room.
Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure as heck not picking anything up.
Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.
Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to assure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric staple gun and fasten your trousers securely in place around your waist.
Rule Four: I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I WILL kill you.
Rule Five: In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."
Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make YOU cry.
Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process which can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?
Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her adam's apple. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay. Hockey games are okay.
My daughter claims it embarrasses her to come downstairs and find me attempting to get her date to recite these eight simple rules from memory. I'd be embarrassed too-there are only eight of them, for crying out loud! And, for the record, I did NOT suggest to one of these cretins that I'd have these rules tattooed on his arm if he couldn't remember them. (I checked into it and the cost is prohibitive.) I merely told him that I thought writing the rules on his arm with a ball point might be inadequate-ink washes off-and that my wood burning set was probably a better alternative.
One time, when my wife caught me having one of my daughter's would-be suitors practice pulling into the driveway, get out of the car, and go up to knock on the front door (he had violated rule number one, so I figured he needed to run through the drill a few dozen times) she asked me why I was being so hard on the boy. "Don't you remember being that age?" she challenged.
Of course I remember. Why do you think I came up with the eight simple rules?
Every time I read about this mission, I get chills. Astounding.
Those crazy mathematicians. Next thing you know they'll forever link Kepler with orbital mechanics.
I flew on a Lockheed Super Constellation when I was ten, fall of 1956. I was in the aircraft when the engines were started after a refueling and maintenance stop, about four hours. Engines were pretty cold. The machine had four R-4360 Turbo-Compounded engines, 3,600 hp - ish.
I was watching the engine crank over, a few cylinders would fire one at a time, not enough to get her spinning. With each cylinder explosion the airplane would ring like a bell, shake all over. Clouds of smoke from the single cylinder's exhaust rose hundreds, really, hundreds of feet into the air. Then the engine caught, the prop raced ahead. The whole aircraft twisted, a jump and a twist, and moved feet, not inches. Needed a seat belt to stay in your seat.
The roar is beyond description. The cabin sound pressure level in flight - and the airline bragged about all of the sound proofing installed, and how quiet the machine was to fly in - was, looking back, well over 100dB, maybe 110 dB on the A scale. You had to put your lips about three inches from the other person's ear and shout. Truth. Quite a gadget. A DC-6 is much less dramatic (four R-2800s).
Love radials, the bigger the better.
Really like "Zulu". Really like the boys singing, very much. "Men of Harlech" gets sung in a very loud bass around here often enough that there is no surprise, usually without the words since I forget them. The movie uses a better version of the words than I have found elsewhere anyway.
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