tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197354242024-03-07T10:16:37.392-08:00The Musings of a Wandering MindJoin me on the journey.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger129125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-91768547536333431862009-12-23T09:21:00.000-08:002009-12-23T10:32:50.959-08:00The Christmas Season<p><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tXXwtFWpAI8&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tXXwtFWpAI8&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /></p><p><span style="font-size:180%;color:#ff0000;">Merry Christmas!</span></p><p>I know it's been a ridiculously long time since I've blogged, but I couldn't let my favorite holiday go by without a shout-out to my blog friends.</p><p>Christmas is easily my favorite time of the year. I love the lights, and the snow, and the music, and how everyone is a little nicer and a little happier. I love giving presents, and I love getting presents.</p><p>Most of all, I love how hearts seem to turn to the Savior at this time of year. I know mine does. For me, Christmas is about salvation. We celebrate the birth of a baby in a manger because that baby would eventually suffer and die for our sins, and for our infirmities. We celebrate His birth because of His life.</p><p>At this season, I am eternally grateful for the priceless gift of salvation. I have been blessed to have a sure knowledge of God's love and His eternal plan. He has continually blessed me, far above what I think I deserve. I see His hand everywhere in my life. But mostly, He is always there for me in times of trial or heartache. He is always by my side, lending a helping hand. He provided a way for me to return to my Heavenly Father. What greater gift is there?</p><p>May we remember the blessings of our Savior during this Christmas season, for He truly is the reason for the season.<br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-77549516577268907342009-07-14T20:01:00.000-07:002009-07-14T20:13:12.495-07:00No More Plastic!<div>Today is my 25th birthday.</div><br /><div>It's been a good day. I went to work, where they bought me a birthday cake. I got a pedicure, thanks to the gift certificate given me by a good friend. Now my toes look freaking adorable. I went to dinner with my mom and dad.</div><div> </div><div>The best part, though, is the present I got from my mom and dad. I've been eating off a plastic table with two plastic chair. Not the most classy thing. The other day I found this on Craigslist: </div><br /><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqbaEuhOSyhlc_XwgS6AQoiHI1E5rAZb2YzYyv7mCn1j0rgdh0oC4jIlgFIPeufQ8HsEuob5GYUTp_SdaBBlc5MrYvLa1rmjrx95rRJhTNMlCKloAvnVU5IP_1exO7ccWTOupnw/s1600-h/Table.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358519226409972146" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 241px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqbaEuhOSyhlc_XwgS6AQoiHI1E5rAZb2YzYyv7mCn1j0rgdh0oC4jIlgFIPeufQ8HsEuob5GYUTp_SdaBBlc5MrYvLa1rmjrx95rRJhTNMlCKloAvnVU5IP_1exO7ccWTOupnw/s320/Table.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><div> And only $65, which is a total steal! </div><div><br />Check out the detail on the table:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5u6Vh6bxC3WR5ahvNuuSm5WX_cfX28KYXrabI1_hUJ8km00TkYGLDtzvK6uu7LcnKzGlb-tFQlq0R8l-1nLjhafYr7U-0vLiyUHNXeymfRLD8Lx2DcnzjJX6eblzO4Bx-HGveJA/s1600-h/Table+detail.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358519230091103538" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 241px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5u6Vh6bxC3WR5ahvNuuSm5WX_cfX28KYXrabI1_hUJ8km00TkYGLDtzvK6uu7LcnKzGlb-tFQlq0R8l-1nLjhafYr7U-0vLiyUHNXeymfRLD8Lx2DcnzjJX6eblzO4Bx-HGveJA/s320/Table+detail.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div></div><div>And the chairs:</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3kSnEmuE8j81DE58-g4hK8s7EYZiwEH1V_zv0BBPujv3_BRB8f4JFWgiV5GL-uGN3G0HEo_FZ5MRJNObau_jaSwPoLAQYJOvFLczfKbbLhEtnTqM84NcvvaG4CdMb3n77I19uQ/s1600-h/Chair.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358519235016145826" style="WIDTH: 241px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3kSnEmuE8j81DE58-g4hK8s7EYZiwEH1V_zv0BBPujv3_BRB8f4JFWgiV5GL-uGN3G0HEo_FZ5MRJNObau_jaSwPoLAQYJOvFLczfKbbLhEtnTqM84NcvvaG4CdMb3n77I19uQ/s320/Chair.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>Don't you love it? Isn't it adorable? It's so me. And now I don't have to eat off plastic anymore. Except maybe plates, if I don't feel like doing dishes . . . </div><div> </div><div>Thanks Mama and Daddy!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-24850668807920580592009-05-28T17:44:00.000-07:002009-05-28T17:56:52.741-07:00Lazy DaysToday I was driving down a side street in town and I passed a little boy dressed in a Spiderman costume, riding his bike with his dad.<br /><br />I miss the summers of my childhood. Heck, I miss the summers of my college days.<br /><br />When I was little, I would spend the summer going to swimming lessons and the library, reading on our roof and playing outside. The backyard of the house I grew up in is still my favorite place in the whole world. I would ride my bike into town and stop at the Dairy King for a slushie on the way back.<br /><br />When I was in college, summers were for playing. One summer my frineds and I went campng every weekend. My roommates and I watched movies, made fro-yo runs and had friends over. It was a time for laying out in the park, going to the pool and enjoying life.<br /><br />Summer isn't quite the same now that I'm a full-fledged adult. I still enjoy the long days and warm nights, but it doesn't have the same carefee quality it used to have. I can't stay out late because I have to work the next day. I can't spend the day at the pool because I have to spend the day listening to copiers run (I'm worried about toner lung).<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I'm lucky to have it, and I enjoy my days. I just miss the days of dressing up like Spiderman and riding your bike with Dad.<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTGaRzKekM52Ben9UXk7NSyE_6IRRF29SWxzNbXwRPX9ZLqdjnL3yBeW74eE7bDJcU7P5Im6h12Wl9jduOzA8vf1KwneSBulvdkry4ggxKv_xpeuQTLSdZSJI2f6UMDXr9Fi9Ww/s1600-h/friends.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341043283114775298" style="WIDTH: 282px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTGaRzKekM52Ben9UXk7NSyE_6IRRF29SWxzNbXwRPX9ZLqdjnL3yBeW74eE7bDJcU7P5Im6h12Wl9jduOzA8vf1KwneSBulvdkry4ggxKv_xpeuQTLSdZSJI2f6UMDXr9Fi9Ww/s320/friends.jpg" border="0" /></a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-87954680115121228772009-05-22T10:06:00.001-07:002009-05-22T10:06:52.497-07:00UpdateSaw a line of cars whizzing past Mensa Man this morning. When I passed him I said, "You have GOT to be kidding me!"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-79207693532652237892009-05-19T20:52:00.000-07:002009-05-19T21:06:48.483-07:00Mensa ManMost of my pet peeves regard driving. One of them is people who go under the speed limit. If you go the speed limit, I'm ok. If you go a couple under, I'm ok. If you go five or more under, I'll start twitching.<br /><br />There is this guy that I seem to run into a lot along the main road by my house. I know it's the same guy because he drives this little white car with a Mensa bumper sticker. I call him Mensa Man.<br /><br />Mensa Man drives 10 miles under the speed limit wherever he goes. The speed limit is 45? Mensa Man is going 35. There's a dozen cars piled up behind him while other whiz past him? Mensa Man doesn't care. He's sticking with his five under.<br /><br />You'd think with his high IQ and all, he'd be able to read and understand the speed limit signs.<br /><br />Now every time I'm behind a line of cars going under the speed limit, I think, "Mensa Man must be up there." I see the super smart son of a gun everywhere!<br /><br />The opposite of Mensa Man is this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJ7r4Md999mldB1KI_1MqiV7V3yime-IbUIPrdvDxtSZxsQmpxhxfWnBoEH3Ilfez8fwTnQkWrEouCu9oW76R0ym1bgDj2DQbimjDzTBgo87GHRX624CgMg9ShU3jjD5B6wTcnA/s1600-h/biker+chic.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337752376359429266" style="WIDTH: 261px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJ7r4Md999mldB1KI_1MqiV7V3yime-IbUIPrdvDxtSZxsQmpxhxfWnBoEH3Ilfez8fwTnQkWrEouCu9oW76R0ym1bgDj2DQbimjDzTBgo87GHRX624CgMg9ShU3jjD5B6wTcnA/s320/biker+chic.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I saw this driving home the other day (don't worry I just pointed the camera out the window and then cropped the picture). At first glance, it looks like any regular biker, but if you look closely, you'll notice the thin, shapely legs and the hair flying from under the helmet. It's a biker chick, and I only dream of being as cool as her.<br /><br />Mensa Man probably doesn't even dream. He probably grumbles and shakes his fist when she rides by. Mensa Man just doesn't appreciate coolness.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-2377286371377998282009-05-14T20:30:00.000-07:002009-05-14T20:44:55.131-07:00This Time I'm Not Making Any Promises<div>Once again, it's been forever. Maybe the problem is that my life is just too boring. I'm hoping to change that this summer.</div><br /><div>Last weekend I went to the Grand Junction Arts and Jazz Festival with my BFF Felicia. </div><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lFQvA-ewrWl0xqSNbHaeuuRF8WALAsLkRu0DsTQBzlk7HvYMouikLm3gfC3oCwkh9z3g7xzI2tQ5lZW6tfvBaM76SZ33N1xc96dXxwYhVnaNzs9pBu03x_Mn4sfptkBlHTReBA/s1600-h/felicia+point.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335890667435897058" style="WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lFQvA-ewrWl0xqSNbHaeuuRF8WALAsLkRu0DsTQBzlk7HvYMouikLm3gfC3oCwkh9z3g7xzI2tQ5lZW6tfvBaM76SZ33N1xc96dXxwYhVnaNzs9pBu03x_Mn4sfptkBlHTReBA/s320/felicia+point.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><div> She was working the festival, so we just wandered up and down the street. I checked out the goods, and she asked people for their zip codes and got blown off. </div><div><br />There was a lot of amazing stuff there! My favorite was the blown glass. There were several vendors with all different styles. I bought this blown glass pendent from an amazing mother-daughter team.</div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9t7wGTHXbCyQahor5QQc-_uj15xbGk_tM5v1HrQT65wPP03vJThBjrOKECMHnB7cP_YClT8HI45ZoPij2scuLCHMwscTGOEE9H_KCrwzjDHKcwVG3vIYxuDx33T8EP_NpGvQcAQ/s1600-h/Arts+and+jazz+pendant.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335890666071130610" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 241px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9t7wGTHXbCyQahor5QQc-_uj15xbGk_tM5v1HrQT65wPP03vJThBjrOKECMHnB7cP_YClT8HI45ZoPij2scuLCHMwscTGOEE9H_KCrwzjDHKcwVG3vIYxuDx33T8EP_NpGvQcAQ/s320/Arts+and+jazz+pendant.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><div> The daughter blows the glass and the mother makes necklaces. The mother has cancer, and when they found out she was going to lose her hair, her daughter learned to do henna. Now she does henna tattoos all over her mom's head every month. </div><div><br />There was also the most amazing photographer there. Here's a sample of his work. </div><div><br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVN9h-0i3JdoFvsWFxI1gdfykEmf7hop_WDkDnCK608OU9pV3LfFwq9Nuo9YDvnJnUAPCT_oEpuCB9ndB8i29LiVqfGKbtdVnyCU9xEWylWrL_JeL_dWphJvpnreMxAOqHAznyqQ/s1600-h/photo2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335890677228154178" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 242px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVN9h-0i3JdoFvsWFxI1gdfykEmf7hop_WDkDnCK608OU9pV3LfFwq9Nuo9YDvnJnUAPCT_oEpuCB9ndB8i29LiVqfGKbtdVnyCU9xEWylWrL_JeL_dWphJvpnreMxAOqHAznyqQ/s320/photo2.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><div> </div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcD_dTXWoI8-kuILinJhHNFXQBCpNI2pIVA9nRC-72c7keDvMEBUFRiAjE3pBxCgWFThab3GPHPpYqHPP2KQqR7xtuDJ-fKJtyLk0IZ-y3-x1XiBRBxEus5pZZMwBkpkPMCfT6Cg/s1600-h/photos1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335890673451268322" style="WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcD_dTXWoI8-kuILinJhHNFXQBCpNI2pIVA9nRC-72c7keDvMEBUFRiAjE3pBxCgWFThab3GPHPpYqHPP2KQqR7xtuDJ-fKJtyLk0IZ-y3-x1XiBRBxEus5pZZMwBkpkPMCfT6Cg/s320/photos1.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><div><br /><br />Downtown Grand Junction has a program called Art on the Corner. There are different sculptures all up and down Main Street. There are a lot of great ones, but this one was my favorite. The picture doesn't really do it justice.</div><div><br /> </div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzcPwbDsorh55Pg2ynAWfdS-CcVUBLrRPPU_L7bG7Fr4-wUV68LjflGRS09EuIbvyFrM7RXQiNK5Sx8fqhJlnGzMpVWVtaniAvOR2tVo4hIkCkRT1yYCcNCeOVOQcA7PJNQ47iw/s1600-h/art+on+the+corner.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335890669622659858" style="WIDTH: 241px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzcPwbDsorh55Pg2ynAWfdS-CcVUBLrRPPU_L7bG7Fr4-wUV68LjflGRS09EuIbvyFrM7RXQiNK5Sx8fqhJlnGzMpVWVtaniAvOR2tVo4hIkCkRT1yYCcNCeOVOQcA7PJNQ47iw/s320/art+on+the+corner.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><div><br /><br /></div><div>So that's what I've been up to. I want to say I'll write agains soon, but I'm not making any promises! </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-30047100077402701092009-03-26T20:09:00.000-07:002009-03-26T20:20:27.954-07:00I'm Baaaaack!I know, I know, I said that last time.<br /><br />Just give me a minute to explain. I swear, there are mitigating circumstances.<br /><br />The first problem was that my laptop up and died. There I was, catching up on my blogging (reading, not writing) and poof, it just stops! I took it to the geek squad to see if there was anything they could do and their verdict was that it was beyond hope and I should just let it go. Let's just say that put a definite cramp in my blogging style. I'm up and running and back online now, so I can't use that as an excuse anymore!<br /><br />The biggest problem has been me. Remember the Depression Post? I've been there again. Have I ever mentioned how much I really HATE THE WINTER? I hate and loathe it. Anyway, I'm mostly back now. Here's how I feel about that.<br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">The Hallalujah Chorus was supposed to be here but blogger had issues with<br />the html code. Stupid Blogger.<br /></span></em><br />Don't listen for too long. After about two and a half minutes they get off key.<br /><br />The moral of the story? I've been bad. I'm getting better. I've been really blessed this round, as much as anyone who can't get out of bed can be. I promise I'll try to blog more.<br /><br />xoxo,<br />Betsy<br /><br /><blockquote></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-69502679749640917042009-02-15T20:51:00.000-08:002009-02-15T21:07:02.711-08:00Miracle of Miracles! A Post!I haven't blogged in an embarrasingly long time. <br /><br />I'm ashamed of myself.<br /><br />Part of it is because winter tends to be a hard time for me, and I'd rather curl up in bed than type. Part of it is that I've been pretty busy. Mostly, though, I just haven't had much to say.<br /><br />But this has been the best week ever! And I wanted to share with my bloggy friends. <br /><br />Reasons this was the best week ever:<br /><br />1) Went to see "He's Just Not That Into You" with one of my friends. We were BFFs growing up, but we went to different colleges and sort of lost touch. We're living in the same town now, and we get together once in a while. The great thing is that it's not awkward at all. It's like we've just picked up where we left off. That's a true friend. Plus, the movie was super funny.<br /><br />2) I finally broke the 20lb mark! I've been flirting with it for months, but the holidays really threw me off. I didn't gain any weight, but I lost momentum. I have officially lost 21.4lbs, which means I'm back on my way.<br /><br />3) I got a(nother) raise! That makes three in six months. I so totally rock. When the boss called me in, I thought I was in for it, but he just gave me more money, and one of the best compliments I've ever had. He and the manager both said they had <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> given that many raises in the short of time. Ever. Seriously! I SO TOTALLY ROCK!<br /><br />4) With the raise also came paid time off. I don't recall that ever being discussed when I started. I get 3:20 every pay period. I've never had PTO before! I have a real job!<br /><br />5) I decided I wanted to celebrate my raise with some friends. I was concerned because I don't really have any here, but I made a few calls, and some girls came over to eat pizza and watch a movie. I haven't hung out with friends in ages, and it was so fun!<br /><br />6) I got <a href="http://www.pablospizza.com">Pablo's Pizza</a> for free. Pablo's is this amazing gourmet pizza place here, and it's a little pricey. I was willing to spring for it in celebration, but when I got there to pick up my order, they had no record of it. I had to wait about 15 min while they cooked it, but they gave me the pizza for free. Heck, I'll do just about anything for free pizza.<br /><br />7) This is possibly the best one, tied with the raise (have I mentioned that I rock?). There is this guy I've been hanging out with lately. He's . . . I can't think of one word to sum him up. He's smart and funny and kind and witty and handsome and tall and has the sexiest forearms I've ever seen. He's a little out of my league at the moment (and for the next 50lbs or so), but we have a lot of fun together and I was hoping we could be friends. I've called and texted him a couple times in the last couple weeks, but I didn't hear anything back. After watching "He's Just Not That Into You" I was convinced that he just wasn't that into me. Today, I found out that he lost his phone a little while back! It's the best news I've heard all day! He wasn't avoiding me! He was actually thinking about me! And then the clouds parted and angels sang the Hallelujah Chorus.<br /><br />I hope you have as great a week as I did.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-35502496213097679622008-12-14T18:33:00.001-08:002008-12-14T19:05:18.838-08:00Introducing . . .This is my Big Sister.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMFBl_tWWx9kqDaksoPvYFjoFItzTyhxKPQiyldIjCaYU2XvthMH3C2p5p8V0msQdn_0xpHavC9cekVz-551bRgg1axf0-CBqaGIj-wJT4UTjA2Ujuw43icAfXWkDi9qIF5rddg/s1600-h/Sara+blonde.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMFBl_tWWx9kqDaksoPvYFjoFItzTyhxKPQiyldIjCaYU2XvthMH3C2p5p8V0msQdn_0xpHavC9cekVz-551bRgg1axf0-CBqaGIj-wJT4UTjA2Ujuw43icAfXWkDi9qIF5rddg/s320/Sara+blonde.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279839949243299026" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Isn't she cute? This is kind of an old picture (as you can see by the date stamp) and she's not usually this blonde. But trust me, she's cute.<br /><br />I adore Big Sister. I look up to her. She sets and excellent example for me. On of her qualities that I admire the most is her ability to see the best in things. She always seems to be happy, or at least content, even when life isn't so great. She's all about "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."<br /><br />Now me, I'm more like, "Lemons? I don't need any freaking lemons! I need a boyfriend! What the heck and I supposed to do with stupid lemons?" <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ahem</span>. Sorry about that. Momentary outburst. We were talking about Big Sister.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGg8M0V5afTHhSd4bXXG6_Fj3uggCjPnqVNHaL__3qmtj_gGsfiGd5WNSZCSPJSwoR5IoWqCRn3FcoWy68rrb5ZwBKE3CbX3ByvfYE7MH_Rvz0z_PPU2xb8Csp1j50K3DMNkOAg/s1600-h/sj+5k.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGg8M0V5afTHhSd4bXXG6_Fj3uggCjPnqVNHaL__3qmtj_gGsfiGd5WNSZCSPJSwoR5IoWqCRn3FcoWy68rrb5ZwBKE3CbX3ByvfYE7MH_Rvz0z_PPU2xb8Csp1j50K3DMNkOAg/s320/sj+5k.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279839953752594210" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This is Big Sister and her husband, Brother-in-Law Numero Dos. We'll call him J for short. Or should we call him BiLND? Or #2? <span style="font-style: italic;">Hahaha! #2. Get it? I crack myself up. </span><br /><br />Anyway, the only time I really remember Big Sister <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> being content was when J was out of the country for two years. The last six months, she wouldn't even talk about him. She pined for him. They've been married for 4 1/2 years now, and she's still all stupid over him. It's pretty cute, when it doesn't make me puke.<br /><br />Big Sister and J have also been trying to get preggers for quite a while. They've had some trouble, with no apparent reason. They've tried all sorts of treatments with no luck, and recently decided to give in vitro fertilization a try. We'll find out around Christmas how successful it was.<br /><br />Big Sister also recently started a blog, <a href="http://qserasara.blogspot.com">"Que Sera, Sara?"</a> (Isn't she clever?) You can read about her IVF experiences <a href="http://qserasara.blogspot.com/2008/12/aliens-stole-my-softballs.html">here.</a><br /><br />Drop by and say hello. And send lots of baby thoughts their way!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-11483784685001302162008-12-13T22:11:00.000-08:002008-12-13T22:21:49.406-08:00She's Just so Cute!I know I promised a real post today, but I'm putting it off until tomorrow. For today, here are some pictures of the most adorable dog on the face of the earth. And she's mine, all mine! Bwah-ha-ha!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl1egSgX3urMdogsLcBqcaBW-m3AbKnYibzcJY3OHJYEPShlannqUTKoaH547EXjnYplfiLkOyD_NdWGVbyaJdFURkfnCNrkOL4YvfRMP2s_b-mtlHyl30rVKEXxWIIAQl6WSnMg/s1600-h/IMGP1511.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl1egSgX3urMdogsLcBqcaBW-m3AbKnYibzcJY3OHJYEPShlannqUTKoaH547EXjnYplfiLkOyD_NdWGVbyaJdFURkfnCNrkOL4YvfRMP2s_b-mtlHyl30rVKEXxWIIAQl6WSnMg/s320/IMGP1511.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279525497728891394" border="0" /></a><br /><br />She's a little camera shy. It's hard to get her to look.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvt9e6qm24wALrKCnpOhoPFmYFwAXwhl12p0pFTeDPHhahRDoKFDBLnQGo_DYk7ClDb1hbowgK-xCth4uUhNazyzu1tIges9AXyMp357nPoXJgKQQKwPTiSJfxk-pvc_v8gL6CA/s1600-h/IMGP1515.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvt9e6qm24wALrKCnpOhoPFmYFwAXwhl12p0pFTeDPHhahRDoKFDBLnQGo_DYk7ClDb1hbowgK-xCth4uUhNazyzu1tIges9AXyMp357nPoXJgKQQKwPTiSJfxk-pvc_v8gL6CA/s320/IMGP1515.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279525492580732370" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What? Why must you pester me so?<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7avdmJqXohyiNBFGS9pRZkeQixgaSFHHBaQfCyWfnnEuq_PctSQVMfs3yvvVSYi_-stFc1kcTUsKq5s6QGf3J2LgMZKaCweLZ55jkKK8zCBnBeWGzqqmrV9uOxOH7GvHCJ-0x_w/s1600-h/IMGP1517.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7avdmJqXohyiNBFGS9pRZkeQixgaSFHHBaQfCyWfnnEuq_PctSQVMfs3yvvVSYi_-stFc1kcTUsKq5s6QGf3J2LgMZKaCweLZ55jkKK8zCBnBeWGzqqmrV9uOxOH7GvHCJ-0x_w/s320/IMGP1517.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279525486210927362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Fine, take the stupid picture. Go ahead, show me off to all your friends. If you must.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlnZFb50G3NMU7sHcU5DOUG5s6MJAvxN7AV8K6GdtIhVeaPAXUzRKdRQ5u4IfJJybald4m1UAdX6lAwycjecoyJgercxHOzISloqL6vKgCIIWllH1wODwT51zv2HbJCTxtK537MQ/s1600-h/IMGP1533.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlnZFb50G3NMU7sHcU5DOUG5s6MJAvxN7AV8K6GdtIhVeaPAXUzRKdRQ5u4IfJJybald4m1UAdX6lAwycjecoyJgercxHOzISloqL6vKgCIIWllH1wODwT51zv2HbJCTxtK537MQ/s320/IMGP1533.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279525484723538786" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Seriously? </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJAQQBC7Z4ONTMVOQvnidfL-1WSXmFdDD_Zw5m7P0PoqqNwOTvuEeyRThH1fz7GAWLyL2vGdxqWUQ2lO7pZ1Obe13_FYg1OTXyoE3oSI9mPpgAAWsb4u3oXY8UuS1lhNMvWQmQ_A/s1600-h/IMGP1537.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJAQQBC7Z4ONTMVOQvnidfL-1WSXmFdDD_Zw5m7P0PoqqNwOTvuEeyRThH1fz7GAWLyL2vGdxqWUQ2lO7pZ1Obe13_FYg1OTXyoE3oSI9mPpgAAWsb4u3oXY8UuS1lhNMvWQmQ_A/s320/IMGP1537.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279525481264803042" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Zzzzzzzz . . . . Snnnooorrrkkk!<br /><br /></span>This is what happens after I get up in the morning. I let her out, get her some food, let her back in and get in the shower. When I get out, she's sacked out again, all snuggled up in my spot!<br /><br />And she actually does snore. Sometimes it keeps me awake. <br /><br />I'm not kidding.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-46857197374794665702008-12-12T16:58:00.001-08:002008-12-12T16:58:33.728-08:00UpdateI know I've been horrible about blogging, when I clearly implied I would be blogging every day this month. I promise a better update soon (like tomorrow) and I have a list of my kind deeds, but I needed to share this fabulous information.<br /><br />My pants are too big! Today, I wore my freshly washed jeans, and I was able to take them off without unfastening them. Just, <span style="font-style: italic;">whoosh! </span><br /><br />I think I need to invest in some belts.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-37934613954800585182008-12-07T01:00:00.000-08:002008-12-07T01:00:01.042-08:00Where Am I Going, and Why Am I in This Handbasket?!?I've been thinking lately about the world we live in.<br /><br />Generally, I'm an optimist. I know there are bad things out there, but I can usually focus on the good in the world; the good in people. Lately, though, I seem to be overwhelmed by the bad.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, I haven't forgotten the good, or given up on it. I know there are great, beautiful things about the world. I know people can be kind and loving and generous.<br /><br />But there's so much bad too.<br /><br />It seems like people have no moral code anymore. They don't expect there to be consequences for their actions. It's all so hedonistic - "Do what makes you happy, don't worry about others." I'm not just talking about the big stuff like murder and robbing banks. It's the small stuff that bothers me.<br /><br />People have affairs.<br />They give up on their marriages.<br />They betray their friends, they hurt their families.<br />People steal from their employers.<br />They're dishonest.<br />They speak of freedom and tolerance, but are intolerant.<br />People kill their babies, when there are so many who want a baby to love.<br /><br />My thoughts on liberalism and abortion are fodder for another post, but you see where I'm going. It's that people think only of themselves, of what's going to benefit them.<br /><br />I often feel like the world is lost. I feel like we've lost our sense of purpose. And I remember how blessed I am to know the things I know, to understand <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> purpose. The world can be a scary place, filled with confused people. I hope that when it comes time to fight for what's right, I'll know I'm on the right side.<br /><br />I drive past a church every day on my way to work. The other day, after this had all been weighing on my mind, the marquee said this:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"In a changing world, we can trust God's word."</span><br /><br />Truer than they know.<br /><br />-----<br />P.S. - Kind deed for 12/5 - I invited a co-worker to join me for a spinning class at my gym, which she just joined.<br /><br />Kind deed for 12/6 - I invited my roommate to come with some friends to the Parade of Lights.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-71092318851910779342008-12-04T19:29:00.000-08:002008-12-04T19:58:06.836-08:00Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep SwimmingI've been swimming since I can remember. In fact, I can remember my first bathing suit. It was a two-piece blue and green plaid with ruffles around the top and the waist. It was freaking adorable. And the only bikini I've ever worn. I could get away with it when I was two and cute.<br /><br />I took swimming lessons every summer, usually with my best friend Katie and her brother Justin. After a while Katie and Justin joined the summer swim club, which met for practice at 6:00am. Even at 10, I valued my sleep and was like, "No freaking way!" My mom still made me take lessons, though, on the basis that it was good exercise. In high school, I was on the swim team for two years, and I worked as a lifeguard.<br /><br />I've always loved swimming. I think part of it has to do with how graceful I feel in the water. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I'm decidedly <span style="font-style: italic;">un</span>graceful on land. Seriously. <span style="font-style: italic;">Anybody</span>. But in the water I'm smooth and light. I also like the feeling of being all alone. When I swim, it's just me and the water. I don't worry about anyone else. In fact, I don't even think about anyone else. Usually.<br /><br />Even though I was always chubby growing up, I never let that keep me from swimming. I loved it too much to let the opinions of a bunch of stupid people keep me from doing it. In the last 50 pound or so, though, I started to let it get to me. I never swam anymore. For a long time, I didn't even own a bathing suit.<br /><br />When I decided to get serious about losing weight, I decided I would start swimming again. I'll admit that it was hard at first, and not just because of the suit. Swimming is hard, I tell you! I thought I was going to die there for a minute. But it got easier, and it became more fun. It's still hard, but it's relaxing too.<br /><br />So I've been swimming twice a week for a while now. I always go after work, and the pool used to be dead at that time. I've even been the only one in there before. Now, though, there's always a bunch of people. I'm thinking maybe the people who exercised outdoors when it was warmer switched to swimming for the winter? I'm not sure, but I always seem to have to share a lane now.<br /><br />That brings me to my kind deed for the day : <span style="font-weight: bold;">I offered to share my lane with another swimmer, even though I hate sharing a lane and she was all geared up and I knew she would leave me in her bubbles. Luckily, she was nice enough not to lap me too many times.<br /></span><br />That's not really my point, though. My point is that today (and Tuesday) the pool was FA-REEZ-ING! Sure, pools are always a little chilly when you first get it, but you warm up once you start moving, right? Not here. I swam half a mile, and at the end, I was still cold. It was like swimming in tap water! Brrrr.<br /><br />The really annoying part about it was that I <span style="font-style: italic;">called</span> before I went to make sure the problem was fixed! The girl on the other end told me the problem had been resolved, and yet, I had to thaw out in the sauna afterwards (and this dorky teenage boy came in when I was in there - <span style="font-style: italic;">awkward</span>!). I stopped at the front desk on my way out to talk to someone about it, and the girl was a complete brat. I said that I had called, and the girl said, "Yeah, we got the parts in today and it was fixed today, but it takes a day or so for it to get back up to temperature." I said, "Well, you shouldn't tell people it's fixed if it's not." And <span style="font-style: italic;">she</span> said, "Um, it is fixed." All snotty-like. So I said, "But it's still freezing, so it's really not." Get this. She <span style="font-style: italic;">rolled her eyes</span> at me and said, "Fine, it's not."<br /><br />That brings me to my second kind deed for the day. I barely refrained from leaping across that counter and slapping Miss Prissy McSnotty-pants silly. It was an exceptionally charitable act, if you ask me.<br /><br />Man, <span style="font-style: italic;">nothing </span>makes me madder than lousy customer service.<br /><br />One benefit of all this swimming I'm doing is that my suit seems to fit a lot better. The girls aren't spilling out anymore. In fact, the girls don't spill out of anything anymore, hallelujah. And my clothes are all getting too big. I keep stepping on the hems of my pants because they're too long now that they waistband sits on my hips. I keep pulling them up, and it makes me feel like a <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=gomer">gomer</a>. Hard to complain about that, though!<br /><br />So, even as I drug myself shivering through the frigid waters (okay, that's a slight exageration), I was still pretty proud. I even finished off with my handstand. I always do a handstand at the end of my workout. It reminds me to have balance in my life. Plus, it's the only playing I get to do. And it makes me feel graceful.<br /><br />Then I went in the sauna until my teeth stopped chattering.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span><br /></span><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CmyUkm2qlhA&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CmyUkm2qlhA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-38432246022012667192008-12-03T20:31:00.000-08:002008-12-03T20:33:18.184-08:00December 3At the end of today I realized that I didn't do anything that was so much kind as not mean. I'm kind of embarrassed about that. Anyway, my thing is that I made an effort to make friendly, involved conversation with my roommate that drives me nuts. I usually go back and forth between ignoring her and wanting to kill her, so it was kind of an effort. Still, doesn't seem especially kind, does it? <br /><br />Tell me you did better.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-66332083521728415182008-12-02T20:11:00.000-08:002008-12-02T20:43:04.242-08:00Random Acts of Kindness and Sensless Acts of BeautyIn church this week we discussed kindness. We talked about how we could use kindness to bring our congregation closer, about how being kind is a key to happiness. At the end of the lesson, we were challenged to do a kind deed every day this month.<br /><br />I like to think I'm a kind person. I like to think that I do a kind deed every day without thinking about it. Still, it's an interesting thing to think about. One of the teachers said, "There is so much meanness in the world." That's so true, isn't it? Rudeness, gossip, road rage, intolerance. Personally, I think most of it stems from selfishness. We spend so much time thinking about ourselves that we forget the people around us. We see them as annoyances, instead of people with lives, loves, concerns and joys. Kindness is really the antithesis of selfishness. It's doing something for another person when you could just as easily only think of yourself.<br /><br />If selfishness is the cause of so many of the world's problems, it stands to reason that kindness could be the solution, doesn't it? Amelia Earhart said, <blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">"No kind action ever stops with itself. One kind action leads to another. Good example is followed. A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind themselves."</span> </blockquote> One kind deed a day doesn't seem like much, but if 100 people do a kind deed everyday, that's 100 people who are touched. 100 people who may do a kind deed the next day and touch another 100 people.<br /><br />I've accepted the challenge of doing a kind deed a day for the month of December. I'll report them here. They'll probably be simple things, but sometimes those are the most meaningful. I might just post what I did, or I might add it to the end of a post, but I promise, it will be here.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Yesterday I had a nice chat with the checkout girl at Wal-mart. People often take their frustration out on customer service people, but how often to they benefit from good moods?</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Today I got the door for a girl who was going into the Jenny Craig office with her arms full of Chick-Fil-A bags (yes, I noticed the irony).</span><br /><br />Would you like to join me on my quest to spread kindness? December is a perfect month for it. I'll extend my challenge to you - try and do one kind deed every day for the month of December. You can report them here, if you want to follow along with me. I'd love to hear them.<br /><br />One kind deed isn't a lot. You don't have to go out of your way. It's a small thing, but it can make a difference in a life, and in the world. Let's be kind to each other!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v105/condiment/raok.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 301px; height: 231px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v105/condiment/raok.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-75575906116366650922008-11-19T21:17:00.000-08:002008-11-19T21:48:35.996-08:00WW - and NOT for White WhaleThis will be a quick post since it's getting late, but I'm so stoked and I have to share the good news!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJayKwFRFf80TPupfZMxBmxsKmU1tY-gjPiOxm1mw4zPpWWEXGHdWo4n5aBHEc90D3k8OfRucHXnKde-14ACARGcKGfELdkIFmT2juYuoBDivFJ33GH5JrVgnrdVqha7fJOANlw/s1600-h/sp_weight_watchers.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 43px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJayKwFRFf80TPupfZMxBmxsKmU1tY-gjPiOxm1mw4zPpWWEXGHdWo4n5aBHEc90D3k8OfRucHXnKde-14ACARGcKGfELdkIFmT2juYuoBDivFJ33GH5JrVgnrdVqha7fJOANlw/s200/sp_weight_watchers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270606252124508098" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />A couple months ago, I joined Weight Watchers. I've been chubby (read: fat) my whole life, and I was just plain sick of it. It's taken a lot of time for me to get to the place where I was really ready to make a change, but I'm there now, and I wanted something that would work. I've heard good things about WW, so I decided to give it a try. And guess what?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);font-size:180%;" >I've lost 16 pounds!!</span><br /></div><br />I still have a long way to go, but 16 pounds is nothing to sniff at. I look at it like this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaKcSxTMmR05lMJ1UUjGdwpD4Y3P_QiW7W01q44DDoh-4ws-9mW8xxH1E-L7ReaH6OSx68V6V3UORrP6nhM9D2SP8bfDu3ptff3FdKF0T4-xduvnmUCbpjnxXWwYy_vqPYlM1Yg/s1600-h/407.gif"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaKcSxTMmR05lMJ1UUjGdwpD4Y3P_QiW7W01q44DDoh-4ws-9mW8xxH1E-L7ReaH6OSx68V6V3UORrP6nhM9D2SP8bfDu3ptff3FdKF0T4-xduvnmUCbpjnxXWwYy_vqPYlM1Yg/s200/407.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270607189452597122" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6hFBsGDmEb2vaxEazkb3o8BrBSajmOHn2clHYzfKfxuBZYmdlPbNZYCzbbqhS9wFklOk8mzwwnRPDXTtSel-rISYmEfRyFHLdTAUJaDjScWrRExsuffcyh9Pl4q43wV6jT9mDqQ/s1600-h/407.gif"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6hFBsGDmEb2vaxEazkb3o8BrBSajmOHn2clHYzfKfxuBZYmdlPbNZYCzbbqhS9wFklOk8mzwwnRPDXTtSel-rISYmEfRyFHLdTAUJaDjScWrRExsuffcyh9Pl4q43wV6jT9mDqQ/s200/407.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270607188195667826" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwB2OvDE6qMhibbwK7f-pg_bco-RKLd3xjkHcSzcjRSv4v_afnAtL-Gbs6_2Gt1cehg95AxaI00P_-iiCwZA1f36Y-86QPygnLBPG-o_reonGFE8M6RXjGgo7ADIRSdcLwnx6G5A/s1600-h/407.gif"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwB2OvDE6qMhibbwK7f-pg_bco-RKLd3xjkHcSzcjRSv4v_afnAtL-Gbs6_2Gt1cehg95AxaI00P_-iiCwZA1f36Y-86QPygnLBPG-o_reonGFE8M6RXjGgo7ADIRSdcLwnx6G5A/s200/407.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270607185090800018" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Hooray for Weight Watchers!<br /><br />So, Internets, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. This is what I looked like when I started (I'm on the right, if you weren't sure).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-BL6ErGZ3KbahcY3-6fFud5B-CwH4wFpyCArq3rLlI4Xcx4KTh7ovWsISEOCyHDIzJNKC96EaVr8httMxbhOPykH7WEADsDLjwCMsBGWtWrDaWNyz3LgyHJMwlnLoV2zwvpy58Q/s1600-h/Me+and+Mickey.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 297px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-BL6ErGZ3KbahcY3-6fFud5B-CwH4wFpyCArq3rLlI4Xcx4KTh7ovWsISEOCyHDIzJNKC96EaVr8httMxbhOPykH7WEADsDLjwCMsBGWtWrDaWNyz3LgyHJMwlnLoV2zwvpy58Q/s320/Me+and+Mickey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270610873628402610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And this is what I'm shooting for.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4K4a_NoE7xmvC4FKmygMFoAsdNhYIEpB59jZs5RJ40loFWS5I7qOmJbS40BRMQIMhuNEq9Fa74KhaNB_aIakT2j5ns9LNxMDPvpbuonRrxWzjFN2hvEXCDSdCKOB-F1NDVXtpXg/s1600-h/Betsy+and+Sara+Fall+2000%283%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4K4a_NoE7xmvC4FKmygMFoAsdNhYIEpB59jZs5RJ40loFWS5I7qOmJbS40BRMQIMhuNEq9Fa74KhaNB_aIakT2j5ns9LNxMDPvpbuonRrxWzjFN2hvEXCDSdCKOB-F1NDVXtpXg/s320/Betsy+and+Sara+Fall+2000%283%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270610878969885506" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It's a long way to go, but now I know I can do it!<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-family:times new roman;font-size:180%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"></span><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-64261080899620923712008-11-12T20:07:00.000-08:002008-11-12T21:01:16.213-08:00It's Such an EmbarassmentWelcome to this episode of My Most Embarrassing Moments!<br /><br />Before I started my job, I invested in some "really good" shoes. They were supposed to absorb some of the pressure from knees and ankles, and they were supposed to keep me from pronating (rolling to the side of your foot). For a while, they were great. Lately, not so much. In fact, when I do pronate, I'm pretty much guaranteed to fall becuase the shoes have some height to them.<br /><br />Today I was at the front counter helping a customer. I took a step backwards to get something, and I turned my ankle (aka pronated). Down I went! I tried to catch myself on this paper table, but unfortunately, it's on wheels. The table moved back, and I landed on my butt. Did I mention that this table sort of a wire rack with a table top? It made a lot of noise when I fell against it. Everyone in the shop came running. E-VER-Y-ONE. As if that's not embarrasing enough, I was checking myself for injuries, and I found this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyymOHlrrS5DZhmsrQu29aB60EqaXkN_kQxJGpB0QOj7Jv7KZXNWyvqRxeiuenXjtALqwgbEp46jlA2FIrzPE9naUqeMbvpknj60U1nmkKl8qAGjVTyi6Jt438-vhXBsRwNIPM5A/s1600-h/IMGP1502.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyymOHlrrS5DZhmsrQu29aB60EqaXkN_kQxJGpB0QOj7Jv7KZXNWyvqRxeiuenXjtALqwgbEp46jlA2FIrzPE9naUqeMbvpknj60U1nmkKl8qAGjVTyi6Jt438-vhXBsRwNIPM5A/s320/IMGP1502.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267995785720494002" border="0" /></a><br /><br />That's right. Big ol' hole in the back of my pants. See the two fingers through it? It gave a nice view of my turquoise underpants. I had to go home to change.<br /><br />Just be glad I can't take a picture of my own butt, because the bruise there is <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> pretty.<br /><br />On the up side, in the time it took me to drive home and back to work, the gas station on the corner dropped 7 cents! I couldn't take a picture, because my phone doesn't have a camera (I know, I know, I might as well be using cassette tapes for all my technological advancement), but it looked a little like this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0i_pewFs10XNXkJB6XMJfxxc7ze9uTRT_Hn5uFcnlgUS_lePrAZXbBjC4IMgFIT-PWEfMos9uHM6AD_ODXYPjs3QHgPL1rYfkI1eXOgWgFY-cFt5gnoFem-Euzque07qJGYk7g/s1600-h/sinclairdinosaurfuel.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0i_pewFs10XNXkJB6XMJfxxc7ze9uTRT_Hn5uFcnlgUS_lePrAZXbBjC4IMgFIT-PWEfMos9uHM6AD_ODXYPjs3QHgPL1rYfkI1eXOgWgFY-cFt5gnoFem-Euzque07qJGYk7g/s320/sinclairdinosaurfuel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267995782486953746" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Can I get a <span style="font-style: italic;">hallelujah! </span>Well, can I? Seriously, I can't hear you. I'm so excited about falling gas prices! I honestly never thought gas was going to be below $2.00 ever again. I was composing the stories to tell my kids about how "When I was young, gas was only $1.25 a gallon." And I was coming up with smart-ass responses to "Really? So what was the world like in black and white?" But here we are at $1.89! If I weren't so excited about how much money I'm going to save, I'd be annoyed at all that wasted creativity.<br /><br />Finally, for your viewing enjoyment:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIVDp1DJoox4Ep3VkbMwfOgKlCVFTehm-WoYjEkCkJcTUuWzvQyU0-cqnFPyRdkcQqW25DIoo_PdNQPyODcJiPx7RgKOh32kkmV9rOVySb9rWVuzzenZL4yNl990ll_6O8ItBqg/s1600-h/IMGP1510.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIVDp1DJoox4Ep3VkbMwfOgKlCVFTehm-WoYjEkCkJcTUuWzvQyU0-cqnFPyRdkcQqW25DIoo_PdNQPyODcJiPx7RgKOh32kkmV9rOVySb9rWVuzzenZL4yNl990ll_6O8ItBqg/s320/IMGP1510.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267995794949036642" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I call it <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Sadie and Ball.</span> It's a pretty common sight around here.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-47358806428465280802008-10-29T20:47:00.000-07:002008-10-29T21:12:48.186-07:00I Have a Confession to Make.<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dwBx43_5bt8&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dwBx43_5bt8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />So am I! That's right. I'm Republican. Go Elephants!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://conservativeoutpost.com/files/u3/Republican_Logo.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 103px; height: 85px;" src="http://conservativeoutpost.com/files/u3/Republican_Logo.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />I've noticed, while touring the blogosphere, that it's not really a popular thing to be. That's one of the things I've never understood, actually. I don't know anyone who's nervous to admit they're a Democrat. What's the deal with that?<br /><br />Since I'm coming out anyway, I'll give you a little flash of my views. You may not agree with them, but that's the great thing about living in America. First Amendment, baby!<br /><ul><li>I believe abortion is wrong. There are some cases where it would be acceptable, but only with deep thought and prayer on the mother's part. Every baby should have a chance to live.</li><li>I believe that less is more when it comes to government. Less taxes, less interference, and for Pete's sake, less spending!</li><li>I believe marriage is sacred and should only be between one man and one woman.</li><li>I believe that everyone should work to support themselves, and that people who are successful shouldn't be punished with higher taxes (I'm talking to you, Mr. Obama!)</li><li>I believe in free enterprise and small business. The government should stay out of it.</li><li>I believe that all people deserve freedom, and that it's the responsibility of the strong to protect the weak.</li><li>I believe that Toby Keith has as much right to say that America will "put a boot in your ass" and the Dixie Chicks do to say they're ashamed of their President. And I don't think that makes Toby an ass, I think it makes him patriotic.<br /></li><li>I believe that this election year, we're pretty much screwed either way. I respect John McCain for his service to his country, but I'm not a fan of his politics. However, I'm voting for him because a vote for McCain is a vote against Obama, and he scares me. Say no to Socialism!</li></ul>So there. That's my confession. I'm a Republican, and I'm proud!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flashreport.org/images/McCainPalinButton.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://www.flashreport.org/images/McCainPalinButton.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And for your viewing enjoyment, courtesy of Big Sister:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsFVEispjQ4mRHafrfo1xSuPUtIfQwmYfYSlTBbYlqkRNbCcFR4T3srYvmJZaMT7q5Ic166lJTUmxEy5yvHJxLSVc2kSQfccG6Gp73yNt0L0DhaI4LCtvytP3yhYgkpwEokfN2vQ/s1600-h/30e54e3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 338px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsFVEispjQ4mRHafrfo1xSuPUtIfQwmYfYSlTBbYlqkRNbCcFR4T3srYvmJZaMT7q5Ic166lJTUmxEy5yvHJxLSVc2kSQfccG6Gp73yNt0L0DhaI4LCtvytP3yhYgkpwEokfN2vQ/s400/30e54e3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262793748019880482" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-75941560741360527092008-10-18T16:15:00.001-07:002008-10-18T16:39:19.094-07:00Maybe It's a Little Late to Be Asking . . .. . . but I need some guy advice. You would think that at 24, I would have a pretty good handle on this dating thing, but the truth is, I suck at it. <br /><br />I'm sitting here waiting to leave for a party, and I'm hoping a certain boy will be there. We'll call him Cute Army Boy. He's cute. He was in the Army, but he was wounded in Iraq. When he told me about it (in a group conversation) he said it just like that - "I was wounded." Of course, me with my big mouth chimed in, "Oh, yeah, he's all mellow about it. 'I was wounded.' He probably got shot or something." He responded with this:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Actually, I got blown up."</span></span><br /><br />And I was, miraculously, stunned into silence, in which I thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">Holy crap! Blown freaking up? </span> The silence lasted about three seconds, after which I said, "Blown up? Seriously? Like by a bomb?"<br /><br />I'm so eloquent.<br /><br />After we had established that it was, in fact, a bomb, I mentioned that at least he still had all his limbs, and he said he'd had some mild brain damage. I said, "Well, you look okay" (again with the eloquence) and he said, "If you'd seen me a year ago, you wouldn't have said that." And that was it. No bitterness, no plays for sympathy, just matter-of-fact-ness. Like it was no big deal.<br /><br />And then I fell in love with him a little bit.<br /><br />Apparently he was raised as an Army Brat, and joined himself when he got old enough. He joined as a Medic, but was sent to Iraq as a Machinist. At night, they went out to look for IEDs and one night he found one. I think the way he tells the story says so much about him. I mean, he didn't even get a medical discharge. He got a medical retire. That means that he gets all the same benefits he would have if he had been career Army and then retired. If that were me, I would either milk it for all it was worth or be really bitter. But he's not.<br /><br />**As a funny aside, when I told this story to a friend earlier, I accidentally said IUD instead of IED. Then I was like, "Wait, I'm pretty sure an IUD doesn't blow up."**<br /><br />Anyway, now that we've established that Cute Army Boy is freaking amazing, let's get back to me. I'm sitting here, all ready to go to this party and literally <span style="font-style: italic;">forcing</span> myself not to leave for another 15 minutes so that I won't be <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span> on time. I'm all done up and cute. I smell good. My problem is that I have <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">no idea</span> how to do this boy-girl thing.<br /><br />I know that if you want a guy to ask you out, you have to show some interest. My problem is that I've never been able to find the happy medium of "showing interest". I either act like I'm not interested at all, or I end up looking like a desperate, pathetic fool. There's got to be something in between that, right?!?<br /><br />So help me out here, Internet friends. How do you show a guy you're interested without coming off desperate and pathetic? <br /><br />Cause honestly? I'm feeling a little desperate and pathetic.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-18633063117670996872008-10-13T18:24:00.001-07:002008-10-13T18:26:47.000-07:00Washington D.C., Baby!I spent the last weekend in September in Washington D.C. with my big sister. She and her husband have lived there for three years, but I've never been able to get out there.<br /><br />My sister has a habit of calling me and saying, "Guess where I am?" and then proceeding to brag about being somewhere great. Last year, she called and told me she was at the National Book Festival. Ever since then, I've been planning to go to this year's festival. It made for a fantastic weekend.<br /><br />Big Sister took a couple days off work to play with me. The first day, we started at the International Gallery at the Smithsonian Museum. They had a Jim Henson exhibit, which was so much fun. A lot of the original <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">muppets</span> were there. Remember <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Mnah</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Mnah</span>? You know, "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Mnah</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Mnah</span>! Do-do-do-do-do." He was there. And who knew that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Mnah</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Mnah</span> was his name? And did you know that the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">original</span> Kermit was made from Henson's mother's spring coat and some ping-pong balls?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfjm2_kHvwK0EnxRtRR6MvJYgg_u0WHOPKYG1EAELxiPusuqwFaDIgmt7Zf4z0mRECCfBZ_fuCI3UpVcj9aczBVNOHvT7Mr8xpMlLgYc0kagfk9ysq-2mBvazxe9mignOKewUMQ/s1600-h/manamana.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfjm2_kHvwK0EnxRtRR6MvJYgg_u0WHOPKYG1EAELxiPusuqwFaDIgmt7Zf4z0mRECCfBZ_fuCI3UpVcj9aczBVNOHvT7Mr8xpMlLgYc0kagfk9ysq-2mBvazxe9mignOKewUMQ/s320/manamana.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256807913025607154" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Muppets</span>, we walked down the National Mall and checked out the monuments. We started with Lincoln.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60gt4MVXHr6fqZoKwpGrmHZpcqHod45MA-s3pA_ptVK83PtgdvVwycUpdPTqI4qRSA2N32HbFEPphtCHfIpR6zNd7J3YaT7_4FDY7_3kjK1n8iJ-s7YEKNGIypNrSzOrVzhCiKQ/s1600-h/IMGP1496.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60gt4MVXHr6fqZoKwpGrmHZpcqHod45MA-s3pA_ptVK83PtgdvVwycUpdPTqI4qRSA2N32HbFEPphtCHfIpR6zNd7J3YaT7_4FDY7_3kjK1n8iJ-s7YEKNGIypNrSzOrVzhCiKQ/s320/IMGP1496.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256807913029127442" border="0" /></a><br /><br />He's a heck of a lot bigger in person than he looks on the five dollar bill.<br /><br />We also stopped at the Korean War Memorial, the Vietnam War Memorial and the World War II Memorial. I found them really touching. So many people who left their homes to protect our freedom and the freedom of others. So many who never came home. The Vietnam Memorial is especially touching that way. It's so long, and the names on it are so small.<br /><br />The Korean War Memorial was my favorite. It's not one that is as familiar to most of us as the Vietnam Memorial. It's several statues of soldiers, spread out, and there are ground plants all around them. It's even better at night. Kind of creepy and poignant.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdRfimu50HQGuP8YBfFl48PyYaUFrnIpUhfjVEneEMF0tu6bVsW6VYkM8Qf_RWabdd6N94flAZY7BkydK5ZKX1o7XGOsIVFNcTKdBNtb_Ay52lP6BKTXx6NEmVGCUUXr8TZtR2g/s1600-h/IMGP1494.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdRfimu50HQGuP8YBfFl48PyYaUFrnIpUhfjVEneEMF0tu6bVsW6VYkM8Qf_RWabdd6N94flAZY7BkydK5ZKX1o7XGOsIVFNcTKdBNtb_Ay52lP6BKTXx6NEmVGCUUXr8TZtR2g/s320/IMGP1494.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256807913618022930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My favorite part of the World War II Memorial was the quote engraved around the flagpole. "Americans came to liberate, not to conquer, to restore freedom and to end tyranny."<br /><br />The second day we went to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Hirshhorn</span> Museum, another Smithsonian Museum. It was by far the coolest museum I saw there. The best exhibit was a video called, "The Way Things Go." Here's a small clip.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/U82eWptFxSs&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/U82eWptFxSs&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />The National Book Festival was on Saturday and it was <span style="font-style: italic;">amazing! </span>We caught the tail end of Brad <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Meltzer</span>, who wrote <span style="font-style: italic;">The Tenth Justice </span>and his new book, <span style="font-style: italic;">Book of Lies. </span>We also listened to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Salman</span> Rushdie, who wrote <span style="font-style: italic;">The Satanic Verses</span> and who had a death threat made against him but the president of Iran. He had to spend a decade in hiding. Another author we listened to was Geraldine Brooks, who wrote an amazing book called <span style="font-style: italic;">Year of Wonders</span>, about a small village in England during the plague.<br /><br />My favorite author, though, was Marisa <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">de</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">los</span> Santos. I read her book Love Walked In in preparation for the festival and I thought it was amazing. Listening to her talk was great. She talked about her characters like they were real. It was fascinating to listen to her talk about her creative process.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFOOXTIzKdE8Wr9Cfe60D-BNaOQRmLRFUR6nfhx_X9oyIFmmqvz_jRm7HgvQ6GKO-52MqEA6Ow4mSXpnlCOjD2DBXL7hpTspuWSI3XB-kIcxmS2e29N5d9iFOsxyXxwBPm2Xzrg/s1600-h/marisa.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFOOXTIzKdE8Wr9Cfe60D-BNaOQRmLRFUR6nfhx_X9oyIFmmqvz_jRm7HgvQ6GKO-52MqEA6Ow4mSXpnlCOjD2DBXL7hpTspuWSI3XB-kIcxmS2e29N5d9iFOsxyXxwBPm2Xzrg/s320/marisa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256807913449532194" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I was also able to have her sign a copy of her new book for me. It was like meeting a celebrity. I swear, I'm such a dork.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3cZU1EfmGW6CDHBZnlmNko-Qb44wDNDbN0bAHE_v2l3L7tE7mS-fXCWXpnLaUgWsQOTv6mWzwCsuQ2g5y-Th-V81N_NcrcLldOAjFJ3dBqDyAmtXiH_s78aaaIiHc4Q_xIREa_Q/s1600-h/index.aspx.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3cZU1EfmGW6CDHBZnlmNko-Qb44wDNDbN0bAHE_v2l3L7tE7mS-fXCWXpnLaUgWsQOTv6mWzwCsuQ2g5y-Th-V81N_NcrcLldOAjFJ3dBqDyAmtXiH_s78aaaIiHc4Q_xIREa_Q/s320/index.aspx.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256807921771786098" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I was also able to see a friend of mine from New Zealand, Jen. I hadn't seen her in ages, and it was so great to get together again. I was also able to meet her husband Nick, which was fun. They pretty much eloped, so I never even heard about him until she was married! She's also <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">preggers</span>, and I'm way excited for her.<br /><br />I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">actually</span> stole this picture of us from <a href="http://www.nickandjenlloyd.blogspot.com/">her blog</a> - Nick took it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbmYXpEHm8-neftVta7aYDpqpK5nZucvTn4MMIUw1wJQgjqb2ihj6PjfkJgnoGxmkjTHHwmgYIRpoVCQszMrLWtkdAkIAuEIJiF9Wp2ZC0pylm4oxhvftBrm5dgKLKjZJ2L981lw/s1600-h/me+and+jen.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbmYXpEHm8-neftVta7aYDpqpK5nZucvTn4MMIUw1wJQgjqb2ihj6PjfkJgnoGxmkjTHHwmgYIRpoVCQszMrLWtkdAkIAuEIJiF9Wp2ZC0pylm4oxhvftBrm5dgKLKjZJ2L981lw/s320/me+and+jen.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256808192042078418" border="0" /></a><br /><br />All in all, it was a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">fantabulous</span>, if exhausting weekend!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-78652888504526642552008-10-08T20:34:00.000-07:002008-10-08T21:16:37.517-07:00An Aura of Confidence? Me?A strange thing happened to me today. I was talking to a friend of mine - actually, we're more of close acquaintances - and we were talking about why men don't ask women out. She mentioned that some men are too intimidated to ask a girl on a date, and I said, "I don't get that. I'm like the least intimidating girl ever."<br /><br />"No, you're definitely intimidating," she said.<br /><br />"What? How am I intimidating?" I was surprised at this comment, since I've always seen myself as sort of neutral. You know, not really invisible, but doesn't stand out either.<br /><br />"Because you're so confident," she said. Now, if her first comment surprised me, my jaw hit the floor on this one. I actually laughed out loud, partly out of disbelief and party out of pleasure.<br /><br />I've gone through several stages of confidence in my life. Well, I guess I've really only gone through two - confident and utterly unconfident - but I've flipped back and forth a lot. In high school, I was pathetically unconfident. I was obsessed about being fat, even though, looking back, I was totally fine. Not a stick, but hardly a heifer. One of the guys I liked back then even told one of my friends, "The reason I could never date Betsy isn't because of her weight, it's because she doesn't like herself."<br /><br />Then I went to college and managed to be less pathetic, although I wouldn't say I was really confident. Not until I went to New Zealand. I'm so glad I did that - it changed everything for me. When I got back, I was felt like I was a different person. I did all these hard things there; things I never thought I could do. I was finally happy with myself, and I didn't feel like I needed a boy to make things good.<br /><br />But if there's one thing you can count on in life, it's change. First a really good friend turned her back on me, without reason or warning. I was lucky though, because I met another, even better, friend around the same time. I've often wished I'd met her first, because she would never treat me so poorly. But that's not really the point. The point is that the abandonment was a blow, but it wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for that year in Arizona.<br /><br />After I graduated college, I moved to Mesa for an internship. That part when great, but then I was on my own. It took me two months to find my first real job, where I worked for two months before being fired without explanation. Two months later, and I was still jobless. You can see how this might negatively effect a person's self-image. My first shot on my own, and it was a train wreck.<br /><br />Finally, I wised up and moved home before things got really bad. I took a job working for my dad. It may not sound very glamorous, but I realized that I was good at it, and smart, and a good problem-solver. I was active in my ward at church, and I started to remember what it felt like to know I could do anything.<br /><br />After a year or so, I moved away from home again. Now I'm in good old GJ, and things are so great, I'm almost not surprised I "radiate confidence" (her words, not mine). Almost not surprised. I love my job, and frankly, I rock at it. They gave me a raise a month in, I'm so good. I'm learning more and more about the print industry, and I'm realizing I have an interest in graphic design. I'm supporting myself (mostly - Mom and Dad double as prescription coverage since I don't have insurance yet), and I'm learning about being a landlord (mostly that it sucks, but that's a different story).<br /><br />It was so great to have someone tell me that I'm confident again. It's been so long since I've felt that way. In my post New Zealand days, a friend of mine told me I was the coolest girl he'd ever met. I feel like that girl again, and I'm so glad, because I really missed her.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdbXQ3gBLxNwmBtkmiaoPFEHkEq92YkFITIbx8Spt2fS1kHIxd6Wsl3tnZFYH_V8MG0af237Xv7l9YQYaM-oqEB2UXQgLfvBXWva2x95ZSDoh0bCjPi5QgaYMkueF2S0iDcCsWQ/s1600-h/2005-10-14+036.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdbXQ3gBLxNwmBtkmiaoPFEHkEq92YkFITIbx8Spt2fS1kHIxd6Wsl3tnZFYH_V8MG0af237Xv7l9YQYaM-oqEB2UXQgLfvBXWva2x95ZSDoh0bCjPi5QgaYMkueF2S0iDcCsWQ/s200/2005-10-14+036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255002382733140306" border="0" /></a><br />'B' for Betsy!<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT-cJA8SFXoi6Zl_KD6vur2qqJAdaq4eIQUEIvPq7Hqmc2yYGLUL6QMZ58_agFtt37MA7D8Mj3lkGagVcaXO4ge_udeOU06VVZUBc9olwdYsBzaF6jInRmMQum0CdIjeDdyUkHew/s1600-h/2005-10-14+005.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT-cJA8SFXoi6Zl_KD6vur2qqJAdaq4eIQUEIvPq7Hqmc2yYGLUL6QMZ58_agFtt37MA7D8Mj3lkGagVcaXO4ge_udeOU06VVZUBc9olwdYsBzaF6jInRmMQum0CdIjeDdyUkHew/s200/2005-10-14+005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255002385417482642" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I heart En Zed (NZ)<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuEAU43kxvlnQM018bw_elFLQcyyyFJ1US2vFdRX5MEwS3_xnlwjUM8CxvK6gUMbrCclnebqYzl9F8ieePspSUeZlNoKPoKzacUisN084CJkylPaZsKQvqhSrzVGeF2jfw48gAg/s1600-h/2005-10-14+035.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuEAU43kxvlnQM018bw_elFLQcyyyFJ1US2vFdRX5MEwS3_xnlwjUM8CxvK6gUMbrCclnebqYzl9F8ieePspSUeZlNoKPoKzacUisN084CJkylPaZsKQvqhSrzVGeF2jfw48gAg/s200/2005-10-14+035.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255002385134259442" border="0" /></a><br />I'm the coolest girl he's ever met, and look what a badass he is!<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-35838853316835314402008-10-02T18:54:00.000-07:002008-10-06T20:03:47.208-07:00Project Interior DecorateI love having a house. Houses are so much better than apartments. I even have my own furniture! Well, I have some furniture.<br /><br />A couple weeks ago I happened upon a moving sale. I'd been looking for some sort of small table, and as I drove past, I spotted the cutest table. I pulled right over to check it out. It was perfect. It had been used as a garden table, so it wasn't painted or anything, but it had good bones. For $3.00, I snagged it and took that baby home.<br /><br />That weekend, I spent all day Saturday painting it. I had to start with white paint since it was virgin wood. Then I had to put two coats of paint over the white. I chose a gorgeous purply-brown color called "Spiced Wine."<br /><br />Here are some before and after pictures.<br />Pre-painting garden table:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMqvexwUCX6iB5E_ehyd6dyhOe7PSbTxZ6B97iyjnRiLqaApPXLXdYoBf2jSNemgy7jJEl6ouJPrHc2d3FCFy6PlAhXBNNHijMqymfMzCaOXpPaonxr54bKoedN5x-i0c8DSrPw/s1600-h/IMGP1491.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMqvexwUCX6iB5E_ehyd6dyhOe7PSbTxZ6B97iyjnRiLqaApPXLXdYoBf2jSNemgy7jJEl6ouJPrHc2d3FCFy6PlAhXBNNHijMqymfMzCaOXpPaonxr54bKoedN5x-i0c8DSrPw/s320/IMGP1491.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254241813139667602" border="0" /></a><br /><br />All finished and in my house!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_uz8goeU84bMavQvAih7jnxmYpshaPzYgYex3aimXfDA1iLllDqEpgFuqvjiiP90RRi3NJgLUHx5YxhzwnFFg43qURMfLGncAOaWOPkPUdmeKsySi3jGjNyeyHffVj-_T3gwyQ/s1600-h/IMGP1492.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_uz8goeU84bMavQvAih7jnxmYpshaPzYgYex3aimXfDA1iLllDqEpgFuqvjiiP90RRi3NJgLUHx5YxhzwnFFg43qURMfLGncAOaWOPkPUdmeKsySi3jGjNyeyHffVj-_T3gwyQ/s320/IMGP1492.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254241822075531202" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-76051468252150684982008-09-04T19:18:00.000-07:002008-09-04T19:34:05.943-07:00I Have Returned!Wow. The last month has been kah-razy. I started a new job, moved to a new house, got new roommates and joined Weight Watchers. So far, it's all going swimmingly.<br /><br />The new job is fantabulous. I love love love love working there. The print industry is new to me, but it's something I've always been interested in. There is so much to learn and so much fun new stuff. My favorite is the cutter. It makes me feel wicked powerful. It's a toss up between that and the shrink wrap machine. I was guaranteed a raise after 90 days, but after a month, my boss asked if we could chat and gave me a fifty cent raise! He said he'd never done it before. I was on cloud nine. Yeah, the extra money is great, but the fact that I'm doing so well makes me feel amazing.<br /><br />The new house is in a great neighborhood and is really cute. It's the perfect size and is totally cozy. I can't wait to decorate it. I think the roommates are going to work out as well. One is 40 and the other is 18, so there's a big age gap, but everyone seems to get along.<br /><br />Weight Watchers is fabulous. I joined because I'm just plain tired of being fat. I like the plan because it's like counting calories, but easier. You can eat anything you want, as long as you stay within your points! I've noticed that I pay more attention to what I eat. I used to eat a meal and then start snacking a few minutes later, mostly out of boredom. I don't do that anymore because I have to think about everything I eat. And! Last week I lost 3.4 pounds. Right on.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-38746405846703690802008-08-28T08:01:00.000-07:002008-08-28T09:34:14.623-07:00Checkin' inHello! I know, I know, I haven't blogged in over three weeks. But I've been busy! I just moved and started a new job. I still don't even have all my stuff unpacked. I promise promise promise I'll start blogging again soon. But, for your reading enjoyment:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Freewheelin' fun at the DNC</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">by Dave Berry</span><br /><br />DENVER --<br />This vibrant Western city has pulled out all the stops to make Democratic convention visitors feel welcome right from the moment they arrive at the huge and modern airport, conveniently located in nearby Kansas. From there it's less than a day's drive to downtown Denver, which has been spruced up for the convention with the installation of thousands of brand-new, state-of-the-art spittoons.<br /><br />No, I'm just poking a little fun at the Denver folks, who are a bit defensive about Denver's stereotyped image as a ''cow town'' -- the kind of place with cattle mooing in the streets, and cowboys drinking in honky-tonk saloons, and a mayor with a name like ``John Hickenlooper.''<br /><br />These stereotypes are totally false, except the one about the mayor, who actually is named John Hickenlooper. I happen to semi-know Mayor Hickenlooper, because I belong to an all-author rock band called the Rock Bottom Remainders, and when we performed in Denver two years ago, Mayor Hickenlooper joined us on stage to sing the classic Troggs song Wild Thing. Really. He took the difficult vocal solo part that goes, ''You MOVED me,'' and he totally nailed it. You would have sworn you were hearing an actual Trogg. The mayor got a nice round of applause from those audience members still able to clap without falling down. I mention this story because I really like saying ''Hickenlooper.'' Hickenlooper Hickenlooper Hickenlooper.<br /><br />But my point is that, despite the mayor's name (''Hickenlooper''), Denver is a modern and sophisticated city with huge quantities of culture in the form of museums, latte machines, flush toilets, etc. And the city has done a fine job with the convention preparations, which include many ``green'' touches, such as the ''Freewheelin'' free-bicycle program. As I understand it, the way this works is, there are nearly 1,000 bicycles in special racks set up around Denver, and if you feel like offsetting some carbon, you just go to one of these racks, and you realize that all the bicycles have been stolen.<br /><br />At least that's how it would work in Miami. Apparently in Denver, people actually return the bicycles. Ha ha! What a bunch of cow-town Hickenloopers.<br /><br />No, seriously, I applaud this program, as well as the many other ''green'' efforts at this convention, such as the bold plan to take the 19,000-seat Pepsi Center ''off the grid'' and power it entirely with delegate flatulence, even though this has forced Barack Obama to move his Thursday acceptance speech outdoors.<br /><br />Speaking of the convention: It got off to a rousing start Monday night with speeches by three or four dozen important Democratic party dignitaries, who sounded the convention's official Monday theme: ''A Whole Lot of Speeches.'' But the big news was the decision to seat the entire Michigan and Florida delegations, which means they will be able to participate fully in the roll-call vote, which means you just know the Florida delegation will mess up the buttons somehow and accidentally nominate Walter Mondale.<br /><br />Meanwhile outside of Denver, Joe Biden has wasted no time acting vice presidential, attacking John McCain for being out of touch with ordinary Americans because he couldn't remember how many houses he has. I think this might backfire. For one thing, Joe is not really one to accuse anybody of being out of touch, seeing how he has been a U.S. senator for 200 years. But also there's the question of fairness. I mean, do YOU have a perfect memory? Can you look yourself in the eyeball and honestly say that you have never forgotten how many houses John McCain has? I know I have. Sometimes I forget my own pants.<br /><br />Speaking of which: I am shocked to report that there are lavish parties being held here, financed by huge evil corporations giving away free food and liquor to advance their evil corporate agendas. As a journalist concerned about corruption, I cannot BELIEVE I have not been invited to any of these parties. Give me a call, giant corporations! I'm right here in my hotel room! With about 45 bicycles.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />*Originally published 8/25/08 in the Miami Herald</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19735424.post-55934059007496696082008-08-02T19:39:00.000-07:002008-08-02T20:32:13.990-07:00I Just Don't Understand.I recently discovered a blog that I LOVE, and not through <a href="http://themadamequeen.blogspot.com/">Madame Queen</a>, even though she linked it recently.<br /><br />It's called <a href="http://jasonfortheloveofgod.blogspot.com/">"Jason. For the love of God."</a> It's written by That Chick, who also writes at <a href="http://scrivel.com/">Scrivel.</a> I'm not going to pretend that I get the title, but I do get that That Chick <span style="font-style: italic;">rocks.my.socks.</span> I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. Plus, I relate. I'm telling you, I love it.<br /><br />I also love blogging in general. I love that I've made friends that I've never even met. I love that there are people willing to share themselves, and others who are willing to support them. I love that a bunch of crazy women can rent out a whole store just for a party.<br /><br />That's why I was so disappointed today.<br /><br />That Chick recently wrote a <a href="http://jasonfortheloveofgod.blogspot.com/2008/07/only-in-my-dreams.html">great post about her struggle with food</a>. She's a little overweight. So am I. In fact, I'm more than a little overweight. I know what a struggle it is. I know how it makes you feel like you're less of a person, like everyone is judging you. So I know That Chick put herself out there when she wrote that post.<br /><br />I commented on it. I congratulated her on losing 40lbs. I let her know that she isn't alone. I didn't bother to read all 38 comments first, because I really wanted to say my piece. After I'd posted my comment, I went back to read them. Most were the kind of comments you usually see, loving and supportive. But I also found this, posted by Anonymous:<br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">"I've been reading this blog for a long time now and I have to be honest...I don't understand the appeal. You aren't funny. You are fat. Not just fat but extremely fat. So boo-hoo go work out instead of sitting on your fat ass in front of the computer all the time. Your husband cheated on you and you married him anyway. You're writing sucks and no one is ever going to publish it. You are really pathetic. I don't know if all these people just feel sorry for you or what but you are just a loser.<br /><br />All your stupid minions will probably attack me now. I've seen them do it to others who have dared to say the truth about you. But I don't care. I'm the only one who will say the truth."<br /></blockquote>I hesitate to even repeat it here because it makes me physically ill. It makes me want to cry. It was the 5th of the 38 comments. Many of the following comments condemned Anonymous. I was tempted, but I didn't feel like I could put my anger into words.<br /><br />It's people like this that have maimed our society. People who judge others, who believe that some are better than others, who don't have the manners to keep it to themselves. It's people like Anonymous who make me so self-conscious that sometimes I struggle going to the grocery store. The reason I don't swim anymore, even though water is one of my greatest joys. The reason I walk through a public building, wishing I were invisible.<br /><br />I don't feel that way all the time, of course, but I do feel that way sometimes. I'm sure That Chick does too. That's why this comment causes me so much pain. Even though I know Anonymous is one giant jerk-face, it hurts me. I know it hurt That Chick, and that hurts me too. So here's my response.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear Anonymous,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It must be nice to be anonymous. You can say anything you want to anyone, with no repercussions. It says a lot about you. Mostly, that you're enough of a bitch to be cruel, but too much of a pansy to do it with a name.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">If there is anyone in the blogosphere that's really pathetic, it's you. A person who feels the need to put down another person; one you've never even met. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What makes you like this? I'm trying not to be a hypocrite here; I'm trying not to judge you the way you've judged others. But really. What kind of person anonymously attacks someone who has just opened herself up? Do you think this makes you some kind of hero? That it makes you better than someone else?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Telling the "truth", as you call it, isn't a virtue. The virtue comes in accepting people for who they are, and realizing their value and human beings. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Here's another secret. You are a pathetic excuse for a human being. You are everything that is wrong with society. You are contemptible, revolting, loathsome, foul, vile, despicable, hateful and putrid.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Someday, your cruelty will come back to haunt you. Someday, your life will not be so perfect. You will struggle, agonize, and wish for someone to comfort you. And there will be no one there. You will have brought the pain upon yourself, because you do not deserve sympathy or assistance.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Have fun rotting in hell.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Love, </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">ekbetsy</span><br /><br />Harsh? Perhaps. I'm not known for my kindness when I lose my temper. In fact, it takes an awful lot to get me that angry. I don't apologize. My other regret is that I don't know Anonymous better, so that I could take shots that would hit closer to home.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear That Chick,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Don't let the bastards get you down. No one defines your worth except you. You have accomplished goals, worked for what you have. You fight against your weaknesses, rather than giving in to them. And that makes you a better person than many.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I don't know you, although I wish I did. But I know that you have plenty to be proud of, and that you don't deserve such hateful cruelty. I'm sorry that it happened. I wish I could undo it, but I can't. The best I can do is tell you, and anyone else that it's not okay, and do my best to keep if from happening to anyone else.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">XOXO,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">ekbetsy</span><br /><br />I don't understand cruelty. I wish I could make it stop. How much better would our world be if people would only have respect for one another? But all I can do it refuse to be cruel myself, and encourage others to do the same.<br /><br />Oh, and Anonymous? If you have anything to say to me, at least have the guts to put your name on it, you disgusting weasel.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7