I'll start with this

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I don't feel like messing around with blogger to try to get all my pictures in chronological order, so they will appear in random order. Which is what I've been told I am. Random. And BTW, (that was for you Danelle) what-the-fire is up with blogger? I use to be able to shuffle around my pics but now, not so much. And do you know how hard it is to write when Miguel keeps talking? Something about he made a vow and I'm not really that retarded and he got paid a lot of money to take care of me... Whatever. All that money? I spent it. On my private jet and candy stash. My private invisible jet that whisks me away to wherever I want whenever I want. I'm Wonder Woman.
While driving 18 hours and exactly 1,000 miles to arrive at your destination with three children under the age of 10 (I'm not complaining - I know there are others who have more and younger - I'm just saying...) it is imperative you stop for the occasional exercise and potty break. I can't think of a better way than jumping off mounds of gravel to get the wiggles out. It works for moms and dads as well as young 'uns in their jammies. Seriously, it feels amazing to jump off a tall hill. Kinda like flying. Only you don't stay aloft for longer than 1/2 a second. And there are no engines or wings involved. And I only flapped my arms wildly one time, just to see what would happen. Nothing did. Way fun.




There is a lot of country, A LOT OF COUNTRY, between our home and our destination. There is also a lot of wildlife to be seen along the way. I've got the photos to prove it.

I never said they were actual living, breathing wildlife creatures, just that we were supposed to see all of them and do you know what? We only saw like 12 antelope and maybe 4 or 5 wild donkeys. That's right. I said wild donkeys. And I would like to draw special attention to the two cattle signs. Here on this side of the state line, we have bulls that look like a matador is waving his big red cape and the bull is getting ready to charge. Kindof like the running of the bulls in Spain. Only not in Spain. On that side of the state line, you have boring old dairy cows who look like they live for standing there just so they can mooooooo.
And this is where I will leave you until next time. K?

Comments

Danielle said…
Um....I miss you. BTW, next time I see you, will you dress up like a matador-ess and jump off a gravel pit while flapping your arms? Heeeeeeee. Haw.
July 22, 2009 at 11:28 AM
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