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text 2019-09-27 19:19
Troubleshooting steps to develop Chase QuickBooks Online Connection

QuickBooks has updated a connection with the Chase bank and certain issues started appearing thereafter of Chase QuickBooks Download Problem.

Firstly, Sign in to your QuickBooks Online account, now select banking from the dashboard and choose the bank account that you want to update. When you see the notification “Your Chase Bank connection is getting an update” Click Update and verify the second step of verification within 2 minutes after getting the popup. Finally, Select Continue to update the account. If the above steps still do not solve the Chase QuickBooks Download Problem, the QuickBooks Support team is just a call away (844)-888-4666.

Source: accountinghelplineus.mystrikingly.com/blog/rectify-the-chase-quickbooks-download-problem
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text 2017-11-28 07:03
Release Day - Not Broken Anymore


Blurb: Football is everything, but love is the only game that matters.

Tate Durham, the newest Philadelphia football hottie, has been in love with Gia Capri since the moment he laid eyes on her back in college. Unfortunately, that happened the same night her destructive and doomed relationship with the troubled Matt Lampert began. Tate didn’t stand a chance. 

In the year since Matt took his own life, Gia’s been sleep-walking through her days and just barely surviving her nights. She’s not sure that she’s capable of anything else . . . until Tate finds her sitting on the floor of a grocery store, crying over potato chips.

Tate’s patience and honesty begins to heal what’s broken in Gia’s soul. Still, no matter how hard he tries—or how much he loves her—making her whole again might take more than he can give.

But love never gives up. And neither will Tate.



Buy Links:

Amazon ~ iBooks ~ Kobo ~ Nook ~ Google ~ Books2Read



#99cents Keeping Score Boxed Set:








“So . . . no pressure, either outright or implied, right?” I spoke slowly, feeling my way. “You won’t push me, and you won’t . . . I don’t know, look at me or touch me in ways that could be construed as pressure?”


I expected Tate to agree readily, but he hesitated. “I don’t know if I can promise that. I’ll do my best not to gaze at you soulfully, and I’m not the kind of guy to mope around after anyone, but I can’t say you might not see what I’m feeling in my eyes. Can’t help that.”


I laughed a little. “You know, dude, if you were any other man, when I asked why you were here, you would’ve just fed me the friends-only line. I might not have bought it, but it would have given us both plausible deniability.”


Tate rested his chin on his hand and smiled serenely at me. “I’m not any other man.”


For a solid moment, I felt electricity crackle between us, and I couldn’t breathe. This was new, this hyper-awareness of another person, and I didn’t know quite what to do with it. I stared at Tate as my brain scrambled to figure out what to say or do next.


And then he sighed, breaking the spell.


“Ready for dessert?” He pushed back his chair and reached for my plate, carrying both his and mine to the sink. I cleared my throat and attempted to find normal again.


“Dessert? Need I remind you that we ate the cannoli several hours ago, when you claimed we hadn’t eaten lunch, and you were on the verge of starvation? Or did you buy a cake when I wasn’t looking? Or are you planning to whip something up in the next twenty minutes?”


Tate quirked his eyebrow at me over his shoulder. “Twenty minutes? Does that mean you’re tossing me out at nine?”


“No.” I shook my head and played with the spoon still in front of me. “It was just a figure of speech.”


“Good to know. But to answer your question, no, I didn’t buy any baked goods, and I’m not going to toss something together now. Nothing I have to bake, that is.” He rinsed off the scrubbed the plates with my new dish brush and set them into the drainer before turning to the fridge. “C’mon, woman. On your feet. This is something you can help me with.”


I stood up, watching as Tate withdrew the berries he’d bought. Dumping them into the colander, he washed them carefully before picking up the cutting board he’d used earlier to chop the potatoes.


“I’ll slice these if you’ll handle the whipped cream.” He reached for a knife.


I frowned. “We didn’t get any whipped cream.”


“Sure, we did.” Tate opened the refrigerator again, this time emerging with a small milk carton in his hand, which he set down on the counter in front of me. “Here you go.”


“Just what am I supposed to do with this?” I saw the words on the container. Heavy whipping cream clearly meant that whatever was inside the cardboard could somehow be transformed into the frothy goodness I loved, but I had no earthly idea how to go about making it happen.


“You’re going to whip it.” He winked at me. “Whip it good. I’ll get you started.”


I watched him moving around the kitchen, and I thought again how odd it was that such a large man could have such grace. I was willing to bet that it came from playing football, where I imagined his talent for maneuvering probably paid off.


Within a few moments, I had a small metal bowl, the brand-new electric hand mixer, a bag of powdered sugar and a bottle of vanilla laid out before me. I surveyed all of it with undisguised suspicion.


“Now pay attention, because this is tricky. Here’s the hardest part: dump the cream into the bowl.”


I rolled my eyes. “Ha, ha, ha, Mr. Smarty Pants Chef Guy. I think I can manage that.” I slid my thumb up the small crease and deftly opened the cardboard carton. The cream was thick and velvety as I poured it into the bowl. “Now what?”


“Plug in the mixer, submerge the beaters in the cream, and turn it on. Move it around a little now and then. And that’s pretty much it.” He turned back to his cutting board, slicing the tops of some luscious-looking red strawberries.


Gingerly, I dipped the shiny silver beaters into the liquid and used my thumb to move the switch to on. The small machine sprang to life, whirring in my hand. I held the bowl with my other fingers, staring into it, waiting for magic to happen.


A few minutes later, I was still waiting. “Tate, this isn’t working. It’s still just, like, cream.”


“Uh huh. Give it a little longer.” He didn’t even bother to look at me over his shoulder.


“But it isn’t changing. It’s just swirling around and around.” I raised my voice, in case he didn’t understand how serious this was. I was ruining the whipped cream.


“Yep, that’s how it works.” His voice remained serene and unconcerned.


I kept it up a little longer. “I think we must’ve gotten defective cream. It’s still all liquidy. Or maybe I messed it up.”


“The only way you can mess it up is if you whip the cream too long and it turns into butter. I don’t think you’re in danger of that yet.” He finished cutting up another berry, and drying his hands, stepped over to check out my work. “Okay, turn off the mixer for a minute, and then add some sugar and vanilla.”


I did as he instructed, resting the edge of the mixer against the side of the bowl. “How much?”


“Eh, two or three tablespoons of the powdered sugar and a couple of teaspoons of vanilla.”


I was troubled by his lack of precision in measurements. “Two or three? Which is it?”


Tate sighed. “Start with two. We don’t want it too sweet, just sweet enough.”


“All right.” I flipped through the measuring spoons he’d bought today and found the right one before I carefully measured the sugar into the bowl. Next I poured two precise teaspoons of vanilla. “I did it. Now what?”


“Back to whipping.” Tate used a paper towel to gently dry the blueberries. “Just incorporate all of that into it.”


Setting my jaw, I got back to work, peering intensely at the whirling white that was threatening to hypnotize me. The cream made a pretty design as it ran through the beaters, and it reminded me a little of snow. As a matter of fact, it almost looked like . . .


“Tate!” I flicked off the mixer again. “It worked! It’s thickening. Look!” I stood back so that he could see into the bowl without moving away from his spot at the cutting board.


“Excellent. I knew you could do it. Now keep it up a little longer. It’s not quite ready yet. But watch it, because too long there and it really will turn into butter.”


“Huh.” I squinted down, nearly afraid to look away in case what was in the bowl might suddenly betray me. “Does it honestly happen that fast?”


“Nah. I mean, hypothetically speaking, if you had a stand mixer, and you were whipping cream, and you got distracted doing something else while it was mixing, and you forgot to check on it for a while . . . then yeah, it’s a possibility. But you’re on it.” He scooped all of the berries into a round glass bowl and moved over to stand closer to me. “I think you’re good now. See how it’s forming nice peaks?”


I did see, and I felt an unaccustomed surge of pride. “I did it. I can’t freaking believe it, but I made whipped cream.”


“Yes, you sure did.” He swiped one finger into the cream and stuck it into his mouth. “Mmmmm, and you got the flavor right, too. Just sweet enough.” Before I could protest, he stuck that same finger back into my bowl again.


“Hey! Yuck! No double dipping. You’re going to ruin my masterpiece.” I scowled up at him.


“But I wanted you to have a taste, too.” So saying, he held up his whipped cream-covered finger a few inches from my lips. “Don’t you want to try it?”


My heart thudded a little. I hadn’t done anything like this . . . touched my tongue to any part of any man . . . for a long time. I swallowed and resisted the urge to fan myself. The kitchen was all of a sudden much warmer than it had been.


With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and lifted my mouth to his hand, closing around the creamy goodness. The second the flavor hit my tongue, I forgot all about how it got there.


“Oh . . . my . . . God.” I moaned the words. “That is amazing. So much better than the stuff I get in the can.”


“The real thing always is better.” Tate’s voice was hoarse, and he slid his finger out of my mouth. As I watched, he turned his back to me, busying himself with pulling out two small plates and a couple of forks. I wondered what I might have seen in his eyes if he hadn’t turned away. I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to deal with what whatever might have been there.


“Grab a spoon for your, uh, masterpiece, and let’s eat.” He lifted the berries on the cutting board and set the whole thing down on the table. “Serious conversations make me hungry.”


I rolled my eyes. “Is there anything that doesn’t make you hungry?”


Dragging out his chair, he shot me a wicked smile. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. And lucky girl, you’ll get to find out, because as long as you’ll let me, I plan to spend as much of my free time with you as possible.”



*** CLICK HERE for Spotify Playlist for Not Broken Anymore ***





Author Bio:


Tawdra Kandle writes romance, in just about all its forms. She loves unlikely pairings, strong women, sexy guys, hot love scenes and just enough conflict to make it interesting. Her books include young adult and new adult paranormal romance, new adult and adult contemporary romance and adult paramystery romance. She lives in central Florida with a husband, kids, sweet pup and too many cats. And yeah, she rocks purple hair. 


Author Social Media Follows:

Facebook/Twitter/Instagram/Pinterest/Google Plus/Website/Newsletter











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text 2015-09-10 07:39
A Mostly Botanical Foray


This post is going to be all over the place. It is not just about a plant. It is what I found as I kept looking up stuff that led me to other stuff and so on. Here goes:


Stellarioides tenuifolia belongs to the Asparagus family. That means, a) it is going to be pretty, b) it is bulbous (not that all of them are bulbous)





The flower does not have petals but tepals with a green line that is beautifully visible in both pictures.


That takes care of the bulbous part


The tepals are not there just to look pretty, though. Remember that a stigma is like a helipad for the pollinators? This plant has evolved so that it uses its tepals as a functional helipad - in plant world, that is a big deal! Also, I have pictures:



Something else that makes this asparagasine (totally making it up) member stand out is its chromosome number. Humans have 46 chromosomes in each cell. Having so  many chromosomes does not make you research-friendly and that is one of the reasons that geneticists love Arabidopsis.


The plant under today's spotlight is one of the six plants that has the lowest chromosome number i.e. 4!


Another of the low chromosome-numbered sextuplets


And another one


The award for the lowest ever goes to male ants, Myrmecia pilosula  that have only one.



The highest number can be found in the fern, Ophioglossum reticulatum, which has 1260 chromosomes per cell.


This guy


Then while searching, I came across:


Don't let anyone convince you that the number of chromosomes affects the complexity of the organism, either. It's true that simple bacteria have only one chromosome, but look at these numbers: domestic cats have 19 pairs of chromosomes, and Geometrid Moths have 112 pairs. Moths are definitely not 6times more complex than cats, even though 6 x 19 equals about 112! And don't forget about the ferns with over 1,000 pairs.


I then found proof of this too! A ciliate (for simplicity's sake, a tiny organism with cilia for movement) has about 15,600 chromosomes! It is also much much smarter than us since about 96% of all genetic material is repetition and this organism filters all the garbage out, keeping only what it needs to survive on a daily basis. (It does not hurt that it has two nuclei, one of which stores all DNA - garbage and all)


Try to read the whole article, it boggles the mind how complicated this creature is!


My last foray led me to this article that just freaked me out! It talks about B chromosomes that are not part of the actual genetic makeup and are extra. The authors seemed determined to scare the shit out of me by saying stuff like:


There are also significant biological questions concerning the origin and structural organization of Bs, and the way in which these selfish elements can establish themselves by exploiting the replicative machinery of their host genome nucleus.




and, in general, it is a truism that in higher numbers they are deleterious, especially to fertility.


Like I said, freaky!


#BPotD #Botany #DNA #Chromosome #WhoCares


Source: www.botanicalgarden.ubc.ca/potd/2015/09/stellarioides-tenuifolia.php
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text 2015-06-16 18:34

Oh, Dark Fuse has declined my request (again). Seriously, nowadays I request books from Dark Fuse knowing I will be rejected so no really hard feelings when the inevitable mail comes. Wrong country is my best guess...


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review 2015-05-02 17:26
Take This Book Away From Me
Visions of Heat - Nalini Singh

“The darkness would never again steal a life. Even if Faith had to end his.”


“Used to cold silence, Faith NightStar is suddenly being tormented by dark visions of blood and murder. A bad sign for anyone, but worse for Faith, an F-Psy with the highly sought after ability to predict the future. Then the visions show her something even more dangerous - aching need...exquisite pleasure. But so powerful is her sight, so fragile the state of her mind, that the very emotions she yearns to embrace could be the end of her.

Changeling Vaughn D'Angelo can take the form of either man or jaguar, but it is his animal side that is overwhelmingly drawn to Faith. The jaguar's instinct is to claim this woman it finds so utterly fascinating and the man has no argument. But while Vaughn craves sensation and hungers to pleasure Faith in every way, desire is a danger that could snap the last threads of her sanity. And there are Psy who need Faith's sight for their own purposes. They must keep her silenced - and keep her from Vaughn.”




This is the second book on the Psy-Changeling series and even more intense than the first one. Boy, if the third book keeps this pace I won’t survive more than a few pages.



The Psy-Changeling series changes the main POV in every book. We had Sascha on the first one, this time we have Faith. In many ways, Faith was more likeable to Sascha mainly because her changes, although extreme, seemed completely natural. Her adaption to emotions took time enough for it to seem believable.


I’ll give extra points for the author in here. Nalini Singh didn’t erase the characters from the last book completely on this one. She adapted the book to have them in a more side plotted point, but they were still important nonetheless.


This book is intense. It’s been some time since I haven’t read a book so fast, but it’s was hard to keep my eyes out of the pages for long. I don’t care much about the sex scenes, but the plotline, the characters, the dialogue, everything was screaming of fire and I don’t think this book is called “Visions of Heat” without reason.



I’m so addicted I can’t even call this series guilty pleasure anymore. It’s just plain pleasure. I need the next book. I’M TAKING MONEY FROM MY RETIREMENT BACKUP,GUYS.


Sentence: I am boucing around like a demented rabbit. Recommended!



Edit: So apparently the next book will have a male Psy as the main character. GOOD.





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