*shrug*...I'm not a CSE

(a CSE is LETU lingo for a computer science engineer).

So I'm super frustrated this morning. I am trying to link several blogs to my site and it's not happening. When I changed the look of my blog several months ago I lost all that coding. *sigh*
This brings me to another problem. I just used the word "coding". How weird is that? I have a business degree. It's just weird to have knowledge of coding and HTML and stuff. Why do I know this? I went to school with Nerds. Real live ones. Just like you get out of the box!

And really the whole reason I was trying to link blogs was because of Jasien's blog. I wanted to link it before I forgot and while I was at it I figured I could add Brad, Corrie, Laura, Shane, Dre, Drew... and the list goes on.

On another blogworthy note: we almost burned the house down again. We've only owned it since March. And this will be Close Call #2. Read about the first one in my archives. So here's the scoop. Dre has been wanting me to teach her how to cook since she moved in. No big deal, right? Not when we're entertaining guests! And boys to boot! In a perfect world, we would have had a practice run-- but I'm rambling now, so back to the Story of the Flaming Tortillas.

Dre is keeping the food warm in the oven. All is going well-- I'm terribly nervous, but that's my nature. I ask Dre to make sure the oven is on 'warm' so that the food just does just that-- stays warm. We later discover that the "Broil" setting isn't the best way to do that. So, Laura pops through the kitchen and "smells something burning". My back was to the over- so I turn around to find flames leaping from the oven. Dre is paralyzed. ::cue superhero music::

So... being the Cooking Goddess/Rescuer that I am... I open the oven. MORE FLAMES. This is not good. I am having flashbacks of laying carpet and tile. Painting until I can only hold my arms above my head. (This isnt' good on a Sunday morning at a Baptist church) All that time spent helping Vanessa remodel that house... down the drain.

Dre is now screaming, "Do something, Beth! do something!" So, I grab the ever handy ladle (the one that helped me rescue Vanessa from a snake several weeks ago) and pull the plate from the oven. MORE FLAMES. I'm now realizing that oxygen=more fire. I guess I missed that lecture in science class. Laura is now yelling too. I'm assuming that they think their yelling is helping me. It's not... it's making me laugh. So, I grab a pot holder and grab the plate and take it into the front yard. When I come back into the house-- we realize that the boys will be here SOON. Not good. 'Cause if we want to make ourselves look like wife material (and our mothers have declared us all four Old Maids) we've got to eliminate the smoke smell. The smell good candle lighting ensues. The sashes are thrown open! (I've always wanted to say that.) And... the smell eliminated. Or at least the guys didn't make fun of us for it, in fact, they were super greatful.

All in all-- Dre's lesson went well.