tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56407699415131712022024-02-19T06:41:38.890-08:00ZooxieZooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-9828573515351812842012-08-15T09:18:00.000-07:002012-08-15T09:18:58.637-07:00The Missing Sixth Spice Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Hello All...</div>
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For those of you who have actually checked back here
occasionally, thank you. (And for those of you who are only seeing
this because you still have me in your feed, thank you for not deleting
me... or forgetting to delete me at any rate.) I've been very, very bad
on the blogginess and haven't updated in something like a year or
more. Very, very many things have happened that have required my
attention elsewhere.<br />
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But I'm still here, jacked in to the
interwebs and I do have plans for several new blogs in the future. I
think I may have some extra time on my hands for a bit so hopefully I
can get back to MSPaint and storytelling relatively soon.<br />
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My main
reason for coming out of my blog free solitude is because I made some
very important connections recently. This isn't going to be like my
regular blogs as I have not illustrated any of these... And I do NOT own
any of these images. No copyright infringement is intended. I am
merely using the images contained for an educational comparison.<br />
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BEHOLD!<br />
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That's right. My Little Ponies IS the Spice Girls... Animated... as ponies. Sort of.</div>
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You get it, right? Right guys?<br />
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"Ahah!" say you naysayers out there. "My Little Ponies: Friendship Is Magic" can't POSSIBLY be The Spice Girls. There is simply no Twilight Sparkle 'Spice' equivalent and, as we all know, Twilight Sparkle is the glue that holds it all together!"<br />
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Well friends... It is at this point I would like to announce something I have known deep within my heart since I was a young, barely pubescent middle school girl singing 'Wannabe' in my friend Emily's basement...<br />
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I AM THE MISSING SIXTH SPICE GIRL.<br />
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There. I said it. I *should* have been the glue that held the Spice Girls together. Had my young 10 year old self been asked there would have been no "differences," no need for solo careers and we would have been considered pop star CLASSICS for all eternity.<br />
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I do actually have proof of this... for the record.<br />
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BEHOLD AGAIN!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVX_mOGUsFOf9l9R37hv5UX9NyYcK8i96lZO_UIErlNbwtdWSHUzrq5zAtYrZVS5SH95aW2yc6S9YShdvp8gCSrdr2skA3Ad2so6T5GXAwJoO7yYDn4Oss4T2rlNy4fqnnGqv8K8L3GZkt/s1600/PROOF.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVX_mOGUsFOf9l9R37hv5UX9NyYcK8i96lZO_UIErlNbwtdWSHUzrq5zAtYrZVS5SH95aW2yc6S9YShdvp8gCSrdr2skA3Ad2so6T5GXAwJoO7yYDn4Oss4T2rlNy4fqnnGqv8K8L3GZkt/s320/PROOF.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I am the missing Twilight Sparkle Spice. I hope each and every one of you is aware that I am risking serious paparazzi exposure and a drastic change to my way of life by exposing myself as the missing glue that would have held the Spice Girls together.<br />
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So, Spice Girls, should you ever want to do a reunion tour with the added punch of your long lost missing member, please contact my agent. I am willing to sacrifice the comfort of anonymity and step into the international spotlight for the good of 90's Modern British Girly Pop should you be interested.<br />
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Yours Truly,<br />
Zooxie SpiceZooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-81005966929828513042011-05-13T15:17:00.000-07:002011-05-13T15:17:53.288-07:00I'm Still Here!I'm in the middle of finals and have been trying to keep up with school... That's my excuse for the HUGE gap in posts.<br />
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But I am working on another anecdote so hopefully that will be posted after the semester ends.<br />
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Thanks for hangin' in there!Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-67396414074956682782011-04-01T17:02:00.000-07:002011-04-01T18:23:30.105-07:00YAY! BABIES!!Congrats Jono and Brianna! Welcome to the world little Charlotte Gail!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sorry I couldn't do your gorgeousness justice Brianna. Love you all! You're both going to be amazing parents!</div>Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-16426593283657581812011-03-28T05:50:00.000-07:002011-03-28T05:52:52.493-07:00New StuffSo I'm not the most html-savvy girl in the world... Which makes the creation and addition of my new banner and buttons to my blog quite the amazing feat!<br />
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All of the buttons are actually working, which is a happy thing. I also started a twitter account. The user name is Zooxie. (Duh!) I believe my last mid-term is this week and then I have to play catch-up... after that, I should be pumping out blog posts a little more regularly because I wont have quite so many priorities above drawing in MSPaint!<br />
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I also want to thank everyone who has subscribed and commented. Y'all are just plain awesomesauce!Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-78932094002003758522011-03-26T10:31:00.000-07:002011-03-26T10:33:47.874-07:00How To Thank Your Mother For Saving Your Life<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I always seem to be finding new and impressive ways to injure myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell people this all the time, but they never believe me until I tell them how I got the scar on my elbow (an accident involving a safety line) or how I saved my own life by learning to swim, or how I got the scar down the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">inside</i> of my bottom lip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m constantly running into door frames, tripping on shoelaces, sliding down stairways, and ending up on my butt on the floor.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On this particular occasion, when I was about three years old, I had done ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to cause this particular accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m really lucky because it was one of those scary, ‘I-could-have-died’ accidents and I’m really lucky my mom was there.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Construction had just been completed on our brand new house in the suburbs!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWRF6bCtu8BjLOjbGeD_gB7vwdRftVYHF4mnuaMlPNzwzl9W4zpbStTR7B02aEflwSBw6NW4PbbmwYJbAhZo_cpW_WQIENuUO64tbjZ3Et9BoqqWY7QVOTbJDoIHxghaiH2S_a_XLWdEQq/s1600/pic+1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWRF6bCtu8BjLOjbGeD_gB7vwdRftVYHF4mnuaMlPNzwzl9W4zpbStTR7B02aEflwSBw6NW4PbbmwYJbAhZo_cpW_WQIENuUO64tbjZ3Et9BoqqWY7QVOTbJDoIHxghaiH2S_a_XLWdEQq/s320/pic+1.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My parents took me to go look for some furniture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t remember who all came with us, but I remember Grandma G was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This particular store had a really crappy layout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of the furniture was crammed into a small showroom and stored really close together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember there was this one really cool hall tree with a giant mirror.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I liked mirrors, especially making faces in them and dancing in front of them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWkDQNrBGhQffLZNonMoT3QCS1Ut8EmyOnnFHM6ykvIanRPOZ2FSuuomoMz7Ych1j1nNq3M0jqU0ApngUC0aKkm1ENeKf-vcc9tG8B8ztwcH7KL_CHlca1LSlFkvyjEKrsUyxWaCO0vKdY/s1600/pic+4.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWkDQNrBGhQffLZNonMoT3QCS1Ut8EmyOnnFHM6ykvIanRPOZ2FSuuomoMz7Ych1j1nNq3M0jqU0ApngUC0aKkm1ENeKf-vcc9tG8B8ztwcH7KL_CHlca1LSlFkvyjEKrsUyxWaCO0vKdY/s320/pic+4.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At some point during my grand finale finish, someone either bumped or fell into another piece of furniture on the other side of the show room.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGH8Y40qPihCl6ry9ZOJbtQriZ_ADeGMLkmmQQRzM6CtEdQaJYqVgJJ0nKgBKrahW95mfAQC1zDUtkR0CvNtmFhrdtuskwLoxy4mobHsENMgMbC5fdQ5fjTtakVnpyJdgYA5RZXXqoJDh/s1600/pic+5.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGH8Y40qPihCl6ry9ZOJbtQriZ_ADeGMLkmmQQRzM6CtEdQaJYqVgJJ0nKgBKrahW95mfAQC1zDUtkR0CvNtmFhrdtuskwLoxy4mobHsENMgMbC5fdQ5fjTtakVnpyJdgYA5RZXXqoJDh/s320/pic+5.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZiop5AcTg9s6Mohb9U8jpwuWIAAnG21hyo8GPXpKz9sPHXZ2hfdRHINUfVAqrjF41Rg24jfJ73_qvbbRwIf-CZXNVYRZje8z_C4KXHN7SyMJIGj_FhETv1VCZC09GZV-9fHC_StCNzsB/s1600/pic+6.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZiop5AcTg9s6Mohb9U8jpwuWIAAnG21hyo8GPXpKz9sPHXZ2hfdRHINUfVAqrjF41Rg24jfJ73_qvbbRwIf-CZXNVYRZje8z_C4KXHN7SyMJIGj_FhETv1VCZC09GZV-9fHC_StCNzsB/s320/pic+6.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My mom had about a split second to react to the impending doom bearing down on her then-only child in the form of a massive domino-effect taking the form of furniture.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, one fact about my mom you should know at this time is that she is TINY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has always been a very small lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking back at pictures from this time in my life, my mom couldn’t have weighed more than 110 lbs soaking wet… on a guilty cookie day… if she were wearing 5 pounds of jewelry.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That hall tree I was so blissed out dancing in front of was a SERIOUS piece of furniture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So when my mom saw that giant hall tree of evil bearing down on her baby girl, the adrenaline must have kicked in because the next thing I knew…</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My mom ended up breaking her leg… and not just a normal break on an ankle or other joint… and not just a little break like a hairline fracture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re talking full on snapped solid bone in two break… All to save my precious little life from a falling hall tree.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have no idea what happened next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I briefly remember being out in the parking lot (it was dark out) and seeing flashing red lights (probably an ambulance).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember drawing on my mom’s cast with crayons and thinking it was *so cool* she got a body part that she could draw on.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2P5N5kAA7ZD3mB9tkNh5ifM9eloWwxL8109WoZ_2fQNBcjKVLCU-pYcHeFJkdUZZaD5tXF8zKKprEfW6eauZXpVhGfmRfLU4cSSL9vZZYYvV-adABfQyvWkHWkFuyUSkkDBm5tRbvmX2d/s1600/pic+10.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2P5N5kAA7ZD3mB9tkNh5ifM9eloWwxL8109WoZ_2fQNBcjKVLCU-pYcHeFJkdUZZaD5tXF8zKKprEfW6eauZXpVhGfmRfLU4cSSL9vZZYYvV-adABfQyvWkHWkFuyUSkkDBm5tRbvmX2d/s320/pic+10.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In our new house, the entry way had a staircase that goes up a bit, then turns at a landing, and goes the rest of the way up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a little balcony over by the linen closet towards the top of the stairs. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlP3d6M6TTYreZ2PEBzkEy4FvyDY9AOtzVxchU5UHUlqEg3f6LsM81IGneY_poXCcSANmrS9BtfiAwj_Uink1uGfRzhUJWu_8RGIxU6_PBpYAbCYK233n0QE7p0_0ktB27NBjpiCACxPum/s1600/pic+11.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlP3d6M6TTYreZ2PEBzkEy4FvyDY9AOtzVxchU5UHUlqEg3f6LsM81IGneY_poXCcSANmrS9BtfiAwj_Uink1uGfRzhUJWu_8RGIxU6_PBpYAbCYK233n0QE7p0_0ktB27NBjpiCACxPum/s320/pic+11.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For some reason, my little 3 year old brain just ACHED to throw stuff off of that balcony onto the floor below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just seemed like a good idea at the time… but I was ALWAYS getting yelled at for it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So one day, when my dad was off running an errand, I got a sneaky idea.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBvaHgK_T52G2KuGxe7x-7eMtxnBbdsvoveC_7_bB-r6n9lFt0fAoJTF9of56IK593tsKw1Tj9Fosup4b1wEdFyFqoSdJFd6fMcwY3M16ehEPLUFDJAW8i268eM8a_LYKz-ntJLyJPxcJ/s1600/pic+12.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBvaHgK_T52G2KuGxe7x-7eMtxnBbdsvoveC_7_bB-r6n9lFt0fAoJTF9of56IK593tsKw1Tj9Fosup4b1wEdFyFqoSdJFd6fMcwY3M16ehEPLUFDJAW8i268eM8a_LYKz-ntJLyJPxcJ/s320/pic+12.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My mom didn’t notice that I had stolen her crutches and hidden them somewhere in the next room… most definitely out of her reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she noticed me climbing the stairs towards my room, she asked me what I was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, of course, said I was going to go play with my stuffed animals in my room!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLQPNepw2hXhOVQ0xFcr-SLma-jZQuPbKADs8HAoORRZsEN7eYtrpFrp8jr6jmTnq4grk0zM3tT9Td_48YVjqA3fbwEoKrf7kiAV_OLI_taUNBN9Qivv0RT_nyzfG4khE3LL6Vc5iCTiDg/s1600/pic+14.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLQPNepw2hXhOVQ0xFcr-SLma-jZQuPbKADs8HAoORRZsEN7eYtrpFrp8jr6jmTnq4grk0zM3tT9Td_48YVjqA3fbwEoKrf7kiAV_OLI_taUNBN9Qivv0RT_nyzfG4khE3LL6Vc5iCTiDg/s320/pic+14.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I imagine that it wasn't that nice to wake up to the 'thud' 'thud' sound of numerous stuffed animals hitting the tile floor...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When my dad got home, BOY was I in trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m surprised my mother even talked to me after that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There she was, crippled because she SAVED MY LIFE… and how did I repay her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By turning into 3-year-old Satan spawn and stealing her crutches so that I could be as naughty as I wanted without consequences.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I try to be extra nice to my mom now… but I have to admit… I am TERRIFIED that I’ll end up with a kid like me some day!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mom, if you’re reading this, I AM SO SORRY THAT I WAS SUCH A BRAT!</span></div>Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-49207649016315288972011-03-14T16:26:00.000-07:002011-03-14T16:26:04.438-07:00How Daisy Duck Saved My Innocence<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was in second grade, my parents took me to Disney World.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so excited!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had never been on a plane before and I had somehow gotten it into my cute little 8-year-old head that meeting Daisy Duck would be the pinnacle of my whole life.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPlkNd35QuRIZWJdCHENlUszR56UtPPUU-z0lVV3NCgwURR0D_agCsVlewbtC7yVBOxOB1BoRFjSxseQvS_6KAHoV5E5JvYXN8ggujwtxFrP_BcBlfSfoibvzRpaPJqCgI4YdmK2ctZCQ/s1600/pic+1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPlkNd35QuRIZWJdCHENlUszR56UtPPUU-z0lVV3NCgwURR0D_agCsVlewbtC7yVBOxOB1BoRFjSxseQvS_6KAHoV5E5JvYXN8ggujwtxFrP_BcBlfSfoibvzRpaPJqCgI4YdmK2ctZCQ/s320/pic+1.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I do want to state, right here and now, that this was probably the best vacation OF MY LIFE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no better vacation than Disney World as a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But several unfortunate events did take place…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the plane, I didn’t understand what was happening when my ears popped.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ZsibkwnU4w-Fwa25Elinp2z_EkvGwJksceh-xKS3oU6bC2Bfpyba5ABS4ndmE4NhHP9fVv57q6_tHp49fVlfS54pOUazzdCo5oodRi_prDOGltOWrkKM17iItYh5nMyBoij7ReYdkar9/s1600/pic+2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ZsibkwnU4w-Fwa25Elinp2z_EkvGwJksceh-xKS3oU6bC2Bfpyba5ABS4ndmE4NhHP9fVv57q6_tHp49fVlfS54pOUazzdCo5oodRi_prDOGltOWrkKM17iItYh5nMyBoij7ReYdkar9/s320/pic+2.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the record, chewing gum still doesn’t help my ears on planes… And it’s only gotten worse as I’ve grown older, as I recently found out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ear popping thing has started to send me into panic attacks and I’ve decided that I’d rather drive for a couple of days straight than fly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then there was the unfortunate experience of learning just how much I HATE roller coasters.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzUb7-zVRB8aNzoljWUKA6wH1sLoQP3GmBxdQI-vRlgM-_MCgJxpdiiyTbxBqsjb6AAn76AXPl49p1kTtCYhclU-L_jD8Nk77whJQlWwyw09FmsJlswZ0P3AcLF4gZGNrkvfCAIZt_iF8/s1600/pic+3.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzUb7-zVRB8aNzoljWUKA6wH1sLoQP3GmBxdQI-vRlgM-_MCgJxpdiiyTbxBqsjb6AAn76AXPl49p1kTtCYhclU-L_jD8Nk77whJQlWwyw09FmsJlswZ0P3AcLF4gZGNrkvfCAIZt_iF8/s320/pic+3.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then, of course, there were the ever-present demands for Disney-Swag.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hOorljYTO9YbCYN0Z-GYnJZ98KG8WBmtRl8ODRugv_NF1QAVZqYx9qtremZ5bolH_9nPLx7eZmjwtIPcU5xcM6kFjmwv-TGPjfGqERJzQ82Fz9CElobIvgltSDtSaNlohGQBj9GH824d/s1600/pic+4.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hOorljYTO9YbCYN0Z-GYnJZ98KG8WBmtRl8ODRugv_NF1QAVZqYx9qtremZ5bolH_9nPLx7eZmjwtIPcU5xcM6kFjmwv-TGPjfGqERJzQ82Fz9CElobIvgltSDtSaNlohGQBj9GH824d/s320/pic+4.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And through it all, I just could not find Daisy Duck!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents and I looked everywhere for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty sure we saw Mickey and Minnie about a dozen times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We even ran into Captain Hook and Mr. Smee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saw Donald, but he wouldn’t answer me when I demanded to know where his girlfriend </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">was.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then… the worst.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Epcot in Disney World had this really awesome electric lights parade and laser light show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so excited!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was wearing my favorite new Daisy Duck hat and my parents thought that the next day was going to be THE day we would find Daisy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had gotten a hug from Chewbacca at MGM that day, and now I was going to get to see a kick butt parade!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What I wasn’t used to were such MASSIVE crowds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even during the day in the middle of the Magic Kingdom, I had never seen so many people amassed in one place in my entire life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then… well, some guy was wearing the same colored shirt as my dad and I had started following him.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLiMNMAjZav9Ic_U4Q6BuwijF_c3G4VCHIFKZ-IswUm0IlmGd9rx-gbaGv_RNgcKgzVkXcc-9kVTE77KbYBCGjOVtDh6o7MU6XjyjcctZQRjX-WUvnE34QRqzw1U2uAIwqiifzA4ihwa7/s1600/pic+13.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLiMNMAjZav9Ic_U4Q6BuwijF_c3G4VCHIFKZ-IswUm0IlmGd9rx-gbaGv_RNgcKgzVkXcc-9kVTE77KbYBCGjOVtDh6o7MU6XjyjcctZQRjX-WUvnE34QRqzw1U2uAIwqiifzA4ihwa7/s320/pic+13.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My parents will insist to this day that I wandered off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t really anybody’s fault.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There had been a huge influx in the crowd in the street around us and we got separated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I was following my dad and then all the sudden I wasn’t.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0Nuo32zlWPL48gOkgkswe5PqBzD_NQ8I7BzaIgVBoxHVWh9vekvTvLmfphVhMXw9opVWFbdLPWOR-kR3SNVJfS5c-r31bJlAiI5d-9x2nhug5nV0EjIg-ZkJBU-i2Hq14GzK1wi47B7n/s1600/pic+14.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0Nuo32zlWPL48gOkgkswe5PqBzD_NQ8I7BzaIgVBoxHVWh9vekvTvLmfphVhMXw9opVWFbdLPWOR-kR3SNVJfS5c-r31bJlAiI5d-9x2nhug5nV0EjIg-ZkJBU-i2Hq14GzK1wi47B7n/s320/pic+14.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was actually a smart kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first instinct after realizing I was lost was to start heading to the nearest structure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ignoring the panic that was steadily rising in my gut, I started walking towards a restaurant that was just across the walkway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of the sudden, I felt a hand on my shoulder and I spun around.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As it turns out, when my parents came looking for me, they couldn’t remember what I was wearing… except for that wacky Daisy Duck hat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That hat was what made me visible to my Dad amongst hundreds of loud, moving families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shudder when I think of what could have happened to me if I had been wearing Mickey Mouse ears instead!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was so ecstatic when I was reunited with my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I must’ve just about hugged them both to death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of my parents acted really impressed that my first instinct was to go get help with a park employee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoyed the parade safely tucked between my mom and dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m pretty sure I didn’t take that silly hat off for the rest of the vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All was good in the world!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, and by the way, I totally met Daisy the next day!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieqL1sLNjxjbvcfR9zNRaJMRRMdpf1dkN3JmVtk81iLolh-T2t_4q7M_vxpGxzl0592TIGuRjx5ccOsGesQ4-RDRNQYVbG0gb3KjYpfSwQcwoBnSpf4EeUmdIgzItsLbUzWDo_dAE66lyn/s1600/pic+17.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieqL1sLNjxjbvcfR9zNRaJMRRMdpf1dkN3JmVtk81iLolh-T2t_4q7M_vxpGxzl0592TIGuRjx5ccOsGesQ4-RDRNQYVbG0gb3KjYpfSwQcwoBnSpf4EeUmdIgzItsLbUzWDo_dAE66lyn/s320/pic+17.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-32105890741755938432011-03-11T18:54:00.000-08:002011-03-11T18:55:48.766-08:00Manatee!I'm currently working on another long post, but I figured that I'd better do something quick or people are going to lose interest.<br />
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So, in the spirit of goodwill and many thanks for subscribing to/reading my blog, here's a manatee.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXxjM4eS1tIFKbmdUns28lqMJTDnSYvOwCA8LAdUQOz0ms41qezG6A5UdDFUplaJ0QYVBCHPTx3Bt_5BCvf-GYlr8G6hCaqudBPxEsxlmEd2f8kqSQgDcfjYiaLp4R10Ulu926DX2bb1i4/s1600/Manatee.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXxjM4eS1tIFKbmdUns28lqMJTDnSYvOwCA8LAdUQOz0ms41qezG6A5UdDFUplaJ0QYVBCHPTx3Bt_5BCvf-GYlr8G6hCaqudBPxEsxlmEd2f8kqSQgDcfjYiaLp4R10Ulu926DX2bb1i4/s320/Manatee.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I'm particularly proud of the tiny little pink and green fish. I named him Jimmy.<br />
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<em>Coming Soon - How Daisy Duck Saved My Innocence</em>Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-62782807032878353072011-03-07T10:24:00.000-08:002011-03-07T10:24:51.773-08:00Wakey Wakey! Eggs and Bakey!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love my boyfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only is he made up entirely of awesomesauce, but he also somehow has this amazing ability to deal with my need to push buttons.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What most people see as a ‘Do Not Disturb Sign,’ I see as a green traffic light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a good thing I’m not in charge of shooting off bombs because I would’ve destroyed the planet YEARS ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re talking full scale apocolypse of doom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilFlL7BxZ7ZYbh0DYViA7ShUt4Oj1XtepDPIYIyrGKokCAjxFJPyMkoO3-7tQxm6WB-nK-9bGSuDF8LfawPG-g1890qn4fhWNrCwT928Nix3Z4n7UXos_bHsqkpJ0ZiAXBCj24GSukcT_m/s1600/pic+1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilFlL7BxZ7ZYbh0DYViA7ShUt4Oj1XtepDPIYIyrGKokCAjxFJPyMkoO3-7tQxm6WB-nK-9bGSuDF8LfawPG-g1890qn4fhWNrCwT928Nix3Z4n7UXos_bHsqkpJ0ZiAXBCj24GSukcT_m/s320/pic+1.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I see this</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJLfV5PXktVkfL8l6mUUJnAeabwcco3z9YANfSXzYCEmqM7GUOOYEDkM1cpRhafcpuTzxcn7plfQeAuMGn2t_YWPi-aVznZQr2E-7UnYhoaPBSPSnN4L-GHFV8mmqJdc_z7JPBveOR_nG/s1600/pic+2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJLfV5PXktVkfL8l6mUUJnAeabwcco3z9YANfSXzYCEmqM7GUOOYEDkM1cpRhafcpuTzxcn7plfQeAuMGn2t_YWPi-aVznZQr2E-7UnYhoaPBSPSnN4L-GHFV8mmqJdc_z7JPBveOR_nG/s320/pic+2.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My brain registers it as THIS</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkxH2XKJtCIr8ViBQZxveZ2bqit_VOb4lKQQgbLiV8yJ14lK7_lt8ERScvM8ETIgGF72JKelbm6Zx9_W-49xoh78imUci-5BM9nZUcZ34IT5aZRDwesMEIQeYRFsBr3jlCk__eIoltRHz/s1600/pic+3.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkxH2XKJtCIr8ViBQZxveZ2bqit_VOb4lKQQgbLiV8yJ14lK7_lt8ERScvM8ETIgGF72JKelbm6Zx9_W-49xoh78imUci-5BM9nZUcZ34IT5aZRDwesMEIQeYRFsBr3jlCk__eIoltRHz/s320/pic+3.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And THIS is what ends up happening…</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0X-NorCQ8nDyomASSU71yy-v3lmhLaXQ8-dAJPZtilx8qnaZdUHvZPpHRcq_6GsJBO2q4YWGGmqs8N-pf7lqOzTs3UAZBMBKdxSjDz2k4vbQninWfmdQ6OA4FbUBV8rGkRrVADcqckim7/s1600/pic+4.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0X-NorCQ8nDyomASSU71yy-v3lmhLaXQ8-dAJPZtilx8qnaZdUHvZPpHRcq_6GsJBO2q4YWGGmqs8N-pf7lqOzTs3UAZBMBKdxSjDz2k4vbQninWfmdQ6OA4FbUBV8rGkRrVADcqckim7/s320/pic+4.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And That is how I will one day be responsible for THIS.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8WY1llqs8D_Q-2OHsDkaA_JOiH2ZJ85kAAkY_-zNtJOEvdLTzLymSWsi0T2r905IPLVZo_Ms83_Y89zmXNWj-Kg4O3C9sa015vc_l7XN5fzFh7NK6oWK6XE-PTK40JXXjlaz7uREno7su/s1600/pic+8.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8WY1llqs8D_Q-2OHsDkaA_JOiH2ZJ85kAAkY_-zNtJOEvdLTzLymSWsi0T2r905IPLVZo_Ms83_Y89zmXNWj-Kg4O3C9sa015vc_l7XN5fzFh7NK6oWK6XE-PTK40JXXjlaz7uREno7su/s320/pic+8.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m hoping that the above visual representation will help garner some modicum of sympathy from you… But honestly, I don’t really deserve it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You see, I am what one calls an ‘Early Riser.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This means that I get up by 7am on the weekends (5:30 on weekdays) and am as annoying as humanly possible <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">first thing in the morning</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially if someone gives me sugary cereal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, if it’s a school/work morning, I’m usually pretty low key because the days are long and I have to conserve my energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But on weekends?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh boy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What usually happens on Saturday and Sunday morning is that I wake up at 7, turn over, and stare at my boyfriend for about 15 minutes.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWUGq8q_-1-bn0EYoxn5DVbzsIwcNic8qzMknSRG1KrCs3feaRTbnn4G0isn3cAT__-YGdcaoHfO9L5EWFfHKZIQMvnLazbbGgq0LTfk_vqHxrv1zCN0BMkR6MUe5-TEFrMdcAwa6ynWfx/s1600/pic+9.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWUGq8q_-1-bn0EYoxn5DVbzsIwcNic8qzMknSRG1KrCs3feaRTbnn4G0isn3cAT__-YGdcaoHfO9L5EWFfHKZIQMvnLazbbGgq0LTfk_vqHxrv1zCN0BMkR6MUe5-TEFrMdcAwa6ynWfx/s320/pic+9.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now Josh is my opposite when it comes to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wakes up REALLY late and it takes him forever to wake up… not to mention that he’s a REAL grouch in the mornings.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Are you starting to see where that ‘do not push’ button analogy is going to come in?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1hAJDqey1d2SM8-ZAZEAyiw8KT63c8ZxIt0Y6AG96PaRwVaAEbFl9Xc1nXmzEIH0ImxixBs37XkBmi3WVdaZdcPXUddYdONToYTFoe0GJ07gTvTp6xsi0ckjbpRIBHms2MBpHwXPo2k0/s1600/pic+10.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1hAJDqey1d2SM8-ZAZEAyiw8KT63c8ZxIt0Y6AG96PaRwVaAEbFl9Xc1nXmzEIH0ImxixBs37XkBmi3WVdaZdcPXUddYdONToYTFoe0GJ07gTvTp6xsi0ckjbpRIBHms2MBpHwXPo2k0/s320/pic+10.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This process usually continues until I get bored and go out into the living room to watch the news and fiddle around on Facebook.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then… I get bored again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, about every hour or so, I’ll pick up the cat and toss her onto the bed, just to see if she’ll bat at his face to wake him up… mainly because I’d rather he yell at the cat than at me.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPbDh7zYDCRXEoHp7W9ntxxcggl1o6CzFn_OmpVq4QI90ixzgIrga6AS6hLfhI4huC1OeFmTyUQVPk6_L5slvog3sjGz9j5kCgVPmiwPKOEMQV6b7TuJDRPN86VQ8zvYCOXmSpYzZgFDK/s1600/pic+12.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPbDh7zYDCRXEoHp7W9ntxxcggl1o6CzFn_OmpVq4QI90ixzgIrga6AS6hLfhI4huC1OeFmTyUQVPk6_L5slvog3sjGz9j5kCgVPmiwPKOEMQV6b7TuJDRPN86VQ8zvYCOXmSpYzZgFDK/s320/pic+12.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometime later in the day, I start whining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I continuously whine until he wakes up…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now he may look like this to the normal, untrained eye…</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcHCjZSF0h6R3q_HqZdpfWRocS0szkSASRUC_qeJ3M39F6n0mt7X3VI98VFHKV9xyR4PewkNEn9O9BypL925GnqoeFfD2ro3dk8FDHMxooFLSgRPy2freGrcSokUTUYCmc_HEpDrhnHUF/s1600/pic+13.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcHCjZSF0h6R3q_HqZdpfWRocS0szkSASRUC_qeJ3M39F6n0mt7X3VI98VFHKV9xyR4PewkNEn9O9BypL925GnqoeFfD2ro3dk8FDHMxooFLSgRPy2freGrcSokUTUYCmc_HEpDrhnHUF/s320/pic+13.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But to my uber-sensitive, disguise-detecting girlfriend eye, he really looks like THIS</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKb84BXadPOjSvlSZPp2ebQAONU7-9OQY081BqcgWK6-GsJ8tED3QdVN51g-lPbMwfEDQnHT2o5RYrP2SVhRDVavlAmTQ-TEwYDwVbasdwd0ytcUs7or3OaeW9G-qGvToTLlKjpwIDWpYO/s1600/pic+14.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKb84BXadPOjSvlSZPp2ebQAONU7-9OQY081BqcgWK6-GsJ8tED3QdVN51g-lPbMwfEDQnHT2o5RYrP2SVhRDVavlAmTQ-TEwYDwVbasdwd0ytcUs7or3OaeW9G-qGvToTLlKjpwIDWpYO/s320/pic+14.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is usually when I either A) apologize profusely for being such an insensitive jerk or B) get defensive because I don’t like admitting I’m wrong… which I usually am.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgco_fx_9hbHqRryLa4_k4L-GEkIgqtrGGJ1TDZp4S4x6vcgqg0riVjn66u9tq2th57of1Lyzh545RCg1IqVo7vmxLDi5lwE-lhh5utf6vXdFUhkCDRBmuvKUUercgFK8P_YFPCmwqMcEWs/s1600/pic+15.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgco_fx_9hbHqRryLa4_k4L-GEkIgqtrGGJ1TDZp4S4x6vcgqg0riVjn66u9tq2th57of1Lyzh545RCg1IqVo7vmxLDi5lwE-lhh5utf6vXdFUhkCDRBmuvKUUercgFK8P_YFPCmwqMcEWs/s320/pic+15.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The moral of this story is that you can pretty much get away with anything as long as there is a cute fuzzy animal nearby that you can use for emotional blackmail</span></div>Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-25272462444049367412011-03-06T09:13:00.000-08:002011-03-06T09:13:32.613-08:00HAPPY BIRTHDAYS ALL AROUND!So I noticed that it was one of my favorite people's birthday today. And another one of my favortie people had a birthday a week ago. AND my cousin just had a birthday. So here's a birthday post for you three! Love y'all!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVzZUGyZXXdMZzkxhsII9rRXV5n86YTQPJFaLCZPLYzVK_YO1nbieKTB9bRVchByedwSOsWaVBy7irfmyumMd_Dz3jA2BiZ-yU-atOhjVViTQBhbhiJlZ9BfTvB7jITW25sEK0Ig1-y3a/s1600/Kerri.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVzZUGyZXXdMZzkxhsII9rRXV5n86YTQPJFaLCZPLYzVK_YO1nbieKTB9bRVchByedwSOsWaVBy7irfmyumMd_Dz3jA2BiZ-yU-atOhjVViTQBhbhiJlZ9BfTvB7jITW25sEK0Ig1-y3a/s320/Kerri.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-33047109486426618032011-03-05T23:15:00.000-08:002011-03-05T23:29:34.748-08:00Lake Michigan In October<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I live in Wisconsin, so it’s pretty safe to say that I am used to cold temperatures… to a degree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No amount of upper-midwest living will ever make you able to tolerate below-zero weather without some amount of whining. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I practically grew up on my dad’s sailboat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the summers, it is one of my favorite places to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s usually about 10 degrees cooler on the lake front than the rest of the city, plus you can almost always catch a breeze, and the lake never gets super warm so there’s always a way to cool down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And believe me, I love swimming.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m very particular about swimming though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the water is 80 degrees, I’m miserable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like the feeling of jumping into a big bowl of sweat, which is what warm water feels like to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like refreshing dips instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I’m not jumping into a pool, I prefer to be in extremely deep water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This may sound contrary to most human being’s survival instincts, but I can’t stand touching the bottom of lakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate wet sand and seaweed especially.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, the Milwaukee shoreline can get really rancid when the conditions are right.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Essentially, if we’re about 5 miles out and the water is about 200 feet deep, I’m a happy little fish.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OCjZJG9CsgISUpG6dcX24NYwpuVKoGlCKxyAGIS3mB9uTHfMQjY52Br0aRABG_Iji2TPudNAbY4yEI33QW5fmFYzF2ebi48MySRDComDTu3IUiysD-HTmA3sbaYpKdOtVFpqMSCn2bmQ/s1600/pic+1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OCjZJG9CsgISUpG6dcX24NYwpuVKoGlCKxyAGIS3mB9uTHfMQjY52Br0aRABG_Iji2TPudNAbY4yEI33QW5fmFYzF2ebi48MySRDComDTu3IUiysD-HTmA3sbaYpKdOtVFpqMSCn2bmQ/s320/pic+1.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I wonder if *maybe* my body’s internal thermometer is broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m almost never dressed properly for the weather, for one.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirajIy_6RrOAqRRmySb5QMVLE7UsZRyOpff4zy1E9bREUDYjq9mA6BjAQTtPto1IHFx79pIFyo6hAevb2nFLEOzmvKGN_L2LnF5fO-4r-gR5BHiRz1ChR6aWHhPJJy7c0NZv0x2QiEqStt/s1600/pic+2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirajIy_6RrOAqRRmySb5QMVLE7UsZRyOpff4zy1E9bREUDYjq9mA6BjAQTtPto1IHFx79pIFyo6hAevb2nFLEOzmvKGN_L2LnF5fO-4r-gR5BHiRz1ChR6aWHhPJJy7c0NZv0x2QiEqStt/s320/pic+2.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One time, in October, my dad and I decided to take a few friends of mine on a sailboat ride before we had to take the boat out of the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Boyfriend and I had just started dating, my two bestest friends in the world were available, one of Josh’s dude-friends was available, so what better way to spend a sunny afternoon?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What my dad didn’t count on was me wanting to jump in the lake one last time before the sailing season was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even went so far as to wear a particularly horrible old sweat suit to hide my swimming gear so he wouldn’t know my intentions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We get out there, everyone’s having a grand ol’ time when suddenly…</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_62OxHCTQHFSrSHSLyt6dVwt_MavIY_bLFKPnOXAe3uMMbHLAXE4ULXsrpLKzjcuCck6ycez-IYAw0h4Dk_HtX00Ru97hftFVclnexDZI_hGjzCwm5ugJwjI2l8qx8DIwN0ZE1c9z6LW/s1600/pic+4.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_62OxHCTQHFSrSHSLyt6dVwt_MavIY_bLFKPnOXAe3uMMbHLAXE4ULXsrpLKzjcuCck6ycez-IYAw0h4Dk_HtX00Ru97hftFVclnexDZI_hGjzCwm5ugJwjI2l8qx8DIwN0ZE1c9z6LW/s320/pic+4.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCxSlHPdtU6_udzKh9esMi-6pSSU8j-Yd2s6vp1EzDdOz5iqEuoTpabxFAEQlul7-uKcSzyFQ9D4jwEyIXJ_Zum3xacEj1PhHc5b_0PEy3S8x0nMlOh-BIiSd3V8ZzpLFpqzXPWeIK5pC/s1600/pic+8.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCxSlHPdtU6_udzKh9esMi-6pSSU8j-Yd2s6vp1EzDdOz5iqEuoTpabxFAEQlul7-uKcSzyFQ9D4jwEyIXJ_Zum3xacEj1PhHc5b_0PEy3S8x0nMlOh-BIiSd3V8ZzpLFpqzXPWeIK5pC/s320/pic+8.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Keep in mind that I was an adult, not a child, when this happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was 23 or 24 at the time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My dad probably figured that it would be so cold that I would immediately get out as soon as I got in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if I were a NORMAL person, he would’ve been right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His knowledge of a human’s tolerance for coldness was in direct conflict with his knowledge of his daughter’s previous behavior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in my dad’s defense, had he said ‘No’ and stuck to it, he would’ve been subjected to hours of unadulterated whining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So my dad gave in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He pulled down the main sail, stopped the motor, dropped anchor and told me to go for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And go for it I did!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t even use the ladder to climb in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just took a flying leap off of the back of the boat in to ice cold, October-in-Wisconsin water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it was GLORIOUS!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmDkaF1AnIPHLezcQSBBBVp4yWW92TZgjVfqkWesUYX6hDjyxhzx8bv_tjimQ6bzdW_dHYxtPali-ACajf24glj2YUbeBDa1iJtuznsfEhq3lNO_PqFrgOh2wqfyV3V8lnNZe-q5hhuBq/s1600/pic+9.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmDkaF1AnIPHLezcQSBBBVp4yWW92TZgjVfqkWesUYX6hDjyxhzx8bv_tjimQ6bzdW_dHYxtPali-ACajf24glj2YUbeBDa1iJtuznsfEhq3lNO_PqFrgOh2wqfyV3V8lnNZe-q5hhuBq/s320/pic+9.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcUS_FsDWToZCB-SB_foFc42jMJ4nUS9iK5G0PtDjaSf-3wqQQlpNC7IFZyO72xgpzia8iC60QVDJOv_pm6u9xfDvVU1niWD_8VHwAAzEeYeT8NTmwWEwmE_IryDT5pI3ORrumxhaIu91/s1600/pic+10.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcUS_FsDWToZCB-SB_foFc42jMJ4nUS9iK5G0PtDjaSf-3wqQQlpNC7IFZyO72xgpzia8iC60QVDJOv_pm6u9xfDvVU1niWD_8VHwAAzEeYeT8NTmwWEwmE_IryDT5pI3ORrumxhaIu91/s320/pic+10.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a few minutes of watching me gleefully doggy paddling around, two of our guests thought they’d hop on in too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must admit, I was having a blast so it really must have looked like fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josh’s dude-friend decides to climb in using the ladder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stayed in for all of five minutes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And one of my bestest friends who came along (and is from CANADA, which is supposed to be COLDER) decided to give it a go as well.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_CzJfPSgG5TFkvTOBBMjM2DATtkgySdgD70t9DRDERg3997Z375lFiDNveJgTJyfBNe4eQF2Hv6q5zvm_303r09ylP98TxWLV_pOH1spbLJehR43Aq7E-wZOS0pEIw-nsT13BAJ8Pz3b/s1600/pic+11.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_CzJfPSgG5TFkvTOBBMjM2DATtkgySdgD70t9DRDERg3997Z375lFiDNveJgTJyfBNe4eQF2Hv6q5zvm_303r09ylP98TxWLV_pOH1spbLJehR43Aq7E-wZOS0pEIw-nsT13BAJ8Pz3b/s320/pic+11.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzN4iYTF4MU6OuwmydXFVL0MMAW9EK3MYrDvI7lEAz9cu3VFdk1xbXQ_edTQyBF5NIRxjdLlCqlUw8Pgs2aCW1wvlqWaS_pjx9Y8iseyrUjWrQF38b8Cd3wy1KMvEuDEskszWqOVKSHTq8/s1600/pic+12.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzN4iYTF4MU6OuwmydXFVL0MMAW9EK3MYrDvI7lEAz9cu3VFdk1xbXQ_edTQyBF5NIRxjdLlCqlUw8Pgs2aCW1wvlqWaS_pjx9Y8iseyrUjWrQF38b8Cd3wy1KMvEuDEskszWqOVKSHTq8/s320/pic+12.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She got out right away.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course Josh wouldn’t come in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of his biggest fears is deep water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After about a half an hour, they all started getting bored.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wUI_QevTRpQrx_-KIe41TIBTr0HTz9tD7VZr9maHca_UfLx5V_KKspvxV2y9ZDChm_J7YQwSqK9ASegpi7VoR2ALrbXazKaLW_fRZ2G6xjXtFflNYaVkRa3D-VRQRkPEK1R27cQorJSV/s1600/pic+13.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wUI_QevTRpQrx_-KIe41TIBTr0HTz9tD7VZr9maHca_UfLx5V_KKspvxV2y9ZDChm_J7YQwSqK9ASegpi7VoR2ALrbXazKaLW_fRZ2G6xjXtFflNYaVkRa3D-VRQRkPEK1R27cQorJSV/s320/pic+13.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After an hour of unadulterated nagging, I finally decided that it was getting a little chilly and I had ruined everyone else’s fun enough for one day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I climbed back up onto the boat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I wasn’t expecting was to be hit with the most violent case of the shivers I’d ever experienced in my life within 30 seconds of getting out.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Within 5 minutes, I couldn’t even talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had managed to dry off enough to get into my sweats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josh, being the fantabulous boyfriend he was, sat below in the cabin with me and held me close to him for warmth as I shook violently under a blanket.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_icTgVADU2N-lgZ8OPrX-hlHe-vzdl6tcwR6yZhjuepcq1Zm4n2vZRGpsHmqHgS5H0OFGwDJCWY1bmqghOeHs2_-IKhviuQQZN6ExUYu4lfq_SjzebIYIXGMeA4E4CbUBoaCAS8naCVQb/s1600/pic+15.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_icTgVADU2N-lgZ8OPrX-hlHe-vzdl6tcwR6yZhjuepcq1Zm4n2vZRGpsHmqHgS5H0OFGwDJCWY1bmqghOeHs2_-IKhviuQQZN6ExUYu4lfq_SjzebIYIXGMeA4E4CbUBoaCAS8naCVQb/s320/pic+15.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Everyone else pretty much figured I got what I deserved… and they would be absolutely right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was warned about the temperature of the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was nagged mercilessly to get out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew it was October and I had lived in Wisconsin my entire life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, I should’ve known better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my friends and family made one fatal flaw that day.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They assumed that I actually think rationally.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My lips turned blue and I got incredibly dizzy and disoriented (being in the cabin of a sailboat can do that as well) but I didn’t go to the hospital. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we got back to the cars, I cranked up the heat so high that my dad and Josh had to open their windows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A hot shower and about eight spare blankets later and I was feeling right as rain.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz7LIDxVAt1F4Be-Pgor5uQBTYRCjGmPYuWllHr8Uuh_7LGKm6wDN-mIoVfM-OF8E6oE74dKvsE-Ji-aV96JeOJ8BL5OdOKolC5BeKg1HdQgJWJH9AVQ8eRg36szJ0WVkqH64vMPPAaQiN/s1600/pic+16.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz7LIDxVAt1F4Be-Pgor5uQBTYRCjGmPYuWllHr8Uuh_7LGKm6wDN-mIoVfM-OF8E6oE74dKvsE-Ji-aV96JeOJ8BL5OdOKolC5BeKg1HdQgJWJH9AVQ8eRg36szJ0WVkqH64vMPPAaQiN/s320/pic+16.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I feel really sorry for my parents.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-42916748392474529632011-03-05T16:33:00.000-08:002011-03-05T16:33:05.562-08:00Puttin' On My Fat Girl Pants<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I am willing to admit here and now that I am a whole-lotta lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve got a lot of baggage, if you know what I mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And hey, it is what it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being overweight, clothes shopping is probably the least fun experience in the whole wide world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are times when I would rather be mauled by angry beavers than try to find a new pair of pants.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPz00rY8vWSb4wTWrs0VlYRtQXmyrzE-Bi-wI6ONMaiEgY2Z4OoiuKJdH86Ye1KEiSYQqebA3KT1WxKSi2QGGdaCRG76z8MJw5UrQJ7yE_0iVcuQ58xE0HI5BqMd-Q8Z6ich4FqgQ-J7ix/s1600/Pic+1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPz00rY8vWSb4wTWrs0VlYRtQXmyrzE-Bi-wI6ONMaiEgY2Z4OoiuKJdH86Ye1KEiSYQqebA3KT1WxKSi2QGGdaCRG76z8MJw5UrQJ7yE_0iVcuQ58xE0HI5BqMd-Q8Z6ich4FqgQ-J7ix/s320/Pic+1.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t have any issues finding shirts because I’m not the busty-type, but pants. .. I absolutely hate pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love them, actually, because I hate having a breeze where it doesn’t belong, but I hate *finding* pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly, pants need to be replaced, especially if they get ripped due to an embarrassing moment caused by an intoxicated stranger-woman at karaoke night barging around like a giant rampaging moose.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On one such occasion, I decided to go to one of my favorite stores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This store in particular was pretty awesome because they have both regular sizes and plus sizes, they’re cheap as all get-out, and very few of their pants have the dreaded old-lady elastic on them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Imagine my surprise when I walk in and they have switched their ‘special’ brand to a funny looking new brand that required a size conversion chart… a conversion chart that, by all appearances, looked like it required a masters in advanced calculus and a sooooper-expensive graphing calculator to decipher… Not to mention some background in deciphering hieroglyphics. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-0isDOonvgcEnKLfO-Sq-KhegrLcFVhCHwUMbo7KwYTkjUDSj5FLDntG0w-PZqU-axSRGq8aBME0c4GXGsMXjY6irpgEoShw4FgLC0dC-qILgZdQVG6PJ-nvNmKmfGY5zd9Sjg6whE_LM/s1600/Pic+2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-0isDOonvgcEnKLfO-Sq-KhegrLcFVhCHwUMbo7KwYTkjUDSj5FLDntG0w-PZqU-axSRGq8aBME0c4GXGsMXjY6irpgEoShw4FgLC0dC-qILgZdQVG6PJ-nvNmKmfGY5zd9Sjg6whE_LM/s320/Pic+2.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-e10T5ZaDHuFnUqvukdlbRNspZ90XkXly_4YPFcG3obvLI4Gwy_9sxCFVkyOQw6-m2vnL6-ASczY7yUpVJ8dCvvu3bO_78udqhyefmp_-VGveGiAIdp7j-UMwT6qX3xON4DSWrfT7BHsv/s1600/Pic+3.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-e10T5ZaDHuFnUqvukdlbRNspZ90XkXly_4YPFcG3obvLI4Gwy_9sxCFVkyOQw6-m2vnL6-ASczY7yUpVJ8dCvvu3bO_78udqhyefmp_-VGveGiAIdp7j-UMwT6qX3xON4DSWrfT7BHsv/s320/Pic+3.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OiWQKZKiuB_lb_NH4tN6bcSZmh2aP2r-JhmL8T_9MXhgbDNoE3MfpRGGvypBgLLwZCIxa_8qul9tcfsKk9i_GHX4fIQwtz_mPaCFdz-XW137n9n_FuZQNREgVcO-L9XPetOH36KvhjWt/s1600/Pic+4.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OiWQKZKiuB_lb_NH4tN6bcSZmh2aP2r-JhmL8T_9MXhgbDNoE3MfpRGGvypBgLLwZCIxa_8qul9tcfsKk9i_GHX4fIQwtz_mPaCFdz-XW137n9n_FuZQNREgVcO-L9XPetOH36KvhjWt/s320/Pic+4.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I didn’t understand… I had never been exposed to this brand of pants before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What the hell do colorful rectangles, circles and triangles have to with my pants?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where are the actual sizes?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8h2JS2gOdZCpq29lPSQZyOyhM27QEc5da1JTZRAMXrsARgZLInivXkLYrM6TN3jK9_a1Y9xD1JeQGRvsfaOmodPudiFc1q3jn9okmxm-YG_IMYfoBtqI6GVADyuZVPTvy0A-PNhHoeou/s1600/Pic+5.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8h2JS2gOdZCpq29lPSQZyOyhM27QEc5da1JTZRAMXrsARgZLInivXkLYrM6TN3jK9_a1Y9xD1JeQGRvsfaOmodPudiFc1q3jn9okmxm-YG_IMYfoBtqI6GVADyuZVPTvy0A-PNhHoeou/s320/Pic+5.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTy1tnh256iDlDlF-XQC759payPzB2VFVSs9rwKDEwOnSCi7IIwKprrUy0mmqcXqXBgpz2v1L09pEbOKKQa4uuCCp9Jwb_YC-H5cAjvS525K2hEGSbInfMwRXF334tQJQQD0b6LxkFks5Y/s1600/Pic+6.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTy1tnh256iDlDlF-XQC759payPzB2VFVSs9rwKDEwOnSCi7IIwKprrUy0mmqcXqXBgpz2v1L09pEbOKKQa4uuCCp9Jwb_YC-H5cAjvS525K2hEGSbInfMwRXF334tQJQQD0b6LxkFks5Y/s320/Pic+6.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The conversation that ensued went something like this.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m closer to a 26 than a 6.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sales Lady: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These pants are sized differently!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah… I got that… but I’m not a size 6.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sales Lady:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, you’re a Plus-Sized 6!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But 6 isn’t a plus size…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sales Lady:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Getting noticeably exasperated by this point)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have a different prefix than the regular size 6’s so you can tell the difference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Perking right back up again) Isn’t it SOOOOOOOO cool that you can say you’re a size 6 now without having to feel bad about yourself?!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I don’t feel bad about myself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Long Pause.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not a size 6.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0r25wynmY1GCt2UPWnIgVv5Q9bHtIdlJ8tQo8CtR2zI4OTdE-ttgB-mxcsjB3Vh__CaS0DvQdSbTfwJVHTTK7dH2bLqoglOZsizfm0UR91kOLmSGKscAJHtDf9MyxS4Ia10IAQ7yk_1zb/s1600/Pic+7.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0r25wynmY1GCt2UPWnIgVv5Q9bHtIdlJ8tQo8CtR2zI4OTdE-ttgB-mxcsjB3Vh__CaS0DvQdSbTfwJVHTTK7dH2bLqoglOZsizfm0UR91kOLmSGKscAJHtDf9MyxS4Ia10IAQ7yk_1zb/s320/Pic+7.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Needless to say, I did not buy pants there that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wound up at an old lady store that had some pretty icky clothes, but at least had jeans with my normal, squishy sizes on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They weren’t about to confuse old grannies with some wacky new system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I really had a problem with any brand of clothing that says ‘Hey!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re fat and insecure!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give us an extra $10 per pair of jeans and we’ll let you call yourself a size 4!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if buying pants isn’t a horrifying enough experience when you’re a plus-sized woman, now this stupid company was trying to capitalize on my own body image issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hasn’t the fashion industry already done enough damage to my ego… and my pocket book?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Since this specific incident, this particular brand HAS changed their sizing methods… at least in this region.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m still wary of their merchandise.</span></div>Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-31090772669820903042011-03-05T14:46:00.000-08:002011-03-05T14:49:51.958-08:00What Happens When TVs Go BadGirlfriend Rule #1: Don't mess up boyfriend's TV.<br />
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I learned this the hard way today. Our TV stand is really small and the two television sets we have in the apartment are old and bulky and ginormous. Josh's TV is one of those that have the DVD and VHS in it (both of which broke years ago) and it's smaller than mine... My much larger (and equally ancient) set just doesn't fit on the stand we have, so we keep Josh's in the living room. Mine is sitting in our bedroom on the floor against a wall and hasn't been used in about a year. <br />
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Of course, the REASON it hasn't been used in a year is because I finally got sick of having to jump over it to get in the front door of the apartment. Josh decided he wanted to hook up his PS2 to that set seperately in an effort to avoid having to watch my girlie shows.<br />
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The biggest problem with Josh's TV is that it's broken. The screen works fine and everything is Kosher as long as you have the remote. But the power button is pushed in and lost somewhere inside the set and when you try to adjust the volume directly on the tv, strange numbers pop up, the set automatically mutes, and even removing the plug from the wall doesn't reset the tv. Worse still is that even if you have the remote, you can't negate whatever pushing those volume buttons does.<br />
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This morning I was trying to watch a show on Hulu while Josh slept after working 3rd shift. Problem was, I had lost the remote for the TV earlier that morning after the news. Plus I was getting a headache. And the set was REALLY LOUD. So I had two options. <br />
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Option 1: Wake the boyfriend up with copious amounts of whining and suffer the consequences later... because *I* can never find the things I lose.<br />
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Option 2: Risk using the volume buttons on the TV and try to sort it out later. If they did that weird mess-up thing they always do, at least it would be muted and I would be able to relax with Hulu and a bottle of Excedrine.<br />
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Naturally, I chose option 2. So, four hours later when the demon finally woke up, he was even more cranky than usual because his television was, once again, malfunctioning... basically because his silly girlfriend, knowing full well what would likely happen, still did something... well... silly.<br />
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All is well now. My solution was to jam the volume buttons repeatedly until the tv fixed itself. 20 minutes later, television is fine and the remote was found. But I did learn that it is never a good idea to mess with a boy's television. Now, if I could only get him to not mess with my stereo... ... ...Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-38788843440668899722011-03-03T18:14:00.000-08:002011-03-03T18:14:47.143-08:00Lekmee E' EdhelThis means 'Letter in Elf/Elvish'<br />
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Apparently Tolkien never saw the need for words like 'A' and 'Blog' and 'Post.' I found out today that my audition really did go well and it wasn't just in my head... I did get a solo and I'm uber-pumped about it! We're doing a choir arrangement of 'May It Be' from Lord of the Rings and my solo is in that piece. (Hence the attempt at Elvish!) The cool part about the way our director decided to arrange it is that we have two voices - A male voice and a female voice - for the solos and then the full choir for the rest of it. The guy who won the male part has a PHENOMINAL voice that is beautiful and haunting and powerful. Half way through my bit-part solo, he comes in with male harmony to counter my part... if we can nail this, it will give everybody the chills.<br />
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The solos are very, very brief. The main focus is on the full choir sound, but I think that the way our director decided to place them will be powerful and add to the song itself. Of course, this whole 'singing in Elvish' thing has caused me to go into full geek-mode-meltdown. I'm not sure, but I think Josh was a little put-off by my pathetic attempts at translating random English statements into Elvish and attempting to pronounce them... <br />
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I've been inspired to do something ENTIRELY useless with my time - Learn to be fluent in Elvish. Specifically Quenya or Sindarin. As soon as I figure out where I can learn this, I will get back to you. For now, I'm stuck relying on a really crappy translator that doesn't have any of the words I want to use.<br />
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But I still don't think 'Blog' is going to be in the Quenya dialect.<br />
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In honor of my newest, most useless obsession, here are some links for more fun!<br />
<a href="http://www.chriswetherell.com/hobbit/index.php">Hobbit Name Generator</a><br />
<a href="http://www.chriswetherell.com/elf/">Elvish Name Generator</a><br />
<a href="http://www.hockel.com/therese/elvish/combinations.htm">Learn To Write Elvish</a><br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quenya">Quenya Wikipedia Article</a><br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sindarin">Sindarin Wikipedia Article</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ljm5225B_cg">Youtube - Scenes from LOTR set to 'May It Be' by Enya</a><br />
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Till my next post, "Man Aduial!"Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-43386196646422138432011-03-01T17:40:00.000-08:002011-03-01T17:40:44.198-08:00To Brighten Your Day!I've had a pretty decent day. Aside from the fact that I'm blatantly procrastinating at the moment (I <em>really</em> don't want to do this week's English movie discussion), I feel pretty accomplished. In fact, I've been very productive today and I have a feeling that when I go to bed, I will have a general feeling of satisfaction when I retrace my day in my head.<br />
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I had a fantastic day at school today. I'm very confident in my answers on the big math test I took. My solo audition in choir didn't suck horribly. And Percussion Ensemble was exceptionally therapeutic, as always. I've been thinking about several lists I want to post on here as well as possibly starting to incorporate illustrations or photos to spice up my posts.<br />
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To celebrate the <em>fantabulous</em> mood I'm in, I thought I would link y'all to some of the blogs I check regularly. Keep in mind that I am new to writing in the blogosphere, but I have been watching these blogs in particular for years.<br />
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<a href="http://www.postsecret.com/">PostSecret</a> - I love love LOVE PostSecret. I have all of the books that have been published except for one. This particular project celebrates the ability to free yourself of secrets and baggage under pretenses of anonymity and what a wonderful gift unloading your secrets can be. I have thought about submitting secrets over the years, but I never got around to it. Please be warned though - Some of the secrets are definitely of a mature-nature.<br />
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<a href="http://www.cakewrecks.blogspot.com/">Cake Wrecks</a> - A celebration of what happens when bakers go stupid. Some of these are absolutely hilarious! The 'Sunday Sweets' are always amazing though. So you get 6 days a week of horrendously hilarious monstrosities and one day a week of awe-inspiring, glorious confections of uber-fabulousness. I'll take that! (Plus, who doesn't love cake? Fo' Realz!)<br />
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<a href="http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/">Awkward Family Photos</a> - Now Now, before you get on your high horse and lecture me about how not-nice it is to make fun of people, I know. This particular site is meant for <em>good-natured</em> fun. People send in their own absolutely ridiculous family photos and we all get a good chortle. (Stay away from the comments section though. People are rude and callous and should be beat with sticks over there) My favorites are angry baby pictures and old 80's hair pictures. <br />
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And finally, my ABSOLUTE MOST FAVORITEST BLOG EVER!<br />
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<a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/">Hyperbole And A Half</a> - Seriously, this girl Allie... I'm in love with her. I love her writing style, I love her pictures, I love her stories, I love the way her brain works. She will have you dying with laughter within six minutes. Her stories sound a lot like some of the things running through my head about 90% of the time. Plus, any woman who loves drawing silly pictures of unicorns and alots gets my vote any day of the week. If you don't know what an alot is, go here: <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/04/alot-is-better-than-you-at-everything.html">The Alot</a> If you want to see my personal favorite story of hers, go here: <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/10/god-of-cake.html">God of Cake</a> Over the past year or so, I've managed to go back through every post she's ever made. Seriously, if I ever meet this girl, I'm going to give her a cupcake with a marshmallow giraffe on it, ten thousand pixie stix, and a new computer. Except for the new computer bit, because I can't afford that. And maybe ten pixie stix instead of ten-thousand... because I can't afford ten-thousand pixie stix either.<br />
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PS: My birthday is on April 5th and I really want <a href="http://www.zazzle.com/alot_sweatshirt-235981625716414872">This</a> in a size 3x.Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5640769941513171202.post-44077167263908846202011-02-28T16:43:00.000-08:002011-02-28T18:07:44.628-08:00Look Ma, I'm blogging!I struggled while trying to figure out a name for my blog. Do I go with the cliche 'A Day In The Life Of...' Do I come up with something snappy and witty? Should I use something pretentious and philosophical that implies depth and a touch of jaded ennui? To be honest, I created this blog without planning anything out. A family member of mine decided to make her blog private so I had to create an account and subscribe. I've been meaning to set up a blog of some sort for ages now anyway, so I might as well give this whole blogsphere a try while I'm at it.<br />
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Since I don't really have one specific type of subject I'd like to explore, this is probably going to end up like all of my craptacular internet journal attempts in high school - a mishmash of random musings, rants, and song lyrics. The only difference between this and those horrible beta-blogs is that now I have a cat... and she's WAY cuter and infinitely more interesting than me so I have a 'go-to' subject when things get boring.<br />
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Since this is a first post and I really have no clue what to write about other than my daily life, I suppose I could give a brief background of who I am. My real name is Kate, the nickname 99% of my friends use is 'Zuko,' and my new splendiforous Internet-blog-alias is Zooxie. (Pretty snappy, eh?!) I'm an adult adoptee who supports open records as well as left-wing-leaning politically. I like to make up my own words and phrases that usually only make sense to me at first... until everyone else picks them up. Craziness is actually contagious. I live with my fantastic boyfriend who's most annoying flaw is his inability to replace the cap of the toothpaste after he's done using it and his irritating habit of being right most of the time. My most annoying flaw is probably the fact that my first instinct is to be as loud as possible whenever possible, especially if I'm ticked off. I'm 26 years old and STILL working on my Associates degree because I put off college for a million years and decided to take my time with it this time... Which is actually paying off because I'm running at *almost* a 3.8 GPA. Of course, being a full time student and working means I have no social life... a circumstance that I suspect will significantly affect the interest-factor of my blog posts negatively. <br />
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Most importantly, I am a musician. (My current major is Music Occupations, but I plan on changing to a Music Composition Major in the next year or so) I play several instruments - Flute; Alto, Tenor, and Bari Sax (but I don't currently own a tenor sax, sadly. I named my bari Suze); Piano; Voice (yes, this is a real major instrument... punks); Drums (finally!); and I dabble in bass and guitar... emphasis on *dabble.* I'm alright on bass but as far as guitar goes, I'm only good for basic chord work to accompany the songs I write. I have been paid to perform several times, so I guess that makes me a pseudo-professional, even though performance isn't the profession I really want to go in to. I would absolutely love to teach at a college or conservatory level. Working with other adults (read: not high school students) to develop their skills as musicians and explore their <em>passion</em> is my dream job. My heart is in composing... No matter how great you are at performing, there will always be a better player than you, but composing allows you to explore and create pieces of music that express who YOU are. Plus, getting a degree in composition would also qualify me to teach multiple subjects at a higher level other than performance or individual lessons.<br />
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Really, the thing I am the most knowledgeable about is music, so you'll probably find me rambling on about that a lot. (ex: above paragraph) <br />
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One last thing you should know before we go any further than this post... I AM ADDICTED TO ELLIPSES. I dot-dot-dot constantly... (see) as well as hyphenate and parenthesis-ate(?) all the time. I'm sure many people will find this irritating... but I'm counting on having a few people think it is a cute and endearing trait that makes me all the more adorable! :)<br />
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So welcome to my blog and all! Give me enough time and I'm sure I will settle into my comfy little corner of the Interweb soon enough!Zooxiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03570169270086734441noreply@blogger.com1