Two of my favorite people:
My nephew Jackson and his baby brother Eli.
Now that all 8 of the votes on the SSPL Facebook page have been tallied, we have a winner…Words Gone Wild: Mispronunciation. So check back in tomorrow to read all about it.
In the meantime, I figured that now that I’m reaching a ripe old age (in blog years), I might better start mixing it up a bit. Don’t worry, I’m not even close to running out of topics, but I thought I’d rest a spell and let other folks do the work.
Pour yourself a tall glass of sweet tea and head over to Saturday Evening Porch to hear about one blogger’s mother who hated all things tacky as much as my mom did.
If you’re feeling a bit peckish, check out Hippie Cahier’s unbelievably cute and yummy-sounding dirt cake. I’m thinking it must have been invented by a Southerner, seeing as it’s neither dirt, nor cake. P.S. Hippie Cahier is not really a hippie. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
If you’ve ever A. been kept awake by monsters or B. been irritated by a sibling, you’ll appreciate Hyperbole and a Half’s scariest story post.
Stephanie at Stuff Christian Culture Likes expounds on the epidemic of PDA via Facebook that may have affected a couple near you. And if you are one of the couple’s she’s described and the post gets your dander up, well…
Tori at The Ramblings has just the solution: PROTEST! Bring your own sign and crabby attitude.Well, that’s it till tomorrow.
Feel free to share your favorite finds from the interwebs. But keep it PG-13, folks. My dad and other Baptists read this blog. I don’t want to get myself protested.
stuff southern people like 
Haha! That sign is hilarious! I just show up at a protest hoping there are a few happy people and some cocktails 🙂
Yes, that sign seems very British to me. Cocktails add a special touch to any protest. Nothing like an angry mob of drunks to effect social change.
I once ran away from home with my trusty vinyl copy of Seven & the Ragged Tiger in tow. I may have to blog about that. (I can feel the shame rising up already. Not sure if it’s because I was a runaway or because I was a male Durannie…)
Oh, that’s HI-larious. You must write about it. We had sort of a Duranie clique in high school and there was one male Durannie who was desperate to get in. Can’t remember what his actual name was, but his adopted French moniker was “Xavier.” So there’s at least one other male Durannie out there. And I’m sure you were way cooler than “Xavier.”