<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:21:24.275-07:00</updated><title type='text'>To Blog or Not to Blog</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>40</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-114696821908271751</id><published>2006-05-06T19:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-06T19:19:49.666-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Californians</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I was at the grocery store tonight and I saw my friend and her mom in the parking lot. I went over to say "Hi" and as I approached my friends mom was scolding the lady in the spot next to her for leaving her cart there instead of returning it to the cart holder, she informed her that, that's how peoples cars get dinged up. The lady responded with some heated words that I didn't hear, but as we were sitting there chatting the lady was pulling away, her pride obviously hurt, had to get one last shot at my friends mom and yelled out the window (in front of her 10 or so year old daughter) "The license plate explains it all!!!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;See my friend has California license plates. My friend however is a 5th generation born and raised Idahoan, she just moved back to California after moving there a few years ago when she was offered a job as head pastry chef at a restaurant.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;My friends mom yelled back that they were 5th generation Idahoans and that she was just mad because she was lazy. Then my friend turned to me and said "she's probably from California herself."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;While I find this particular incident funny, it ticks me off at the same time. It's stereotyping at it's worst, how can we ever expect this country to get over racism, homophobia, and profiling of any kind, if we can't even get along with people from our own country, just because people from different regions live their lives slightly different then our area. I'm sure California and Idaho are not the only states that have some idiot rivalry. All these letters to the editor in the local paper telling Californians to go home, make me ashamed of our state. Quit acting like a 5 year old child who didn't get his way and is now throwing a temper tantrum because you don't want to share your candy bar and get over it! Instead of being a baby come up with solutions to the problems that Californians supposedly are causing, maybe if you accept a little change or welcome people from another area, you'll find that you like them and that they have something to contribute to our area.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Let me know how you feel in about 5-10 years when you finally get fed up and think that the Californians have over-run your great state and when you head off to Canada and Montana and they treat you like scum and tell you to go home.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And no, I'm not from California, born and raised Coeur d' Aleneian.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-114696821908271751?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/114696821908271751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=114696821908271751' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114696821908271751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114696821908271751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/05/californians.html' title='Californians'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-114658685896145583</id><published>2006-05-02T09:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-02T10:36:10.866-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Mr. President</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Looks like Pink is joining the Dixie Chicks and other singers who are using their music to speak out against the President. I think it's a very moving song, I just hope she doesn't get the same negative reaction that the Dixie Chicks got though. They also have a new album out with a song on it that is a reaction to how they were treated, also very powerful. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;In addition to having powerful lyrics, the actual music is beautiful too.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Dear Mr. President"(feat. Indigo Girls)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dear Mr. President&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Come take a walk with me&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Let's pretend we're just two people and&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You're not better than me&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What do you feel when you look in the mirror&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Are you proud&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How do you sleep while the rest of us cry&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How do you walk with your head held high&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Can you even look me in the eye&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And tell me why&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dear Mr. President&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Were you a lonely boy&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Are you a lonely boy&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Are you a lonely boy&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How can you say&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;No child is left behind&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;We're not dumb and we're not blind&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;They're all sitting in your cells&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;While you pave the road to hell&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I can only imagine what the first lady has to say&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How do you sleep while the rest of us cry&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How do you walk with your head held high&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Can you even look me in the eye&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Let me tell you bout hard work&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Minimum wage with a baby on the way&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Let me tell you bout hard work&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Let me tell you bout hard work&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Building a bed out of a cardboard box&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Let me tell you bout hard work&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hard work&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hard work&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You don't know nothing bout hard work&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hard work&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hard work&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Oh&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How do you sleep at night&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How do you walk with your head held high&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dear Mr. President&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You'd never take a walk with me&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Would you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-114658685896145583?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/114658685896145583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=114658685896145583' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114658685896145583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114658685896145583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/05/dear-mr-president.html' title='Dear Mr. President'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-114616346101102651</id><published>2006-04-27T11:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-04-27T11:44:21.040-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Skate Plaza</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;A friend of mine at work asked me to go to Skate Plaza with her this week. Her sons school was having skate night and she said last year no parents were out there skating so she wanted to go with someone who'd skate with her. It was a blast although I felt kind of old. She was right, not many parents were out there skating but the ones that did were absolutly wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cutest part was when they decided to do a "couples skate." At first I thought no way were any kids going to participate, they're elementary kids, but they had all the girls line up against a wall and told the boys to skate around pick a girl, then when they went back by to drop her off and pick another girl. I thought that was a pretty good way to make sure all the girls get picked and there were so many girls that they had the boys pick up two girls, the funny thing was is they all skated next to each other, I don't think I saw any of them holding hands.&lt;br /&gt;Well the two best moments was when a dad skated out and picked his daughter up and her face lit up. The next best part was when my friends 10 year old son, who had just told his mom earlier in the day that she could go on a field trip with him later in the week but she wasn't allowed to sit by him, skated up to her and said "Mom! go stand on the wall so I can come pick you up!" she was so touched that her little boy wasn't too embarassed to skate with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I reccomend that all adults go out and do a kids activity, it makes you feel good and it's still fun. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-114616346101102651?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/114616346101102651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=114616346101102651' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114616346101102651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114616346101102651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/04/skate-plaza.html' title='Skate Plaza'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-114403067544376363</id><published>2006-04-02T19:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-04-27T15:18:40.886-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/1600/sunset%20bg.3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/200/sunset%20bg.2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-114403067544376363?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/114403067544376363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=114403067544376363' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114403067544376363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114403067544376363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/04/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-114136471790581734</id><published>2006-03-02T21:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-02T21:45:17.923-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Where are you?</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So I know all my adoring fans have been wondering where I've been (ha ha ha) So this new job of mine sure does keep me busy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I guess I might be in semi-blurker status over at HBO. I still read at night but rarely comment anymore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So I feel completely naive. I know that CDA has homeless people and poor people but I was not aware of how many people there were until I started my new job.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;what an eye opener this place has been. Unlike my previous jobs in retail and other offices the people that come in will sit there and patiently wait for two hours to get what they need because they have no choice. It's a huge difference than people who are paying for a service who can't wait two minutes for fresh fries, or wait 30 minutes for their photos at the ONE HOUR photo lab, or can't wait 5 minutes for the person that they did not make an appt with to get off the phone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;It breaks my heart when someone asks for toilet paper and a bar of soap and I have to tell them that we're out because we haven't received any donations.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;It breaks my heart when a mother leans over the counter with tears in her eyes and whispers that her children have lice and she has no money for the treatment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Breaks my heart when an elderly gentleman waits 2 hours for a $10 gas voucher and cries when he finally receives it because he's so thankful.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Breaks my heart when a young mother of two has had her power shut off because she owes a measly $86 dollars to her utility company.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Breaks my heart when a mother asks for diapers and we have none, but she just smiles and says that she'll bring in all the diapers she has left over that her daughter has outgrown.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;If you are one of the fortunate people to be above the poverty line, please donate to food banks, please donate toiletries, please donate to Project Share at the bottom of your power bill. Think you pay too much in power to be able to donate? Donate throughout the summer when your bill is super low it will help many people out the next winter. Yes there are lots of people who choose NOT to pay a cent on their power bill all winter then come running when they are faced with a shut off, but there are so many more who make a sincere effort to make payments throughout the winter and the electric company is still going to shut them off because of less than $100 owed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I wish it hadn't taken me working here to find out how many people are in need. I had always planned to donate and volunteer later on in life when I am more financially stable, but I'm going to try harder to make contributions now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-114136471790581734?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/114136471790581734/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=114136471790581734' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114136471790581734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114136471790581734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/03/where-are-you.html' title='Where are you?'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-114127648667508506</id><published>2006-03-01T21:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-01T21:22:50.360-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I Want To Do In My Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Ok, I have the strictest of orders from miss Stebbijo &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.stebbijo.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;http://www.stebbijo.blogspot.com/&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt; that I must make a list of things I want to do in my life and make sure I credit miss Jbelle &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://jb3ll3.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;http://jb3ll3.blogspot.com/&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt; for the idea. (or at least I think that's what she meant)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So was this supposed to be realistic?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I want to be rich not only so I can have money for myself but I want to give my family all they could ever need. So I guess I should say I want to be EXTREMELY rich like a bizillionaire.&lt;br /&gt;a. hire my best friend to be my dog walker and her husband to be my pool boy for a ridiculous amount of money.&lt;br /&gt;b. hire a chef so I never have to decide what's for dinner again.&lt;br /&gt;c. take Stebbijo and anyone who wants to join on a king crab leg world tour extravaganza&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I wouldn't mind being famous for a little bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I want to meet Oprah. If we're being really un-realistic, I'd want a time machine and travel back in time and thank Martin Luther King Jr. for his contribution to our world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I want my husband to nominate me for "What Not to Wear" so that I can have people tell me how to dress and give me $5,000 to do it with so that he'll quit complaining about my clothes being cheap (as in price, not trashy)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. This should really be at the top of my list, but it's fun to start out with the "out there" stuff. I want to start a family and I'm dying to meet my future children, I'm already in love with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I want to live a long healthy life with good friends and family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. I want to have enough income to where I can be a stay at home mommy and do volunteer work and be a softball coach, a Big Sister, maybe a girl scout leader, or whatever my kids are into.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. I want to walk into a hair salon and say "make me over!" and have them actually do it. I've kind of tried, this lady asked how I wanted my hair cut and I looked at her and said "can't you just decide for me?" She wouldn't. I thought hair ladies would jump at the chance to style peoples hair however they wanted, I guess not. I saw an ad once in the paper you get a free cut and color if you be a "hair model" for students but I had to work. I haven't seen one since.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, that's all I can think for now&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-114127648667508506?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/114127648667508506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=114127648667508506' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114127648667508506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114127648667508506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/03/things-i-want-to-do-in-my-life.html' title='Things I Want To Do In My Life'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-114049428549363028</id><published>2006-02-20T19:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-20T20:00:25.723-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sea-Town</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Took a trip to Seattle this weekend and some of you may have heard that Seattle might be warmer than the Inland Northwest in the winter time because they don't really get much snow. Don't believe the lies folks, it was COLD! I mean I'm not stupid, I knew it wouldn't be in the 60's or anything but I thought it'd be a little warmer. I was disappointed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We still spent most of our time outdoors. We went to the Woodland Park zoo which is one of the few tourist hot spots in Seattle that I had yet to do. It was fun but I recommend not going in February. Lots of the animals were tucked away indoors where you could not see them or you'd only see them through a crack in the door. The only other zoo I've ever been to was Walk In The Wild in Spokane and I believe it no longer exists. I don't remember much from it but in comparison I'd say the Woodland Park Zoo was pretty cool and very inexpensive. The next time I'm in Seattle and it's warmer out I think I'll go again so I can see my giraffes, elephants, and hippos up close.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two more cool places that I'd recommend visiting is the restaurant Sport located across the street from the Space Needle. Any sports fan would love it. Every booth has it's own flat screen TV with a large selection of sports channels to watch, there is a huge projection TV in the middle of the place and there are large flat screens throughout the restaurant and some regular TV's outside the restaurant. They have good food, you can get a Kobe burger but if you want to add cheese and bacon you're going to be spending about $16 for it. You can order a pack of baseball cards off the menu or request a special sports menu and order sports collectibles. The coolest thing about this restaurant is that my hubby helped program all those fancy TV's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The same guy who hired my husbands company to program Sport was meeting with my husband for some business and had him meet him at a bowling alley (that he designed) in Tukwila (also home to the South Center Mall that is huge) called ACME Bowling. WOW talk about a high tech bowling alley. They had regular lanes then part way down they turned into black light lanes, and they had projector screens that would come out of the ceiling above the lanes for special events. Then there was a special reservation area of lanes that were all black light, the seating was all nice cushy couches and all the lanes had huge screens playing music videos, there were special conference rooms, pool tables and a pretty fancy eating area and tons of fancy TV's everywhere. We didn't have time to bowl but when we go back and find ourselves wanting something to do I think we'll go to that bowling alley.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sure do love visiting there but I don't know what I'd do if I had to drive around there ( I lived there for a summer once but only took the bus) it's so crazy and parking is a pain in the butt! Everytime we go I try to talk everyone into parking the car and taking the bus but I always lose and we always pay tons of money for parking.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-114049428549363028?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/114049428549363028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=114049428549363028' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114049428549363028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114049428549363028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/02/sea-town.html' title='Sea-Town'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-114002351857787308</id><published>2006-02-15T08:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-15T09:11:58.656-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Adventures in Step Aerobics</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;My hubby has been going to a step aerobics class (he's been about 4 times) and so yesterday I decided I was going to go with him. I was a little anxious about going. In college I took 3 semesters of kickboxing aerobics and did Tae Bo tapes fairly often, so about a year and a half ago I joined a gym and one day decided to try the kickboxing class, I knew they went pretty fast through stuff but I figured I'd taken tons of kickboxing class, I would be fine. Unlike the gyms at college, this gym had mirrors on every wall and I saw not only how pale I was but how unbelievably uncoordinated I was. I could barley keep up and I looked like an idiot. So this is why I was so anxious to do step aerobics, in addition I'm also kinda klutzy and this involves hopping up and down off of a step.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just like I thought, I couldn't get this down very well either. Thankfully there was an unusually high amount of new comers last night so I must not have been the only one not getting it because the instructor finally said "I'm going to have to scrap my plan and do something else" we ended up doing a lot of jump roping (without the rope) and some other tedious exercises.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband wants me to go back on Thur. but I'm afraid of never being able to get the steps down, I think I need to go buy some Tae Bo tapes and stick to working out at home where I can't see how bad I am. Plus Tae Bo has an added benefit, you get to take your aggressions out by pretending your punching and kicking the crap out of someone you don't like.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-114002351857787308?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/114002351857787308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=114002351857787308' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114002351857787308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/114002351857787308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/02/adventures-in-step-aerobics.html' title='Adventures in Step Aerobics'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113950483031059876</id><published>2006-02-09T08:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-09T09:09:08.656-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fancy Pants Food</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;My friends were so kind last night to take me out to dinner to celebrate my new job (actually my friend said it wasn't to celebrate the new job is was to celebrate my escape from the witch) Since they just cashed out some stocks they offered to take us to a nice restaurant and my friend and I have always wanted to try Brix.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing I noticed was the menu was pretty small which worried me and then after a quick scan I was worried because I didn't see any food on there that I thought my friend would like. After going back and forth about whether we should stay or not (we didn't want to spend all that money on food that no one would enjoy) my friend and I finally decided we would stay, our poor husbands were relieved thinking the worst was over. Wrong!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we're looking at the menu and I'm sitting there thinking "Am I the only one that doesn't understand what most of these words mean?" I mean I watch iron chef, they cook with exotic stuff all the time, and I only recognized a few things from iron chef. So my husband has been here several times and he's used to going out to fancy dinners so I started asking him what stuff was and he kept telling me to ignore all the small print and just stick to what the bold print said (steak, chicken, rib, (yes that's just one rib)duck, salmon)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I said screw it and after the waiter came back for the third time to see if we were ready to order yet, he asked if we had any questions (he must have overheard us) and I decided I didn't care if I embarrassed myself and started asking what all sorts of stuff was. He told me any big words that looked like they might be French, it was more than likely a sauce. So after many questions I was still confused and asked the waiter what he would suggest and he said the baseball cut steak, well he had scoffed at my friend when she asked for her other type of steak to be cooked well done, so I asked "will I get in trouble if I ask for this to be done?" the poor boy looked like he was going to have a heart attack and told me I better have the chicken instead. I said I couldn't because it was made with truffles and I knew that meant mushrooms (yuck) since I watch the iron chef.&lt;br /&gt;So I told him I'll do the steak and to have it the most done that he would suggest (I guess it was medium) Our husbands got snippy with us when we asked them if it would be impolite to ask for steak sauce for me and ranch for my friend. The both shook their heads in embarrassment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When our bread arrived we were excited and then they put down a plate of oil and vinegar, my friend tried to dip her bread in this and only succeeded in soaking up oil, I tried to stir up with a knife, that didn't do any good, finally I stuck my bread all the way to the bottom and it got some vinegar on it, I thought it was good my friend however wanted to ask for butter but once again was shooshed by the husbands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The food was good, I ventured out and ate bloody steak, I tasted caviar (yuck, tastes like fish) I had homefries (smashed up red potatoes fried) with crab meat, EXCELLENT! and the best calamari I've ever tasted, yum!&lt;br /&gt;My friend who's a little less adventures wasn't all that impressed so to make up for it we took her to coldstone creamery for dessert. First time there for all of us. Cake batter flavored ice cream and cheesecake flavored ice cream....I was in heaven.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Just a note:  My husband says their lunch menu is much less fancy and has stuff like meatloaf and lasagna.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113950483031059876?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113950483031059876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113950483031059876' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113950483031059876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113950483031059876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/02/fancy-pants-food.html' title='Fancy Pants Food'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113928683076975789</id><published>2006-02-06T20:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-06T20:33:50.853-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Job!</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Wooo Hooo!  I finally got a new job. I finally found a job that I think is worth leaving this one for.  It's a company that helps out people so it's going to hopefully be a rewarding job as well.  I have to take a slight paycut but I think it's well worth it to not have to be miserable everyday at work.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113928683076975789?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113928683076975789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113928683076975789' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113928683076975789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113928683076975789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/02/new-job.html' title='New Job!'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113924695836671325</id><published>2006-02-06T09:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-06T09:29:18.433-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blllaaaahhhhhh</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Blah is how I feel after this weekend. It was a pretty hectic weekend and I feel like I got run over by a truck. I have not had less than 6 people in my house since Friday afternoon and there are still people there. As much as I love then and enjoyed their company, I hope they are gone by the time I go home for lunch all I want to do is sit in peace and quite. My husband called me Friday afternoon and said our friends were in town. I was surprised, I knew they were coming but I didn't think they'd be there already and he said we were going to hang out with them and I asked where they were staying and he said he didn't know and I asked if it was with us and he said he didn't know. So I ran home and cleaned up the house and then finally later that evening when they brought their stuff into our house I knew that they were staying with us which was a concern because another couple coming into town the next day was supposed to stay with us and we have room but not enough beds. Thankfully the other couple brought an air mattress with them. So all I was expecting this weekend was one couple staying one night, I had two couples for 3 nights. Since all these people from out of town were here all these other people in town or the surrounding towns also came over and our Sat. night get together turned into a party and we had 20 people crammed into our house yesterday for superbowl. Don't get me wrong it was a lot of fun but boy am I tired. And yes I did cheat on my diet, A LOT. One day of cheating (Sunday) turned into a whole weekend of cheating and I'm paying for it now my stomach is yelling at me. And to top it all off my alarm didn't go off this morning so I was late for work and only had time to jump in the shower and jump back out and dry my hair (it's a must that I dry it, my office is freezing) So not only do I feel like crap, I look like crap as well. I just hope people don't assume I'm hung over, I'd never go to work hung over but people love to gossip. =)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113924695836671325?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113924695836671325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113924695836671325' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113924695836671325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113924695836671325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/02/blllaaaahhhhhh.html' title='Blllaaaahhhhhh'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113881844546691045</id><published>2006-02-01T10:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-01T10:28:43.316-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Torture</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;I made a rule for myself not to post too much about work anymore but this time I just don't care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My stomach is in knots today.  I have something exciting, but nerve racking going on tomorrow morning.  But the other reason my stomach is in knots is not a fun one.  My assistant boss approached me last night and said that to be fair she better tell me that she's decided that me, her and my mean co-worker are all going to have meeting sometime soon so that the co-worker and I can sit down together and tell each other what we don't like about each other.  WHAT!!!!  Are you kidding me?  Since when does that sound like a good idea!  Sure that might work if the other lady was actually mature enough to handle something like that, but she is far from it.  My college group of friends and I tried this approach to solving our differences many times and we were girls that actually truely cared about each other and not once did it end on a good note, in fact none of us are even friends with each other anymore!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problem isn't that her and I just don't mesh personally, this woman is unbelievably rude to just about everyone, it's not just me, I just happen to be the only person that has to deal with her ALL DAY long.  Any other sane person who has to sit next to her would feel the same as I do.  It should have been a big fat red flag my first couple weeks here when people kept asking me if I was going to quit.  On a daily basis people make one comment or another about how they are surprised I can sit next to her all day.  So by making me and her sit down with each other and tell each other what we don't like about each other is, I think, the assistants way of passing the problem onto us instead of taking care of it.  My other boss once told me that no matter how many times they talk to her about her behavior they are never going to get her to change so he hopes that I would stick it out until she messes up big enough to be fired, and that they were only keeping track of when she made customers mad, and customers are about the only people she is nice to.  So here it is several months later and she hasn't changed her attitude one bit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told my boss I wasn't so sure about her plan so she told me to think about a solution.  I want to put this little meeting off for as long as possible, but if they insist on it I might have to break down and tell them I plan on quiting as soon as I can find a new job. (cross your fingers for tomorrow)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113881844546691045?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113881844546691045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113881844546691045' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113881844546691045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113881844546691045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/02/torture.html' title='Torture'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113864867488083858</id><published>2006-01-30T11:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-30T11:17:55.010-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I've got nothin'</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I have nothing of interest or value to talk about, but I have the NEED to post something.  So I will bore you all with a diet update.  Wedensday will be my one month dietversery. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I cheated once.  We went to the White House and they give you a choice of sides, fries or pasta salad.  I don't really enjoy either but when the fries came I couldn't resist and had about 5.  But 5 fries is the only fast food/junk food I've had in almost a month.  I never realized how much junk I ate until now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So I think I'm losing some weight.  My weight still flucuates everyday but I must say I have not gone over a certain amount in about 2 weeks so I must have lost something I'm guessing between 3-6 pounds.  And I have been measuring the fattest part of my stomach with a belt because I can't find my measuring tape and it looks like I'm about 1/2 inch smaller than when I started.  Yipee!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I am already bored with my gazelle (exercise equipment.)  I've found a way to get my heart rate up and start sweating (this particular equipment is very easy to just casually stroll along on and not get a really good workout) but I'm bored.  I thought if I had a TV in front of me I wouldn't get as bored, like I do at the gym.  But I'm still bored.  I'll have to save up the really good shows that keep me completly entertained that way I won't get so distracted.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;The hubby is losing weight as well, those darn guys lose weight faster and he's lost about 18 lbs.  I'd be in heaven to lose 18lbs, I might even be done with the dang diet at 18lbs.  Oh wait that's right, it's not a diet, it's a "lifestyle change."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113864867488083858?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113864867488083858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113864867488083858' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113864867488083858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113864867488083858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/01/ive-got-nothin.html' title='I&apos;ve got nothin&apos;'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113823090755898367</id><published>2006-01-25T15:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-26T16:39:25.873-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How NOT to get a job</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;A man walks in and asks to speak to the manager&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Me: Can I get your name sir?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Man: Mr. So and So&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Me: Will he know who you are?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Man: No but his assistant will.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Me: Well that's who I have to talk to so that'll work. (big smile)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Manager is gone and assistant is getting ready to head into a meeting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Me: I'm sorry the manager is out, would you like to leave a message.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Man: Well then let me speak to the assistant.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Me: I'm sorry sir, she's on a phone call.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Man:(not believing me about the phone call) Well let me speak to the other manager.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Me: I'm sorry, he's out of the office as well, can I take a message?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Man: Geez does anybody in this office work? I'm just going to wait here for the assistant to get off the phone then.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I run back to the assistants office and let her know he's going to wait, she gets mad says "fine then let him wait, I'll be in a meeting."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Finally the guy leaves after getting huffy that she wasn't going to come talk to him. I report back to the assistant what he said and she informs me he wants a job here. She then called him and informed him not to hold his breath on ever hearing from us again. (He denied saying the remark about anybody working around here.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;UPDATE: The man came back to the office to apologize to each of us that he offended, the assistant is reconsidering giving him a second chance.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;UPDATE 2: The man came back again today, bringing flowers and candy for the ladies that he offended. Maybe I need to change the title of my post "How to successfully piss off some ladies and how to make up for it."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113823090755898367?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113823090755898367/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113823090755898367' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113823090755898367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113823090755898367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/01/how-not-to-get-job.html' title='How NOT to get a job'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113770395221007252</id><published>2006-01-19T12:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-19T12:53:35.966-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Your Perfect Major</title><content type='html'>&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'5'" width="'600'" border="'0'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;You scored as &lt;b&gt;Art&lt;/b&gt;. You should be an Art major! How bohemian!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'300'" border="'0'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Art&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'83'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;83%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Sociology&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'83'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;83%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Dance&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'75'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;75%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Journalism&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'67'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;67%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Theater&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'58'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;58%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Mathematics&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'42'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;42%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Anthropology&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'42'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;42%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Psychology&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'33'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;33%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;English&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'33'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;33%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Philosophy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'17'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;17%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Biology&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'17'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;17%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Linguistics&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'17'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;17%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Engineering&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'8'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;8%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;Chemistry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table cellspacing="'0'" cellpadding="'0'" width="'0'" bgcolor="#00dddd" border="'1'"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:'Arial';font-size:78%;"&gt;0%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/" q_id="" size="1"&gt;What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!&amp;lt;3)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:0;"&gt;created with &lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/"&gt;QuizFarm.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Well I was an art minor. So pretty good. I just can't believe math made it so high up there, even above english!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113770395221007252?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113770395221007252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113770395221007252' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113770395221007252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113770395221007252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/01/your-perfect-major.html' title='Your Perfect Major'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113761371640201321</id><published>2006-01-18T11:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-18T11:48:36.440-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fair Trial?</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Overheard at work today&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Lady 1:  (While reading the paper) "Boo Hoo, they are saying Joseph Duncan's not going to get a fair trial here."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Lady 2: (Snottily responding) "Well he won't!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Lady 1: "Well....WHO CARES!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Lady 2: (Snottily responding) " Well if anything ever happens to me, I sure hope YOU'RE not on MY jury."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Lady 1: (As she walks away) "Well then lets just hope you never murder or molest anyone!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Hmmm I wonder if Lady 2's opinion about Duncan getting a fair trial would change had it been her family brutally murdered and her little neice and nephew molested and abused for weeks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I'm not saying that the laws shouldn't be upheld and that Duncan shouldn't get a fair trial, but I don't know anyone who truely wants him to get one.  I believe that Lady 2 just likes to be right about everything and will argue with people just for the sake of trying to get someones goat.  I just can't believe she'd take the side of a scumbag just to try to one up someone else.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113761371640201321?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113761371640201321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113761371640201321' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113761371640201321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113761371640201321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/01/fair-trial.html' title='Fair Trial?'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113752183209074018</id><published>2006-01-17T09:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-17T10:17:14.366-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Superbowl Party Countdown...20 Days</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;One day the husband was going through his emails and a friend of ours had sent out a mass email to some of our other friends and the email said something along the lines of "Hey everybody, we're having a superbowl party this year and it's at "the hubby's" house" So hubby came out in the living room and said "Uh, looks like so and so volunteered us to have a superbowl party this year." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I'm anxiously awaiting this superbowl party. Why you ask? (ok so you didn't ask, but I'm going to tell you anyway) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Is it because we have a great tradition of superbowl partys that always prove to be fun and entertaining? Yes, but that's not the best part. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Is it because I love football? Nope, not even close. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Is it because I'm dying with anticipation to see the Seahawks make it to the superbowl? No, but that'd be pretty sweet, I'd actually be excited about a team. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Is it because I can't wait for those wacky commercials? Eh...they've been a little weak in the past couple years. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Is it because I'm excited to see my friends traveling from near and far? Yes, that's a good one too, but not what I'm getting at. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Is it because I'm Betty Homemaker and love to entertain guests? Heck no!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;It's the FOOD!!! The hubby and I and our friends we are dieting with have designated the Superbowl as our day to cheat on our diets! Dieting is seriously hard for me, my body seems to just crave sugar and greasy foods, I'm dying for a cheeseburger! I've decided along with all the fatty foods I'm also going to do a veggie tray and fat free dip and some other low cal/low fat foods that way I can stick to eating healthy but I can also eat a cheeseburger and some coleslaw. I'm in love with coleslaw, I used to hate it but one day I was really wanting some, don't know why since I didn't like it, but I ate some anyways and it was soooo good. =)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Anybody else hosting a superbowl party or attending one?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113752183209074018?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113752183209074018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113752183209074018' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113752183209074018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113752183209074018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/01/superbowl-party-countdown20-days.html' title='Superbowl Party Countdown...20 Days'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113683111571986818</id><published>2006-01-09T09:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-09T10:32:54.930-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blowing Glass</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;On Saturday my mom and I got to go to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.erlendsonartglass.com/default.asp"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Erlendson Art Glass&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt; &lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;and make our own glass ornaments. It was pretty cool and something I've always wanted to do.(a Christmas present from my hubby) I minored in art so throughout school I got to see many different demonstrations of art, including glass blowing, unfortunately it wasn't a class that was offered so I never got to actually participate. When you go into make an ornament you don't actually get to do a whole lot, you do get to do all the blowing, but not a lot of the rest, too much of a liability. I could sit there and watch them do it all day though, and I actually can! They have couches and tables set up to watch the artist at work and you can order food and drinks from the coffee place ( I think I even saw beer in their case) My husband used to work across the street from them and frequented the coffee place. At one time there was even a job opening there and I  was ready to work there in a heartbeat, but dang those darn experience requirements, they wanted someone that knew how to make coffee, I don't even drink coffee. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would definitely work in a cafe type place that was in an art store if it paid enough, who cares if it's not a "professional" job, it would be so much fun, except I'd be drooling all day over the beautiful art that I couldn't afford to buy. I'd actually work in the food industry, art store or not, it just doesn't pay enough. I'm good at food industry jobs, you get to move around and not sit on your butt for 8 hours as it grows larger each day. But if I were to work in the food industry I'd want to be a manager that way if the 16 year olds started getting on my nerves I could tell them what to do and in theory they'd listen to me. The last time I did a stint in the food industry was about 2 years ago, I had a "professional" job, but it was only part time, so I went back to my old stomping grounds for few months to bring in some extra money and I had a kid ask "So what school do you go to?" I had to hold back my laughter as I informed him that I was 23 and a college graduate, then I had to hold back the tears as I realized that I was 23 and a college graduate working in a fast food place and I wasn't even the boss!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113683111571986818?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113683111571986818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113683111571986818' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113683111571986818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113683111571986818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/01/blowing-glass.html' title='Blowing Glass'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113640224565602915</id><published>2006-01-04T11:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-04T11:40:03.380-08:00</updated><title type='text'>An Ode to Dieting.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;The cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste At the holiday parties had gone to my waist.&lt;br /&gt;When I got on the scales there arose such a number! When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber). I'd remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared; The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,&lt;br /&gt;The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese And the way I'd never said, "No thank you, please." As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt And prepared once again to do battle with dirt---&lt;br /&gt;I said to myself, as I only can "You can't spend a winter disguised as a man!" So--away with the last of the sour cream dip, Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip&lt;br /&gt;Every last bit of food that I like must be banished "Till all the additional ounces have vanished. I won't have a cookie--not even a lick. I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.&lt;br /&gt;I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie, I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry. I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore--- But isn't that what January is for?&lt;br /&gt;Unable to giggle, no longer a riot. Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Compliments of &lt;a href="http://dogwalkmusings.blogspot.com/"&gt;Dogwalk Musings&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113640224565602915?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113640224565602915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113640224565602915' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113640224565602915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113640224565602915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/01/ode-to-dieting.html' title='An Ode to Dieting.'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113623111019746390</id><published>2006-01-02T11:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-02T14:05:36.380-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Email yourself in the future</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;I found an interesting article on MSN today &lt;a href="http://news.moneycentral.msn.com/provider/providerarticle.asp?Feed=AP&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;Date=20051219&amp;ID=5362859&amp;amp;GT1=7621"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;, you can send yourself an email and it will be delivered to you in the future. Kind of like the time capsule concept but with technology. I guess most of the people that have done it have set their email to be sent to them with in three years but some go as far as 20, will I even still have the same email address in 20 years? You can also send it to other people and set it to be delivered at a specific time. Kind of weird. There are also two sites &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.lastwishes.com"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;http://www.lastwishes.com&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt; and &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://mylastemail.com"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;http://mylastemail.com&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt; that promise to send out emails to loved ones after you die. That would be so weird and creepy to get an email from a loved one that has died, I guess it could also be comforting to know that your loved one was thinking about you, but still a littl creepy. Plus how do they know when you've died? Big Brother?&lt;br /&gt;If you want to send yourself an email in the future, go here &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.futureme.org"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;http://www.futureme.org&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113623111019746390?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113623111019746390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113623111019746390' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113623111019746390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113623111019746390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/01/email-yourself-in-future.html' title='Email yourself in the future'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113622505513834654</id><published>2006-01-02T09:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-02T10:04:15.176-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How I spent my New Years Eve...</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Well I drew the short end of the stick this year and was designated as the designated driver, I don't mind that much though, I'd rather all my friends have a ride then people risk getting behind the wheel because they only had a "few." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So we headed on over to a friends house and had a good time catching up with people we haven't seen in a while and meeting new people. My husband got out a guitar and sang us some songs, please note my husband cannot play a guitar, nor can he sing, but he was making up some pretty funny songs that had us laughing so that made up for his lack of musical talent. My brother and I both wore our "Idaho" sweatshirts and then we were teased saying we'd called each other up ahead of time to coordinate our outfits, it's pretty fun that my brother and I share friends, party's and get togethers are always interesting with one of us usually telling some embarrassing story about the other. Sometimes people don't realize we're brother and sister until we're talking about something family related and I met my husband through my brother so somehow the story of how we met was being told and one guy stopped and said "wait, that's your sister?" I assume he was talking to my brother, but my husband answered and said "She was, but now she's my wife." My poor husband didn't realize what was said as everyone was cracking up laughing at him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Well on New Years Eve Wal-Mart just happened to be getting a shipment in of the new xbox's and we had a friend who was waiting in line at Wal-Mart for one and although my husband already has one he wanted to buy another one to re-sell it and one of our friends at the party also wanted one for himself. So our poor friend who spent the day at Wal-Mart being the only one in line until about 10pm was calling us to give us updates on how many people were in line. The plan was if more than 8 people got in line we were leaving the party to go get in line, otherwise we were going at 12:01 (the official time you were allowed to buy one) So we got to stay at the party and do the count down, blow our horns and throw confetti then we jumped in the car and I very carefully drove us to Wal-Mart, not only did I have to watch out for drunks (yes we got behind one who was swerving all over the place) but I had to watch out for fireworks zipping across the road right past my car. So me and the drunks entered Wal-Mart and the drunks proceeded to blow their horns and shout out happy new years to everyone we walked by. All who wanted an xbox got one, and just in time, there were only two left when we got there. Then it was back to the party where our poor friend who'd been in line all day finally got to relax and celebrate.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113622505513834654?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113622505513834654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113622505513834654' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113622505513834654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113622505513834654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2006/01/how-i-spent-my-new-years-eve.html' title='How I spent my New Years Eve...'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113573963867774960</id><published>2005-12-27T19:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-27T19:14:54.356-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Got ROBbed</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So I know this guy named Rob and somehow he found my blog, not sure how he found it, but not only did he find it, but he figured out it was me. Guess I'm not as sneaky as I thought. So he told my hubby all about my blog! It was supposed to be a secret Rob! PBBBTTHTHTHTH!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113573963867774960?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113573963867774960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113573963867774960' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113573963867774960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113573963867774960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/12/i-got-robbed.html' title='I Got ROBbed'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113561884035875919</id><published>2005-12-26T09:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-26T09:43:03.123-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Brainiac Move of the Week</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So on Christmas Eve the hubby and I were watching a movie, I got up to go to the bathroom and all the lights in the house were off, as I was leaving the bathroom I somehow managed to turn too early and ran smack into the wall with my face. Boy does that hurt! I've never been punched in the face and any accidental hits to the face in rough housing incidents have never hurt like that, so I'm guessing that's what getting punched in the face feels like, I do not recommend it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Don't worry, my nose is fine...I think. It hurt yesterday and I had a headache all day yesterday, it's still sore today, but no bruising. In my opinion my nose doesn't look quit right, seems to be slightly swollen, but maybe I've just never concentrated this much on what my nose looks like so it's very possible that I am imagining this so called swelling, either way, I now think my nose is too big.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113561884035875919?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113561884035875919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113561884035875919' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113561884035875919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113561884035875919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/12/brainiac-move-of-week.html' title='Brainiac Move of the Week'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113521030286963405</id><published>2005-12-21T16:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-21T16:11:42.890-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Attack of the Cookies!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;I work in an office where we've got lots of other company's we do business with.  Well in the month of December we recieve tons of treats from all these company's and they bring us plate after plate full of cookies and sweets!  I try to put them in the break room so they are out of sight out of mind, but the other lady keeps bringing them back up to the front.   Can't someone please just bring us in a fruit tray, meat and cheese tray, something of some nutritional value?  We did have a company bring us a specialty bread basket, it was delicious but I'm sure it was full of sugar!  I feel my butt growing as I write this...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;I also recieve lots of gifts from the many people that work here and I appreciate every gift I get, but sometimes it's stuff that I just won't use, so today a lady who is an assistant in my office was telling me how money was tight this year and so far no presents under the tree and she was only going to be able to afford a small present for her 15 year old daughter.  I ran straight home at lunch and gathered all my unused gifts and brought them back to her.  Unfortunatly most of the gifts were some kind of fragrant product and her daughter is asthmatic and allergic to them, some were coffee products, which the lady doesn't like her daughter to have, and the other were sweets or gift certificates to places that are sweets....the daughter doesnt' like sweets!   I tried to help but it didnt' really work out.  Good thing this lady has raised her daughter to be a wonderful human being who is very mature and selfless and all she asked for Christmas was a dontation to a charity.  This girls got great things in store for her in her life and she will be rewarded for having such a kind heart, one that she has all year long that I get the joy of hearing stories about from her mom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113521030286963405?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113521030286963405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113521030286963405' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113521030286963405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113521030286963405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/12/attack-of-cookies.html' title='Attack of the Cookies!!'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113478024253911083</id><published>2005-12-16T16:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-16T16:44:02.563-08:00</updated><title type='text'>ABC's of Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099" size="4"&gt;I've been trying to think of something to write about for a few days but couldn't come up with anything, so I had to copy Idaho Native&lt;a href="http://idahonative.blogspot.com/"&gt; &lt;li&gt;Idaho Native&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And &lt;a href="http://orangefrog76.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;li&gt;OrangeFrog76&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Thanks for the inspiration guys. =)&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;A&lt;/font&gt;ge: 25&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;B&lt;/font&gt;est friend in high school: J and O&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;C&lt;/font&gt;hore(s) you hate: Folding Laundry&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;D&lt;/font&gt;umbest thing you've done: Not enough room on the page&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;E&lt;/font&gt;ssential start of your day item: Pepsi One&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;F&lt;/font&gt;avorite color(s): Blue, Pink &amp;amp; Red depending on my mood.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;G&lt;/font&gt;old or silver: Silver&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;H&lt;/font&gt;eight: 5'8"&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;I&lt;/font&gt;nstruments you play: I used to be able to play violen and clarinet and a didgereedoo.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;J&lt;/font&gt;ob title: Advertising/Receptionist (booo!)&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;K&lt;/font&gt;ids: Not yet (boooo!)&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;L&lt;/font&gt;iving arrangements: Hubby and my little pooch&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;M&lt;/font&gt;usic: Mostly hip hop and pop, or 80's/90's cheese music&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;N&lt;/font&gt;ever: Talk with your mouth full.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;O&lt;/font&gt;vernight hospital stay other than birth: Never&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;P&lt;/font&gt;hobia: Spiders and dark open water kind of freaks me out.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;Q&lt;/font&gt;uote: "Whadda you wanna us to do? Kill Mufasa?"&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;R&lt;/font&gt;ight or left handed: Right&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;S&lt;/font&gt;iblings: 1 Brother, 2 Stepbrothers, 1 Stepsister&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;T&lt;/font&gt;ime you woke up today: 7 am (Booo!)&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;U&lt;/font&gt;nique habit: Sleep with a fan on, is that really unique?&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;V&lt;/font&gt;egetable you hate: Squash! Bleck!&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;W&lt;/font&gt;orst habit: Picking at my nails&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;X&lt;/font&gt;-rays you've had: My Teeth&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;Y&lt;/font&gt;our most valuable gift/possesion: Family and Friends (my gift not a possesion.)&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;font color="#330099"&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;Z&lt;/font&gt;ero to 100 (favorite number): Sorry don't have one&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113478024253911083?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113478024253911083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113478024253911083' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113478024253911083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113478024253911083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/12/abcs-of-me.html' title='ABC&apos;s of Me'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113415997274061407</id><published>2005-12-09T12:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-09T15:43:23.406-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cheddar Bay Biscuits</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I went to Red Lobster for dinner last night and I love their Cheddar Bay Biscuits. Years ago I found a recipe on the internet and used to make them all the time, but I haven't in years. I re-found the recipe and have posted it in case anyone is looking for something to make, it's really simple and fast and soooooo Good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cheddar Bay Biscuits&lt;br /&gt;2 cups bisquick&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;2/3 cup milk&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;1/2 cup butter or margarine, melted&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;1/4 teaspoon garlic powder&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heat oven to 450f. Mix bisquick, milk, and cheese until soft dough forms. Drop by spoonful onto ungreased baking sheet. Bake 8 to 10 minutes. Mix butter and garlic powder. Brush mixture over warm biscuits before removing from sheet.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113415997274061407?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113415997274061407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113415997274061407' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113415997274061407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113415997274061407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/12/cheddar-bay-biscuits.html' title='Cheddar Bay Biscuits'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113399976259549372</id><published>2005-12-07T15:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-07T15:56:02.613-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Warm Christmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I'm dreaming of a warm Christmas (er uh..Holiday)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Just like the ones I've never known....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Where the treetops glisten, and sunbathers listen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;to hear coconuts falling down below...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I'm dreaming of a warm Christmas (Holiday)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;With every post card that I write...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;May your days last long into the night!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;And may all your Chritsmas' be warm...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113399976259549372?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113399976259549372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113399976259549372' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113399976259549372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113399976259549372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/12/warm-christmas.html' title='Warm Christmas'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113381267452455758</id><published>2005-12-05T11:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-05T11:57:55.656-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nervousness</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So I auditioned for a commercial this weekend. It was my very first audition ever. I saw the criteria for the audition and most of it was voice over narration, which I thought I could do great at since I've been a "reporter" for my colleges campus radio and TV stations and this type of commercial is very similar to what reporters do. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So I called up the hubby and told him we had an audition to go to on Sunday and he said "sorry babe, I'm leaving for a business trip on Sunday I can't go."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Uh oh, I'm a big scaredy cat and was afraid to go by myself. I memorized the script, practiced it in front of the mirror and imagined myself on a stage saying it in front of a huge crowd ( I wasn't sure how the audition would be set up so I imagined the scariest scenario) Then Sunday came and I ho-hummed all day about whether I would go or not. I was leaning more towards chickening out and finally I got up, got myself together and just went. When I got there, there was only one guy in front of me and he walked into the audition just as I arrived, so I was going next, no time to practice more, no time to get more nervous, no time to back out, or to even calm down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I didn't nail it the way I'd practiced it. But I still think I did pretty darn good, of course I didn't see how anyone else did so I have no one to compare myself to, but I'm proud of myself for going and I'm proud of the job I did, (I just didn't make my smile big enough so it probably didn't give the amount of enthusiasm that I wanted, the second take I had the enthusiasm and the smile but I messed up the last word, doh!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;The company that is making these commercials keeps this audition reel on file and they will pick people from this through out the year to do their commercials, so it may be a while before I get a spot, if I get one at all. But don't worry if I get one, I'll definitely be posting the good news.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113381267452455758?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113381267452455758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113381267452455758' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113381267452455758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113381267452455758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/12/nervousness.html' title='Nervousness'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113346681768982546</id><published>2005-12-01T11:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-01T11:53:37.726-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gossip</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I just don't understand why some people feel the need to be so cruel and so mean.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;What joy do people get about gossiping about someone right in front of them but just out of earshot so they know they are being gossiped about and they hear snippets of conversation and know it's about them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;What joy comes from lying about others to try to get them in trouble?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;What joy comes from calling other people mean names and making fun of them?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Why stir up drama when there isn't even drama to stir up?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;How come some people are so blind to what others are doing, blind to their behavior?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Are they really blind to it or are they choosing to be blind to it?  Ignoring the bad parts and only seeing the good, when there really is more bad than good.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Women can be the most vicious things on this planet, but why?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Maybe the saying "nice guys always finish last" is true.  To get ahead in this world or to be liked in this world you've got to be one of those people that will do anything to get others to like them even if it destroys other people.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113346681768982546?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113346681768982546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113346681768982546' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113346681768982546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113346681768982546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/12/gossip.html' title='Gossip'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113277348520507630</id><published>2005-11-23T11:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-23T11:18:54.710-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Day After Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I think the day after Thanksgiving is going to be an official holiday pretty soon. Don't know if it will be called "The Day After thanksgiving" or "The Biggest Shopping Day of the Year" or what. I think pretty much everyone except those that work in retail get the day after off anyways. So all this talk about the big day reminds me of the year that I worked in the photo lab at Wal-Mart down in Moscow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were told that since we were in the photo lab we were going to have to help out other departments and let people pay for their purchases at our counter. Well we were all standing around anxiously awaiting the opening of the store. It was dead quite in the store, we photo labers looked over at the electronics boys who were nervously pacing back and forth. Those boys were the big target. That was the year of one of the new game stations (Playstation 2, I believe) We only had 16 in, plus other things such as TV's and DVD players at rock bottom prices were going to be a big thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly I heard this low rumbling rattling sound and the sound kept growing louder and louder and I saw one shopper come flying around the corner with their cart and just as I was thinking that sound was too loud to have been one shopper, a swarm of shoppers followed suit and flew around the corner, two carts crashing into one another and causing a traffic jam. As soon as the jam broke up and everyone made it over to electronics I watched as the boys in electronics were swallowed up by the crowd. There was a line forming at the electronics counter and no electronics guys to be found, a fellow photo laber and I rushed over there to man the registers and we didn't see the photo again until several hours later, the electronic boys finally emerged from the depths of the electronic department several hours later, hair tussled, looking like they'd been run over by a truck. Their department was wiped out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not entirely true that I didn't see a one of them that entire time, I would see them as they were trying to maneuver giant TV's through the swarms and knocking displays over in the process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What an experience that was. It actually ended up being kind of fun, instead of being frustrated with how stupid people were acting (like a normal day at Wal-Mart) we just laughed at them, I'd been on the shopping end of the crazy rush before but never on the retail end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So remember when you brave the crowds this year, make sure to be nice to the employees and give them a thank you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113277348520507630?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113277348520507630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113277348520507630' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113277348520507630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113277348520507630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/11/day-after-thanksgiving.html' title='The Day After Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113227435221399821</id><published>2005-11-17T16:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T16:39:13.536-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid Dad Alert</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I was in the Costco parking lot today walking back to my car and this family was also walking and the dad was pushing the cart with a little guy in the cart seat and then he told two other kids to hold on to the cart, one on the front, one on the side. Then he runs and down the aisle (outside in the parking lot) and him and the kids are speeding along in the cart. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;How stupid can you get racing around with three small kids on an unstable grocery cart in the busiest parking lot in town! Busy parking lots, mixed with discount prices equals crazy shoppers that forget how to drive! They are so anxious to find a parking spot close the the door they are racing around trying to beat other cars to the spots, or they are so anxious to get the hell outta there that they are trying to spend out of their parking space. I see near misses in parking lots all the time because people aren't' paying attention or other cars are driving way too fast for a parking lot. When I back out I try to go slow so I don't ram another car but I'm not expecting a shopping cart to fly by with three kids and an adult attached to it, or when I turn the corner I don't want to be facing that head on either!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Thankfully there were no near misses with them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113227435221399821?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113227435221399821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113227435221399821' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113227435221399821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113227435221399821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/11/stupid-dad-alert.html' title='Stupid Dad Alert'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113208875874201201</id><published>2005-11-15T13:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-15T13:05:58.760-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Could you get any cuter than this?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/1600/Katie%20Halloween.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/400/Katie%20Halloween.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113208875874201201?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113208875874201201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113208875874201201' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113208875874201201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113208875874201201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/11/could-you-get-any-cuter-than-this.html' title='Could you get any cuter than this?'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113147928870780138</id><published>2005-11-08T11:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-21T15:05:42.576-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Time to Vote!</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I'm going to vote today. This will be my first time voting in a non-presidential election. I usually don't vote because I know nothing about the issues so I'd have no idea who I was voting for. But this time is different. This time I visit &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.spokesmanreview.com/blogs/nhb/"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;Huckleberries online&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt; and many people there including some of the candidates running, often talk about the elections and the issues with the elections and I've gotten a feel for some of the candidates and then I went and researched the other cadidates and I actually feel like my vote should count now because I'm informed this time around.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113147928870780138?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113147928870780138/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113147928870780138' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113147928870780138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113147928870780138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/11/time-to-vote.html' title='Time to Vote!'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113114747457157115</id><published>2005-11-04T15:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-04T15:41:31.780-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kevin Federline (Britney Spears Hubby) Song Lyrics</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Ladies and Gents, Kevin Federline or K-Fed in the tabloids is now an aspiring rapper and some of his song lyrics have leaked out on the internet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can say is "Wow"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Back then they called me K. Fed/ But you can call me daddy instead ... Go ahead and say whatcha wanna/I'm gonna sell about 2 mil, oh, then I'm a goner ... I know y'all wish you was in my position/Cause I keep gettin' in situations that you wish you was in, cousin/ I'm not your brother, not your uncle, I'm daddy, dude."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Steppin' in this game and y'all ain't got a clue/My prediction is that y'all gonna hate me and this style we create, straight 2008/But I know that you really can't wait, cuz people are always asking me when's the release date/Well maybe baby you can wait and see and until then all these Pavarottis followin' me/Getting anxious? Go take a peek/ I'm starrin' in your magazines now every day of the week ..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you would like to read the full article courtesy of MSN gossip section&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://entertainment.msn.com/music/hotgossipc"&gt;http://entertainment.msn.com/music/hotgossipc&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://entertainment.msn.com/music/hotgossipc"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113114747457157115?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113114747457157115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113114747457157115' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113114747457157115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113114747457157115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/11/kevin-federline-britney-spears-hubby.html' title='Kevin Federline (Britney Spears Hubby) Song Lyrics'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113080369937776284</id><published>2005-10-31T15:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-10-31T16:08:19.430-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Halloween!</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Well I got all dressed up on Saturday night and headed out to the bars for some Halloween costume contests. I was dressed up as Medusa and I'd made myself a head piece full of gold snakes, well it was my turn to get up on stage and no one was cheering for me, not even my friends and my husband (they all claim to have been not paying attention or didn't realize I was on stage) and to top it off there was this girl by the edge of the stage and she was ferociously booing me. I'm not sure why I was being booed by this girl, but it made me feel bad. I did however have some individual admirers who told me so through out my time there so that made me feel a little better. My husband and one of our friends went as The ambiguously Gay Duo, a cartoon sketch from Mad TV and they won 3rd place and they each got a $40 gift certificate instead of having to split $40 between the two so that was awesome.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;The second bar was better, they had three categories, funniest, sexiest and scariest and I didn't really think I fit into any , I wasn't scary or sexy enough but I tried for sexiest anyway and thankfully got some cheers this time, and one gentlemen was very angry at the judge for not knowing who I was, the judge called me crazy hair lady, and the guy shouted out "it's Medusa you bleepity bleep!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I, nor any of my friends won any of those contests but it was still fun.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Today I am dressed as a chick from the 80's. I had to go a little more conservative for work. And I thought I was pulling off the 80's look pretty well, but I had two inquires as to if I was a gypsy, 2 asking if I was a hippie, one pirate, a Britney Spears, a person from the 70's and a Cindy Lauper, and then one guy said I looked like the girls from the movie 13 Going on 30. The last two were the only ones to get it right ( I wasn't specifically trying to be Cindy Lauper but good enough) It figures, the two that made those guesses are only 4 years older than me. So the 80's were prime time for them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I've also been told by two people that I seriously should wear my hair this way on a regular basis (crimped and pulled into a half pony tail on top of my head and fluffed out) and one lady though I should dress this way (TONS of funky jewelry, ripped jeans, pink and teal make-up) I think a few people at my work fell out of the crazy tree.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I have pictures of the medusa costume and I'm going to stop by my moms and have her take a picture of the 80's costume and I'll be posting them hopefully in the next couple of days.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;Everyone have a Happy and Safe Halloween!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113080369937776284?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113080369937776284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113080369937776284' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113080369937776284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113080369937776284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/10/happy-halloween.html' title='Happy Halloween!'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113043876437875007</id><published>2005-10-27T11:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-27T11:46:57.186-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vrooom Vroooomm!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;I bought a new car the other night. Actually I didn't buy it I'm going to be leasing it. This is the first time I've tried the leasing thing, I am putting faith into my husband that this is actually a good idea. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Having a brand spanking new car is soooo nice and there are so many cool features and gadgets that I have yet to explore and discover, but I feel guilty! I feel weird that I've got a brand new car. I don't need one. The only reason I was going to get a different car was because mine was a two door and I needed a four door for when I have kids. I would have been fine with another $8,000 car and the small payments per month. But the hubby insisted we get a new one so we didn't' have to worry about anything breaking down for a long time and the only way to afford a new one is to lease it. So that's what we're doing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;I'm sure everything will work out just fine, our payments didn't go up that much and we're not in over our head, I'm just locked into a car for 4 years and better take GOOD care of it. =)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;I think the poor salesman almost had a heart attack when he saw what a mess my old car was. I definitely need to keep in the frame of mind that I am basically renting this car.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Soooo why am I writing in purple today? Because this is almost the color of my car!!! I would describe it as metallic lilac. That hubby of mine is a smart man, he went to the dealership before I got off work and then picked out a car for me and he knew I would go for it as soon as I saw that the car was cute and purple! It was very hard for me to focus on anything else after that. I really had to concentrate to see if I actually liked everything else about the car and make sure I wasn't going to go way overboard on the price. All I could think about was how cool the car looked!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;But I love it, tons of safety features that would have certainly helped me out in the past with my clunker junker cars, too bad I probably won't even have to use the cool stuff included.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Ok, this is turning into a very long jumbled post about nothing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;VROOOOMMM VROOOOMMMMM!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113043876437875007?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113043876437875007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113043876437875007' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113043876437875007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113043876437875007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/10/vrooom-vroooomm.html' title='Vrooom Vroooomm!!!'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-113017492916087860</id><published>2005-10-24T10:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-24T10:28:49.176-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pumpkin Carving Contest</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So my friends and I had a pumpkin carving contest on Saturday. It was great fun. We all went to the store and picked out our pumpkins and ordered several Papa Murphy's piazza's and then headed back to the pumpkin carving headquarters to start the contest.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;We discovered that we can squish ten people (two of them pregnant, full term) and two tables into my friends dining area. My friend had laid down some plastic on the floor before we started and her husband asked "why are you putting plastic down? We won't get anything on the floor." to which I replied, "Well since our earlier croquet tournament turned into an apple and grape bashing contest, I think we have a problem with throwing fruit at each other, so I'm going to say that pumpkin guts end up on the floor." Not 5 minutes into our carving contest, my friends husband (the same one who'd questioned the plastic) hucked a chunk of pumpkin at my husbands head. Through out the contest several people were trying in some way or another to sneak pumpkin guts onto someone else, needless to say, pumpkin guts ended up not only all over everyone, but on the floor as well.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So when we were all done carving my friends parents came over to judge the contest. We had 10 different prizes that my hubby and I picked out. (super sweet prizes from Wal-marts toy aisle) and 10 categories that way everyone wins. Actually we only had 9 prizes because my hubby miscounted, so I had to forfeit my prize. I won Best Freehand. (there was also a best stencil category) Which I'm very proud of, but everyone already knew I'd win it, I'm the "artist" of the bunch, so the victory wasn't that sweet, but still cool.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Afterwards we were all sitting in the living room chatting away and my friends dog came and sat in my lap and all of the sudden I felt something warm and looked down and the dog was peeing on me! I yelled out "Roxy is peeing on me!" and everyone looked and laughed and when the dog got off my lap, several people whipped out their cameras and took a picture. The dog had peed in the perfect spot to make it look as if I'd peed my own pants.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I love get togethers with friends. Some other "adults" may find our antics immature, but it's good clean fun and I love it!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-113017492916087860?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/113017492916087860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=113017492916087860' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113017492916087860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/113017492916087860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/10/pumpkin-carving-contest.html' title='Pumpkin Carving Contest'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-112983958935372289</id><published>2005-10-20T13:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-20T14:39:20.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Michael Jackson Called For Jury Duty</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So the big MJ got called for jury duty. Now we all know he's going to get out of it. Supposedly he isn't even a resident of the US anymore. But can you just imagine if he were on the jury panel. Think of the thoughts going through the attorneys heads. Is the rest of the panel MJ supporters or are they MJ haters? If they support MJ then heck yes we want MJ on the panel, he could easily influence them to vote our way! But what if they all think he's a sick pervert, quick, get him out of there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I went in for jury duty they kept asking if anyone had ever been involved in a court case before, MJ would have to be raising his hand for every question and give explanations. Can you just imagine sitting next to MJ on the jury panel and trying to keep a straight face?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahhh...but alas, it will never happen. So sad. Too bad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-112983958935372289?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/112983958935372289/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=112983958935372289' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/112983958935372289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/112983958935372289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/10/michael-jackson-called-for-jury-duty.html' title='Michael Jackson Called For Jury Duty'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-112976043867426072</id><published>2005-10-19T15:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-19T15:41:31.126-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Good News, Bad News</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Well the bad news is the attorney's for Joseph Duncan won their battle over getting copies of the child pornography tapes he made of his victims, Dylan and Shasta Groene. Why? Why would anyone want to have copies made? Why would anyone let copies be made? Can't the attorney's from both sides just share the evil things and view them under the watchful eye of a security guard? (well I wouldn't force the guard to watch, just make sure they aren't stealing the tapes or making copies or tampering with them.) With all the sick people in the world making even just one copy is too risky in my opinion. You don't want that disgusting material getting leaked anywhere. After the case they better burn those tapes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the good news side, I hear the University of Idaho has overturned it's decision to dissolve the College of Art and Architecture. I was so mad when they made the decision to dissolve it. The only thing good about that whole thing is they got rid of a certain teacher who I lay partial blame in for my failing of my ceramics II class. Yes it was mainly my fault but this guy was unreachable to talk to about my options for passing the class and when I finally did track him down (when he finally showed up to class) he said he'd received all my emails, my voicemails, and my handwritten notes I'd left him. WHAT? and you never responded? Jerk. There were many other reasons this guy was not at all beneficial to the art department. But moving on, I love art and so many other people out there do to. For some people it's a way of life, it touches their souls, it's a stress relief program. Art is so good for so many people yet it seems Art and music are always the first things to be cut (not music at U of I though...) I know that not everyone enjoys art and feels the same way I do about it but I think that there is an equal amount of people who support and enjoy the arts as there are supporters of Athletics. Unfortunately the arts don't bring in the money that the athletics do and that's probably why it is always the first to go. There is a huge amount of art lovers at the U of I and I'm glad to hear they get their college back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-112976043867426072?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/112976043867426072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=112976043867426072' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/112976043867426072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/112976043867426072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/10/good-news-bad-news.html' title='Good News, Bad News'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17970836.post-112958738385002535</id><published>2005-10-17T14:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-17T15:16:23.863-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blog Monster</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Phew, that darn blog monster came in and ate up my blog.  So I'm going to try out pink for a while.  If it gets to be too obnoxious I saw a more toned down pink template that I might have to replace it with.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I had the lovely job of staining my fence this weekend, it took me almost 3 hours to do one side of the fence!  So the next day I bought a sprayer, so much faster and less painful.  Although it still is a little painful, towards the end my hand was so tired from the sprayer vibrating so much I kept loosening my grip on the darn thing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;We're still not done, I didn't want to finish the last side from inside our yard, because we'd be spraying in the direction of our neighbors house and it's pretty close to the fence and although I dont' think the spray traveled through the cracks in the fence I'm afraid the wind would carry it over the fence or something.  So I have to figure out a way to do it, other than doing it by hand, maybe either my husband or I should go on the other side of the fence and hold up a tarp or something while the other sprays.  Oh well I'll eventually figure it out, hopefully before it's too late to finish it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Our other staining delema is that we bought untreated wood so it needs to be stained to protect it from the weather and I chose a dark red stain and we planned on staining the two sides that face into our neighbors yards , one neighbor is still under construction and they haven't moved in and the other neighbor has, and I feel it's our duty to put some sort of protectant on it since we bought the wood untreated and we didn't wait for our neighbors to move in to discuss a fence (we have a dog and wanted a fence up right away)  but I don't know if they'll like the dark red, I can ask the one neighbor but I don't know about the other nieghbor it looks like their house is a long way from being done so who knows when they'll move it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;So this is probably the most boring post in the history of blogs, but it's all that I could think of to write, maybe if I'd gone into less detail...?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17970836-112958738385002535?l=bre4011.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/feeds/112958738385002535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17970836&amp;postID=112958738385002535' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/112958738385002535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17970836/posts/default/112958738385002535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bre4011.blogspot.com/2005/10/blog-monster.html' title='Blog Monster'/><author><name>Bre</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07295947287108544840</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2996/1302/320/Lola.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry></feed>
