Where have all the Butter Beans gone?


Because now that I think about it, I really, really miss them.

I ate them all the time as a child because they were one of my favorite things EVAH (I know, I was a weird kid...not into candy much but I loved me my butter beans); I loved the slippery outer skin and the creamy interior. YUM!

My daughter is an oddity like me; she loves beans. LOVES them. Fresh or canned or frozen; she doesn't care. A delish snack to her is Mama opening up a can of, say, pinto beans, heating them on the stove with a few twists of garlic salt and pepper. She literally gets all giddy and dances around singing, "Beans! Yummy beans! Yeah!"

So in an attempt to expand her bean repertoire, I've been purchasing different types. She has yet to find one she doesn't like. And then one day out of the blue I thought of butter beans! Yes! I could buy her butter beans!

But I have been scouring local grocery stores and I can't find them. Anywhere. What's up with that? Did they have to remove them to make way for edamame? Because if that's the case, that's whack!

In fact, I think that's elitist. Sure, edamame is yummy, too. But butter beans (and their less delicious cousin, lima beans)(which are actually the ones in the above picture because it seems not only are butter beans hard to find in the store, but I can't find a good image of one, either!) don't have the same cache as edamame. Butter beans sound old-fashioned and not a bit hip.

But edamame, that's hip. I mean, it's a soy bean for Pete's sake... you can go get your chai soy latte and eat edamame and you're automatically happening, right? But a butter bean? Pfffft. Try finding a chai butter bean latte and get back to me!

And a quick nutritional analysis shows that butter beans stack up quite nicely against edamame, particularly in the area of molybdenum, which you are probably lacking right this minute!

I think it is either a vast right-wing conspiracy, or perhaps a vast left-wing conspiracy. I'm fuzzy on the details right now, but all I know is that there is butter bean-ism out there. And it must be stopped.

In the name of slippery outside skins and creamy interiors everywhere, it must. be. stopped.


Now that Obama has named Biden as his running mate, I think Bruno just might have a shot.

Remember this? The Watch me! No, watch me! household decided that our beloved pooch, Bruno, could run the country as well as anyone.

Well, it seems his candidacy has caught on:

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Who knew!!!


A Case of the Mondays

Yo, it's VDog from VDog & Little Man. I shall attempt to entertain you today as Christine's last guest poster (as far as I know).  You can usually find me Twittering or Plurking and occasionally writing and posting photos on my blog.

If you keep up with my blog at all, you would know that this past week I got all hormonal on yo' azzez and then lightened things up yesterday with some photos of the Little Man.  It's been a long week for all of us, so I figured, instead of some occasionally brilliant writing, how about some links to go have a looksy about?

First, some yummy fluffy funny things:  Cake Wrecks and FAIL blog.

Second, if you've ever been depressed, this was an amazing post to read (or probably even if you've never been depressed?).  Miss ZoeyJane really BROUGHT IT.

Third, Pundit Mom wrote an interesting piece about our value (to advertisers) as mommybloggers and the different topics we write about. Apparently Politics isn't worth as much as Potty Training. Huh.

Fourth, and finally, you MUST go check out this post from our girl Dawn at kaiseralex.com: Vote for Most Disturbing Item.  Girlfriend brings bereavement to a whole notha' level.

Don't forget to cut out early today and recover from the weekend.  It IS Monday afterall.

Hope the move went great, my Cracker friend Christine!!


Kansas Aquatic Center

JackieW. forumed for years until dipping into the blog world early this year & blogs @ Buried in Legos and Bologna Donuts. She twitters & plurks as Abbreviated. She homeschools in Kansas with a husband, 3 sons, one grandson, 2 dogs, a cat & a herd of Belted Galloway beef cattle.

guest poster

guest poster two

Spent 2 weeks driving kids to swimming lessons.

When I was growing up this was called a swimming pool.

Now it's called an aquatic center.

The move that almost wasn't

Hi, I'm Jennifer and I'm keeping the blog warm over here today. Usually,you can find me at Toast on the Ceiling or contributing for BlissfullyDomestic.

When Christine said she needed guest bloggers to help out while she moved, I jumped on it. I'm totally thrilled she picked me. When she said I could write about anything I wanted, I
knew I had a story to share (and hope her move does not end this way).

I'm talking about our move to the house we live in now.

Back in May, 2001 it was James and I. No kids, no pets (this was a blessing with everything that happened). We loved the townhouse we lived in, but no one wanted to visit us, it was at least a 30 minute drive. Add to that a condo association that thought they were God and wacky neighbors (one guy washed his car in the garage), we did what everyone else was doing.

We decided to move. Back to my hometown.

After we found the best house (it isn't perfect), we had to list our house. We thought it was a blessing we had "sold" it in a week and we would move in a little over a month.

The first couple weeks after it sold was no problem. We packed, cleaned and got things in order.

The next couple weeks turned into a nightmare. Thankfully, we had a lawyer. The people who were to buy the townhouse had some problems with their credit. The loan looked like it wasn't going to be approved. The closing was on, the closing was off.

Every day brought different news.

Finally we got to the day before the closing and I had left work early to come home and finish packing. There was a call from our lawyer. Basically, it looked like the closing was off, the financing would not go through for the buyers, but come anyway to the closing. So I cancelled the movers and we packed some more, but didn't think this was going to work.

Which meant we would lose the new house and we were staying with the crazy neighbors and the condo board from hell. The day of closing we got up, cleaned and went to the title company. We met our lawyer, signed what we could without the buyers, and sat in a conference room for 45 minutes before the buyers showed up with their lawyer. The loan had been a go at the last minute, with changed terms. Half a page into the loan paperwork, the husband was arguing with the lawyer.

We were shooed out of the conference room to wait in a cubicle while the husband's lawyer argued with the loan company. We had to hunt down movers from the phone book since it looked to be a go. After several phone calls, we found someone who would charge 4x as much as we budgeted, but they could be there. We were supposed to be out of the house already and the buyers were not happy we were still there.

Finally, after half an hour, the husband had releneted and would take the loan. We were called back into the room and they went over the terms with the husband. 11.5% interest, pre-payment penalty, the list went on of restrictions and penalties. I sat at the table thinking any second the deal would be bust. The husband signed paper after paper, not the wife.

Finally, they got to a document the wife had to sign stating she understood the financial implications of not being on the title. She flatly refused. For religious reasons. So, add another 10 minutes while two lawyers tried to convince her to sign the paper. I think she finally did, but it was like pulling teeth.

Then there was the issue we were not out of the house which was totally the buyers fault. We had to give them a $1000 check guaranteeing we would be out by 9pm (which was sent back uncashed a week later). We said no problem, all was done. After almost three hours.

James and I ran out of there to get home. Well, James went home to meet my dad to finish on the packing and I had to go to the insurance company to finish the policy for the new home (which was to closed on the same day, but moved to two days later due to insurance problem with the roof of new house). Got back home to deal with the movers. They sent nine guys to our house tomove. Nine guys who had no clue or common sense. One guy tried to move the gas dryer without disconnecting it. Another dumped James' entire StarWars figure collection out of their pre-packed boxes into a wardrobe box and packed stuff on top of it. And the fun went on.

We shoved anything worth something into three cars and tried to keep the movers from packing essential items. Like my bag of clothes for the next few days. James wasn't so lucky. Before he could stop the movers, all his stuff was on the truck. We were out of the house at 7 pm. Had started at 2:30. Not too bad.

James waited for the new owners to come and get the keys. My dad and I drove back to my parent's house to unload some of the stuff since we would be staying in a hotel for a couple days. Which turned into a week, since the moving company forgot to schedule us to get the items out of storage and moved to the new house. And then stole all of James' tools and a step ladder.

This is why I will never move again.

I hope Christine's is going much better than this.


Yes, I am the Butt of the Joke

Todays awesome guest poster is TLC, who can usually be found at Send Chocolate. Enjoy!

While no_watch_me is gone, I offered to guest post for her.  I thought I would show my butt.  Or rather, my son's butt...wait, let me back up.  He did enough showing for everyone....

He is nine now. This happened when he was four.

It wasn't something he said, not this time. We were standing in line at The Evil Hamburger place, hereafter known as McDonalds. I was hungry and tired, and had three kids in tow who were also hungry and tired. The line was moving at a snail's pace, the cashier wasn't moving at all. We waited. My one year old was in the sling, squirmy and awake. She wanted my attention. My 8 year old was trying to be on her best behavior, but she had grown weary of the hold up. She wanted to eat. Now. Even if it was McDonalds.

My son has autism. He has no mouth filter. He makes rash decisions. Bored and with nothing to do, he struck up a conversation with the man in front of us. I eyed the stranger warily. The conversation started the way they always did: "Do you like Indiana Jones? I have seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, it's a good movie, did you like it?" The man agreed, it was a good movie and that Indy was cool and yes, his hat was cool and yes, son's hat was cool, too. I breathed a little, so far, there hadn't been anything out of ordinary. That was about to change.

My son was diagnosed with high-functioning autism, but not until the end of Kindergarten. At this point, he was just "quirky." The line moved up, just a little. Still two people were in front of me. Was this ever going to end? We needed Chicken McNuggets! Some fairly loud and boisterous construction workers joined the line, which was now fairly long. We waited some more as the guy in front of us was ordering.

I tend to start up conversations in line with random strangers. It seems to be the curse of my semi-extroverted personality. I say semi-extroverted because when I am home alone, I revel in my aloneness. But when I am out, I will actually talk to other people. The introverts in my house don't understand it. Luckily, my son is an absolute extrovert and likes to talk to people. People don''t always like to listen, however. The burly construction guy asked how old my kids were, and here it comes the requisite, "You certainly have your hands full," along with my stock answer: "Yes, and my heart is full as well." About this time, my son decided to horn in on the conversation. Being polite, Mr. Big & Burly Construction Guy turrned and asked him his name. I have no idea what possessed my son. To this day, he still doesn't know.

We are standing there, in the middle of a food establishment as loosely defined as McDonalds is food and my son, the fruit of my loins, turned around, pulled his pants down and mooned the entire line of customers! I stood frozen in shock while the construction crew guffawed loudly. That was when, the voice of sanity spoke up. It was my daughter, wise beyond her years. "He is SO mortifying!" said she. Why yes. Yes, he is.


Oops I ovulated again

Hi, this is Jennifer from Playgroups are no place for children. I am notorious for writer's block when guest posting. Or it's possible that I'm the queen of the cop-out. Either way, I'm republishing an oldie but a goodie for Christine while she's busy, that I wrote back in April on my blog.


I had made up my mind that we were finished having babies, while driving and enjoying the sweet, sweet deliciousness known as being ALONE. Something about the first warm day of the spring, an open sunroof, and thumping music made me certain that we were out of the business of making babies. Of course, twenty minutes prior, I had been trying on baby girl names for possible future daughters like Avery, or Leah, and Emeline, remembering only the good parts of pregnancy, childbirth, and life with a newborn...ahhh, the joys of selective memory.

But anyway, right at this moment, I was sure. No more kids. I felt the freedom that only comes as your children are old enough to be left for more than 2 hour segments.

"I'm almost free," I thought to myself. "In just a few short months, I'll have my body back all to myself! I'll finally get to throw those nursing bras away! I won't have to carry the enormous diaper bag, I'll actually be able to carry a purse!" The decision, for the time being, was made.

I got to my destination, Tar-zhay, and began my much anticipated solo quest for nothing. I was simply going to wander around the store, with no need to worry about the possibility of having to change a diaper or rushing to get home to save the precious nap. Not two minutes into my aimless stroll, I saw the first baby, a newborn baby, being held by her very exhausted looking mother. This baby had to be fresh out of the womb, she was impossibly tiny, with wrinkled feet and ankles.

"Look away. Just look away," I told myself. "We're DONE, remember??? Done!"

A good three minutes passed before I saw the next one. Another newborn baby, that also looked to have come straight to Target from it's birth at the hospital. The parents were fussing over the baby, who was so tiny and completely enveloped by it's carseat. The baby had that unfixed stare and googly eyes that only newborns have and appeared to be drifting off to sleep.

I realized I had been staring with my head cocked to the side and my mouth slightly open in the shape of "aaah." But I couldn't help myself. I closed my eyes and shook my head, getting the image of that darling baby out of my head. "Keep walking. You've seen plenty of newborn babies, including TWO of your own. Now skedaddle," I silently thought to myself.

Luckily I got a good twenty minutes of browsing in before I spotted the last newborn. During those glorious twenty minutes, I had purposely browsed in the lingerie section at pretty, non-nursing bras and dreamed of that day when I could where them again.

"Yes, I'm certain. No more children." I smiled contently as I left the lingerie section.

Of course, though, as I left the lingerie section, I saw the baby. Her daddy was cradling her in his arms as she slept. He gazed upon her face and appeared to study her every feature. His free hand gently touched his daughter's wee fingers as he bent over to kiss her tiny face. After the kiss, he paused and sniffed her wee newborn smell.

Right then and there, I ovulated. I simply cannot resist a daddy sniffing his baby.

As I finished my shopping trip, I imagined a future baby boy and tried on a few names for him...Keegan? Chase? Sean? Ryan?

Then I arrived home to my daughter's beautiful face. Ella, my eleven month old daughter, who charms me with nothing more than her soft cheeks and her gummy, slobbery grin.

It's no wonder I can't help but fantasize about all of my unborn children.

Originally published April 9, 2007 at Playgroups are no place for children.


What's Your Soft-Boiled Egg?

Today's post is brought to you by the letter L, for Lara. Lara can usually be found over at Life: The Ongoing Education, which also starts with the letter L. As you can see, the letter L is a precocious brat and won't leave us alone. Please enjoy Lara's lovely literary contributions.

“I couldn’t exist the way you do, Henry; I like my warm toast and tea and soft-boiled egg brought to me on a tray in bed each morning. Whenever I even think of Walden, I get a cold. But I admire you, Henry, I really do. You’re my walking ethic!”

Okay, okay. Let’s get a couple things out of the way. First of all, I’m a high school English teacher, which means I’m a big literary geek. So even though what I’m going to talk about here is kind of superficial and fluffy, I’m going to lead it off with some critical analysis of a play. You’ll have to forgive me.

Secondly, you’ll just have to remember that I’m not your beloved Christine, so you may have to have a little patience with my poor pitiful self, just trying to keep y’all entertained while she’s away. There is an opportunity for audience participation later, so keep your eyes peeled.

Now, back to the quote. It comes from a play called The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail, which is a fictional accounting of some real events in Henry David Thoreau’s life. Thoreau is most famously remembered as a “rebel” who openly disagreed with many of the U.S. government’s policies in the nineteenth century. He retreated to Walden pond, to live in harmony with nature, free from what he believed to be a corrupt society. He was, to put it mildly, a little radical in his thinking.

Ralph Waldo Emerson was his mentor, a fellow writer, and a well-known orator. The people listened to Emerson and his ideas, when they happily ignored Thoreau. But Emerson tried to make changes from within the society, living within its rules, speaking in moderation. In the quote above, Emerson is responding to Thoreau, who is angry at Emerson for not taking more drastic action in protest of injustice. And Emerson says, “I like my warm toast and tea and soft-boiled egg brought to me on a tray in bed each morning.”

I know, many of you are having an initial response of, “What the hell does that have to do with it?”

(The rest of you are either yawning in total boredom or you’ve stopped reading long before now.)

Emerson’s point is that his life is more worth living when he has the little insignificant pleasures in his day. To him, having breakfast in bed keeps him happy, and that lets him keep working for change. If he gave it all up and moved to a cabin in the woods to protest, he would lose interest – it just wouldn’t be worth it.

I see a lot of moms who think they need to pour their whole lives into their children and house. And don’t get me wrong, I think that’s admirable – it’s just not always practical. Some women would be better off taking an hour once a week to completely ignore the kids, leave them with a babysitter, and treat herself to a mani/pedi at the local salon. By keeping that “me time” in her schedule, she’s actually better at her work as a mother, and that means she should not feel guilty about keeping it.

It’s the same when we think about making changes in the world around each and every one of us. Should we be taking steps to be more environmentally conscious? Yes, of course. But should we be taking radical steps and getting rid of each and every piece of our life that we enjoy that might possibly leave a carbon footprint? Well, that might just make us want to give up the fight completely. Should I be donating some of my money each month to charity? Yes, definitely. But should I be donating every last cent that I don’t need for food and rent? Well, without any niceties whatsoever, what keeps me waking up every morning?

So here’s the thing – my “toast and tea and soft-boiled egg”? For me, those are shoes. My latest purchase is this lovely pair from Target. New shoes make me happy. They’re superficial and shallow and completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but they make me happy. And happy people can make a lot of changes in the world.

So what is your toast and tea? What are your soft-boiled eggs? What are the luxuries you wouldn’t want to do without? Come on – I know you’ve got some good answers lurking out there, and I want to hear ‘em!


Do you have imaginary friends?

Today's guest poster is Mel, who blogs regularly at A Box of Chocolates where she shares samples of her life as a wife to one, mom to three, and teacher to many.

Why do I do this to myself? One day I am going to learn to keep my mouth shut, or maybe I should say, my fingers still.

When Christine twittered that she was looking for some guest posters to baby-sit her blog my fingers, completely on their own, somehow twittered back that I would be honored to be a guest poster if she would have me. I mean she is Christine after all…Dr. Diva over Blissfully Domestic, where may I add that I am just a lowly Food Diva. Of course being the polite person that she is she gave in to my request to guest post and well here I am.

So could somebody tell me, what does one actually do when they guest post? Talk about this blog, talk about the author, talk about their blog, talk about themselves. Sheez. This is tough.

Well I’ll give it shot. Here we go. My first guest post.

Blogs, blogging, blogger. It’s all foreign to some and others just don’t get it.

When I first began blogging I didn’t really tell many people. Once I got some posts up and running I emailed the URL to distant family and friends so they could see pictures of my kids and what we have been up to. Many responded that they thought the blog was a great idea and enjoyed looking at the pictures of the kids. Of course I got the usual question, “Are you sure you want to post that much information about your family on the web?” (we’ll discuss that one during another babysitting time), but other than that they were all pretty supportive.

Then I discovered the Blogosphere where there were many just like me, and some that were so very much not like me, that I loved them too. I met amazing women and was even proud to call a few of them friends. Friends that I had never met, but friends nevertheless. As my excitement over this newfound community grew I found myself talking about my blog and blogging in general to my real life friends. After all it was my hobby so why shouldn’t I talk about it as they would talk about scrap booking, or cooking, or working out, or whatever it is that they did. I was proud of my blog.

For some of them they were intrigued. They asked how I got started, why I liked it, what it was like to meet other bloggers, how I decide what to write, how I find new blogs to read, and a plethora of other questions. For others they just kind of smiled and nodded and life went on.

They were happy that I was happy and it worked. Then for some, well they think it is just straight out strange. Such as the friend who told me during a girl’s night out, “It’s so weird that you are friends with all these people you have never met. It’s kind of like when you are a kid and instead of just having one or two imaginary friends you have an entire group.”

Uh no. Not really considering my “imaginary friends” have lives and blogs of their own, where you know, I can see their pictures and everything. Not to mention imaginary friends can’t leave comments so they wouldn’t be any good to me even in the blogosphere!

(Dude, I hear you! You are my REAL friend! Thanks! - Christine)


Please extend a warm Watch me! No, watch me! welcome...

...to my guest posters for the next few days!

As I pack up my household ONCE AGAIN and relocate a couple of miles away ONCE AGAIN, some lovely and generous bloggers have volunteer their time and talent to keep things hopping here.

You won't be dissapointed, pinky swear.


I will take this dream, stick it in my pipe, and smoke it*

So I haven't been doing much on my quest for a free laptop from Apple Co-founder Steve Steve Wozniak via his ex-girlfriend Kathy Griffin. I mean, it is a brilliant plan and BOUND to work, but I have lost my momentum.

That is so like me.

I hatch a scheme and then suck at the execution (except for the medical school thing, and frankly that is ONE time I wished I'd not done the following up bit).

This is where it would be really awesome to have a staff of people to do my bidding. I could lay around coming up with fun and exciting ideas, then I could pass it off to my peeps. Kinda like Kathy Griffin and her Team Griffin.

I want a Team Christine.

Not only could they take care of the details of this campaign, like writing press releases and creating a button and getting the word out to other bloggers to get involved, but Team Christine could help in other ways as well.

They could pack this house and move it on Friday. I'll supervise and point to where things should be placed.

They could do my laundry. And dishes. Clean my bathrooms and oven.

Team Christine grocery shop for the family, and cook meals when we don't feel like it (read: usually).

They could peel my grapes and fan me when the heat becomes stifling. Actually, I could also instruct them to turn down the thermostat. We have the technology!

They could mix my cocktails and fetch my slippers! And mix more cocktails!


*Get it? Pipe dream?

Off to pack!


Why IM'ing is evil

Dear Darla,

Thank you for being such a time suck.




It ain't just a river in Egypt, or I don't need no stinking fan

You know what I'm in right now?

A big old heap of denial.

We are moving a week from tomorrow and I haven't packed a box in days. Oh, sure, right after BlogHer I went nuts for a few days and collected boxes, filled and labeled them. It felt great! I was ahead of the game!

Since then...nada. Been taking the kids to pools (because, you know, I need to get geared up to living in a home with OUR OWN POOL), reading, not writing much here, scouting for contributors for Blissfully Domestic's relaunch, tweeting, sleeping in late (LOVE it when my husband works from home), weaning from Zoloft (as if that's an activity that takes up actual time), using my elliptical which may or many not* spontaneously combust, looking for my keys (nothing new there), and just generally finding anything super important to do other than pack up this household.

*Okay, I need to explain this one.

I love my elliptical. Love it. If it weren't for that fine piece of machinery, I'd probably have gained far more than 30-some pounds while on Zoloft.

The thing is, my daughter (who is four)(oh, sorry, her voice in my head makes me tell you that she is four and a half) likes to be right next to me allofthetime. Which means, while I am working out, she wants to be on the elliptical with me. So, we've struck a deal. She can stand in front of me while I pedal as I am warming up and cooling down (ssshhhh...don't tell her that really I only let her be on there for a minute each time as I really slowly pedal and pretend to exercise). I explain to her that it just isn't safe for her to be with me while I am going fast.

Really, I think she has tricked me. The thing she likes most about being with me on the elliptical is toying with the fan feature on the console. She plays with the little lever and angles it towards her face. "Ahhhh...that feels goooooood, " she says.

So I indulge her, then boot her off the machine. She plays happily with her dollhouse nearby while I start my real calorie-burning mode.

Yesterday, however, something went amiss. When I started sweating glowing I smelled a freaky burning smell emanating from the li'l fan bit on the console.

"Do you smell that?" I asked my daughter.

"Smell what?" she responded.

And then the smell was gone. I chalked it up to my imagination.

After my workout was done, I turned off the fan.

It didn't turn off.

I hit the button a bunch of times, but to no avail. The machine's fan had taken on a life of it's own. It refused to submit. It wasn't going down for anyone!

Finally I pulled out the big guns and unplugged the elliptical itself. I sure showed that console fan who was boss!

After a series of phone calls and tech support stuff and warranty investigation, two things were revealed:
  1. The machine is no longer under warranty.
  2. The machine needs a new console, which will cost $427.36. Before labor.

So what I'm going to do is remove the cover to the console and disconnect the fan. Ha! Take that console manufacturers!

(Told you I can waste time. Do you have any idea how many boxes I could have packed in the time it took me to write this post about nothing?)


Calling all writers...

As some of you are aware, I am a contributer over at Blissfully Domestic (can you hear my husband snorting out his coffee through his nose in the background? Domestic is not one word he'd ever use to describe me. Whatever.)

You might also be aware that the evil geniuses behind Blissfully Domestic (Mrs. Fussypants and Karla from Looking Towards Heaven) are planning a major relaunch. Since I'm fancy No Watch Me Christine, I will be the Healthy Living Channel Editor. Yeah, that's right. I'm going to be an Editor. I am mad with POWER!

Thus far, our Healthy Living Channel Topics are: Fitness, Nutrition, Parenting a Child With Special Needs, Medicine in the News, and Healthy Home. I'm knocking around some other possibilities as well (again, that POWER thing).

I'm looking for contributers...if you're interested in writing for The Magazine That Will Be Dominating the Interwebs (POWER!!!) in one of those categories, email me!

Honestly, I'm very excited about this. I hope to hear from YOU!


Ten things I learned from my kids...

1. Take a picture; it lasts longer.
2. You don't need music to dance.
3. Getting the mail is very exciting!
4. It's okay to take two baths a day. Even if you don't need either of them.
5. Sometimes throwing a fit does work.
6. I'm not the perfect parent I thought I would be (see number six).
7. Why my mom drank the milk that I accidentally poured into a glass of ice when I was eight and grossed the rest of us out.
8. That Sesame Street is funny on a whole different level.
9. I spend too much time on the computer.
10. The meaning of life.


Cue drum roll, please...

And the winners are...

For the year of Picnik Premium....queenoftheclick! Congratulations!

And the winner of the 7 days of free WiFi from T Mobile is...UncommonBlonde. Woohoo!

That's all for today, folks!