Eureka! Commenting Fix

 

Feel free to skip over this if you aren’t having any trouble with commenting systems lately.

I’ve noticed many bloggers posting questions on websites asking for help for something that seems to be more and more common.  The Blogger Help Forum has an example:

Since I was experiencing the same thing on several blogs (being unable to leave a comment), I Googled the issue mercilessly until I found a solution that worked for me.

Please bear with me for my rather rudimentary tutorial:

While in your internet browser, click on Tools, then on Internet Options:

Then click on the Privacy tab at the top:

Click on Advanced:

 

Then check to see if your settings match below:

I had to ensure that the “Always allow session cookies” box was checked.  This will allow you to sign into Google (or whichever system you use) and stay signed in to leave comments.

This is the only thing that worked for me.  Super happy, because it was driving me nuts not being able to let you guys know how much I appreciated your posts!  Hope this can help someone else.

If you read all of this and you didn’t even have a commenting problem… you rock.  Here’s something just for you…

Is it bad that I nearly wet myself when this flashed across my screen?

(No haters -  I’m not making fun, I just love that they openly advertise like this :)

 

True Story Tuesday–He Doesn’t Stand a Chance

 

Ironic.

I post about that crazy head injury while at a bounce house… and then my kid reenacts a head injury on video that proves that he is taking after me in the accident-prone gene.

But what I didn’t expect?

Was a next-generation follow-up to that True Story Tuesday of old.

Here it is – in all its glory… with a new ending.  Just because apparently, the apple bullet doesn’t fall far from the tree…

~

Hunka Hunka Burning Love Lead

Whilst dating my rugged redneck, I knew that the day would come when I’d be expected to join in some Annie Oakley activity.

Sure ‘nuf.

Let’s go shooting. You wanna go shooting? Let’s head up to the Peak tomorrow and fire off a few rounds.

Umm. Sure hon.

Then in pure terror, I ran off to my parent's’ house and sought out my dad.

See, I’m not kidding when I say that you don’t want to mess with the guy. He’s as respectful and patient as they come, but he’s got the kind of aim that makes law enforcement glad he’s on their side.

You know… the hero of the movie during the shootout scene? Where all the cops are going bang bang bang and the bad guy is just dancing around? Until Mr. Saves the Day gets there and ends it with one shot? Yeah, that’s my dad.

So I convinced him to talk me through a crash course. While my mother stood there and blankly wondered what someone had done with her city girl, I learned about safeties, loading, how to grip, how to stand, and how to aim with your dominant eye.

But I still hadn’t fired a single shot.

~

Shooting day comes and I’ve resolved to be as goofy as possible – so my atrocious performance can be attributed to the “just having fun” excuse.

I forgot how competitive I was.

We drive up to the Peak. It’s a hot day and I’ve donned an uncharacteristic ballcap to keep the sun out of my eyes. (Uncharacteristic because who wants to listen to that hearing aid whistle all day?)

(Mr. Daddy in: You want to see cute, you should see her in a ballcap with her hair pulled into a pony tail out the back… *grin*)

(Rachel in: Oh what? Now you’re gonna butt in on my story? I see how it is. That little remark was just to bug me… he knows I hate being called cute).

I’m dreading my turn with the gun. Especially when I realize that Mr. Daddy has brought eleventy-hundred of them along with my weight in ammunition.

No backing out. My first dilemma is to choose which gun to shoot.

Let me be honest here. I cannot identify handguns by caliber. I’m a girl. This is not prerequisite in our training. A girl can tell you exactly what kind of engagement ring she’d like – down to the cut, clarity, color, carat, dimensions, setting metal, and size (by the way… my wedding set was EXACTLY what I wanted, and a family heirloom to boot!). But guns? There’s a trigger, then a BOOM, right?

~

So as Mr. Daddy begins discussing the calibers of the guns, I’m nodding blankly and and praying I don’t look like a total fool. Several comments later, he decides that the grip and size of the Beretta .9mm would be best to try first.

He shoves the magazine in and shows me the mechanics. He sets up some aluminum cans and a Starbucks cup against the dirt hillside and backs away. He fires and hits the cans. Again and again. Then the cup goes flying and lands upright.

He hands the gun to me. My hands are sweating, shaking, and apparently not listening to my brain.

I mentally tick through all the steps as I find my stance, check my aim, kick the safety off, and take a breath. On the exhale, I squeeze the trigger and the gun slightly bounces in my hands.

WHOO-HOO! I actually hit something within my line of sight! Mr. Daddy cracks up at my expression and tells me to fire again.

(Mr. Daddy in: Yeah the hillside was in her line of sight….*snicker*)

My second shot I hit an aluminum can sitting near the coffee cup. I keep shooting, getting into a groove… then finally make the money shot.

(Mr. Daddy in: Actually I am not sure if it was the second shot or the second clip load…and that baby holds 16 rounds in a clip load)

(Rachel in: Oooooh! You wanna step outside for a minute? ;)

Remember Mr. Daddy hit the Starbucks cup? Oh yeah baby… you should have seen the look on his face when I shot the lid off the cup! It twirled up in the air and prompted some pretty riotous celebration from this city girl.

(Mr. Daddy in: Seriously, she was like Michael Jackson on crack, hopping and jumping around, and squealing. Totally unprofessional…)

(Rachel in: There may or may not have been several NYAH NYAH NYAH I outshot you references…)

(Mr. Daddy in: Did I mention TOTALLY unprofessional???)

Next, Mr. Daddy hands me a revolver. Seriously?!?! But I’m still giddy over the coffee cup lid shot, so I feign confidence and fire away.

Can you say SHOCK AND AWE ?

The gun bucks in my hand and I take a step backwards. If I wasn’t deaf before, I surely am now.

Yikes! But as was the rule with the .9mm, I must finish the round of shots. I did passably, while repeatedly offering reminders to my redneck that this was his city girl’s FIRST time ever shooting.

Then he does it. He breaks out the .22. Telling me the whole time that he thinks I’ll really like this one.

I’m guessing he HOPES I like it because he has waaaay too much ammo for it.

And you know how you’ll do just about anything to impress the person you’re dating? Yeah, I was trying to prove all this gunpowder didn’t phase me a bit.

So I take my stance, raise the gun, switch the safety, and fire. Not too bad. Again. And again.

A few shots in, I see a puff in the distance where the bullet struck dirt. More importantly, in slow motion, I see the shell flying out of the top of the gun.

Flipping end over end… heading straight for the brim of my ballcap. It’s a direct shot and the shell ricochets in a diagonal…

Straight down my shirt.

The shell was blazing hot and hit flat where it could do the most damage.

Then the blasted thing rolled. I kid you not. It rolled down to my bra.

Oh if that were only the end of it. But this is a True Story Tuesday, so of course it’s not.

The little molten piece of brass gets stuck in my bra… really and truly stuck.

It is burning the snot out of me and I am yelping and shrieking and jumping all over the place. I am grabbing at my shirt with one hand while pointing the gun down with the other. I am screaming at Mr. Daddy,

“Take the gun! Take the gun! Take the gun! TAKE THE GUN!”

(Mr. Daddy in: How do you take the gun when it is still live, and Rach is hopping around like a three legged coyote at a chicken convention???)

(Rachel in: Where do you get these, dear? Snort)

And of course my chivalrous cowboy takes his sweet time rescuing the loaded gun from my grip… because he is bent over double laughing his redneck butt off.

(Mr. Daddy in: Give me a break, my eyes were tearing up and I couldn’t see…)

Finally he grabs the gun and stands there breathless from laughter as I pull my bra away from my torso. He explodes in laughter anew as the dastardly shell falls from under my shirt and clinks on the ground below.

My eyes are full of tears from the burns and from trying desperately not to laugh. I give up and laugh while crying as I inspect the trail of gunpowder that runs in black blisters from my clavicle to (ahem) right between the sisters.

(Mr. Daddy in: Ladies take your mind outta the gutter. No it was not a cheap trick to sneak a peek. It was fate or providence, I’m telling you…. DON’T JUDGE ME!!!)

Mr. Daddy offers a cold bottled water as rudimentary pain relief, between howls of laughter. Definitely not a painless way to impress the man you want to marry.

(Mr. Daddy in: I offered to kiss it to make it feel better…. But ya’ll can imagine how that went down, when she smacks me for just takin’ a picture of her cute butt…)

~

Fast forward to yesterday… I still make funny faces while shooting.

(the additional clips in my pocket add 10 pounds.  the double chin is just a figment of your imagination, k?)

I quickly get back to shooting my favorite weapon – my Canon.  (Oh HUSH Dana).

In case you missed it, I caught this awesomesauce shot of Mr. Daddy firing away:

 

And then we come to the crazy part of our story… See, that redneck man of mine has convinced this city chick that it is important for kids to learn gun safety from a young age.  We live out in the country and there is good reason to pack self-defense where wild animals are concerned.

So I (freaking out city chick) watched as my husband thoroughly instructed Itty Bit on the finer points of making sure no one gets hurt.  He then carefully let Itty Bit help hold the gun.

And dangit… wouldn’t you know?

That hot shell casing flipped out, hit underneath the rim of his hat, then fell at his feet.

(See it in the pictures?)

 

For the record… he thought it was hi-larious.

 

Me?  I’m still in shock that the kid who held a .22, is the same one I can’t get to stop licking the windows…

 

~

King Julien is convinced we live in The Truman Show.  Got any stories that qualify?  Something outrageous, hilarious, miraculous, and true?  Just grab the TST button, paste it into your post, and link back here.  We’ll be around for some comment love!

I Heart Faces–May People’s Choice!

 

How fun is this?  It’s the Best Face Photo from May, People’s Choice Contest!

I snapped this shot yesterday while learning how to use that scary Manual setting!

Let’s just say that I probably “shot” as many rounds as my husband did while hoping to catch the action..!

Living in the country, I’m glad he’s as skilled as he is… those bear track scare me!

Here he was unloading an entire clip and shell casings were flying everywhere… (thankfully, not at ME this time!)  And for once, I caught the muzzle flash!

 

 

Head on over to I Heart Faces for some more May favorites!

Have I Ever Introduced You?

 

In the therapy of writing about my Mother-In-Love’s diagnosis and the determination to squeeze the most out of our days… have I ever introduced you to the love of her life?

This man… he loves her without reservation.  He puts her first, she puts him first – and the end result is a rock solid love story that has spanned six decades.

To paint an image of how they treasure each other, is to realize that one of her greatest frustrations while undergoing chemo and radiation?  Is that she is banned from household duties.  Expressing equal parts gratitude and consternation while someone else prepares meals.  All because this was an undeniable part of her labor of love for her life-friend.

And he?  Is full of life and humor.  Has amazed 30 years of grandkids with his spot on Donald Duck impersonation. Taught three generations how to change the oil in their car.  Prayed over his growing family and invested in their lives.

Never too busy to spend time at the playground with grandkids and great-grandkids.

(I want to be like him at 80 years old… doing pull-ups??  Gah!)

 

And always there to pick them up when they’ve stumbled.

Willing to incur the Homeowners Association’s wrath with the gong…

 

Always ready to lend a helping hand.

 

Believing in the value of honest work and passing down to generations by example.

Enjoying moments that may never come again.  Sweet tea in the backyard.

And as much as I enjoy the blessings he brings into our lives… there is nothing more precious than the example he sets by the way he loves.

This picture makes me weep because I know those hands have cared for his bride for an entire lifetime.  And they now pray for her, desperately and earnestly.

 

Grateful, so grateful.

Letters of Intent–Outta Juice

 

Dear Texaco Manager,

You know it’s bad when the GAS STATION runs out of gas, right?

It would have been really helpful if you had put up some signs or something.  Instead… you watched me through a window as I tried 1400 ways to make the pump work.  Then moved my car to try another pump.

And in the end… I got exactly eleven cents charged to my credit card.

Being the OCD chick that I am, I certainly DO need that receipt…

And it sucks that you were out of PAPER too.

Seriously?

 

So I sent Mr. Daddy in to get a receipt… not because I was ashamed of asking for an eleven cent receipt, but because I was getting really grumpy that we stopped for gas and were late to Itty Bit’s t-ball game - and STILL running on fumes.

(You’re welcome… Mr. Daddy was much nicer than I would have been.)

 

So I grumbled about the

“they shoulda put a sign up about being out of gas”

and the

“can they at least refill the receipt thing?”

but

 

the kicker was still to come.

 

As we pulled out, I realized that you were back in your previous original spot… sitting outside of the pumps on concrete step…

SMOKING.

 

GAH.

(insert sound effect)

Sincerely,

You’ve Officially UnEarned My Business

 

~

Dear Itty Bit,

I’m sorry.

I couldn’t help it.

Genetics are impossible to predict.

But I sure am sorry that you got your Momma’s OUCH gene.

Tickle Ouch

(How did we both do this in the same week???)

Love,

Your Momma Who Is Helmet Shopping

 

~

Got any letters to write?  Join up with King Julien by clicking below!

The Facebook Status That Won’t Die

 

Do you remember that one?  The one where we started out with a rather harmless rant… and then bounced all over the place for ONE THOUSAND NINETY-SIX comments?

Seriously – quick – go check the Readers Digest Condensed version here and I’ll wait ‘til you get back.  It is pee your pants funny (I have hilarious bloggy friends)

Well… my super-duper-famous-photographer friend that came to visit a couple weeks ago happened to be familiar with that particular conversation.

(Yes, I get moonie-eyes when I smile.  The more I squint, the happier I am)

See, we took her down to the water’s edge so she could experience the Pacific Ocean on her toes (you’re welcome Dana, for not posting that picture… I love that you kinda sorta freaked out about it, ha! :)

While we were there, she snagged a shot of my husband holding some adorable little sand critters.

Sweet, huh?

 

Until this showed up on Facebook:

And the beauty of it?  She captioned it, “MR. DADDY HAS CRABS”

 

Oh for the love of bladder control.

 

I about passed out when I saw it… and then guffawed my way through the comments.

If you recall this particular part of the original conversation:

 

Poor Shana had taken some heat for referring to her crabs without all of the commenters realizing that Shana has HERMIT crabs.  She has NOT lived this one down.

And apparently, Mr. Daddy decided to have a little fun with this (in his quest to embarrass his wife at least once daily in a public setting):

 

As if it weren’t enough to be humiliated globally… my sister delivered the punchline:

 

(Yes, I realized that I misspelled “someone”, and that is royally bugging me.  However, give me credit for typing semi-coherently when I was about to wet myself)

Thanks Dana and Shana for being such good sports!  I mean, even if you do have an unhealthy obsession with crabs…

Now that you’re reading here… are YOU afraid to comment? :)

 

Disclaimer #1:  No crabs were harmed in the making of this post.

Disclaimer #2:  My husband does not, I repeat, NOT, have crabs.

True Story Tuesday–Waiver Schmaiver

 

Y’all remember how I got beat up by housecleaning last week, right?

(Somebody save me from my illustrative skills)

 

You’d think I could finally take it easy and recover from my injuries, no?

 

(If you’re new here, the answer is NO.  Of course not… Rachel = accident prone)

 

But with high hopes, we headed to a local bounce house for Itty Bit’s birthday celebration.

And if you get nothing out of this post whatsoever (except a profound sense of gratefulness that you are not spectacularly clumsy) – take this:

FAKE MOUSTACHES ARE THE WORLD’S BEST PARTY FAVOR

 

 

 

 

Our Birthday Boy was far too busy playing for his new facial hair to stick around long…

He was a sweaty little blur – but he couldn’t get enough.

 

And this my friends… is where my legendary injury-attraction begins.  Right in front of that very first step up the ladder to the giant slide.

See, the party plan let one parent in free per child.  And since I knew Mr. Daddy wasn’t going to lose his redneck status by doing something so undignified… I jumped right in (pun fully intended).

(look close, you can still see the lovely burn on my arm)

The real show started while gearing up for another run.  I stood on the inflatable, sideways at the base of the ladder.  I hollered for Itty Bit to join me.

Little Jo was excited for another run too.

Except Little Jo forgot that she isn’t quite so Little anymore.

I think the intent was to jump beside me… but instead… well, she jumped on me.

And as I felt the wall of the inflatable giving way behind me…

…ever seen this?

 

 

Except that we had a two-for-one special.

I kid you not.  The inflatable vaulted us both backwards through the air, OVER the wall of the inflatable

…into the video game section.

I literally flew through the air like this:

My head hit first.

I crashed into a half-wall that was protecting the video games, and that beautiful pike position meant that my formerly-intact shin also greeted the very intact half-wall.

Little Jo came crashing down on top of me, and I was only able to partially break her fall before both of our heads hit the concrete floor with sickening thuds.

We drew an instant crowd.  Especially when my sister spotted blood on the floor and we couldn’t immediately figure out who the bleeder was.

While Little Jo became a wee bit hysterical (I love you, silly girl), I decided to stick with the tried-and-true avoid throwing up in public after a possible concussion thing.

I think the owners were slightly nervous that an ADULT had managed to injure themselves in a freak accident (as well as nearly taking out a couple of Frogger machines).

We both sat down with our respective ice packs and enjoyed the rest of the party from a safe distance.

 

Oh, and I found a perfect set of scratches on my arm from Little Jo’s journey as well.  That brings the total count to…

Waitaminute… I forgot the lovely broken toe from Mr. Daddy’s determination to scare the everloving snot out of me by gently touching my back while I was stalking a spider.  The graceful dancer that I am, shrieked, promptly fell to the floor on top of the spider, and contorted my poor appendages in directions they should not naturally go in an effort to save myself from the miniscule insect.  Broken toe.  Thank you, Dear.

 

(Seriously… I sucked at Pictionary)

 

Oh… an ironic epilogue?  Any wonders where I got the let’s try something fun and dangerous gene?  Here’s my mom and sister AFTER two of us had already gotten hurt:

 

 

What about you?  Any crazy injuries?  Historic blunders?  Outrageous or amazing tales?

We’d love to have you join in!  True Story Tuesday is all about those almost-too-good-to-be-true stories that are told every year at family reunions.  You can even use an existing post (because Lord knows, we’ve probably all blogged them at some point?) – just copy and paste the button from the sidebar into your post, come back and link up below.  We’ll be around for some comment love!