tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70270509380246592872024-02-19T08:36:49.156-08:00The New Small TalkKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.comBlogger130125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-39784628373500333372014-01-01T13:34:00.002-08:002022-01-25T13:11:34.416-08:002013<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, it’s been quite a year. If you would have asked me 6 months ago, I would have told you that 2013 was shaping up to be pretty craptastic. But thanks to all kinds of crazy acts of God, it turned out to be quite spectacular.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-1dbfe6a4-4fba-3198-2417-7aa94207d3db" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let’s start at the beginning. January 1, 2013. Oh hey, I’m pregnant. I’m not saying that this is a bad thing. Unexpected, but not bad. What </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">was</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> bad was the fact that I didn’t exactly have insurance. When I started working part time after Eliza was born, I had switched to a cheap private insurance plan since the family plan through Scott’s work was painfully expensive. Unfortunately, my cheapo private plan didn’t cover maternity insurance. Fabulous.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thanks to a little grace from Scott’s employer, they allowed us to hop onto their family insurance a couple days late of their January 1 open enrollment deadline. This was great, except that we couldn’t exactly afford it. Nonetheless, we determined that paying extra for the insurance would still come out cheaper than paying hospital bills!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We went a few months like this--gradually dipping into our savings to pay for our crazy insurance, as I was working fewer and fewer hours at work. Then, not surprisingly, in March, I was informed that my current position at work was going to be phased out. But my employer graciously offered me a different job. Full time, with two days at home and three in the office.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At first I was reluctant to work full time, mostly because it meant I would have to find childcare for Eliza. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized this job would solve multiple issues--it would mean extra money, cheaper insurance, and would give me a maternity leave that I wouldn’t have gotten if I was part time. And when my cousin told me she’d been praying for another kid to watch during the day, I figured God had it all worked out and I took the full time job.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Things went very well for about a month. I was happy to leave Eliza with my cousin. The only problem was that my cousin was going to be adopting her third child in May and wouldn’t be able to sit anymore. So I thought I better start looking into some other options.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I looked more into childcare, I started feeling icky about it. The more I thought about it and planned for it, the stronger I felt that I was supposed to be home with my kids. I prayed for a solution, but I didn’t know what it could possibly be.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then God revealed his genius plan. One morning--the morning I was planning (dreading) making calls to some childcare prospects--Scott told me he was laid off and was coming home. Problem solved!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While Scott getting laid off was upsetting, deep down inside, I was almost happy. Almost. First of all, it did solve the childcare problem. Secondly, his employer had been getting less and less work and felt generally unstable. The lay-off wasn’t exactly a shock, and I’d already been encouraging Scott to look for other jobs. I guess God agreed with me. Ha!</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were now exceedingly grateful for my full time job and my insurance which started on the exact day that Scott’s would end. Between my job, cheaper insurance, and Scott’s unemployment money we weren’t doing too bad, though occasionally still dipping into our savings.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the midst of all that, we’d started a Bible study at church that focused on learning to know God’s will and trusting him to do things we see as impossible. As I went through the study and was encouraged to think about what I needed to trust God with, the thing that kept coming to mind was childcare. I felt a strong conviction that I should stay home with my kids, especially with another one on the way. It seemed impossible in our current situation, and even if Scott got a new job, it would likely not pay enough to allow me to stay home. But I felt God was telling me to trust him with this and so I decided I would. I just started to assume that God would work out a way for me to be at home once Scott went back to work, and it felt great to stop trying to figure it out myself and give it to God. If this was what he wanted, then he’d have to work it out. Good luck with that, God!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We cruised along through the summer months trying not to spend much too while Eliza and Scott got to spend some quality time together. Scott had an interview here and there, but nothing spectacular. The job prospects weren’t amazing.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Meanwhile, other depressing things were going on. In the spring, my mom’s cat, who we’d had since I was in high school, died. Then in July my grandma passed away. It was feeling like a year of loss, but we tried to focus on the excitement of our new baby in just a couple months.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The new baby thing was exciting, but also added extra pressure to Scott’s job situation. Yes, I had the occasional freak-out moment, but when I wasn’t freaking out, I was learning valuable lessons in trusting God and growing in my relationship with him. A real blessing!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Finally, just a couple weeks after my grandma died, a fresh batch of job openings came through and Scott sent out a number of resumes. There was one job I thought looked particularly appealing and I told Scott it was “the one.” The location was great and the work looked interesting. And when they called Scott in for an interview, I was totally sure that I was right about this one.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Scott felt pretty good about the interview and soon after they called to tell him they’d be sending him a job offer. Woo!! Job!! And at the company I’d determined was perfect for him. I’m such a genius!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then God showed me who’s boss. About an hour after he got the phone call, another company called him. This job had been a little more of a mystery. The listed salary was a bit higher than we’d expected for Scott’s level, but the job description seemed well suited to him. It was also at a contractor firm instead of an architectural firm. Scott didn’t get his hopes up, figuring he may not be well suited to it, but he figured he better talk to them.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He set up a phone interview with Company #2 the day after receiving the offer from Company #1. The phone interview went surprisingly well. The job and company seemed pretty interesting and the fellow that he interviewed with turned out to be a Christian. They chatted about their involvement in church and found they had some interesting things in common. Now Scott was in a bit of a pickle. Company 2 wanted to do an in person interview the following week, but Company 1 was waiting for an answer to their job offer.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Scott tried to hold off Company 1 for a few days until his interview with Company 2. Interview day came and the job was looking even better. They were looking for specific skills that Scott enjoyed and was great at. It seemed to be the right job, but he still didn’t have an offer. We waited and prayed that things would work out. Company 2 told Scott they would call him shortly after his interview with as much info they could give him. They called a few hours later to tell him they would send him an offer the next morning. While he was on the phone with them, Company 1 called and left a message saying they were rescinding their offer since they hadn’t heard from him.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Things were down to the wire, and we prayed that Company 2 would come through with their offer since Company 1 was now out of the picture. Thankfully, the next morning, Scott received a very nice offer from Company 2. There was no doubt this was from God. The salary was quite a bit better than Company 1’s offer, and way better than what he was making at his old job. Better than we ever expected. He was also going to be able to do work that he really enjoyed and have more freedom to work and make decisions on his own. And the house that we had bought the year before was in a really nice location for this new job. We were very grateful that we didn’t base our house location on his old job!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Scott accepted the offer and was set to start on August 26th. Since this was getting close to Harrison’s due date (September 7th), I had a little chat with God about when the best time would be for Harrison to come. I’d decided that September 1 was best. Scott would have worked a full week before taking a few days off for baby, but we wouldn’t have too much trouble lining up child care for Eliza during Scott’s first week at work.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I thought that God and I were really on the same page with this. But then somewhere around 2am on August 25th my water broke. Later that afternoon we had our sweet baby boy! Scott’s new employer allowed him to just start a few days later and, though I hate to admit it, I suppose that was a better solution than my original plan. Whatever.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I enjoyed my maternity leave while Scott got settled into his new job, but next we had to decide what to do about my job. While Scott was making more money, it still wasn’t quite enough for me to stay at home completely. And with the job being so new, I wasn’t ready to commit to a different job situation myself. But as time went on and Scott was happy with his new job, I decided it was time to figure this out. I didn’t want to put my kids in childcare, and it hardly would have been worth working just to pay for it anyway.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I talked to my boss about switching to part time. And maybe I could work from home too. Just a suggestion. My boss and I went over some options and came up with a great plan. We divided my job in two so I could work part time from home and they could hire someone to pick up the other half of my job.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They weren’t able to hire someone before my maternity leave ended, so I worked full time from home for a couple months. It was stressful at times, but it also provided some extra income and the chance to replenish the savings that we had used up over the last year. As usual, God worked it out better than we ever could have planned.</span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now as I write this in December, I’m transitioned to part time at work, Scott’s job is going great, and we’ve received a number of unexpected financial blessings. Amazingly, we’re better off in every way than we were a year ago thanks to God’s amazing provision and clever plans. I’m beyond blessed to be able to be at home with my crazy kiddos. Whether or not they’re blessed to be at home with me all day is up for debate :)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10216184339535642912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-87030468501907376642012-08-15T06:36:00.001-07:002012-08-15T06:41:43.861-07:00Pay Attention to ME!I've never been the most extroverted person. I don't stop and talk to random people on the street. I don't like pesky sales people. I regularly avoid the greeters at church (Not that they're not great people or they're not doing a great service for the church. I just don't want to talk to them).<br />
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Ever since I've had a baby, though, I've been forced get comfortable with these sorts of interactions. Given the fact that my child is the cutest ever (just my opinion), people regularly stop and talk to her, or me. This happens so often that one day at the zoo, so many people were looking at her in the stroller that my mom thought something was wrong with her. I told her it's pretty normal.<br />
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I didn't realize the effect this was having on me until one day when I had the chance to go to Aldi by myself. Grocery shopping without baby is pretty exciting--I'm extremely efficient, not having to constantly try to keep the baby quiet or stop her from pulling tampons out of my purse.<br />
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So there I was at Aldi, enjoying my time alone, and I had this strange feeling. Something just wasn't right. I wasn't as happy as I thought I should be during my solo shopping trip. Then it hit me: No one is paying attention to me! I'm walking around, trying to make eye contact and smiling at people, but they're not even looking at me. It's like I'm invisible.I guess I'm just a big nobody without my child!<br />
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This revelation left me a little disgusted with myself--I'm dependent on the attention my child gets! I'm such a loser. I never imagined that I'd be looking for regular interaction with strangers. I used to be so confident and happy to keep to myself. Now I'm just plain needy. I guess it's true that having a baby will change you in many ways. But I'm still going to avoid the greeters at church.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10216184339535642912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-71194166401453607142012-08-07T10:42:00.002-07:002012-08-07T10:43:55.551-07:00Lyrics By YouTubeSo I decided it was time to introduce Eliza to the wonderful world of <i>Annie</i>, and, being too lazy to actually put the movie in, I just looked up some of the songs on YouTube.<br />
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While we were enjoying them, I started poking around and discovered a way to make the video infinitely more entertaining. It's called "Interactive Transcript" and you should check for it any time you ever watch a YouTube video. Unfortunately, it's not available on many of them. Here's a sampling of it's goodness (click on the picture to make it bigger):<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10216184339535642912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-59278508595932458872012-06-19T12:37:00.001-07:002012-06-19T12:37:24.641-07:00Superfly!Remember how I said we were <a href="http://thenewsmalltalk.blogspot.com/2012/06/lord-of-flies.html">infested by flies</a>? And remember how I thought they were disabled? Well, it seems I grossly underestimated them.<br />
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It all started when my lovely Aunt Nancy bought me an over-sized fly swatter. She'd read my blog post and my pathetic cry for help regarding our lack of fly swatter. She came through with the most gigantic fly swatter I've ever seen. It's like 3 feet long. And it's pretty awesome.<br />
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So today, I was lounging on the couch and low and behold, a fly landed on my foot. Luckily, my new three foot long fly swatter was right next to me. So I grabbed it and whacked the fly, and I didn't even have to move. On account of the three foot long fly swatter.
I whacked the fly once and he bounced off my foot and onto the couch. But he was still moving. So I whacked him again. Still moving. Whack! Whack! How many whacks was it going to take? He may have been slipping through the giant holes in the giant fly swatter.<br />
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Finally, he seemed to be dead. So I took a picture of him with the gigantic fly swatter.<br />
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I decided to leave him there on the floor so that Scott could see it when he got home. A few hours later, I happened to walk by and notice that the fly was now standing up right and had moved a few inches. He wasn't dead!! He was just sitting there, moving his legs slightly, probably slowly dying in agony.<br />
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Another few hours later, I came by and he'd managed to move himself off of the fly swatter and onto the floor next to it where he lay on his back, finally accepting his defeat.<br />
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So it turns out these flies I believed to be disabled were actually super flies. In all honesty, Scott told me this after his run in with them the other night, but I didn't believe him. They fly so stinkin' slow! There's still one flying around out there, but he's wisely laying low. Perhaps he's witnessed the horror of the past few days. And no doubt he's spotted the giant fly swatter, a literally massive deterrent for any pests who dare to show their faces. <br />
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I took a picture of the giant fly swatter with my foot so you could see how huge it is.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10216184339535642912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-44155540074730011842012-06-15T08:10:00.001-07:002012-06-15T09:50:43.583-07:00Lord of the FliesWe have an infestation. A fly infestation. Somehow (when I say "somehow," I mean, "because I left the door open all day and there are holes in our screen"), a bunch of flies got into our house yesterday. I noticed them around lunch time, just sitting on our screen door. I didn't do anything about it. I figured I'd wait and see how it all played out.<br />
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Later on I shut the door and they were inside. Flying around. I thought they were flying rather slowly. I think they may have a disease or are disabled. Scott thought they were normal. We'll disagree about this till the day we die.<br />
<br />
Anyway, Scott and I have very different approaches to how we deal with bugs in our house. If the bug is harmless and uncreepy, I'm fairly passive. If they're not bothering me too much, I figure we can all live in harmony. If they're creepy, then I run away and have Scott take care of it.<br />
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Scott, on the other hand, makes it his life's work to kill every single bug he sees--harmless or not. I think it's really just a game to him. When I was a kid, we had a Super Nintendo. The only game my mother would buy me was this <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mario_Paint">Mario Paint</a> game that wasn't even actually a game, just a bunch of "activities" of an artistic nature. It came with this mouse and the closest thing it had to a game was this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAQXJbfihxo">fly swatter</a> exercise to help you get used to the mouse. I imagine that this is what it's like for Scott killing flies. Ironically, we do not own a fly swatter.<br />
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Back to my story. Scott came home and we went about our business, ate dinner, watched LOST obsessively on Netflix. All the while, Scott was planning his attack.<br />
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Finally, while I was putting the baby down for bed, he had his chance. Free reign over the house. Total destruction for the flies. After a few minutes of rocking the baby, I hear a <i>whack</i>. Then another one. Soon they become more frequent and more intense. I knew what was going on out there. Those poor flies. They'd been living in our house in peace all day, assuming they were in the clear. After all, if they were going to be killed, it would have happened right away.<br />
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When I came out of the baby's room, Scott presented me with his killings. 8 dead flies. It was like when your cat is all proud to bring you a dead mouse. I congratulated him and he told me there were still a couple more, but this was the best he could do with the piece of junk mail he was using to kill them.<br />
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We went to bed in peace, knowing we wouldn't be attacked by a band of disabled flies. But now what's Scott going to do with his free time? I may just have to leave the door open again today.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10216184339535642912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-48005305483115482102011-04-26T07:12:00.000-07:002011-04-26T09:07:57.059-07:00Maternity MadnessWell, I haven't written in awhile and for that I apologize. I've been busy being pregnant, amongst other things.<br />
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If you read this blog at all, you know that I very much enjoy swimming (and not just because of the <a href="http://thenewsmalltalk.blogspot.com/2011/01/pool-fun-back-from-grave.html">weird people</a> I see at the pool). Well this whole pregnancy thing has started to present a problem for my bathing suit, leading me to visit a local maternity store. Little did I know that I'd be entering a creepy club (kind of like the wedding industry!) where I'm told that if I don't have the proper maternity apparel and products, my pregnancy is likely to be a huge embarrassment.<br />
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Up to this point, the only maternity shopping I'd done was in the four racks of maternity clothes at Old Navy, where I was left to fend for myself, something I now very much appreciate.<br />
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Anyway, off I went to the real maternity store with my mother. The moment we entered, the salespeople stalked. They wanted to give me a lesson on how to buy maternity clothes, (You buy your normal size. Thank heavens I had professional guidance on that one.) and inform me that there's a pillow with straps in the dressing room that I can wear to give myself 3 more months of tummy. Really, I can't dis the pillow thing, it was awesome but kinda lumpy.<br />
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So I found my bathing suit and tried it on (with lumpy pillow). All was good and I headed to the checkout, blissfully unaware of what I was about to encounter.<br />
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The lady at the register was abnormally happy. I can only assume this is a result of having to deal with hormonal pregnant women all day who need to be handled with caution. I handed her my bathing suit, ignorantly assuming my single item purchase would be quick and easy. Not so, friends.<br />
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First, checkout lady asked me, in a much too happy tone, if I was covered on panties. Uhhhh. This question surprised me to say the least. Do I need maternity panties? Aren't my regular panties good enough? Why is this lady asking about my panties?? I gave her a blank stare for a few seconds, but that didn't dampen her happy demeanor. Finally, I mumbled something about being ok and we moved on.<br />
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Next, she asked if I had some cream they're peddling that's sure to prevent stretch marks and itching. I said no, and she said I should really start now to get the full benefit. We talked about this for way too long before she finally accepted that I wasn't going to buy any.<br />
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Next, she wanted all my personal information. I refused to give my phone number first, which sent her into a detailed explanation about how beneficial it is to register with them. Unfortunately, I fell for the $400 worth of coupons they offered and conceded in giving my address, but rest assured, they did not need my phone number!<br />
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Finally, after ten minutes of maternity talk and sales pitches, my swimsuit was rung up and purchased and the whole ordeal was over. Needless to say, I'm going to try to avoid maternity stores from now on. I'm confident that the selection of maternity clothes at Old Navy and Gap (devoid of maternity panties and pregnancy pillows) will do the job for the time being.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10216184339535642912noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-74489794120809433732011-01-28T16:45:00.000-08:002011-01-28T16:45:58.871-08:00Pool Fun: Back from the GraveBack when <a href="http://thenewsmalltalk.blogspot.com/2007/07/pool-fun.html">the oldies</a> at my mom's pool died or moved on to an old folks' home, I thought my days of pool entertainment were over. Luckily, I joined this pool near my work and though it started out slow, it now provides all the mystery, intrigue, and colorful characters I could ask for.<br />
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First, there's Hot Tub Playboy. He sits in the hot tub every day waiting for his women to show up. Hot Tub Playboy has two main women: Cell Phone Girl and The Quiet One. Cell Phone Girl periodically gets out of the hot tub to yell into her phone for 10 minutes. The Quiet One is, as one would expect, pretty quiet, but one time I saw Hot Tub Playboy pinch her butt.<br />
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Then there's Over-achieving High School Girl and her parents, Passive and Aggressive. She showed up in the fall with her Passive father who was attempting to teach her how to swim without creating small tidal waves by way of loving encouragement and plenty of joking around. She's gotten kind of better and joined the school swim team. Enter Aggressive mother. Aggressive mother, it seems, has been trained as a drill sergeant and can often be found holding a clipboard and yelling things like, "You're slowing down!" and, "10 laps left! Hurry up!!" I fear Over-achieving High School Girl takes after her mother as she now meticulously times her laps and yells at her father to keep careful track of them. I can hear her stop watch beeping beneath the water.<br />
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And finally there's snorkel guy, who was apparently never taught how to take breaths while swimming so he swims with a snorkel, never lifting his head out of the water. He could likely swim for years straight using this technique.<br />
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I'm thankful for all these characters, bringing my joy me with their weirdness and flirting. Without them I'd just be swimming back and forth, thinking only of my next lap. Instead I get to witness tiny pieces of their lives and entertain myself by giving them mildly insulting nicknames. I wonder what they nickname me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10216184339535642912noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-2634483882288704802010-12-30T08:19:00.000-08:002010-12-30T08:20:06.916-08:00I'm Still HereWow, I haven't written since November 11th. That was a long time ago and given the subject of my <a href="http://thenewsmalltalk.blogspot.com/2010/11/hibernation.html">last post</a> you may be assuming that I've been busy hibernating, but in actuality quite the opposite is true. I haven't stopped doing stuff for a month now. It seems pointless to post photos on here since I'm fairly certain that everyone who reads this blog is also a friend of mine on Facebook, but I'm doing it anyway. So here's my month in photos.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">I decorated my house</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I made a ton of Christmas cookies </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlTOlYi8XT34Wu_gVaF8rACO_go3FpoGnjK0QGvqQN4ODS1UI1Fh03xF5cU3jCs9HWQd60W7QtFeJ-9NQT6fkrn3knFNRepGY3-rIcIfesuUiQPmwoQaJKsTH-2ZLygkhOmLnTBa4rEE/s1600/cookies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlTOlYi8XT34Wu_gVaF8rACO_go3FpoGnjK0QGvqQN4ODS1UI1Fh03xF5cU3jCs9HWQd60W7QtFeJ-9NQT6fkrn3knFNRepGY3-rIcIfesuUiQPmwoQaJKsTH-2ZLygkhOmLnTBa4rEE/s320/cookies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I made a wreath</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ4cigM_ohdmftLm9H1PH9jBRKZTcVQCEReXQaeX20-24orv0vXVZVSPzF-ym_Teouf-wPTElBocQ4NySttbtrIDLVPnSQAyrOv7iegKQGb5IBWWBx3_hKMh6uMBYwPsThmTErUcd7r2M/s1600/wreath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ4cigM_ohdmftLm9H1PH9jBRKZTcVQCEReXQaeX20-24orv0vXVZVSPzF-ym_Teouf-wPTElBocQ4NySttbtrIDLVPnSQAyrOv7iegKQGb5IBWWBx3_hKMh6uMBYwPsThmTErUcd7r2M/s320/wreath.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It snowed</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SNkOiciF9bSBkdidYoQJviaPDxK_mEKMOMzgFI_fJSroo4zBgT4ZDzoBrB9JobeUHBilIapd5t_XJCgjh_N1_AcmospM6HGUBK15nB-1xdWMP8qCYX-hxBArGPQV7mJVw-r85g_HMBc/s1600/snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SNkOiciF9bSBkdidYoQJviaPDxK_mEKMOMzgFI_fJSroo4zBgT4ZDzoBrB9JobeUHBilIapd5t_XJCgjh_N1_AcmospM6HGUBK15nB-1xdWMP8qCYX-hxBArGPQV7mJVw-r85g_HMBc/s320/snow.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I got a new computer</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SNkOiciF9bSBkdidYoQJviaPDxK_mEKMOMzgFI_fJSroo4zBgT4ZDzoBrB9JobeUHBilIapd5t_XJCgjh_N1_AcmospM6HGUBK15nB-1xdWMP8qCYX-hxBArGPQV7mJVw-r85g_HMBc/s1600/snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqJ0qHDQIoAOHHpkBBTud7qVkJP0FoGzulGuu2D5vY8Jygo5R9HYGaCF3vJBYYVwmEYWE2thGJtprjO8XdWs-LDjB7Bk2-d1n6vhA2_kgxnSfBKR_AeRC_dT7HD2MgKHyHY1DOndQ73QI/s1600/computer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqJ0qHDQIoAOHHpkBBTud7qVkJP0FoGzulGuu2D5vY8Jygo5R9HYGaCF3vJBYYVwmEYWE2thGJtprjO8XdWs-LDjB7Bk2-d1n6vhA2_kgxnSfBKR_AeRC_dT7HD2MgKHyHY1DOndQ73QI/s320/computer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I went to the zoo</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqJ0qHDQIoAOHHpkBBTud7qVkJP0FoGzulGuu2D5vY8Jygo5R9HYGaCF3vJBYYVwmEYWE2thGJtprjO8XdWs-LDjB7Bk2-d1n6vhA2_kgxnSfBKR_AeRC_dT7HD2MgKHyHY1DOndQ73QI/s1600/computer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZ_Ejru3hoXH39aHSP9evnc5aArzqwAlCS0vOKSiz95r6PTNkiT6ilvLm2IWt7D1NkR9OpuVLhCBjt0IxAhar6RCm6aFBuLDMRuZv3lNvV5EYzj2NAFMWbjGtvheKi3YXjZzU8tq-tgI/s1600/zoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZ_Ejru3hoXH39aHSP9evnc5aArzqwAlCS0vOKSiz95r6PTNkiT6ilvLm2IWt7D1NkR9OpuVLhCBjt0IxAhar6RCm6aFBuLDMRuZv3lNvV5EYzj2NAFMWbjGtvheKi3YXjZzU8tq-tgI/s320/zoo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ok, it's true there are some pictures of my actual Christmas, but they're still on my camera waiting patiently to be transferred onto the computer. Maybe they'll surface someday.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10216184339535642912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-32577674320714018532010-11-11T11:40:00.000-08:002010-11-11T11:40:59.304-08:00HibernationI'm feeling very impatient with our weather right now. Currently, it's 67 degrees on November 11th. This should not be.<br />
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The problem is, weeks ago when it actually got cold and I had to wear a coat, my brain went into winter mode. Now the weather wants me back into summer mode and I can't do it. Once I'm in winter mode, there's no going back.<br />
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It's at this time of year that I get excited about winter—the possibility of snow, the Christmas music, and most of all the guilt-free anti-socialness. But when it's 67 degrees out, it's not so guilt free.<br />
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The great thing about cold weather is it's an excuse to not have to talk to people. Don't get me wrong, I generally like people. But I also like to have excuses to be alone. Maybe it's too cold to go to the store, so I just scrounge up some mac & cheese for dinner. Or maybe the roads are too dangerous to go out for lunch so I'll just stay at my desk and watch Hulu.<br />
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This may be unhealthy but just like the bears, I like to hibernate. Except when it's 67 degrees outside, hibernation just makes you a jerk.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10216184339535642912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-21816128178651884882010-11-04T06:06:00.000-07:002010-11-04T06:06:43.870-07:00New-Fangled ComputersWhat I'm about to tell you will unfortunately reveal the full extent of my dorkiness. But I'm going to tell you anyway, because it's really important.<br />
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Sometimes, on Saturday nights from 9-11pm, Scott and I watch Svengoolie. Only when we're not doing something cool, like bowling. What is Svengoolie, you ask? Svengoolie is this guy on Channel 26 the U who has been around probably since before I was alive, dressed up like a vampire. What he does is show old, sort of scary movies and kind of talks about them. Sometimes he sings dumb songs about them. Sometimes he does weird little skits about them. And always, at the end of the show, people throw rubber chickens at him. Also, he's from Berwyn.<br />
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I know, this sounds ridiculous. And it is. But I like the movies he shows. Oldies like<i> The Tingler, House on Haunted Hill</i>, and <i>Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein</i>. And sometimes if you're lucky, they show a newer movie with swear words that are dubbed by Svengoolie himself. It's pure joy.<br />
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But the best part about watching Svengoolie is this commercial they show every time. It's for an exclusive Svengoolie t-shirt. The whole thing is ridiculous, but the best part is the old lady who shows up about 30 seconds in. I laugh till I cry every time.<br />
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<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YVCsoRpcLRs?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YVCsoRpcLRs?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10216184339535642912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-38051041292885180142010-10-22T12:44:00.000-07:002010-10-22T12:49:17.610-07:00Of Old Ladies and Bare ButtsIn an effort to get into better shape, I joined a gym where I swim every day after work. Swimming is pure joy for me, but apparently nobody else my age feels this way. Once again, I'm <a href="http://thenewsmalltalk.blogspot.com/2007/07/pool-fun.html">swimming with old people</a>.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I don't mind swimming with old people. Most of the things I enjoy doing involve more old people than young people. And I understand that the pool provides the perfect exercise for their fragile bones.<br />
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A quality that I really admire in old people is their confidence. Gone are their self-conscious younger years. This is their time to do what they want, who cares what anyone else thinks? I can't wait till I'm old.<br />
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But this no-nonsense attitude makes for some ... special moments in the locker room. As a result of their old person freedom, they're not so concerned about covering up when changing in and out of their bathing suits.<br />
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Now, a young person can make the bathing suit change pretty quick, before too many people come wandering by. But old ladies, they take their sweet time. They need to sit down. They need to very carefully put on each article of clothing. And they'll probably want to chat, which is detrimental to the quick change.<br />
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One time, I walked by the hallway in the locker room that houses the little bathing suit dryer. Lo and behold, I got an eyeful of old lady bare butt. This woman literally stripped down at the dryer and threw her suit in. It takes at least a minute to get ones suit dry. One minute. That's a long time when you're baring your butt for the world to see. Thank heavens she at least had the decency to cover up her front with a small gym towel.<br />
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Not quite as extreme, but still funny, one day I was attempting to make my quick change after a swim when an old lady came and sat on the bench next to me, preparing for her long change. I went about my business, trying to get finished as fast as possible when the old lady complimented me on the lovely pink color of my bra. I had mixed feelings. I appreciated bonding with this old lady over pink things. I just kind of wished the pink thing wasn't my bra.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-83234438700142172782010-09-09T08:58:00.000-07:002010-09-09T08:58:34.782-07:00Toilet CovererLast weekend, while on a little getaway with friends, an interesting and disturbing topic came up. It all started when I yelled at the boys to put the seat down after they used the facilities. We (the girls) needed to explain to them the painful consequences of a toilet left wide-open. Namely, that we will fall in.<br />
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This lead to a long and strange analysis of why girls don't check the toilet seat before sitting down and the conclusion (by the boys) that girls should be taught, from a young age, to check the toilet seat.<br />
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Clearly, that is ridiculous, but it did get me wondering why I don't check. Certainly there have been times when I <i>have</i> noticed the seat up. But there have been plenty of other times when I was oblivious and fell right in. Or worse, when the entire toilet cover was down, making for an awkward surprise.<br />
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Incidentally, I married a man who's very dedicated to putting both the toilet seat and cover down. I thought this was overkill. I mean really, who puts the cover down every time they go to the bathroom?<br />
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For the first couple months of our marriage I rolled my eyes at his excessive toilet covering. In an act of wifely defiance I refused to ever put the cover down. Then one day I dropped my tooth brush in the toilet. Now I'm a coverer.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-70804051537244230732010-08-03T11:29:00.000-07:002010-08-03T11:29:47.017-07:00The Boring Date<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">So I've been married a couple months now and it's great and fun and all that jazz. But also, it's kinda boring. I don't feel bored because I so enjoy being with my husband, but the things we do together could more often than not be classified as "boring." Things like sitting on the couch doing nothing, going grocery shopping, cleaning the house. They're all boring things that I did before I was married, but now we just get to do them together which is great.</span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">However, I think some people are expecting constant fun and excitement in marriage. These people are going to be disappointed. So I decided before any of you get married, you should take your significant other on a "boring date." It's sort of like a marriage test. You may or may not want to tell your significant other about this "boring date" or the reasons behind it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I remember my first boring date with Scott. I was at his apartment and we'd made some average joe type dinner and we sat down to eat at the table. We just sat there, eating, not really talking, kind of staring into space. I realized that when we got married there would be many more of these moments. And I was totally OK with that. Successful boring date!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">It's kind of like this bit of genius from <i>Best in Show</i>:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/O8PnRM-m7Dg&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/O8PnRM-m7Dg&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">So don't be afraid of the boring date. Stay in. Sit together like old people. Clean the bathroom. Take an hour to discuss where you want to go for dinner only to end up staying at home. It'll be worth it when you're married and fully prepared for the boring times ahead. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Boring Date. Tell your friends.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-27021939796388390572010-07-29T18:58:00.000-07:002010-07-29T18:59:45.308-07:00Welcome to The ClubScott and I joined Sam's Club last week. We only really did it because they were running a promotion where we got a $20 gift card for joining. And when the yearly fee is only $40, that's a pretty good deal. So last night we made our first real shopping trip to Sam's.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgro45lFbbABhLNeLxK_VM7VDOIPme6WZjP3da3LGRnuIdfwYtpkbrRgzNs6h7Mq2UBKZIHHWqDOTdOmiFCMLy7M0xN2EubaXwilyzp5txtM_kLV07Uq7T0Y3INDnlO3cfdZu7SxDOR5vI/s1600/IMG_2864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgro45lFbbABhLNeLxK_VM7VDOIPme6WZjP3da3LGRnuIdfwYtpkbrRgzNs6h7Mq2UBKZIHHWqDOTdOmiFCMLy7M0xN2EubaXwilyzp5txtM_kLV07Uq7T0Y3INDnlO3cfdZu7SxDOR5vI/s320/IMG_2864.JPG" /></a></div><br />
For me, shopping at Sam's is a bit of an emotional roller coaster. I feel excited that I can potentially get a lot for my money. I feel angry because I can also potentially waste a huge amount of money. I feel disgusted by the 120 pack of Ho-Hos. I feel nauseous when I see the gallon jar of mayonnaise. And I feel a little terrified when I see how easily we spent $100.<br />
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So I'm trying to be very careful with my Sam's shopping. Many things I want to buy come in such large quantities that I won't be able to finish them before they go bad and I'll just end up wasting money. This must be avoided.<br />
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However, lots of the stuff I can buy there will last forever. Take our laundry detergent. I paid about $15 for a 140 load pack of powder detergent. That's almost 3 loads a week for a year. <br />
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Or our garbage bags. We purchased 150 garbage bags for $9. We only use maybe one bag a week right now. At this rate, we will literally have these same bags for <i>3 years</i>. These are the bags I may use to dispose of the leftovers from my 30th birthday cake. Or our childrens' diapers. We'll have survived (or not) the end of the world in 2012 before we use up these bags. The world could be a completely different place in three years, but one thing's for sure: we'll still be using our 150 ct. drawstring Sam's Club Tall Kitchen Bags. And that makes me feel ... a little weird.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-62487335378236111972010-07-14T19:23:00.000-07:002010-07-14T19:23:18.015-07:00Disastrous MeSo apparently I'm kind of a disaster. Not in a very serious sort of way or anything. Just in a way that I tend to create small disasters whenever I do something. I didn't really realize this about myself until I married a non-disastrous man. He doesn't spill stuff or knock stuff over or drop food on the kitchen floor. It's weird.<br />
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My worst offenses are in the kitchen. If I'm just cooking something in the oven, it's no big deal. Maybe I spill a little over the side, but nothing too disrupting. Stuff on the stove is a little more of a disaster. I may fling a little beef out of the frying pan or swish my pasta around a little too vigorously, requiring some post-cooking stove top cleanup. (Sidenote: I really like stirring things and sometimes I just get a little too excited about it.)<br />
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But by far the worst kitchen messes come with baking. Mostly because baking typically involves mixing some light, powdery substances that much too easily go flying out of the bowl and onto the floor, counter top, and/or me. Times ten if I'm using a hand mixer. Luckily, I got a couple aprons as wedding gifts.<br />
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But a couple weeks ago I found myself a new disaster waiting to happen: the garden hose. We moved into the house we're renting about a month ago and this hose as been sitting outside the back door untouched since then (and for who knows how long before we moved in). But this weekend I noticed that our flowers outside were looking a little sad after awhile without rain, so I thought it would be a great time to fire up the hose, while Scott neatly and quietly took care of some handyman jobs in the house.<br />
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I made my way outside and found the hose unplugged from the spout. No problem, just twist it on. When I felt it was sufficiently twisted, I turned the handle slightly and the water started without a problem. Then I felt a little moisture on my ankle and noticed that the hose was spraying a bit where it was attached to a second hose for extra length. It didn't seem to be leaking too much, so I turned the water on full blast. well, I apparently hadn't secured the hose to the spout quite enough and water began squirting out at me. No biggie, I turned the water off before I got too soaked.<br />
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That's when our neighbor (Howard?) noticed the disaster I was causing and came to my rescue. He helped me tighten the hose and even commented that washer in there must not be doing it's job which made me feel a little less dumb.<br />
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So with the water on and excessive leaking under control, I squeezed the nozzle on the hose and, happy day, water came out full force. Then I stopped squeezing. But the water didn't stop. No worries, a broken nozzle could be dealt with. So I went on my way watering my flowers, but didn't get too far on account of the 10 different knots that the hose was in. Despite this setback, I managed to water all my flowers.<br />
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I dragged the hose back to the door and attempted to untangle it, but considering it was wet and muddy I just ended up with wet, wet muddy clothes and a tangled hose. I finally gave up and went inside, leaving this mess in my wake:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggRkDUdfWC6Lr46lrZyN0rfcbwtv92pkdfgDIDmd5eCJdYfFZ7YbT5dmcZh21XqfKJCgLNa-K9ufPNfvyD_7EF5A5hHKIunfsHcymgwxnCSfw0PspMfZqNfye2YypvG7mUtrnj-m8H0ws/s1600/IMG_2626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggRkDUdfWC6Lr46lrZyN0rfcbwtv92pkdfgDIDmd5eCJdYfFZ7YbT5dmcZh21XqfKJCgLNa-K9ufPNfvyD_7EF5A5hHKIunfsHcymgwxnCSfw0PspMfZqNfye2YypvG7mUtrnj-m8H0ws/s320/IMG_2626.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Meanwhile, after we signed the lease on this house, I suggested on a number of occasions that we get one of the hose wrapper things, or at least something to hang it on. But Scott always insisted that we didn't need one. Strangely, even after my hose incident, he still insists we don't need one and that he can teach me how to properly roll the hose up. I'm pretty sure I can change his mind.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-65291821048098017472010-07-06T12:16:00.000-07:002010-07-06T12:16:32.600-07:00Cheap WeddingsDuring my wedding planning days, I was constantly coming up with great wedding blog topics. I planned to write about all my brilliant money saving ideas, do it yourself projects, and about how weddings aren't about spending thousands of dollars on food and napkins and favors and stupid little things that nobody's ever even going to remember so why don't we just focus on the getting married part!! But now that it's all over I'm less inspired.<br />
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However, I thought I should just share with the world that I had a cheap wedding and that's ok. Well "cheap" might be relative, but in wedding world where the average cost of a wedding is $24,000, mine was quite reasonable. The wedding industry doesn't want you to think that this is possible, but it is. And here's how:<br />
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Rule #1. Pray. You're gonna need it. Also God makes stuff happen, so that's cool.<br />
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Rule #2. Don't listen to the wedding industry. It is seriously evil. It will make you pay double (or triple or quadruple) for everything just because it's for a wedding. It will also try to convince you that if you don't do things the "right" (most expensive) way, you're wedding's going to be a terrible embarrassment for you and your family. But it won't be. Do whatever you want. My reception was movie themed and I served popcorn and movie candy as appetizers. Tacky? Maybe. Delicious? Yes.<br />
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Rule #3. Don't listen to other people. Unless, of course, they are your finace or parents or whoever is helping pay for the wedding. But beyond that, just take everyone's opinions with a grain of salt. And there will be opinions. Hundreds and hundreds of them. From people you barely even know who think they know what your wedding should be like. They will criticize your brilliant ideas and tell you that you really need to include this one really little detail because it's sooooo important and everyone else does it. This was the #1 cause of any breakdowns I may have had while planning.<br />
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Rule #4. Go to Hobby Lobby. Seriously, I love that place. They regularly put their wedding stuff on sale and just going in there is inspirational!<br />
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Rule #5. Ask friends and family to do stuff for you. Ok, this one's a little bit hard because some of us don't love asking people to do things or don't have a wonderful family who's always ready to help. Luckily, I am blessed with a great family and group of friends who were excited to help. I had my uncle's band play at the reception, my cousin and uncle sing at the ceremony, my bridesmaids put together my flowers and designed my invitations, my mom printed all of our invitations and programs, my friend Laura made my cakes, the list goes on. It was a team effort. But I much preferred working with my friends and family instead of random people that I don't know. It gave everything an intimate feel and saved money!<br />
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Rule #6. Do your research. This may be time consuming, but if you want to save money it'll be worth it. I looked at plenty of over-priced reception venues before finding the one we settled on which I randomly discovered on a caterer's website. I looked into wholesale flowers and found I could order them very reasonably from the grocery store. I perused paper sites and ordered samples to try out for my invitations. It's some extra work, but I was really happy with everything I found. And the internet can tell you how to basically do anything.<br />
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Rule #7. Don't be afraid to do things the "wrong way." Most of all the little wedding traditions everyone holds so dear are actually kind of dumb and certainly optional. If you don't get any meaning out of them, don't do them, but you're going to need some confidence. If you're the type to give in the peer pressure, this cheap wedding stuff might not be for you. I had my reception at a park district senior center. It even said "Senior Center" on the huge sign out in front. But I sucked it up because it was a really nice place and very reasonable. I didn't have an open bar. I didn't do a bouquet or garter toss. I didn't do everything the church wedding coordinator told me to do. I had a rather casual movie themed reception. I bought popcorn at the dollar store. Yes, I broke many, many "rules" but people had fun and I got married and that's all that matters!<br />
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Rule #8. Be yourself. I got lots of comments about how our wedding was so "us" and I really like that. It wasn't some impersonal event that a wedding planner put together. It was clear that we carefully picked each detail and our personalities came through in it. And most of the time the reason it was so "us" is because we didn't do what was typical. Just do what you think is fun.<br />
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So there you go. That's all I could come up with for now. Cheap weddings. Don't be afraid of them.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-48669692805856382042010-06-23T05:29:00.000-07:002010-06-23T05:29:52.862-07:00The Real Toy StoryLast night, my husband (!) and I went to see <i>Toy Story 3</i>. It was great, of course, and I almost cried at the end. Then I felt really stupid for almost crying at the end because it's a <i>movie about toys</i>. Inanimate objects were making me cry and that's embarrassing. They were also making me feel guilty for leaving all my beloved toys in a box out in the garage. How could I allow these stupid movie toys to play with my emotions like this?!<br />
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So, to save you all the embarrassment of almost crying at a movie about toys, I'm going to summarize the Toy Story trilogy for you in very basic terms to make it as emotionless as possible. Warning: may contain some spoilers.<br />
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Boy gets toys<br />
Boy plays with toys<br />
Toys get lost<br />
Toys get found<br />
Boy grows up<br />
Boy gives toys away<br />
Toys get new owner<br />
The end.<br />
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Ok, hopefully that put some things in perspective for you. I suggest that you see <i>Toy Story 3</i> because it's good and lots of fun, but don't get sucked in!! Those toys aren't real, they don't have emotions, and they're not sad when you leave them in the attic or donate them to a daycare. Also, Ken is <i>not</i> that gay.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-56240374784995554382010-04-22T07:04:00.000-07:002010-04-22T07:04:19.775-07:00Taco Taco Bo BacoLast night I was doing some Sweatin' to the Oldies (let's not get hung up on this) and one of the songs that they were dancing/sweating to was <i>The Name Game</i>. If you've never done Sweatin' to the Oldies, they basically just have a cheezy band cover a bunch of old songs while Richard Simmons and his crew dance about to them. They also make the songs drag on and on so they're about twice as long as the originals.<br />
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So they were singing <i>The Name Game</i> and once they were finished singing the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MJLi5_dyn0">original version</a>, they started throwing in random names to make the song as long as humanly possible and maximize its sweating potential. They went through a few weird 80's names and then came to "Taco." At first I thought nothing of this. Then I had an uncontrollable craving for a taco. While exercising.<br />
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Bad move Sweatin' to the Oldies! No doubt they've led many hopeful weight losers astray with their nonchalant mention of tacos during their work outs. I can't believe Richard Simmons himself didn't catch this horrible blunder. But it was the 80's and maybe everyone's mind was more on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taco_(musician)">Taco</a> the artist and not taco the food.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-37414802065211475022010-04-16T14:14:00.000-07:002010-04-17T16:16:53.009-07:00Barbie Is not My Role Model<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I would like to clear something up. Lots of people get all <a href="http://blog.christianitytoday.com/women/2010/04/a_higher_calling_than_barbie.html">worked up</a> about Barbie and her unrealistic appearance and superficial little careers and enormous boobs and so on. They say that she's a role model for girls and they're negatively affected by her unattainable figure and fancy career choices and that's why we're all fat and self conscious and insecure. I say no.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-rhh6lCpPwgzKdel_C7xmLtXoIoAHNdryYfcs3JTxYYuwdBGiHP7IFfAADPYaGquh-0Z0azgWk8_kpr1ovwZewmh9lDoLp50LHAOt5udyljGIz1T8JGWBmpOmNSd0hWepzJW20FPNzw/s1600/barbies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-rhh6lCpPwgzKdel_C7xmLtXoIoAHNdryYfcs3JTxYYuwdBGiHP7IFfAADPYaGquh-0Z0azgWk8_kpr1ovwZewmh9lDoLp50LHAOt5udyljGIz1T8JGWBmpOmNSd0hWepzJW20FPNzw/s200/barbies.jpg" width="170" /></a>I spent countless hours of my childhood playing with Barbie and never once considered her a role model. She's a doll. Something I could dress up in ugly 80's dresses and give atrocious, non-reversable haircuts. Not something that gave me my self-worth or influenced my feelings about myself. I really didn't care if my Barbie was a flight attendant or doctor or garbage woman because seconds after I opened her, her "career" clothes were tossed into my ever growing mound of Barbie clothes and she was instantly as naked as the day she was born.<br />
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If anything, I projected <i>my</i> dreams onto my Barbies. Sometimes I'd make them singers. Sometimes I'd make them moms. Sometimes they'd be marrying Ken. And most of the time they were all three. I dressed them up the way I wanted in outfits that probably didn't match. I made them live out the little pretend life I chose for them.<br />
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It never once occurred to me that Barbie was skinny. Or that I should ever even look like that. Or that I should be a doctor because my Barbie was. She was just my doll that I could put lots of dresses on and make all pretty. That's what dolls are for. It's the people on TV and in movies that make me feel fat. Real actual living people. Not a doll.<br />
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I often wonder if the people who think Barbie is evil ever actually played with them as kids because they clearly have no understanding of the fun of Barbie. I suppose it's possible that they're just the <a href="http://www.watchcartoononline.com/the-simpsons-episode-514-lisa-vs-malibu-stacy">Lisa Simpons</a> of the world who, as 6-year-olds, sat around analyzing the affects their Barbies were having on them, finally deciding they were causing feelings of inadequacy before moving on to less offensive toys. This sounds like a depressing, boring childhood.<br />
<br />
So everyone needs to just calm down. It's just a doll. Barbie was never such a destructive force until we made her one. Let's just let her be a toy instead of some big commentary on our society. There may be some young girls out there who have been adversely affected by their Barbie dolls, but if this is really happening, it seems to me that would only be pointing to a deeper issue. One that can't be fixed by something as simple as taking away a kid's dolls.<br />
<br />
Ok, I will end my rant now. Let's just talk about how fun Barbies are. All my old ones are still in my mother's garage. I had a Little Mermaid one whose legs turned green after I took her in the bathtub with her fin on. It was worth it.<br />
<br />
Then there was the one whose hair I cut so short (maybe by accident) that I started using her as a Ken doll instead. This sounds disturbing, but it's not. A little girl <a href="http://thenewsmalltalk.blogspot.com/search?q=barbie">never ever has enough Ken dolls</a>, so we do some crazy things out of desperation.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp5YV8BsNqnsBRAo_iIasFDpuHx2vjQqK162_4gaPcvi3oBJGhBA8jXmyTWtqBqSg_Sv_YORWa9KkuvWyGiFG0QvX2gCwEpsKXax1tX4dbOPmokuKqUkVrLlKdXAmBSj_XYGN-RIRi8o4/s1600/elizaascot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp5YV8BsNqnsBRAo_iIasFDpuHx2vjQqK162_4gaPcvi3oBJGhBA8jXmyTWtqBqSg_Sv_YORWa9KkuvWyGiFG0QvX2gCwEpsKXax1tX4dbOPmokuKqUkVrLlKdXAmBSj_XYGN-RIRi8o4/s200/elizaascot.jpg" width="125" /></a>More recently, I've collected a few of the <i>My Fair Lady</i> Barbies. Scott bought me two of them a couple years ago for my birthday, shortly after we started dating. That might be when I knew I was going to marry him.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDfHwIbThXyw3fALIECB57IiCEwrlR6zyUGHRi80BUFumF3af-E4ZvJZJlFZQGKErT7y2IsQUVzfMSTnrSgJMMG2oNVmGGmJumICUlg7yylThU6Z6e8QN5Q53znymvE957PGfKqBcR0c/s1600/elizapink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDfHwIbThXyw3fALIECB57IiCEwrlR6zyUGHRi80BUFumF3af-E4ZvJZJlFZQGKErT7y2IsQUVzfMSTnrSgJMMG2oNVmGGmJumICUlg7yylThU6Z6e8QN5Q53znymvE957PGfKqBcR0c/s200/elizapink.jpg" width="125" /></a>These are special to me because as a child I was obsessed with <i>My Fair Lady </i>and all I wanted was an Eliza doll. Apparently they were impossible to find in 1987, so I never got one. Now I have four. And it's heavenly.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-51784289322991117792010-04-05T10:54:00.000-07:002010-04-05T11:03:12.480-07:00Creepy EasterHere are some things that creeped me out this Easter:<br /><br />This hilarious picture from <a href="http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/2010/04/02/the-visitor/">Awkwardfamilyphotos.com</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmT5_DjQqnKCs4DrsT16IThyphenhyphensITwRu2zDhvWXABCCgd290krayVoVqghiS1OeKspBpW3RuXFQ881KpU-h6zG5x-mM5YV2CcQX9rJrg-4XtQSub8xLKX4o8mOZwBT7bVKNCdpD7iE-aihM/s1600/creepybunny.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmT5_DjQqnKCs4DrsT16IThyphenhyphensITwRu2zDhvWXABCCgd290krayVoVqghiS1OeKspBpW3RuXFQ881KpU-h6zG5x-mM5YV2CcQX9rJrg-4XtQSub8xLKX4o8mOZwBT7bVKNCdpD7iE-aihM/s400/creepybunny.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456713788190796098" /></a><br />And this lamb cake that was left on our free food counter at work:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhbS-ELW6JUvn7vjQkp77E18dRNgfJqovErpBkwlO3DaKcK45b6vxxyzx7yc605v8sDz6mKjXfJIHO8rQWMc2VMuFVMRLTAknFC-juvJTUls4ZRkNuGIOt6fGEDRNwBmMhLfhQ9HjOo0/s1600/0405001246.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhbS-ELW6JUvn7vjQkp77E18dRNgfJqovErpBkwlO3DaKcK45b6vxxyzx7yc605v8sDz6mKjXfJIHO8rQWMc2VMuFVMRLTAknFC-juvJTUls4ZRkNuGIOt6fGEDRNwBmMhLfhQ9HjOo0/s400/0405001246.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456714809810825778" /></a><br />It's been there for probably 4 hours so far today and nobody has touched it except for when I pulled it out to take a picture and ate one jelly bean. This, of course, is unheard of as most food on that counter is gone within an hour.<br /><br />When did Easter get so creepy?Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-9916390856238501012010-02-18T15:37:00.001-08:002010-02-18T15:49:54.278-08:00Special DeliveryTonight I came home to a package waiting for me at the front door. It was some super cute shoes I ordered last week. Then, much to my horror, I noticed something sitting on top of my package: a baggie filled with dog poo. There was also a note that read:<br /><br /><blockquote>It is against city ordinance to let your dog run around with out a leash. And leave turds in everyone's yard.</blockquote><br />After laughing at the word "turd" for a few minutes, I realized I was going to have to remove this bag of poo from my package. The worst part was it wasn't even closed. It was just an open bag of poo sitting on my shoebox. I gingerly picked up the bag and placed it onto another package sitting next to mine, belonging to our <a href="http://thenewsmalltalk.blogspot.com/2008/04/crazy-neighbors-in-pictures.html">famous</a>, <a href="http://thenewsmalltalk.blogspot.com/2007/10/crazy-neighbors-part-2.html">creepy</a>, <a href="http://thenewsmalltalk.blogspot.com/2007/09/crazy-neighbors.html">insane</a> downstairs neighbors.<br /><br />See, they're incredibly annoying and they just so happen to have this incredibly annoying dog. He barks all the time and they never bother to put him on a leash so he just roams free around the neighborhood. And apparently poos. Well, I've left many angry notes on their door in the past so I'm glad someone else is getting in on the action. Even if it does mean a bag of poo on my new shoes.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-77878690978879522662010-02-03T12:53:00.001-08:002010-02-03T17:20:12.182-08:00I'm A Mac. With A PC.I did something disturbing last week. I purchased my first non-Apple computer. This is disturbing because for almost twenty years, I've been a loyal Mac user. When I was about ten years old, my mother purchased our first Mac—a Macintosh Performa 630CD. Yep, it had a CD player. And like a 32MB hard drive. Pretty cool.<br /><br />Anyway, since then we've had a couple other awesome Macs and I bought myself an iBook in college. Then one day, disaster struck and my iBook died. It's seriously dead. I've tried reviving it a number of times with no luck.<br /><br />So I've been without a laptop for some months now and it's been painful. Once you get used to a laptop, it's hard to go back. So when my mother informed me that her work was selling some Dell netbooks pretty cheap, I was tempted. So tempted that I really wanted one. Mostly because they had a purple one.<br /><br />So I did it. I bought a PC. I had some moments of doubt and painful guilt, but I got through them and was satisfied that I paid less than 20% of what a new Mac would have cost me.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, I'm not giving up on Macs,. I fully intend to get another one when I'm not also trying to pay for a wedding. Plus, my wonderful future husband (and not a Mac enthusiast like me) has assured me that someday I will have another Mac. And to appease me in the meantime, he fancied up my little PC to make it look, quite successfully, like a Mac. Brilliant!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLhDDeXEZWdgpnBvYEcKR1pfdlLOcfqkXkoN-jH08WS11lIS1cjIXWl5quTDpMl1Js2wQajVVHuiXp_0yMKXcE20S_u2yv0iehroB0Lx9DNLbvPocYaNRdAzunH7nzmhFxKHM3exv660/s1600-h/IMG_1163.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLhDDeXEZWdgpnBvYEcKR1pfdlLOcfqkXkoN-jH08WS11lIS1cjIXWl5quTDpMl1Js2wQajVVHuiXp_0yMKXcE20S_u2yv0iehroB0Lx9DNLbvPocYaNRdAzunH7nzmhFxKHM3exv660/s400/IMG_1163.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434190496098744706" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4bPq9k9h-SnVAFYB7AFKrZXdmN231572LC16KgDwrp6LTZb0WwdVxi3fOovIDaMmVLRCBCVfKdM16pubEokN5oU47AG-dFykSVyxEwCFNEklYtwDFZU5nsTAkdvjGCzbxhw2XleU19g8/s1600-h/IMG_1128.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4bPq9k9h-SnVAFYB7AFKrZXdmN231572LC16KgDwrp6LTZb0WwdVxi3fOovIDaMmVLRCBCVfKdM16pubEokN5oU47AG-dFykSVyxEwCFNEklYtwDFZU5nsTAkdvjGCzbxhw2XleU19g8/s400/IMG_1128.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434190500793184146" /></a><br />Meanwhile, after this ridiculous <a href="http://www.apple.com/ipad">iPad</a> business, I don't feel quite so guilty about punishing Apple. When they're ready to come out with a tablet that can multitask, use Flash, and doesn't sound like it should be sold in feminine needs aisle at the supermarket, I'll be all over it.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-81986090032870369882010-01-31T07:07:00.001-08:002010-02-01T07:59:43.562-08:00Subject Line StressFor the past year or so I've basically stopped using subject lines for my emails whenever possible. Anytime I email someone who I know will open my email no matter what, I just leave it blank. There's such pressure to come up with a creative, clever subject line, that I just gave up (because that's how I roll). I also occasionally have to come up with subject lines for our newsletters at work which causes even more anxiety. I just couldn't take it anymore.<br /><br />But this blank subject line business has started to make me feel boring and lazy, so I decided to go back to subject line writing. Only this time I decided my subject lines would be painfully literal ... not creative or clever. Oftentimes, this means that I don't even decide on a subject line until after I've finished the email so that I can come up with the most accurate subject line possible. Gone is the pressure to trick people into opening my email with a witty play on words or clever phrase. What you see is what you get.<br /><br />I'm sure you're wondering, <span style="font-style:italic;">Couldn't this literal subject line writing someday become as stressful as the clever subject line writing?</span> The answer is yes, maybe, but it's not as likely so quit bugging me!<br /><br />So for now, I'm no longer feeling overwhelmed by subject line pressure and, I have to say, it's made me pretty happy. Now what to do about my blog post title anxiety ...Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-15667824086591234262010-01-26T07:38:00.000-08:002010-01-27T07:22:03.790-08:00Cabin FeverOver the weekend, I enjoyed my first trip to Galena, IL. The downtown was cute, we did a little shopping and some eating and some walking around. The most fun part, though, was the cabin we stayed in.<br /><br />Our friend Matthew works for a fellow who owns a cabin in Elizabeth, IL, outside of Galena and we got to use it for the weekend. It's super cute and quaint, sitting on a dirt road. But most importantly: it has a hot tub.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSEWHWZDpEfKnpEyAmQImGz18FLZKV8KdUZJ_SASNx6R6zalduJ5SaDBMUks06PkhySAd15wUrvQfr-5NeiMCJrhqEKevfHPGOWvZoGM-51wrWsMKXTuGznBjf1rmT0W7z00sX8NGOFt8/s1600-h/cabin.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSEWHWZDpEfKnpEyAmQImGz18FLZKV8KdUZJ_SASNx6R6zalduJ5SaDBMUks06PkhySAd15wUrvQfr-5NeiMCJrhqEKevfHPGOWvZoGM-51wrWsMKXTuGznBjf1rmT0W7z00sX8NGOFt8/s400/cabin.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431097111551426754" /></a><br />Highlights of the weekend:<br /><br />- Creepy Cows. On our first evening there we went on a night walk and ran into a herd of creepy cows. Maybe it was more the darkness that was creepy. Either way, they were in a field next to the road and soon we saw the silhouette of one of them coming towards us. Then we realized the entire herd was following us as we walked. I've never been so creeped out by cows.<br /><br />- The Guestbook. The cabin had a guestbook with comments by others who have vacationed there. It was filled with stories of people getting locked out of the house in bikinis and meeting weird people, but the best stories were those of "Sue & Allen." Sue & Allen made at least 6 appearances in the guestbook and each one got longer and more disturbingly personal. We learned that they came to the cabin to get away from the busyness, "love each other" ("more and more and more ..."), and share many "special hugs." And each time, Allen lectured the reader about the need for peace and quiet and getting away. Thanks, Allen.<br /><br />- Hot Tub. Yes, the hot tub was great, but it was even greater when the guys moved a small TV outside so we could watch <span style="font-style:italic;">What About Bob?</span> in the hot tub. However, I do not recommend sitting in a hot tub for 2 hours.<br /><br />- Trailer House. I was particularly entranced by this abandoned house with a trailer attached. Or was it a trailer with a house attached? I'm not sure. At any rate, it was abandoned and hillbilly and awesome.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9Z_KI-v5mX0gxA2Btubh7AC6cE3KCg-y3Qs48c7pQmzE5sH7g07BldsAs31n-U3kMxd6fJR3clUWKAnzIMJNGHQDXsm5gNU2N5mSG6k1o3ec6eoK_OMdz5RyDA1UYh2eT3TTEYXkafo/s1600-h/trailer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9Z_KI-v5mX0gxA2Btubh7AC6cE3KCg-y3Qs48c7pQmzE5sH7g07BldsAs31n-U3kMxd6fJR3clUWKAnzIMJNGHQDXsm5gNU2N5mSG6k1o3ec6eoK_OMdz5RyDA1UYh2eT3TTEYXkafo/s400/trailer.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431100716688649906" /></a><a href="http:"></a><br />Here are some other special moments:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDwFW2XTyeJHHtDbH0wmufw-nTrkzLwMa6BC-wM6ttCZlvfkUVao2s84wqJADBmrAsg6d3bugaPVC_wGjinmgi3HC_j6pBRuDH1gRK0BaG4WAWLgR9Ge-PZl1Us33opQ0Gno5Vfka6Tas/s1600-h/shuffleboard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDwFW2XTyeJHHtDbH0wmufw-nTrkzLwMa6BC-wM6ttCZlvfkUVao2s84wqJADBmrAsg6d3bugaPVC_wGjinmgi3HC_j6pBRuDH1gRK0BaG4WAWLgR9Ge-PZl1Us33opQ0Gno5Vfka6Tas/s400/shuffleboard.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431101001258537074" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS_Y3HvXlyUmf3XJ1sWlQjxvYlnzcLN-B-HLoDwHY0SDwkjjPdUAk1aGW4rjK3W7tspKvh_uH9pOzieFYvyrNnMEJ-7QYTGXdyFyBINEmchFL3xu8Rgb0BrOv0g4lGk1aEa8bdOGaMtbw/s1600-h/gun.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS_Y3HvXlyUmf3XJ1sWlQjxvYlnzcLN-B-HLoDwHY0SDwkjjPdUAk1aGW4rjK3W7tspKvh_uH9pOzieFYvyrNnMEJ-7QYTGXdyFyBINEmchFL3xu8Rgb0BrOv0g4lGk1aEa8bdOGaMtbw/s400/gun.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431100992401223506" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXhaArMNzoDbF5HWfzKlMkQZLMN-ZnoMVW1vfbDUGlMkO67VDveRe-gGRoVJLWVe49PVrnuHlPFaR5o7_4yjgb3TG5cdICOf0GoKNbfVb62DCP_Dmlzyj8LDSgvSjPvZ81pb5zn8AYtw/s1600-h/welcomeinn.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXhaArMNzoDbF5HWfzKlMkQZLMN-ZnoMVW1vfbDUGlMkO67VDveRe-gGRoVJLWVe49PVrnuHlPFaR5o7_4yjgb3TG5cdICOf0GoKNbfVb62DCP_Dmlzyj8LDSgvSjPvZ81pb5zn8AYtw/s400/welcomeinn.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431100987618253762" /></a>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7027050938024659287.post-29848361872358754542010-01-14T07:20:00.000-08:002010-01-14T07:30:15.858-08:00Garbage SledYou know what's great? When something you pick out of the garbage turns out to be awesome.<br /><br />Last spring, I went on a <a href="http://thenewsmalltalk.blogspot.com/2009/05/garbage-picking-extravaganza.html">garbage picking extravaganza</a> with some friends of mine. It was truly amazing and I plan to do it again this year. But anyway, during our garbage picking I grabbed this old wooden sled. It wasn't in the best shape, but I figured it could be fun.<br /><br />So Scott and I decided it was time to fix this thing up and get it going. We sanded down the rustiness and spray painted the metal blades a lovely, bright red:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32BZnvbOfCJbyvazFMPqmX0LjP6pMSI0EdqSNqmkqMjiB_ll5d8SwDUlEBxUYBC2BSMZ24LM9tJoLGF0ZnX97XaTnOtvxSObhLLwC3f5Lfepzd9MXaOj0IkFMO3_N_sLC1mEFcn6zYyI/s1600-h/scottsled.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32BZnvbOfCJbyvazFMPqmX0LjP6pMSI0EdqSNqmkqMjiB_ll5d8SwDUlEBxUYBC2BSMZ24LM9tJoLGF0ZnX97XaTnOtvxSObhLLwC3f5Lfepzd9MXaOj0IkFMO3_N_sLC1mEFcn6zYyI/s400/scottsled.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426617561714693378" /></a><br />It looks pretty sharp and we just have a little more painting to do. Then we took it out and gave it a try. I thought the blades might just get stuck in the snow, but it turned out to be fabulous. We went pretty fast and it was nice and smooth, unlike those dumpy plastic things they have today.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTEnIdwHIpm1PZ9vz8xU4CZqvjSN_oa6Bha9972S-hKAkZS1-rIC88S8Gzw02qJPwRdFhPT-UdRn1EBu9VYSY7p8jpvRLi6KwSBi_8LN9IG7PyiQC5RGFwGfWLu7VmLAFZXPad6yw73I/s1600-h/mesledding.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTEnIdwHIpm1PZ9vz8xU4CZqvjSN_oa6Bha9972S-hKAkZS1-rIC88S8Gzw02qJPwRdFhPT-UdRn1EBu9VYSY7p8jpvRLi6KwSBi_8LN9IG7PyiQC5RGFwGfWLu7VmLAFZXPad6yw73I/s400/mesledding.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426617965801679298" /></a><br />I know, I'm pretty cool. And I didn't even fall off once!Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05446147470489169152noreply@blogger.com3