<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301</id><updated>2011-10-27T14:02:39.677-10:00</updated><title type='text'>My Rambling Thoughts</title><subtitle type='html'>Blog makeover happening soon.  Don't mind the mess :)</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>356</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2701630077854919254</id><published>2011-07-03T13:00:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2011-07-03T13:00:00.286-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Wiping my dusty screen off and spray canning the keyboard with that crazy cold air stuff ....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x12E-iaSZuw/ThDOnDjvLnI/AAAAAAAABC8/87swVDVeC9s/s1600/fourth-of-july-activities-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x12E-iaSZuw/ThDOnDjvLnI/AAAAAAAABC8/87swVDVeC9s/s320/fourth-of-july-activities-1.jpg" width="317" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last two weeks, I've been toying back and forth with &lt;strike&gt;starting&lt;/strike&gt;, &lt;strike&gt;restart&lt;/strike&gt;, re-restarting blogging again.&amp;nbsp; (Really Rambler, we are going HERE again?)&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The keyboard and screen are beckoning me in an intense way.&amp;nbsp; And annoying.... like your little sister saying...."I'm not touching you, but I'm touching you with my mind"...OK, maybe blogging isn't that annoying.&amp;nbsp; And I say annoying because until I post something, I keep nagging myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My answer to all of that is simple. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love writing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love telling stories in my Rambler way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I miss it.&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadly, sometimes we all don't have the time to pursue the things we love.&amp;nbsp; To cultivate it and maintain it.&amp;nbsp; We just put it in the back corner of our mind and retrieve it when we can reach our virtual hands back there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought to myself, what should be a first post after months of nothing? I'm a funny gal, and you that have read me know I"m good for a laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I thought, eh, I'll be a little patriotic and make this a "PROUD TO BE AMERICAN" post.&amp;nbsp; And I will quickly share with you a moment I had at work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I work a lot.&amp;nbsp; Like a lot that my family or friends wonder if I moved out of the country.&amp;nbsp; The restaurant I work for is one of the busiest on the island.&amp;nbsp; So having said this, the people at my job have become my pseudo family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our BIG BOSS was in town to check on his Hawaiian location.&amp;nbsp; He's been running restaurants in the US for about 15 years, while making visits back home to England to visit his mum (giggle, imagine Rambler with an English accent).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He finally took his US Citizenship test and became an official bonafide United States of America citizen.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; So to honor that we surprised him with a cake and about 25 employees on a back loading dock, we celebrated and impromptu-ly (is that even a word??) did the Pledge of Allegiance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hadn't done that since being a young kid in Elementary school. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not gonna lie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the coolest most American thing I'd done, with my staff of varying ages, that moment, reciting OUR Pledge of Allegiance to the United States of America.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to  the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible,  with liberty, and justice for all.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So with that Bloggy land....Happy Fourth of July.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2701630077854919254?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2701630077854919254/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2701630077854919254&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2701630077854919254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2701630077854919254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2011/07/wiping-my-dusty-screen-off-and-spray.html' title='Wiping my dusty screen off and spray canning the keyboard with that crazy cold air stuff ....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x12E-iaSZuw/ThDOnDjvLnI/AAAAAAAABC8/87swVDVeC9s/s72-c/fourth-of-july-activities-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-543005264838104257</id><published>2010-10-29T11:26:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2010-10-29T11:26:19.470-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Let's see how we can scare the crap out of Rambler.</title><content type='html'>Oh, the tale I will tell you....A tale about a tail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe a week ago, while having dinner with the 4 year old Lil Rambler, our fearless 17 pound Tibetan Spaniel Mr. Bow Wow (name changed to protect his innocence) growled ferociously at our air conditioner located in our dining room area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I took a leisurely gander I caught a sight of a tail that made my armpits immediately sweat and Nascar Speed'ed it to the "Holy Sheesh balls....WHAT?THE?HELL?" Lane. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First....Daddy Rambler was NOT home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second....Did I mention Daddy Rambler was NOT home?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third...How in the world did the Lizards that live in the bushes down below make it's way upstairs and inside?&amp;nbsp; (Boy wishful thinking)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy Rambler makes it home at some point, and the two female folk of the Rambler household tell him in excited elevated tones from the safety of the bedroom (because of course we moved to another area of the house...for Lil Ramblers protection) something with a long tail was seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After some consideration Daddy Rambler stated with manly confidence it HAS to be a lizard.&amp;nbsp; And maybe it was going OUT.&amp;nbsp; Not coming IN.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He seemed fine with his answer until putting away our pots and pans under the oven and heard a rattle and saw a tail.&amp;nbsp; Now our seemingly not so worried about lizard turned into a bigger lizard with issues.&amp;nbsp; So I pretty much imagined a wild iguana roaming in between our walls.&amp;nbsp; (MASSIVE SHUDDER) because I don't know how to remain calm when it comes to animals.&amp;nbsp; They are my kryptonite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/TMsxq2ossYI/AAAAAAAABCw/u33F_Ujepgo/s1600/Iguana+-+Cincinnati+Zoo+-+D.+Byrd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/TMsxq2ossYI/AAAAAAAABCw/u33F_Ujepgo/s320/Iguana+-+Cincinnati+Zoo+-+D.+Byrd.jpg" width="261" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, only the tail was seen and we convinced ourselves it was the  mother of all lizards from downstairs and how do we get rid of it.&amp;nbsp; So  while not entering my kitchen for several days due to the fact I was  sure it would jump on my face and eat it, we contemplated. &amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah....well flash forward to yester-friggin-day.&amp;nbsp; My husband opened the dishwasher and saw a tail (AGAIN) disappear and water from the dishwasher starting to spill all over the place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A hole through the wall behind the dishwasher and into the piping of the dishwasher confirmed our 'lizard' was no lizard.&amp;nbsp; It was hairy-er than a lizard.&amp;nbsp; It was maybe a rat/mouse.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; (pray it's a mouse, pray it's a mouse, pray it's a mouse.&amp;nbsp; Sign of the cross....pray it's a mouse, pray it's a mouse).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good Daddy Rambler did all the moving and cleaning and gagging of what was found when he pulled the dish machine out from it's place.&amp;nbsp; All he asked from me, when I got home late from work, was to place the traps because...well because it was better to lay them later than sooner??&amp;nbsp; (REALLY?&amp;nbsp; when we put the traps down earlier it might ruin the effect of the trap?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I get home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tell myself if there was no Daddy Rambler in my life I would have to do all of this by myself.&amp;nbsp; So I pep talked myself, I laid the trap and waited for something like this to jump out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/TMsvdOIPtzI/AAAAAAAABCs/-YeRDGXHb4g/s1600/RatOgreHead1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="193" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/TMsvdOIPtzI/AAAAAAAABCs/-YeRDGXHb4g/s200/RatOgreHead1.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;Cause if you know me....you know how active my imagination is. It would never be cute and talk or cook like this one...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/TMsrokR1MfI/AAAAAAAABCk/BFPFiOzXA-o/s1600/rat_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/TMsrokR1MfI/AAAAAAAABCk/BFPFiOzXA-o/s200/rat_2.jpg" width="188" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;So friends.&amp;nbsp; We lay the trap.&amp;nbsp; We repair our dishwasher.&amp;nbsp; We wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Um, honey....could you pleasssseeee get me a drink of water...yeah, in my pink cup....yeah, with a straw...I'll be right here in the bedroom at YOUR computer."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-543005264838104257?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/543005264838104257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=543005264838104257&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/543005264838104257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/543005264838104257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/10/lets-see-how-we-can-scare-crap-out-of.html' title='Let&apos;s see how we can scare the crap out of Rambler.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/TMsxq2ossYI/AAAAAAAABCw/u33F_Ujepgo/s72-c/Iguana+-+Cincinnati+Zoo+-+D.+Byrd.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5341570194263494041</id><published>2010-10-20T13:16:00.004-10:00</published><updated>2010-10-20T13:44:21.592-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Erm, I'm a big fat liar</title><content type='html'>Argh.  I can't help it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep saying I'm "coming back" and then months go by and all you find in my bloggy space is cobwebs and rickety cupboards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May.  That is the LAST time I was here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it's now friggin October.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any that are left....how are you people?  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Mammatalk...you totally prompted me to come on.  One of the first blogs I really really got into.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The new job has taken over any quality of life I had a grasp on and stomped and spit on it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le Sigh Deux.  (Is that even french...deux, does that even mean 2...Eh, whatever)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may have been gone, but MAN did I experience SO MANY blog moments that I wanted to share.  It's fitting I share something that is truly Rambler style.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I embarrass MYSELF for other peoples pleasure.  So those who will gasp in disbelief when they see my name in their recent blog posts lists....here is what I'll leave for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(God help me for sharing this story today)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it's time for my annual you know what?  &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(said in a hushed whisper....the woman thing...the pap smear thing...yeah, THAT.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a new Doctor.  I've never met her and I want to make a good impression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We go through everything I may have concerns about.  I talk like I've never had a friend before, and spill my 4 hour movie long life story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then it's time to do the thing.  I scoot my tosh to the edge.  She says relax, I snicker inside and say "Sure, Aren't I?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I start up the sequel to my first movie and don't hear her correctly when she says..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you ready, I'm going to.......(halfway through some fantasy about being rich and never having to work again apparently is what was on my mind)....Ok?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yah, Yah, Yah...I'm good"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHOAAAAAA......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently the missing part I agreed to was just her warning that she needed to check (with her finger, mind you) the&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; number 2 area. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;    The poop shoot.  The exit only zone for husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I clenched so hard because I almost....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(wait for it)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(promise...it's so Rambler)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;FARTED.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;from surprise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she said relax I just shook my head. For fear that if I spoke....I'd be 'too relaxed' if you know what I mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then screamed at myself  "Oh lord, even though she's scraped the inside of your whoo-ha, please don't embarrass yourself by farting in front of this nice woman doctor.  Not on your first date visit."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And no!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like a woman I held it in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....Until I got to my car half an hour later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Geesus, what kind of lady do you think I am?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;True friggin story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le Sigh...Trois.  (I looked it up that time...that's THREE in french )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Awesome right?  (said so sarcastically)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5341570194263494041?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5341570194263494041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5341570194263494041&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5341570194263494041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5341570194263494041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/10/erm-im-big-fat-liar.html' title='Erm, I&apos;m a big fat liar'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-852456555270728553</id><published>2010-05-10T20:17:00.003-10:00</published><updated>2010-05-21T09:05:28.438-10:00</updated><title type='text'>To blog or not to blog...that is MY question.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S_bZF01xWoI/AAAAAAAABCU/jcqTusrq_no/s1600/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 250px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S_bZF01xWoI/AAAAAAAABCU/jcqTusrq_no/s320/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473801091222166146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes...I'm here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And life has changed.  In a positive way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 2 posts ago, I went to work and my boss told me that we would be closing our restaurant down and had to prepare to tell our staff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For about a week after, I digested the fact that I would be part of the unemployed world.  My mind replayed so many blogs I had read over the years and reading the frustration, and some heartache.  I wasn't sure what or where I was going to go.  I'd been working since I was 16 years old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the opportunities that lay ahead without guilt of having 'jumped ship' wouldn't be sitting hard on my shoulders.  BFF and family members that were aware of my near jobless future sent me links to this or that, and I didn't feel so heavy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then...an old friend/co-worker/boss person said he wanted me over at his place.  We discussed when I would be done with my current job and his approval for a couple of weeks before I started with him (and more money) sealed the deal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whew, I had found a job before I lost my job.  I was blessed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I've been 'jobless' the last 3 weeks.  I found myself staring at this blog saying...LOOK at all the time you have Rambler....you could blog EVERYDAY if you wanted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I didn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to joke about losing my mojo...but I feel like I've lost my passion for my good ol blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do I discontinue my blog?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do I dare type the words "It's been great"....?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I like everything about this blog.  That it allowed me to be more confident in myself.  To get a small readership of fantastic people. That was beyond anything I thought when starting this blog to share with my family what originally was just about what coffee I got at Starbucks that day, or how crappy my work day was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So maybe....maybe....I'll just stay.  Not because I'm obligated.  (Cause, come on, it's MY blog and I can whine if I want to.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But maybe because I just need to find the passion again to write.  And maybe that passion will be reignited with the new job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for hanging in there friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-852456555270728553?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/852456555270728553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=852456555270728553&amp;isPopup=true' title='33 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/852456555270728553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/852456555270728553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/05/to-blog-or-not-to-blogthat-is-my.html' title='To blog or not to blog...that is MY question.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S_bZF01xWoI/AAAAAAAABCU/jcqTusrq_no/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>33</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2722967762768994681</id><published>2010-04-16T10:24:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2010-04-16T10:29:10.618-10:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm sneaking in for a second</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S8jIdcVcZmI/AAAAAAAABCM/962MMMozI5A/s1600/147.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S8jIdcVcZmI/AAAAAAAABCM/962MMMozI5A/s400/147.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460834956334622306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh you guys....I have so much to say, and no time to sit and let it all out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I promise in a week or two I will be back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life has changed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a good way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's changed, and time is such a valuable commodity for me right now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just wanted to let you know I'll be back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2722967762768994681?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2722967762768994681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2722967762768994681&amp;isPopup=true' title='21 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2722967762768994681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2722967762768994681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/im-sneaking-in-for-second.html' title='I&apos;m sneaking in for a second'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S8jIdcVcZmI/AAAAAAAABCM/962MMMozI5A/s72-c/147.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>21</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3207597473627391099</id><published>2010-03-16T03:00:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T03:00:02.789-10:00</updated><title type='text'>D'oh.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S59DUpWA2YI/AAAAAAAABCE/GmrdI66hmUQ/s1600-h/Doh.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S59DUpWA2YI/AAAAAAAABCE/GmrdI66hmUQ/s200/Doh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449148096116218242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm horrible sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember faces like nobodies business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But ask me their name...and my eyes glaze over.  I smile and and have a standing rule with friends and husband that if I do NOT introduce someone it means I forgot their name.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Usually my BFF gets it and runs interference and does the whole..."She's so rude, I'm BFF, you are...".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pray they answer faster than me having to do that "Oh...BFF this is......(draw blank)....(Oh crap...awkward pause)....haha, no silly I totally remember your name....(holy farking crap)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wavy fingers to bring you to Lil Ramblers preschool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are way too many kids.  With a lot of names to try to place.  By the time a name is said the face has left because the big people are totally boring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first week, I called one of her friends by anothers name.  NEVER corrected me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A month later, the teacher corrected me.  (embarrassing)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I later called the right little girl the right little name.  (Right?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh no.  That's not how I apparently roll.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Morning ritual is to wash hands before they go into class.  Me and Lil Rambler pair up with her little friend and her mommy and I say with utter confidence and energy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good Morning Lil Wrong Name!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mother of Wrong Name girl says..."Oh...haha, um her name is (totally something you've never said since Lil Rambler started school but has seen since day one)"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HELLLOOOOOO Rambler.  For the love.  This mother has said Lil Ramblers name since Day two.  I'm on like Day 150 and I suck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's right.  D'OH.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone else?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3207597473627391099?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3207597473627391099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3207597473627391099&amp;isPopup=true' title='28 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3207597473627391099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3207597473627391099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/03/doh.html' title='D&apos;oh.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S59DUpWA2YI/AAAAAAAABCE/GmrdI66hmUQ/s72-c/Doh.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>28</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6462188550296866690</id><published>2010-03-09T03:00:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T03:00:06.908-10:00</updated><title type='text'>I know...where the hell have I been?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S5X4y3bctlI/AAAAAAAABB8/2un4JjHxrvE/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 315px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S5X4y3bctlI/AAAAAAAABB8/2un4JjHxrvE/s320/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446532877130708562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or did you even notice? (smirk)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing leads to another and before you know it, I get a text from my BFF that said..."OMG, you haven't blogged for a month...you must be really busy"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mmmmm....yeah.  Alright, I've been really busy? (scratching head...deciding on this for my answer).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It really started with my father in law visiting and practically took my laptop as if it was his Hawaiian mistress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we all were at home, he and my laptop were inseparable.  Plus, I was the entertainer/arranger of things to do/the buffer for all to get along....so trying to step away in to private mode was out of the question.  And by the time my father in law was wiped out by my daughter in law-ee ways, I could barely wipe my own butt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flash forward a month later...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And...I have to tell you...having this blog has paid off in more ways than I could have ever thought.  I really made some 'friends' that get another side of me.  Have given advice, pumped me up, told me my writing skills are actually worth coming back for...you get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, fate stepped in one day when I had to choose between getting my contact lenses or &lt;a href="http://www.glassesusa.com/"&gt;eyeglasses&lt;/a&gt;.   Well, my old self said...duh, get the contacts, maybe you can upgrade your grandma glasses later on in the year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that same day, someone actually emailed ME, The Rambler,  to review THEM (&lt;a href="http://www.glassesusa.com/"&gt;GlassesUSA.com&lt;/a&gt;).  You say what?  Me?  No friggin way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So...I said what the hell...I'll get some &lt;a href="http://www.glassesusa.com/"&gt;prescription eyeglasses&lt;/a&gt; and see what happens.  I poked around the site which yes, was user friendly and since it had been a while, was surprised to see the prices were extremely more affordable than my own doctors office.  (shhhh...I heart him so...our little secret).  Sigh...but the true test is when I get them in my hands and onto my face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gotta tell you...I didn't expect what happened.  I've had them for almost 2 months and barely take them off.  The &lt;a href="http://www.glassesusa.com/"&gt;eyeglass frames&lt;/a&gt; I chose apparently really 'complimented' my face.  Because I looked 'smarter', 'intelligent-er', 'sassy sexy school teacherish' , 'beautifulrific' from strangers, female friends and my younger male staff (eh, my 34 year old self felt a little cougarish with my 21 something year old making comments...wait what makes you a cougar?  How old do I have to be?).  I believe I even inspired a girl to buy fake glasses to see if it made her more tips at her tables.  (It does, surprisingly)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So go over there...if you need glasses but don't want to break the bank.  &lt;a href="http://www.glassesusa.com/"&gt;Glassesusa.com&lt;/a&gt;.  I might have a 5% coupon code for you if you like...(Mommy5).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay so to recap my return after a long long time away...cause you all know 1 day equals 1 week.  So 29 days is almost a half a year right?...(get back on point Rambler)...you learned that my father in law took my laptop mistress hostage and I look farking sexy in my new eyes. (Smirk, but sexy...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6462188550296866690?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6462188550296866690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6462188550296866690&amp;isPopup=true' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6462188550296866690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6462188550296866690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-knowwhere-hell-have-i-been.html' title='I know...where the hell have I been?'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S5X4y3bctlI/AAAAAAAABB8/2un4JjHxrvE/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-410623951437918217</id><published>2010-02-02T03:56:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2010-02-02T03:56:00.743-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Homeless Man with a crappy bowel = Not a good day for The Rambler</title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.handbagsandhandguns.com/"&gt;&lt;img style="width: 228px; height: 228px;" src="http://i337.photobucket.com/albums/n366/hotpants4979/blog/2010/tues-tunes/tues-tunes.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hells &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;yah&lt;/span&gt;...It's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;iLove&lt;/span&gt; Tuesday Tunes over at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Hotpants&lt;/span&gt; place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So to start off this post I give you MY song for the week....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey Soul Sister" by Train....(I heard this song and just fell in love...listen while I tell you the gory details of my horrendous first hour of work)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="340" width="560"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kVpv8-5XWOI&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kVpv8-5XWOI&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="340" width="560"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**********&lt;br /&gt;Okay...so while you listen (or not...whichever)...on to my most sh%&amp;amp;y of all work days.  And when I say that word. I really mean shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Within a half an hour into us opening &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(some of you newbies around here, I run a restaurant)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;....an older man in his late 50's, who didn't 'appear' homeless, emerged out of my guests bathrooms.  He quickly exited down the escalators and out the front doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In every space he occupied I could SMELL him.  &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;GAG&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes...I did say SMELL.  &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;GAG&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Down the escalators to my outside cafe I went and realized his smell seemed to be human feces were slowly grasping hold of my nose hairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kind of smell when your baby makes THAT poop whose smell sticks around long after the trash has been taken out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where snorting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Clorox&lt;/span&gt; would be the only way to eliminate the crap smell holding on for dear life at the entrance of my nostrils.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now being the boss, you have to do things YOU don't like...especially when the ones who clean the nasty stuff don't come until much later...(like when we close and I had JUST OPENED).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not wanting to die alone in a men's restroom while looking for poo, I had to drag in my male accountant to inspect the bathroom.  He went in first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HE walked out with a hankie over his mouth, tears in his eyes and a cologne sample bottle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All we could think of was this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Poltergeist&lt;/span&gt; lady...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"May the power of Christ compel you, may the power of Christ compel you".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S2fgrYe14qI/AAAAAAAABB0/aATQhe3ydpw/s1600-h/poltergeist-lady.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S2fgrYe14qI/AAAAAAAABB0/aATQhe3ydpw/s320/poltergeist-lady.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433558511356600994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and cracked up in hysterics thinking of him waving holy cologne water at the poo left in places OTHER than the toilet bowl...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I say OTHER...I mean everywhere OTHER than the toilet.  It was like a scene in those horror movies where the local sheriff comes upon a murder scene and everywhere he looks that music plays and heightens as he sees more and more carnage...you get it...well that was this bathroom.   Only I was gagging at heightened levels. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boys and girls, I had reached 'Lost My Cookies From Last Year' threat level.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A huge mop, &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;GAG&lt;/span&gt; burning hot water, a full bottle of bleach, &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;GAG&lt;/span&gt; sanitizer,2 managers who haven't gagged that hard in a long time &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;GAG&lt;/span&gt;, 1 brave employee &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(of course I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;commandeered&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; someone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; ), 6 pairs of gloves, and a crap &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;GAG&lt;/span&gt; ton of paper towels that bathroom was sparkling clean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that people was how my week started...&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;GAG&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-410623951437918217?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/410623951437918217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=410623951437918217&amp;isPopup=true' title='39 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/410623951437918217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/410623951437918217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/02/homeless-man-with-crappy-bowel-not-good.html' title='Homeless Man with a crappy bowel = Not a good day for The Rambler'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S2fgrYe14qI/AAAAAAAABB0/aATQhe3ydpw/s72-c/poltergeist-lady.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>39</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-4488447370897260189</id><published>2010-01-26T03:00:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2010-01-26T03:00:04.423-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Pearl Jam and some Iphone stuff</title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.handbagsandhandguns.com/"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i337.photobucket.com/albums/n366/hotpants4979/blog/2010/tues-tunes/tues-tunes.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Music....I wasn't always a person who enjoyed the rock genre...but as I got older, my bubble gum lollipop school girl crushes on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pop stars&lt;/span&gt; made room for a bit darker types of music.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, actually I missed the day we were all supposed to attend the "This is Music and what you need to know about it" class.  I have no clue about what harmonies are really supposed to sound like, or melodies, or tenors, or...you get it right.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't even sing the right words...EVER.  I drive my baby sister kooky when I sing, cause she's like an expert (eye roll via me).  Cause she had a couple singing lessons.  And me?  Well, I got hit by the "don't let her sing" stick on my way out of my mothers &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;whoo&lt;/span&gt;-ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just like music but can't tell you why I really like it.  Usually music always brings me back to specific places in my past.  Doesn't it always?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week I bring you Pearl Jam...The End.  (It's a beautiful and haunting type of song.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YuxDJPpiOFE&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YuxDJPpiOFE&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just heard this song for a first time last week on a show I watch "Castle" brought to you via a awesome app on my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;IPhone&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Shazaam&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S1YP6R_9JaI/AAAAAAAABBk/GQ6LpGrrIWc/s1600-h/shazam.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 156px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S1YP6R_9JaI/AAAAAAAABBk/GQ6LpGrrIWc/s320/shazam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428543894780192162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You hear a song, you quickly dive and hunt for your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;IPhone&lt;/span&gt; and push the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Shazaam&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; button and pray there is enough song left for this bad boy app to pick up, analyze and send back to you the name of the song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God for this app...cause I'm the person who's asking someone to "name that tune" and trying to hum it.  I suck at humming it.  My kid tells me to shush when I hum.  So my can you tell me the song "Fix It" by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Coldplay&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; might sound like "Mary had a little lamb"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of Castle...I have a mad crush on this man.  Nathan &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Fillion&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S1YQwSD9ofI/AAAAAAAABBs/Y7Uin8Dd4d4/s1600-h/castle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S1YQwSD9ofI/AAAAAAAABBs/Y7Uin8Dd4d4/s320/castle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428544822509937138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't tell my husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm done here.  Peace Out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-4488447370897260189?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4488447370897260189/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=4488447370897260189&amp;isPopup=true' title='26 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4488447370897260189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4488447370897260189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/pearl-jam-and-some-iphone-stuff.html' title='Pearl Jam and some Iphone stuff'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S1YP6R_9JaI/AAAAAAAABBk/GQ6LpGrrIWc/s72-c/shazam.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>26</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-7920996721307206687</id><published>2010-01-19T03:00:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2010-01-19T03:00:07.831-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Who wants to hear some music?</title><content type='html'>First and foremost, thank you ALL for your very supportive and kind comments in regards to my l&lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/not-my-usual-postbut-really-honest-one.html"&gt;ast post&lt;/a&gt;.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't explain in enough words of this new place I've allowed myself to be at.  I'm not skydiving out of a plane, but for the first time thinking of it. (who am I kidding, I'll just ride the plane and watch the crazy ones actually step out the door at x=(completely ridiculous)amount of feet in the air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And &lt;a href="http://princessesandpickles.blogspot.com/"&gt;Mammaducky&lt;/a&gt;....you deserve the best piece too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So on to my regular meme post (which I haven't done in Foorrreeeeevvvveerrrr)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.handbagsandhandguns.com/"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i337.photobucket.com/albums/n366/hotpants4979/blog/2010/tues-tunes/tues-tunes.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been a while since I participated in anything.  And since I heart this lady right here I thought I would join in on her fun.  She has the best celeb gossip around bloggytown.  And I've been reading her a long time.  AND she takes great pics....along with &lt;a href="http://mightymfamily.blogspot.com/"&gt;Mighty M&lt;/a&gt;.  (They don't take photos together, just that I love &lt;a href="http://mightymfamily.blogspot.com/"&gt;Mighty M&lt;/a&gt; as well.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been nostalgic recently.  Like the 1986 kind. And the song that makes me go back the most is this one....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Nm_QilrHkh8&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Nm_QilrHkh8&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does ANYONE remember this band?  Anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Jets.  (God I loved them.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This puts me back to 6,7, 8th grade living on the Big Island.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me and the friends dancing like we were popstars&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; (you know, Tiffany and Debbie Gibson...who now goes by Deborah?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; in our cafeteria turned dance arena.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One photo even made it into my 8th grade yearbook of said popstar dancing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And absolutely NO.  To showing you!  That book is hiding somewhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This song even inspired me to 'stalk/peer' through some old old friends through my facebook account and found a really close friend who I hadn't heard from in over 18 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And reconnected by clicking Add Friend.  (ahhh, the joys' of social media) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Psstt, the old me never 'friended' anyone on facebook for absolute fear of being rejected...wait, but that can't just be the old me, right? That crap reminds me of making friends in school, will she or will she not let me eat lunch with her?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-7920996721307206687?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/7920996721307206687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=7920996721307206687&amp;isPopup=true' title='18 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/7920996721307206687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/7920996721307206687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/who-wants-to-hear-some-music.html' title='Who wants to hear some music?'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>18</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3765523967970294132</id><published>2010-01-11T09:05:00.006-10:00</published><updated>2010-01-11T10:09:18.125-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Not my usual post...but a really honest one.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S0uDPpfDvvI/AAAAAAAABBc/uwzzzxD6G18/s1600-h/woman-reading-book-in-field.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S0uDPpfDvvI/AAAAAAAABBc/uwzzzxD6G18/s320/woman-reading-book-in-field.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425574480955293426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Found this beautiful picture on the internet a LONG LONG time ago.  I wish I could remember so I could give due credit.  But it best exemplifies my post.  Her nakedness translates to me that there is nothing to hide.  This is her.  Take it or leave it.  She is a peace with herself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I'm not sure how this post will go, but I've had an enlightenment in my life that I feel I really need to spill on the pages of my blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me to come back to and remember this feeling and this moment in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This won't be my usual funny haha type of post.  It is a heavy post.  Maybe it might include humor.  Because humor is what helps me defeat the depression that I feel I have lived and buried myself in for quite a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll start quickly with that it probably started the day my parents divorced.  I was 11, maybe 10.  And my kid brain tried hard to process that a big change was going to take place.  And the life that I lived so care-free of hurt and disappointment&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt; (other than NOT getting ice cream for dinner...insert humor to break tension here)&lt;/span&gt;, wasn't going to be my norm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother took my baby sister with her to California to heal from my father leaving her for another woman.  A woman that my middle sister, &lt;a href="http://antibloggedy.blogspot.com/"&gt;Antibloggedy&lt;/a&gt;, and I had to live with for some years.  A woman that hadn't expected to be living with 2 children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't so bad for my sister, but I think now, I know, I was always my mothers daughter.  I would fight little battles that children fight to honor their fallen mother's name.  To remind my father and his new girlfriend that I was once a part of a family unit that I thought was strong and could withstand anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Longer story made less longer is that my father's girlfriend and I did NOT like each other.  Like Chocolate &amp;amp; Sardines.   We did not belong together. &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; (But hey, if some of you like that combo...who am I to judge?...more witty repertoire for you)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.  I was generally a very happy go lucky type of girl.  Found the silver in EVERY lining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For whatever reason, she chiseled parts of my confidence and belief in life that I am worth something.  When my father said my sister and I were going to move back to be with my mother....I packed fast and ran hard.  And glimpsing, surprisingly, tears from a father that his girls were leaving him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What?  You WANT us to stay?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But....you've always picked HER.  The one that hisses at my very presence.  The one....that at 13 years old pulled me into the living room while you were at work and told me I was spoiled and couldn't believe my father threw me a birthday party.  How I wasn't deserving of one, how ungrateful I was, and other insignificant words she continued to make me listen to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That moment...I did feel like I didn't deserve...anything.  I was a child, she was the adult.  She was right.  Right?  I believe I cried the hardest I had ever cried as a child.  Alone in my room.  That moment defined me.  It created who I was to become.  I smiled less, and walked in every one's shadow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because it was safer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've felt 'unworthy' from that moment.  I've pretended through life how wonderful things are when people make fusses over me.   Because I'm waiting for them to roll their eyes and tell me how inconvenient it is for them.  Parts of me really don't like parties thrown for me.  Not because I don't love a party.  But for me?  Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They say the funny ones always have some sadness in them.  For their comedy is their shield.  Their comedy is for so no one else hurts.  For me, I've had to find the funny in my life.  The funny allowed me to surface for air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Constantly as an adult and more so as a parent, I often wonder how can someone hurt a child emotionally?   What purpose does it really serve?  Can it really make them feel better?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My enlightenment came from my mother.  She probably won't realize what that information was but a small tidbit of something she said released me of the chains I allowed my fathers girlfriend to bind to my spirit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always been a person who will take the ugliest and last piece of bread so others can enjoy it.  I never felt worthy enough to grab the first piece.  The best piece.  The piece I really want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I will now.  Because I DO deserve it.  I AM deserving of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old me would never have written this for others to read.  But she can rest now.  She's fought hard to keep me afloat and now this new me wants to take the reins and let her breathe.  Because this new me is worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those of you who made it through this post.  Thank you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now excuse me while I inhale my Kleenex box.  (ahem, more humor...to lighten the mood.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3765523967970294132?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3765523967970294132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3765523967970294132&amp;isPopup=true' title='51 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3765523967970294132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3765523967970294132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/not-my-usual-postbut-really-honest-one.html' title='Not my usual post...but a really honest one.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/S0uDPpfDvvI/AAAAAAAABBc/uwzzzxD6G18/s72-c/woman-reading-book-in-field.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>51</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3235259444814817052</id><published>2010-01-08T03:16:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2010-01-08T03:16:00.380-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Cough, sniffle, blow, cough, sniffle, blow</title><content type='html'>What do you do when both adults in the house are completely sick?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the only able bodied person in the said home is a 3 year old?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Flu &amp;amp; Mrs. Eff You came knocking hard core at me and Mr. Rambler's body and soul yesterday.  My husband called out sick from work and so rightfully "rock/paper/scissor" 'd it to see who would take the little one to school, feed her, cloth her, bath her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who am I kidding? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband acted like the world stopped until he could resume normal life as soon as he started his fever of not wanting to live.  One night...I gave him one night of being an invalid.  ONE NIGHT.  The next two days?  No sympathy from another sick person.  None, zippo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I hear..."I'm sick...." one more time from his lips, my sanity will pack up and leave for good!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Therefore, Supermom, had to 'pretend' she wasn't as sick as 'dead to the world man' and continue to do all things that NEED to be done for a three year old.  (Supermom=Me)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I say God Bless her my little Rambler because...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If she could have made her school lunch for mommy...She would have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If she could have started her own shower to wash off the days yucky's, dry off and dress herself in her PJ's...She would have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If she could have made dinner for herself....she would have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If she could have taken the car to preschool on her own....she would have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If she says "You Otay Momma?" one more time....I'll cry.  (from appreciation that she want's to make sure I'm okay...which drives me to make sure she's okay.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So 2010...your looking REAL good here.  REALLLL good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bah...humbug!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;And a belated Happy Birthday to my sister &lt;a href="http://www.antibloggedy.blogspot.com/"&gt;Antibloggedy&lt;/a&gt; who hasn't been blogging much lately but hopefully will get back into the spirit of things. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3235259444814817052?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3235259444814817052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3235259444814817052&amp;isPopup=true' title='36 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3235259444814817052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3235259444814817052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/cough-sniffle-blow-cough-sniffle-blow.html' title='Cough, sniffle, blow, cough, sniffle, blow'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>36</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6048543779356596223</id><published>2009-12-31T03:05:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-12-31T03:05:00.446-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Going out with a spare....</title><content type='html'>It's never a dull moment in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day at the grocery store, I was rummaging through my purse for my wallet to pay.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Because I'm not an organized mother who has everything in it's place)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And out with a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;vengeance&lt;/span&gt;, came Lil Ramblers spare underwear. Like a Matrix slow motion out.  Where everything else stopped in time EXCEPT her little Dora underwear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;She's newly potty trained. You parents know it's wise to carry a spare with you.  Or your sweater, or pretty shirt becomes a wrap for accident prone little ones until you get home.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well...that spare landed on the high &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;school&lt;/span&gt; male cashiers, &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(who's seemed 17)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, conveyor belt.  He looked at me, I looked at him.  He was startled.  By my kids Dora underwear! Silly non parental person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;wasn't&lt;/span&gt; sure it if it was mine.  And if it was mine, was it clean or dirty?  And was this an 'older' ladies way of flirting with him.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(I'm not sure...I threw that one in)&lt;/span&gt;.  I felt like I saw all that play out in his eyes as I slowly and painfully grabbed at her underwear.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So meekly...I said it was my kids, cause she was accident prone...I kept talking as he stared at me but through me and sprayed the area my?/&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;lil&lt;/span&gt; rambler's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;panty&lt;/span&gt; touched with his disinfect spray they use for runny meats and spilt milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I swiped my card to pay, I kept talking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he bagged my milk, ice cream, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;tabloid&lt;/span&gt; magazine, and other goods, I kept talking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he gave me my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;receipt&lt;/span&gt;, I kept talking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I.just.kept.talking. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nervous laughter and my embarrassed apology and reassurance it wasn't mine was the absolute last thing I gave him as I pulled away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Oi&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Vey&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that week, I offered a ride to an employee so she wouldn't have to walk to her car.  I have that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;touch pad&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;thingie&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;majig&lt;/span&gt; that I usually use instead of digging for my keys.  You know, so that I'm not standing OUTSIDE my car taunting some crazy person to come up and get me (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;mmmmm&lt;/span&gt;, like your crazy guy &lt;a href="http://www.hiphophippie.com/hhh/2009/12/22/skeevy-evey-of-christmas-eve.html"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;HipHopHippie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we are sitting there in the car, talking, searching (insert reminder that I'm not organized) and I'm digging and again...it pops out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In her lap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for a second I realize she thinks it might be mine.  And the uncomfortableness of the cashier moment slowly made it's way into my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But she's seen my kid.  I'm sure my kid might have bossed her around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Lil Ramblers??"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"uh, yes...I wish I were that tiny" giggle, giggle, giggle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ask me if the spare is still in my purse?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come on...ask me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well blog...goodbye to 2009. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are thankful for the many many blog pals we have met along our 2009 journey.  And what a journey it's been.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next year people.  Be safe.  Hug the ones you love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6048543779356596223?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6048543779356596223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6048543779356596223&amp;isPopup=true' title='37 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6048543779356596223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6048543779356596223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/going-out-with-spare.html' title='Going out with a spare....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>37</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6441501799177323553</id><published>2009-12-18T09:22:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-12-18T09:23:13.200-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Grumbly Letters...</title><content type='html'>Dear Malls Across America,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know those kiosks that sit in the centers of aisles that you must walk past to get to other stores? The ones that have extremely pushy salespeople that jump in your space to rub lotion on your arm, or flatten your hair or tie a skirt into a dress into a who the eff knows what else? Those people!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The anxiety level that rose in my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt; as we tried to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;strategically&lt;/span&gt; dodge one today by both sipping our Starbucks quickly...and MOCK talking into our cell phones. &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(I'm not sure, but I think mine was upside down...we were rushing.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; weaving left&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crap, weave right when we saw him zone in on us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lordie,  left again.  Dear Hell, he's coming right at us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes.  This is what you have led us to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Petes&lt;/span&gt; Sakes...REALLY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Stale Coffee,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You effing SUCK.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pissed off and tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Celebrity that has a dark secret not known to the world,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please come out of hiding so I can STOP listening/reading/watching about Tiger Woods.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;PUH&lt;/span&gt;-LEASE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A tired Tiger non follower.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.  Remember the stale coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Neighbor,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you kindly talk INSIDE your house to whomever you call on your cell phone,late at night? I really don't want to hear you speak of your rash, or your 'conquest', or you fat boss, or your...you get it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rather listen to Sex in the City talk about their rash, conquest, fat boss, etc...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Christmas Tree Seekers,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got the last one at Target....&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;SUCKA'S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, not nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Post Office at Christmas time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My tired best,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Sigh again*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Douchebag driving like it's a Nascar Race Track at the Mall,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Slow.the.eff.down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Former Hall Monitor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6441501799177323553?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6441501799177323553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6441501799177323553&amp;isPopup=true' title='39 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6441501799177323553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6441501799177323553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/dear-grumbly-letters.html' title='Dear Grumbly Letters...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>39</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-4250457851849618436</id><published>2009-12-10T09:34:00.004-10:00</published><updated>2009-12-14T07:32:45.108-10:00</updated><title type='text'>I must remember....I am 34 and he is...3.  (and other tidbits)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SyFNfS2p1BI/AAAAAAAABA0/3H_-RbXdeXM/s1600-h/pta_cartoon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 252px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SyFNfS2p1BI/AAAAAAAABA0/3H_-RbXdeXM/s320/pta_cartoon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413693427108402194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been about a month since my three year old has been in preschool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided to go on my three year &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;old's&lt;/span&gt; first field trip to a Children's Discovery Center.  &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Awesomely Awesome by the way)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was paired with my kid and her little boyfriend.  &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;BLESS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; his heart.  If every little boy could be like him....I know she'll marry a good man. Oh and I only 'lost' him 3 times.  Don't tell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I also praise any adult that actually&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; WANTS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; to take 75 children &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;OUT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; of the preschool.  Between the ages 2-4.  I seriously bow my head down.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;BUT&lt;/span&gt;, (and there is always a but), I met &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;HIM&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The absolute complete opposite of my daughter's adorable future husband.  The one that &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;MY&lt;/span&gt; husband fears my daughter will choose cause he's the bad ass.  The rebel.  The one us girls can't stay away from.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;KID&lt;/span&gt; that just screams at your insides and scratches his nails on your inner chalkboard of a soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is mean...just to be mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your 3?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How in the hell can you be such a &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;little sh&amp;amp;t&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;poopyhead&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean...&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;not nice&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(as I recited to my little one when she complained why was he mean to her)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sorta noticed this little hellion her second week but thought nothing of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But after spending two hours with Satan's spawn, I had to keep reminding myself....I am 34 and he is 3.  They are children.  They will 'work' it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It became my mantra that day at the Children's Discovery Center.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kids were everywhere, learning, sharing, not sharing, listening, not listening....and I silently thanked the blessed teachers who were probably praying for a flask of alcohol to get them through the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only cause we love Teacher Amazing &amp;amp; Teacher Awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept swatting at my legs this morning while waiting for my husband to let me back into the house after uh, locking myself out while walking the dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked down cause the 'flies' kept annoying me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to shave my legs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whoa...I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;REALLY&lt;/span&gt; need to shave my legs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And my eyebrows if my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt; has anything to add to that.  (right &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt;?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Saskia&lt;/span&gt; over at &lt;a href="http://saskiaspot.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Saskia's&lt;/span&gt; Spot&lt;/a&gt; takes the most amazing photos and she is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;absoTUTELY&lt;/span&gt; fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for the little holiday cheer that came my way!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go check her out!  Tell her hello!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone so refined and lovely that enjoys my antics has to be awesome :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My job never gets boring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While leaving work the other night, around nightclub time, a co-worker and I watched, &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(and giggle-smirked)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, a girl pull up to the elevator thinking someone was going to valet her car, then get back in when the security guard was walking by saying she needed to PARK her car herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And THEN watched her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;slooowwwwlllly&lt;/span&gt; pull into....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.....a parked car, and not the empty spot next to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The poor security guard told her to back up...but halt heart attacked while I shrieked and ran like a frantic not so graceful paranoid person realizing my car was in her back up path of destruction  ..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Whoa...let me move my car, before crazy drunk chic backs up real &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;slooowwwlllly&lt;/span&gt; into it".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the guard put/sacrificed his body by positioning himself between my car and hers to let me save my chariot from sure &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;stupidity&lt;/span&gt; of drunk girl driving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All while her semi drunk friends all slurred to her...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;BUMMERRRRRRRR&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who lets these people drive?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry I haven't been around.  I always get stressed out around this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wrote about it last year so I'll just&lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2008/12/dad.html"&gt; link you there&lt;/a&gt;.  It's not my normal funny so don't go &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2008/12/dad.html"&gt;without tissue&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Holidays &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Bloggy&lt;/span&gt; Peeps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Holidays!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-4250457851849618436?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4250457851849618436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=4250457851849618436&amp;isPopup=true' title='31 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4250457851849618436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4250457851849618436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-must-rememberi-am-34-and-he-is3-and.html' title='I must remember....I am 34 and he is...3.  (and other tidbits)'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SyFNfS2p1BI/AAAAAAAABA0/3H_-RbXdeXM/s72-c/pta_cartoon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>31</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6724236523249277607</id><published>2009-11-30T03:00:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T03:00:06.132-10:00</updated><title type='text'>So a woman walks into a house.....</title><content type='html'>I will tell you a short story about a woman and her husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its Thanksgiving Day, as this woman and her husband depart for festivities at a family friends home that she hadn't been to in a while.  The woman loves to bake and has made sure to pack her customary Pumpkin Pie. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They park their car, they make their way into the home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hello here, Hello there....lots of people they didn't recognize....I'll just go into the kitchen and put my pie down and prepare it for serving later on thinks the woman....say hello to more people in the kitchen...say how she loves what they've done with the place....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband is in the living room making friends, introducing himself as Baker Woman's husband....he notices that his sister in law and their family is not in attendance yet.  The husband mentions to someone that he is SISTER in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Law's&lt;/span&gt; brother in Law &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;(are you following me?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looks of confusion happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Them:  "(Insert Sister In Laws Name)???"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Them again: "Whose house are you going to?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband: "(Insert Thanksgiving Hosts' Name)?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Them:  (giggle.giggle) "They live NEXT DOOR!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband calls to his wife in the kitchen:  "Honey...we are at the wrong house!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baker's Wife realizes their mistake...packs up her pie, wishes them all a good Thanksgiving and leaves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a true story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The people...are my parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes.  My mother and Stepfather. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would have given a zillion bucks to be at our family friends house when they walked in and heard the story then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The neighbors were actually good friends of the house my parents were going to so they were very nice about them coming in and making themselves at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cried hearing about it from my favorite family gossip (aka...my sister cousin from another mother) the next day...and again when repeating it to my husband...and again just typing this story. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if my two REAL sisters would pick up the phone so I can continue our little coconut wireless gossip line I will probably pee my pants. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And how was YOUR Thanksgiving?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and a special shout out to my husband as he celebrates another year of life on this planet.  34 baby.  Now I'm not the old lady anymore....well I'm YOUR old lady...you know what I mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heart You.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6724236523249277607?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6724236523249277607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6724236523249277607&amp;isPopup=true' title='45 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6724236523249277607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6724236523249277607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/11/so-woman-walks-into-house.html' title='So a woman walks into a house.....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>45</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-1362505112250344030</id><published>2009-11-24T20:38:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-11-24T20:41:49.866-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Knock Knock...Paranoia here...(again)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;Okay...so for some reason I posted this Monday but it didn't 'show' up in anyone's reader and as I need gratification from you all I 'reposted' a repost...I'm pathetic...I know.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I originally posted this a year ago....when only family members read this blog.  (tear, now I can barely get them to remember my blog title....oh, the horror)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as I don't have any creativity to breathe new life into a post...I thought I'd pull one from the back of the blog bookcase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Bloggy&lt;/span&gt; people...Meet Me, Me meet &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;bloggy&lt;/span&gt; people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy.&lt;br /&gt;**********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SPLiphKmeLI/AAAAAAAAAHI/HxGlxH9luwY/s1600-h/the+scream+476567-thumb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SPLiphKmeLI/AAAAAAAAAHI/HxGlxH9luwY/s400/the+scream+476567-thumb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256512918000138418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.gapingvoid.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"The Scream" artwork by Hugh &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;MacLeod&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;One of my most UN-favorite character flaws is that I am secretly &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(I guess not so secret now) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;paranoid of everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some see it as being over protective.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some say it's not being educated properly about the subject.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Others tell me I'm an OVER worrier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And some tell me to pull my big girl panties on and snap out of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I'm serious.  I'm a closet &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Paranoidee&lt;/span&gt;...is that a word?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think since I've become a mother, my Paranoid &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;spidey&lt;/span&gt; senses have picked it up a notch to a higher level of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;insaneness&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't stand it sometimes but the feeling sneaks up and I can't shake it until I get to my final destination/or completion of what I'm doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kid was born and I realized for the first time in my life it's not just about me. In fact, it's mostly all about her.  And it freaked me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My greatest fear is not being around for her because of a mistake of either my doing or someone moron who's being ridiculously reckless.   Not the dying part, the part of her not having a mother does a number on my insides. &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt; (OK, well a little about the dying part)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dive into that fear pretty deep and it's hard to swim out sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we left the hospital with her, I remember annoying the bee-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;jeezus&lt;/span&gt; out of my husband.  First her car seat straps were on too tight, than too loose, I don't think the seat is secure enough, than the car that was on the level below us was coming too fast (like, faster than the snail too fast!), than why don't we just take the long, NON highway home route?, OK OK, I'll shut up.  Or more like we both just stopped answering each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when it began.  I was a little too literal when my pediatrician told me to be careful the first month in taking baby out.   I mean I walked with her and the dog around our townhouse complex.......until I slipped one day and convinced myself I made her lose some brain cells, despite the doctors stamp of approval (???) that she was fine along with the nurse and the other nurse and the other doctors partner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a very slow driver.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think cars drive to fast, I think my husband drives too fast, everyone on the freeway feels like they are first time drivers that just got out of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;NASCAR&lt;/span&gt;.   Don't they all realize I carry precious cargo?  Does it not phase them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm the paranoid delusional that thinks the red car in the far left lane 10 cars behind is driving 4 miles OVER the speed limit and will cause a 15 car pile up involving myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IT NEVER STOPS!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my life inside.  I don't share it with others because they'll think I need to put on a jacket or something with mental restraints.  I constantly have arguments with myself.  There's the laid back me and the freaked out version of me trying to rationalize why each other is right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like the time I told myself I could do the ocean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't, maybe my toes are okay, maybe if it's a good day I'll go to my waist, wait...was that a shadow in the water...do sharks come this close to shore?  I start to go through the Rolodex of clippings in my memory newspaper and pull out random shark sightings and convince myself it's from that morning I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;suuuurrreee&lt;/span&gt; they are still here.   I will be that stupid lady swimming alone in the water not hearing the lifeguard scream to get out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, did you watch Shark Week on Discovery Channel???  Duh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whew, this has been somewhat therapeutic for me....a little flake has been chipped off this statue of fear.   Maybe I'll stop now before some that know me start dialing the 1-800-Help-my-friend line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh...it's rough being a paranoid me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;***I ran across this mans blog with his artwork and really enjoyed it.  I liked that he said he was cool with allowing others to download his work as it was a great way for others to see what he does.  Some will like it, some will say WHAT?, but if you do, hope you check out his site.  &lt;a href="http://www.gapingvoid.com/"&gt;www.gapingvoid.com.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-1362505112250344030?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/1362505112250344030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=1362505112250344030&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1362505112250344030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1362505112250344030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/11/knock-knockparanoia-hereagain.html' title='Knock Knock...Paranoia here...(again)'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SPLiphKmeLI/AAAAAAAAAHI/HxGlxH9luwY/s72-c/the+scream+476567-thumb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-406770474611110443</id><published>2009-11-23T07:59:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-11-23T07:58:54.594-10:00</updated><title type='text'>knock, knock.  Who's there....Paranoia here! (Yes, this is a repeat...don't hate)</title><content type='html'>I originally posted this a year ago....when only family members read this blog.  (tear, now I can barely get them to remember my blog title....oh, the horror)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as I don't have any creativity to breathe new life into a post...I thought I'd pull one from the back of the blog bookcase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Bloggy&lt;/span&gt; people...Meet Me, Me meet &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;bloggy&lt;/span&gt; people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy.&lt;br /&gt;**********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SPLiphKmeLI/AAAAAAAAAHI/HxGlxH9luwY/s1600-h/the+scream+476567-thumb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SPLiphKmeLI/AAAAAAAAAHI/HxGlxH9luwY/s400/the+scream+476567-thumb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256512918000138418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.gapingvoid.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;"The Scream" artwork by Hugh &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;MacLeod&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;One of my most UN-favorite character flaws is that I am secretly &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(I guess not so secret now) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;paranoid of everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some see it as being over protective.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some say it's not being educated properly about the subject.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Others tell me I'm an OVER worrier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And some tell me to pull my big girl panties on and snap out of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I'm serious.  I'm a closet &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Paranoidee&lt;/span&gt;...is that a word?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think since I've become a mother, my Paranoid &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;spidey&lt;/span&gt; senses have picked it up a notch to a higher level of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;insaneness&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't stand it sometimes but the feeling sneaks up and I can't shake it until I get to my final destination/or completion of what I'm doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kid was born and I realized for the first time in my life it's not just about me. In fact, it's mostly all about her.  And it freaked me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My greatest fear is not being around for her because of a mistake of either my doing or someone moron who's being ridiculously reckless.   Not the dying part, the part of her not having a mother does a number on my insides. &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt; (OK, well a little about the dying part)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dive into that fear pretty deep and it's hard to swim out sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we left the hospital with her, I remember annoying the bee-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;jeezus&lt;/span&gt; out of my husband.  First her car seat straps were on too tight, than too loose, I don't think the seat is secure enough, than the car that was on the level below us was coming too fast (like, faster than the snail too fast!), than why don't we just take the long, NON highway home route?, OK OK, I'll shut up.  Or more like we both just stopped answering each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when it began.  I was a little too literal when my pediatrician told me to be careful the first month in taking baby out.   I mean I walked with her and the dog around our townhouse complex.......until I slipped one day and convinced myself I made her lose some brain cells, despite the doctors stamp of approval (???) that she was fine along with the nurse and the other nurse and the other doctors partner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a very slow driver.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think cars drive to fast, I think my husband drives too fast, everyone on the freeway feels like they are first time drivers that just got out of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;NASCAR&lt;/span&gt;.   Don't they all realize I carry precious cargo?  Does it not phase them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm the paranoid delusional that thinks the red car in the far left lane 10 cars behind is driving 4 miles OVER the speed limit and will cause a 15 car pile up involving myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IT NEVER STOPS!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my life inside.  I don't share it with others because they'll think I need to put on a jacket or something with mental restraints.  I constantly have arguments with myself.  There's the laid back me and the freaked out version of me trying to rationalize why each other is right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like the time I told myself I could do the ocean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't, maybe my toes are okay, maybe if it's a good day I'll go to my waist, wait...was that a shadow in the water...do sharks come this close to shore?  I start to go through the Rolodex of clippings in my memory newspaper and pull out random shark sightings and convince myself it's from that morning I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;suuuurrreee&lt;/span&gt; they are still here.   I will be that stupid lady swimming alone in the water not hearing the lifeguard scream to get out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, did you watch Shark Week on Discovery Channel???  Duh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whew, this has been somewhat therapeutic for me....a little flake has been chipped off this statue of fear.   Maybe I'll stop now before some that know me start dialing the 1-800-Help-my-friend line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh...it's rough being a paranoid me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;***I ran across this mans blog with his artwork and really enjoyed it.  I liked that he said he was cool with allowing others to download his work as it was a great way for others to see what he does.  Some will like it, some will say WHAT?, but if you do, hope you check out his site.  &lt;a href="http://www.gapingvoid.com/"&gt;www.gapingvoid.com.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;***&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-406770474611110443?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/406770474611110443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=406770474611110443&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/406770474611110443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/406770474611110443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2008/10/knock-knock-whos-thereparanoia-here.html' title='knock, knock.  Who&apos;s there....Paranoia here! (Yes, this is a repeat...don&apos;t hate)'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SPLiphKmeLI/AAAAAAAAAHI/HxGlxH9luwY/s72-c/the+scream+476567-thumb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2285229496152661469</id><published>2009-11-18T04:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-11-18T04:30:00.908-10:00</updated><title type='text'>I swear I don't make this stuff up...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SwPKG3qEvXI/AAAAAAAABAk/T_DK-mHDrYg/s1600/crazy2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SwPKG3qEvXI/AAAAAAAABAk/T_DK-mHDrYg/s400/crazy2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405386197143174514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of you know I run a restaurant in Waikiki.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, this brings forth interesting tales that make it to this blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot tell you how many times I've had to pick up the work phone to listen to some person who I think is a potential guest turn into crazy #1234 of the year that I get to encounter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One particular lady has been dialing our number and insisting she was a Sargent for the police (of loony land), and that the FBI raided our restaurant the night before but she had been interviewed in a dark room with a spotlight and told them that all was right with the world...with our place.    She was insanely and crazily believable...if you were not the owner of a sound mind in tact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHATEVER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, tonight...I had the PLEASURE of meeting her.  While talking with my host staff outside, she decided to grace us with her presence.  She looked normal....until she opened her mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is exactly how our conversation went.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Crazy lady:&lt;/span&gt;  Did the FBI show up last night?  I'm Sargent Whocares and you probably know who I am...I'm very important...I know all the right people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(brain clicking...thinking NO WAY it's Crazy FBI lady in the flesh)&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/span&gt;  I didn't work last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Crazy lady:&lt;/span&gt;  They told me I could get my free meal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me:&lt;/span&gt;  Oh, well that was yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Crazy lady:&lt;/span&gt;  Yesterday?  You sure?  Didn't they tell you about me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me:&lt;/span&gt;  Maybe you missed the memo?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Crazy lady: &lt;/span&gt;  But you know about the FBI right?  They still inside?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Me:&lt;/span&gt;  Nope.  They left, top secret stuff, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Crazy lady&lt;/span&gt; sighs, nods her head at me like she knows what kind of top secret mission is going on without her and takes off with another crazy person who also looks really normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's fun pretending to be crazy with real crazy people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I mean fun, I don't mean MEAN fun...just playing along with the fantasy that they believe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No harm, no foul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just another night at the Ramblers place of work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2285229496152661469?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2285229496152661469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2285229496152661469&amp;isPopup=true' title='39 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2285229496152661469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2285229496152661469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-swear-i-dont-make-this-stuff-up.html' title='I swear I don&apos;t make this stuff up...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SwPKG3qEvXI/AAAAAAAABAk/T_DK-mHDrYg/s72-c/crazy2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>39</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6510454804316772520</id><published>2009-11-16T04:00:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T04:00:00.932-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Love Life....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SwD5G2GMwnI/AAAAAAAABAc/tjopm5mNMls/s1600/love+life.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SwD5G2GMwnI/AAAAAAAABAc/tjopm5mNMls/s400/love+life.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404593448840643186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;IPhone App picture from my Boyphone...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I will love life in the following ways this week...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;1.  I will enjoy my new found little moments of 'alone' time as my child is in preschool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  I will sit on my couch and watch an entire show without being interrupted in the DAYTIME.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  I will take a shower for a really long time and maybe shampoo my hair twice?  Maybe three times...who knows...but it can be as many times as I want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  My long lost flatiron that turns my hair from crazy curly to sleeky straight will find my hands its company as we make magic.....to my hair.  Just in case, cause that almost didn't sound right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  I will take a nap!  When I feel like it.  Or until I have to get ready for work.  Whichever comes first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Sigh.  I will...love life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How will you LOVE LIFE this week bloggy pals?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do tell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright, alright....so did I?  Or didn't I freak out like a crazy emotional wreck of a train on my kid's first day of preschool?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yeah, here's the deal....I was a tad roller coaster-y of feelings when we pulled into the school parking lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And maybe I stopped talking in the middle of my sentence to the teacher when I thought my tear ducts where going to spew forward completely ridiculous tears in front of 9 other children who were excited to welcome my daughter into their new gang of little people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And maybe I just smiled and waved and walked out quickly to the car....with my shades on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And maybe I sniffled at Starbucks right next door to the school (BONUS).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But...I let em wail once I hit the open road for a good 10 minutes.  Like a complete lunatic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure what other drivers on the freeway were thinking as they passed/sped along.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really couldn't see through the tears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joke. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SwDhuzTXsHI/AAAAAAAABAU/6GrD_pdfYpU/s1600/cry.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 326px; height: 380px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SwDhuzTXsHI/AAAAAAAABAU/6GrD_pdfYpU/s400/cry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404567747006279794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6510454804316772520?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6510454804316772520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6510454804316772520&amp;isPopup=true' title='22 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6510454804316772520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6510454804316772520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/11/love-life.html' title='Love Life....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SwD5G2GMwnI/AAAAAAAABAc/tjopm5mNMls/s72-c/love+life.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>22</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3497317488581119846</id><published>2009-11-09T03:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T03:30:00.105-10:00</updated><title type='text'>I....Will keep my Sh*t together....I will</title><content type='html'>When I open my eyes Thursday morning and wake a grumpy little girl earlier than she's used to, dress her, put cute little piggy tails in her hair...I...Will keep my sh*t together...I will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I cut the crusts off her tiny little turkey sandwich, sneak a Smore's Granola bar, veggies, and a Juice Box....I...Will keep my sh*t together...I will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I start the car, pull out...stop the car, strap the kid IN her seat...I will keep my sh*t together...I will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we walk through her PRESCHOOL doors for the first time &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;(actually second if you count the tour)&lt;/span&gt;, with her hand in mine, and make our way to her classroom...I will keep my sh*t together...I will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I kiss her goodbye, and get cut off in my plea for love and adoration that I am the most wonderful mom ever when she excitedly sees her Teachers Aunty Awesome &amp;amp; Aunty Amazing...I will keep my sh*t together...I will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I walk back into the hallway and see the other parents...I will smile...do the parent nod...and pretend...my lip may quiver...&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;BUT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; I will keep my sh*t together...I will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the owner sees me at the entrance doors and says everything will be ok....I will keep my sh*t together...I will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may for a moment actually think I will stay in the parking lot until she is done 8 hours later...I will keep my sh*t together...I will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When sanity takes over, I will drive home, wave to the neighbors, walk proudly up the stairs without her tagging along, I will unlock the door, plop on the couch, look around to the quiet and empty house...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....Wait, did I just write &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;QUIET &amp;amp; EMPTY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:Cricket Noise &amp;amp; Tumbleweeds:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My baby is in preschool...and her mommy has the whole house to herself!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SvfMNecxNQI/AAAAAAAABAE/-x22cp2vecc/s1600-h/425-free-time-cartoon.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SvfMNecxNQI/AAAAAAAABAE/-x22cp2vecc/s400/425-free-time-cartoon.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402010809938294018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3497317488581119846?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3497317488581119846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3497317488581119846&amp;isPopup=true' title='36 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3497317488581119846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3497317488581119846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/11/iwill-keep-my-sht-togetheri-will.html' title='I....Will keep my Sh*t together....I will'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SvfMNecxNQI/AAAAAAAABAE/-x22cp2vecc/s72-c/425-free-time-cartoon.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>36</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-4329988860020559198</id><published>2009-11-02T03:30:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-12-05T17:58:32.519-10:00</updated><title type='text'>17856837489 reasons to Ramble....from the Rambler</title><content type='html'>Oh dear God, I just downloaded Miley Cyrus's Party in the USA...What is wrong with me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright...First of all, I liked the song first for it's oh so head nodding/hip moving way.  And then I looked up the song and said...For shame Rambler!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miley Effing Cyrus.  (Sorry, she's normally not my cup of tea)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="" href="http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&amp;amp;videoid=63484998"&gt;Miley Cyrus - Party in the USA&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="360" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=63484998,t=1,mt=video"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=63484998,t=1,mt=video" allowfullscreen="true" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="360" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="" href="http://www.myspace.com/myspacetoday"&gt;MySpace Today&lt;/a&gt; | &lt;a style="" href="http://vids.myspace.com/"&gt;MySpace Video&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shoulder Shrug.  Oh Well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moving my head like Yeah...moving my hips like Yeah....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********&lt;br /&gt;You know those stories you hear of fathers trying to fix their daughters hairs?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So...my husband thought he would 'trim' our three year olds bangs.  When I say trim...he thinks...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Su5-b9jj6MI/AAAAAAAAA_0/NvqLw68JsGo/s1600-h/09-02-04c_dumb_and_dumber4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Su5-b9jj6MI/AAAAAAAAA_0/NvqLw68JsGo/s400/09-02-04c_dumb_and_dumber4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399392022109087938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'd like to say he somehow fused a bit of Dumb #1 and Dumber #2 's hair cause all that came to mind while staring at Lil Rambler's bangs and listening to her father go on and on about it happened to fast and before he knew it...&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;(*sigh*...Daddy's...this one is for the books)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God Bless them both for trying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Perk" of being the boss lady for my restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A drunk young couple come hooting and hollering into my outside cafe demanding to be served more booze and the waitstaff cuts them off...said crazy drunk guests don't want to leave but try to convince the management staff they they are 'perfectly (hiccup) FIIIIINNNNEEE (hiccup)'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enter boss lady Rambler.  The professional that I am says the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah...Sorry, but were gonna have to ask you to leave."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Um, NO...if another table buys your drinks...YOU still can't drink HERE.  What part of that is hard to understand?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah... you flipping me off in my face is not helping YOU get alcoholic beverages from ME."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"YOU don't like this place?  I just told you to leave?  Problem solved.  Have a good night!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Say F**k me to my face one more time and I'm about to take my earrings off and really show you what you can cry about.  You will beg and scream for your mama! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm kidding...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;I CAN'T&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;say that.... (sigh...in a manager's dreams)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes...they really said F**k me to my face about 30 times.  And no, this would not be the first time this was every uttered to me by a customer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************&lt;br /&gt;My new favorite TV addiction is this show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Modern Family.  I snort and laugh out loud in the dark sneaking it in when I come home after midnight.  It is just too damn funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/PyUNRWJg0P8&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PyUNRWJg0P8&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite is the Big Gay Guy Cam and Phil the "cool dad".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I snorted again just watching this preview to find for you guys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Universe's way of laughing at my expense was this....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While pushing my cart toward Target...I realized I was close to the pissed off Target worker kid having to bring a zillion of the carts back to the main area (been there dude, you got it better...seriously)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...all of a sudden he was in front of me and I somehow became locked in the middle of the Target Road while I stood there thinking I must have not eaten all my Wheaties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;wondering and lifting the cart,&lt;br /&gt;trying to push it on two wheels,&lt;br /&gt;trying to push it sideways,&lt;br /&gt;trying to push it backwards,&lt;br /&gt;trying to push it while Lil Rambler looked at me with a look of concern that only a 3 year old could give,&lt;br /&gt;sweating as I felt like I chose the time to shop with half the island and endured for 45 whole seconds their looks of how a normal human being couldn't push a shopping cart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until...I heard this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Maam...(shudder...I hate that word when directed at me)...It's locked...hold on...I have to Deactivate it..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FOR.THE.LOVE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that folks is all she wrote...for now!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-4329988860020559198?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4329988860020559198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=4329988860020559198&amp;isPopup=true' title='44 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4329988860020559198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4329988860020559198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/11/17856837489-reasons-to-ramblefrom.html' title='17856837489 reasons to Ramble....from the Rambler'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Su5-b9jj6MI/AAAAAAAAA_0/NvqLw68JsGo/s72-c/09-02-04c_dumb_and_dumber4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>44</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2710890393073604255</id><published>2009-10-26T02:30:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T02:50:50.548-10:00</updated><title type='text'>It's OFFICIAL...the earth has shifted and I have become MY mother</title><content type='html'>That's right folks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You heard it here first.  I am MY mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Planet Earth help us.  (I kid Mom.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've suspected for about a year that I was slowly transforming into someone else.  Someone that many doors become slammed on, fingers pointed at for reasons of frustrated tears, eye rolling over mundane things said by me.  How could I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;evoke&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;eye rolling&lt;/span&gt; because of the awesomeness of the words that come out of my mouth???  HOW?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then it hit me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While on a little excursion with my mother, my many jabs at how she was turning into her mother triggered some little reality inside my noggin that said...."Ding, dong...guess who YOU are?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;argued&lt;/span&gt; with Reality for a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I.Am.Not.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Eekk&lt;/span&gt;....that's just what my mother said about &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;her&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; not being her mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Eekkk&lt;/span&gt; again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started going through some mental list of possible offenses. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;1.&lt;/span&gt;  When we are driving I talk to my mother like her license should be taken away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just like she does about Grandma Rambler...(well in my mothers defense...G.Rambler is effing scary to drive with..but back to my point)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;2.&lt;/span&gt;  My level of patience?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is ALL her.  With a little bit of my laid back father poking through.  But he never had a chance against her.  Anxiety and paranoia always kick calm cool &amp;amp; collected to the side on occasion.  She has absolutely NO patience with my grandmother.  Zilch.  It's thin already when she knows they will be in each others presence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;3.&lt;/span&gt; I started carrying a purse....the mommy purse....loaded with work things, me things, receipts of stores from 2 weeks ago, Lil Rambler stuff....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Envision my eyes rolling at my mother while she digs for something for someone to give them anything they might need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just like she does with her mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;4. &lt;/span&gt; I started napping when I had a moment to read a magazine on the couch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;5.&lt;/span&gt;  The kitchen became a place to be excited about rather than afraid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;6-1000.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Doing laundry, picking up toys, going grocery shopping, planning doctor and dentist visits, teaching a little one to pick up after themselves, being a hairstylist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of this....is/was everything my mother does/did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, it's my turn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I told my mother in mock desperation with how I had been pushed off the edge by my old self into the depths of this new person who so closely resembled her.   (Do you hear the drama here people?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She listened patiently (as all mothers do, to ranting lunatic 30 something daughters), and let me hem and haw.  I ended my speech of pain and torture and told her this was way too soon.  She told me to accept it...as she enjoyed this new version of a mini-her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So all I could do to 'fight' back with was....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if I was her....then she was her mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Insert evil laughter)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But seriously folks, everyday I feel myself changing, moving forward in this journey of my life,  becoming a better version of the person I was yesterday.  And if it means I am similar to the woman who birthed me.  Life will be good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Just don't tell my mother I said I enjoy being like her....because I will deny deny deny.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2710890393073604255?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2710890393073604255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2710890393073604255&amp;isPopup=true' title='33 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2710890393073604255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2710890393073604255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/10/its-officialthe-earth-has-shifted-and-i.html' title='It&apos;s OFFICIAL...the earth has shifted and I have become MY mother'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>33</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2499851530288181935</id><published>2009-10-16T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T02:30:01.295-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Mermaid out of water.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Stgcn6QO9ZI/AAAAAAAAA_s/YTPxexvYpNM/s1600-h/IMG_1129.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 800px; height: 534px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Stgcn6QO9ZI/AAAAAAAAA_s/YTPxexvYpNM/s800/IMG_1129.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393092025753990546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spending the day with my daughter at one of the most beautiful places to be 'beached' at. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.bestplaceshawaii.com/tips/10_best/beaches.html"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lanikai Beach&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you haven't seen what my genius has been up to please &lt;a href="http://sonothotmama.blogspot.com/2009/10/humidity-this-week-refused-to-give-my.html"&gt;visit here&lt;/a&gt;.  I promise you'll thank me.  At least, I think you will.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2499851530288181935?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2499851530288181935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2499851530288181935&amp;isPopup=true' title='23 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2499851530288181935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2499851530288181935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/10/mermaid-out-of-water.html' title='Mermaid out of water.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Stgcn6QO9ZI/AAAAAAAAA_s/YTPxexvYpNM/s72-c/IMG_1129.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>23</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2400120039326282658</id><published>2009-10-15T08:09:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T08:16:56.084-10:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm here people....but really over there....</title><content type='html'>I know I'm not here....but my life is resuming back to normal as of Saturday. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now here's a snippet of what's you'll find over at &lt;a href="http://sonothotmama.blogspot.com/2009/10/humidity-this-week-refused-to-give-my.html"&gt;So Not Mom-a-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;licious&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; as she asked for guest &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;bloggers&lt;/span&gt; and I totally was like....um...hellllllllooooooo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%; font-style: italic;"&gt;Do you know how it feels to beg, plead, bribe, flatter someone so they'll let you take over their blog...for a moment?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That would be me. (Ahem, my name is &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.noheasmith.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"&gt;The Rambler&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%; font-style: italic;"&gt; over at &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.noheasmith.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"&gt;My Rambling Thoughts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%; font-style: italic;"&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone I have been reading for a long &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;bloggy&lt;/span&gt; time has requested anyone out there to volunteer to man her blog as she moves her life from San Diego to Texas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was like....Uh, uh, pick me, pick me...uh uh (waving hand wildly, but fearing the teacher won't pick me), right here, hello, here (make eye contact dang it)..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. That was me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Janah&lt;/span&gt; had no choice but to look at me. (evil laughter.. I have won).....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For more....&lt;a href="http://sonothotmama.blogspot.com/2009/10/humidity-this-week-refused-to-give-my.html"&gt;go go go here&lt;/a&gt; please please please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do promise I will be around this weekend &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;blogfriends&lt;/span&gt;.  Hope you are all well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2400120039326282658?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2400120039326282658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2400120039326282658&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2400120039326282658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2400120039326282658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/10/im-here-peoplebut-really-over-there.html' title='I&apos;m here people....but really over there....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-997253620129726013</id><published>2009-10-07T02:30:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T02:30:01.151-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear (insert something) letters,</title><content type='html'>Dear Exercise,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate you.  I hate you. I hate you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Sincerely&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overweight &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ihateyou&lt;/span&gt; the Second.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Wii&lt;/span&gt; Fit,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.  I.fuhreaking.know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shamed while couch &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;potatoing&lt;/span&gt; it with a box of wheat thins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Punk Kids on the Freeway,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Driving with a car in each lane and slowing down the traffic so no one could pass you guys for 10 exits?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOT COOL!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anxiety driven, over tired mother&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Weather Gods.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please be nice on Sunday.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;BFF's&lt;/span&gt; wedding day.  Please?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Willing for it to storm many days in hopes on one great day for Sunday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Husband,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy your 'work' trip on the East Coast for two weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your "Don't worry I got it" Wife&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Cousin in Law,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank.you. for.flying.to.Hawaii.to.watch.my.kid.so.I.can.work.and.be.helpful.with.BFF.wedding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOVE YOU LONG TIME!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Blog,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gonna be a busy week.  Might be missing under a slew of activities this next two weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Blog Friends,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wanna try to win a &lt;a href="http://antibloggedy.blogspot.com/2009/10/giveaway-warming-thought.html"&gt;homemade warming pad&lt;/a&gt;?  See my &lt;a href="http://http://antibloggedy.blogspot.com/2009/10/giveaway-warming-thought.html"&gt;sister's blo&lt;/a&gt;g.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nepotism runs strong here at MRT, Inc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toodles...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-997253620129726013?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/997253620129726013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=997253620129726013&amp;isPopup=true' title='29 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/997253620129726013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/997253620129726013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/10/dear-insert-something-letters.html' title='Dear (insert something) letters,'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>29</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-1054690897645155249</id><published>2009-09-30T02:00:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T02:00:11.677-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Karma paid my husband a visit...</title><content type='html'>So, I'm not entirely gloating here or feeling like someone in the universe gave me a little justice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buttttt.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband was being a tad douchie the other night.  Being a good wife and Samaritan I decided to ignore his douchieness!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he had a tantrum that matched our three year old, he went into the room while my angelic ways continued in the living room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard a thud and a not so nice word coming from my bedroom door. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I went to investigate I realized he had sat on his computer chair to hard. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And.it.broke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Buwhahahahaha...see what happens when your evil to your wife?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Karma comes a knocking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SsMdn2SYD6I/AAAAAAAAA_k/X_TMs3ch2Lg/s1600-h/karma+fairy.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 183px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SsMdn2SYD6I/AAAAAAAAA_k/X_TMs3ch2Lg/s200/karma+fairy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387182149689937826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;High Five Karma Fairy, High.Five.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the record, I don't ever wish ill harm to my husband.  I closed the door and snickered without him seeing!  What kind of wife do you take me for?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toodles!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-1054690897645155249?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/1054690897645155249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=1054690897645155249&amp;isPopup=true' title='41 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1054690897645155249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1054690897645155249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/09/karma-paid-my-husband-visit.html' title='Karma paid my husband a visit...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SsMdn2SYD6I/AAAAAAAAA_k/X_TMs3ch2Lg/s72-c/karma+fairy.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>41</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-1943683171433994885</id><published>2009-09-29T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-09-29T02:30:01.372-10:00</updated><title type='text'>What a weekend, what a weekend.</title><content type='html'>Where do I start?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between getting a call from one of my musicians singing happy birthday over the phone and another serenading me in the middle of my bar, your bloggy birthday wishes, my personal facebook birthday love, and all my family and friends...I most definitely felt loved that day.  So as we say here in Hawaii...Mahalo Nui Loa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SsGlAB5qFII/AAAAAAAAA_E/3v1UWRWAoz4/s1600-h/Mahalo-Hawaiian-Menu-Graphic-Magnet-C11748802.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SsGlAB5qFII/AAAAAAAAA_E/3v1UWRWAoz4/s200/Mahalo-Hawaiian-Menu-Graphic-Magnet-C11748802.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386768049240675458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was quite a weekend and I promised you that this  next post would be about....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;"What happens when Rambler throws a Sex and The City Party?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well.....holy whoa is all I have to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided to host a party for most of my female staffers after hours in our bar for camaraderie's sake and to just mix, mingle and hang out with each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our original premise was to gather and have a movie night (Sex and The City).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SsHG-XHT9NI/AAAAAAAAA_U/HK3tkBMFlQU/s1600-h/sex-and-the-city-movie-poster.0.0.0x0.375x555.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SsHG-XHT9NI/AAAAAAAAA_U/HK3tkBMFlQU/s200/sex-and-the-city-movie-poster.0.0.0x0.375x555.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386805403970696402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And somehow it came along with an innocent presentation from an old employee showing us the latest and greatest toys.  Of the sexual nature.  (blush) They are called Passion Parties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, I assumed innocence and that it couldn't be too wild.  Right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine 25 of my girl employees, 2 Cosmo Martini Towers that held 5o+ martinis (cause it's what the girls in Sex and the City would drink...duh), a naughty cake that would make a porn star ecstatic and a leopard clothed 'pleasure/treasure' chest filled with lotions, creams and 'other goodies'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um.... all I can really say is a LOT of giggling went on, silly games that made us laugh even more and a feel and touch of certain products to 'understand' it's purpose (more drunken nervous giggling) and being given names that were 'dirty' that started with the first initial of our name.  Oh my.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some things you might have heard had you been in attendance....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You put that where?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ohhhhh, febreeze for vajayjays"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Erm, um, his what goes THERE?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ohhh, it does tingle."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Girls (said scoldingly) that is NOT lotion for your arms!" (Sex consultant to slightly inebriated Rambler and fellow staff member thinking the febreeze vajayjay lotion was a body lotion)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SsHXcWM0YSI/AAAAAAAAA_c/fAYdt7cpm8s/s1600-h/SuperStock_1570R-48020.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 236px; height: 168px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SsHXcWM0YSI/AAAAAAAAA_c/fAYdt7cpm8s/s200/SuperStock_1570R-48020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386823511307477282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.  it was a really interesting weekend :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do wish I could share photos...but the fear my grandmother will ever see this blog frightens me.  (tee hee)  Although, she and my aunt baked me pee pee cookies for my bridal shower.  (shoulder shrug)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-1943683171433994885?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/1943683171433994885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=1943683171433994885&amp;isPopup=true' title='22 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1943683171433994885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1943683171433994885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/09/what-weekend-what-weekend.html' title='What a weekend, what a weekend.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SsGlAB5qFII/AAAAAAAAA_E/3v1UWRWAoz4/s72-c/Mahalo-Hawaiian-Menu-Graphic-Magnet-C11748802.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>22</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6937385620406633068</id><published>2009-09-24T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T02:30:01.095-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Year, Another Day....A sweet message from above?</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was a really GREAT day.  So great it's been a while I think since I felt so great. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This song has been playing on my IPOD so I thought I'd share with you while you read this post....an oldie but a goodie I say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Vpgub4SjitY&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Vpgub4SjitY&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to story...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother had called to see if me and the kid could take her on for an emergency tooth repair on her lunch break.  Of course with all she does, I said we would be there.    The tricky part of getting her is that traffic is so all over the place that my drive to her could be either 10 minutes or 30 minutes.  (On the really bad days...an hour..blahhhh).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kid and I went for our usual coffee and bagel at our favorite "Cocoa" Place/Starbucks.  Enjoying the time with each other made me proud to be her mama. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the coffee was drank, and the bagels eaten we set off to pick up Nana Rambler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The traffic had cut me a break and I arrived to my mothers office building with 15 minutes to spare so I decided to stop by my fathers grave to visit and say a quick hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter who's three got out and we said hello...and I don't know why but I asked her to sit by his tombstone so I could get a quick pic on my Boyphone with her and her Papa H. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SrtTqvXKpZI/AAAAAAAAA-8/F1gbO9AWdLY/s1600-h/IMG_0605.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SrtTqvXKpZI/AAAAAAAAA-8/F1gbO9AWdLY/s320/IMG_0605.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384989773184804242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as I had clicked the photo a pure YELLOW butterfly fluttered right past us and hung around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love YELLOW.  My father apparently loved YELLOW.  That color has been the physical reminder as my father at my graduation and wedding thanks to friends and family members.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the 16 years I've been visiting his grave I've never seen a butterfly, let alone a yellow butterfly...let alone a PURE yellow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I strangely felt it was him and little tears sprung to my eyes and I had to catch my breath from the surprise of it.  Was I reaching to far to think that it was a sign from him? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sent that picture off to my two sisters and shared the story.  That maybe Dad had paid a visit in his way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adding to this was that my favorite CCBFF (crackity crack BFF)/cousins wife from California is coming back to help me with the kid while my husband travels to Connecticut for work.  After frantic calling around to arrange sitters for her dogs (my cousin is a fireman so he's gone many days in a row at a time), she secured her ticket back to sun, sand and a three year old that will be her little shadow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And...well...today is my birthday.  And I felt really loved with a lot of early well wishes.  I tell you this not in an arrogant sort of way but in a "Gee, maybe I'm an ok gal after all" kind of way.  Like a little shocked that people think of me at all way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bid you all adieu. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tune in for my next post....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"What happens when Rambler throws a Sex and the City Party?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(I swear I haven't promised porn people I would say the word sex a trillion times in my post)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6937385620406633068?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6937385620406633068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6937385620406633068&amp;isPopup=true' title='33 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6937385620406633068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6937385620406633068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/09/another-year-another-daya-sweet-message.html' title='Another Year, Another Day....A sweet message from above?'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SrtTqvXKpZI/AAAAAAAAA-8/F1gbO9AWdLY/s72-c/IMG_0605.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>33</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-4044915096932545370</id><published>2009-09-18T02:45:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T02:45:00.623-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Long Absence makes the blogheart fonder....tales of sex shops, bridal parties, and other misc. things</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SrNuNDHDe5I/AAAAAAAAA-s/8xfpON9urpg/s1600-h/mouse.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SrNuNDHDe5I/AAAAAAAAA-s/8xfpON9urpg/s320/mouse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382767150090124178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I get you at sex shop?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you just go  back to read my title?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know...where the hell I been right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RIGHT!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've missed me a bit?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize it's been over 3 whole weeks since I've posted last...that's like 3 years in blogtime I think.  Where do I start?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe...the sex shop?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.  Alright.  You twist my arm, I talk.  (Rambler stretching arm toward you)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not a frequent goer to the sex shop.  I blush every time I pass one.  I pretend I don't know about things like dildo's and blow up dolls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when BFF's bridal party sleepover came up, it was time to suck it up (my courage, you dirty's) and put on the sexy no grandma style panties and drag my Crackity Crack Family BFF with me.  She vacations in Hawaii from California and I tell her she must go with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our husbands watch the kids....and we go.  At nighttime....since for some reason it seems more seedy and appropriate to walk into a sex shop for bachlorette toys and games.  I debated wearing a sign that said that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drive there, and I'm giggling.  Me and the CCFBFF talk about the crazy things they sell in there.  (NOT that we would KNOW things like that).  I told her the last time I walked in about 2 years ago for a past bridal shower I threw, the cashier screamed a welcome as I entered so others would look at the new 'arrival'.  (FOR.THE.LOVE.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was alone.  It was intimidating looking at boobies, and va jay jays and ding dongs because they can't help but jump at you as you make your way to the bacholerette section in the FAR rear of the store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going with someone is soooo much better.  More giggling....more snickers...and wonder of how something so ahem, cough, ...big...could be comfortable.  Let alone pleasurable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anywhoodle.  Complete with dirty charade games and stick the slong on the hot macho man poster and candies with naughty words on it, we were outta there. (THANK.GOD.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But not without scaring a couple with our conversation walking back to the car that included words like "What do they do to the plastic sheep?"..."Anal beads??" "Double headed??? What does that mean?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahhhh, it's all about the good times in life...RIGHT?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;************&lt;br /&gt;My family was visiting in town and somehow I channeled my inner Martha Stewart and got more domesticated than I ever have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's great hosting family.  No, for real.  I had a good time doing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We tourist'ed around Oahu, put my diet on a serious scare due to excessive junk food eating, and let the sun bake my profoundly white skin back to a normal Hawaiian skinned color.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the bridal shower was great.  Some of her besties got together.  We had such grand plans of streaking through the 5 star hotel after dinner, jumping in the pool, or checking out the lagoons.  Drinking like when we were 19.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But we weren't 19.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a fantastic dinner at a restaurant down the road, drank good wine, ate amazing food and closed the restaurant down.  (I know &lt;a href="http://www.hiphophippie.com/"&gt;Hip Hop Hippie&lt;/a&gt;...I know...baddddd Rambler)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the hotel shuttle that was supposed to be there due to this answer when I asked the driver how long the shuttle ran.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Every half hour"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently that was NOT correct.  So we walked it back....which was totally fine.  So 5 drunk girls walk around 11ish back to the hotel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got back to the room and we slowly realized we couldn't hang like the old times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bride passed out first, and then before I knew it I was snoring like a banshee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So maybe I'll stop here... I'm slowly making it back into reading everyone's blog soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm wishing my first lil sis &lt;a href="http://antibloggedy.blogspot.com/"&gt;Antibloggedy&lt;/a&gt; luck and support today.  She's making a hellavu decision today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until later folks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-4044915096932545370?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4044915096932545370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=4044915096932545370&amp;isPopup=true' title='27 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4044915096932545370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4044915096932545370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/09/long-absence-makes-blogheart.html' title='Long Absence makes the blogheart fonder....tales of sex shops, bridal parties, and other misc. things'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SrNuNDHDe5I/AAAAAAAAA-s/8xfpON9urpg/s72-c/mouse.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>27</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-8023396943157282789</id><published>2009-08-24T02:30:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T02:30:00.534-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Just getting outside....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SpJR_oy93SI/AAAAAAAAA-c/PFSYttk-E9w/s1600-h/funny-cartoon1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 274px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SpJR_oy93SI/AAAAAAAAA-c/PFSYttk-E9w/s320/funny-cartoon1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373447459131219234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;Sorry for being so MIA lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just trying to get back into real life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be back soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-8023396943157282789?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/8023396943157282789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=8023396943157282789&amp;isPopup=true' title='40 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/8023396943157282789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/8023396943157282789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/08/just-getting-outside.html' title='Just getting outside....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SpJR_oy93SI/AAAAAAAAA-c/PFSYttk-E9w/s72-c/funny-cartoon1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>40</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-1285709600957432926</id><published>2009-08-17T02:30:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T02:30:00.617-10:00</updated><title type='text'>The Husband...Me....and everything including the kitchen sink.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SokDswYEFJI/AAAAAAAAA98/hHEjoXeZphw/s1600-h/husband-wife.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 258px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SokDswYEFJI/AAAAAAAAA98/hHEjoXeZphw/s320/husband-wife.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370828098050987154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband and I are like from two different planets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My world  of fairy tales and unicorns with barbie dolls mixed in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And his planet of G.I. Joe's and heavy laden tanks with a dallop of all things computer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We aren't alike in any way.  (Um, obviously...boys have penis's es and girls have vagina's....what movie was that?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he looks at a computer he visualizes it's insides and how every screw, wire and whatever else computer geeky has it's purpose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me?  I wonder what blogs I'm going to visit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He tried once to bring me into his world.  I really did try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had just moved in with each other and he always took care of all things mechanical.  That day he decided to take me to my car to 'educate' me.  (Buwhahahahaha).  We opened the hood and I could see his mind just whirling away with how the car engine operated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me.  I wondered how long this would take.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He proceeded to point out things to have me and it's function.  My girlie brain tried so hard to focus and when asked to repeat the whole "the leg bone is connected to the..." but insert engine parts I would be connecting the washer fluid to the radiator??  Wait, is it connected to the radiator??  Eh...see!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor guy.  He tried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when he crosses over into my world a bit, it's a tad humorous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He went to the store for me.  I had to be real specific for him because he does not know how to deviate from the list if I am too vague.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were making a pasta dinner and had our mind set on that.  When I opened my box of noodles out came some nasty bugs...yuck..gag...yuck...gag.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He offered to get some new noodles and I mentioned I wanted a certain kind, and wasn't exactly sure of the name.  But he knew what they looked like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had come home with a tale of complete man breakdown while deciding between two different noodles.  Standing there.  Sweating it out a little bit.  Panicky.  Over noodles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I buwhahahahaha'd with him.  Silly man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But...I digress a little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had for some lame reason dumped my bugged out noodles that had semi cooked into the garbage disposal.  Apparently the noodles that didn't get properly cut up expanded more while 'trying' to go through the U-shaped pipe and caused a major malfunction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I clogged the sink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me and the kid sat there while dinner was cooking.  He unclogged, noodles disbanded all over the kitchen floor with me murmuring that I would clean it.  (ahem...the shame of being completely ignorant of throwing things down the drain that would fare better in the trash can).  Him, anazlying and doing whatever he does well.  Thank God he was there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cause I would have just kept standing there looking at my clogged sink hitting the switch for the garbage disposal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Happy and content Sigh*...our two planets.  They keep revolving around each other.  Both co-existing in the same universe.  Our kid being our sun and moon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It would be empty without him around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(as much as I hem and haw about him being around...giggle).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SokFpVR9t0I/AAAAAAAAA-E/ISIjKOBaU48/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 116px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SokFpVR9t0I/AAAAAAAAA-E/ISIjKOBaU48/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370830238261294914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SokF05dL6DI/AAAAAAAAA-M/5--iSoIpoU0/s1600-h/beer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 81px; height: 117px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SokF05dL6DI/AAAAAAAAA-M/5--iSoIpoU0/s320/beer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370830436950599730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;To you honey, I raise my Fruity Martini to your Beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Here's to my cooking dinner and you unclogging my mess!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-1285709600957432926?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/1285709600957432926/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=1285709600957432926&amp;isPopup=true' title='29 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1285709600957432926'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1285709600957432926'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/08/husbandmeand-everything-including.html' title='The Husband...Me....and everything including the kitchen sink.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SokDswYEFJI/AAAAAAAAA98/hHEjoXeZphw/s72-c/husband-wife.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>29</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3920568240318128552</id><published>2009-08-14T02:31:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T02:31:00.211-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Me and Stray Cats....Just.Don't.Get.Along!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SoVGaNxInaI/AAAAAAAAA90/r7yTWjwmq94/s1600-h/Ninja.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 190px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SoVGaNxInaI/AAAAAAAAA90/r7yTWjwmq94/s320/Ninja.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369775546895474082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of you all know that I've had my run in's with my neighborhood &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/03/chance-encounter-with-rouge-cat-that.html"&gt;stray ninja cats&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well....I got paid a visit the other night after work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family and I live in a townhouse.  We occupy the upstairs unit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So imagine stairs to my front door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine me coming home after midnight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine it being dark.  Really dark.  (For theatrics sake)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine me flipping the outside light on from the BOTTOM of my stairs so I can see the keyhole when I get to the top.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine my surprise when I flipped the light on...I find a cat digging around in the garbage bag my husband left outside the front door to take out 'later in the morning on his way out'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/03/chance-encounter-with-rouge-cat-that.html"&gt;black cat&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had taken two steps upward in the same motion of flipping the light on and startled the beegeesus out of the cat and as  it hissed and felt cornered it jumped on top of the railing by my front door and we had a stare down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took many steps back....cause I'm the biggest chicken sh*t in the world...especially when tired and cranky after a long hard strenuous work day (yes....the violins are playing for my whine and cheese story).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I silently curse my husband for leaving the trash out.  I wonder if I'll have to go back to my car because if you read the other ninja cat story you'll understand my hesitation to proceed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sweating.  And panicking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So is the cat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then it freaking jumps off the railing to the tree away from where I am.  But the leaping thing made me think it was leaping in mid air to attack me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I sorta threw my purse down, and covered my face and head and squealed in mock pain like it had hit me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the tiny little rational person inside me, who had tried explaining that I outweighed the furball by a trillion pounds and that &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; was the person, &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;IT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; was the animal....and that along the food chain of things I ranked superior, heard tree branches and scrambling of 4 tiny disgusting vile feet make it's way beyond me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it's past midnight.  My purse is on the ground by the slugs because I didn't pay much attention when I frigged out.  My nerves were beyond shot.  And I need to go to my front door but the paranoia plays mean mind games on me thinking the cat was still in the tree right by my front door and would lunge for my face and rip out my eyeballs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I did what any completely silly person would do.  I ran up my steps with my slugged slimed-ed purse to my face and opened up 2 doors&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, (since when the hell did my husband close both doors?  I close the second door when I get in...)&lt;/span&gt;, 4 locks with trembling hands and escaped what I'm sure was a near death experience. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm sure that if ANY of my neighbors (or husband) had been up at the late late hour I would have looked/felt/seemed more pathetic than I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some days it sucks to be me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/03/chance-encounter-with-rouge-cat-that.html"&gt;cats&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stray kind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3920568240318128552?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3920568240318128552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3920568240318128552&amp;isPopup=true' title='21 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3920568240318128552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3920568240318128552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/08/me-and-stray-catsjustdontgetalong.html' title='Me and Stray Cats....Just.Don&apos;t.Get.Along!!'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SoVGaNxInaI/AAAAAAAAA90/r7yTWjwmq94/s72-c/Ninja.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>21</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3708439559919962998</id><published>2009-08-12T03:42:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T03:43:36.738-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Interviewing can be interesting....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SoLClUSLVCI/AAAAAAAAA9s/fUh9x_WoRSg/s1600-h/interview.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 263px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SoLClUSLVCI/AAAAAAAAA9s/fUh9x_WoRSg/s320/interview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369067652134949922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been in management for over 10 years and I have to say...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've interviewed some really interesting characters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before an interview I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;usually&lt;/span&gt; like to designate someone to 'watch me'.   Just in case I don't know how to politely end the interview.  I don't care what they say just please come by and say it's the effing President on the phone and I have to end the interview.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Below are some of the people I get to interview at least once a month...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;The Over-Talker-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;InterviewEE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;-turned-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;InterviewER&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;OTITI&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;..I know what it sounds like)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;The person kind of sneaks up on you.  Beware.  It's innocent really, because they are dressed nice, good eye contact.  They brought a pen to the interview!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(My pet peeve.  To me, it's like going there without a shirt on...always be prepared.  Bring a pen.  You should only have to ask me for an application.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;OTITI&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; immediately takes over the conversation in an instant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She/He speaks quickly and without breathing.  While you stand there and attempt many inserts of your own questions, they rattle on.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Oblivious&lt;/span&gt; to the fact the manager has not been able to ask one question except to say..."Hi, my name is Boss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Rambl&lt;/span&gt;..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mind wanders a bit in between attempts.  "How many pots of coffee has she had" "Will she shut up so I can ask a question" "Too bad, she looked normal"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Designator&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; was busy 'flirting' with a pretty gal who'd just come to his bar.  (Damn him, must remember to pick more reliable Designator)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Awkward-Quiet-My-Mother-Told-Me-to-Get-A-Job&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a kid that usually sits on their behind at home.  Just graduated from high school, maybe.  Completely unmotivated.  Their mother just wants them to get OUT OF THE HOUSE.  (I don't blame her).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This makes for a most awkward interview because of their one word answers to all your questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or blank looks because they can't believe they had to dress up with a nice shirt and tie and sit at a table with an "old" lady and answer questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me, this is an easy interview to end quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't call me, I'll call you kind of thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;The-Don't-Look-Me-In-The-Eyes-Person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I grew up learning to shake hands firmly and look people in the eyes.  Shifty eyes can be unsettling and uncomfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This person from the moment you shake hands looks over, around and below you.  I find myself secretly brushing past my mouth, nose and eyes blindly searching for remnants of food, buggers and or crap attached to my face in an unattractive way.  Or checking to see if my bra strap is showing or toilet paper is stuck on my shoe.  All at the same time.  Because shifty eyes makes me nervous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ask my questions.  I get answers but with very little to no eye contact.  Again, I wonder if the spinach I ate days ago is somehow lodged still between my two front teeth.  Very distracting for a person like me doing an interview.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And usually after the interview...I go to a mirror to check myself out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gotta catch another thing...Person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dude...you the manager?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes?" (Oh God)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, do you have to work hard here?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Um..." (Oh Lord.  Really?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Cause I need money...but I don't enjoy working.  Dude."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Erm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;...I'm not hiring right now"  (As I hide the Now Hiring sign)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So words of advice from Boss Rambler here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bring a pen, shake hands firmly but not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;WWF&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;ly&lt;/span&gt;, make good eye contact, and let the interview be a two way conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3708439559919962998?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3708439559919962998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3708439559919962998&amp;isPopup=true' title='31 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3708439559919962998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3708439559919962998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/08/interviewing-can-be-interesting.html' title='Interviewing can be interesting....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SoLClUSLVCI/AAAAAAAAA9s/fUh9x_WoRSg/s72-c/interview.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>31</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3677019898245736842</id><published>2009-08-10T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T02:30:00.159-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Tidbits to start of my week.</title><content type='html'>A little happy jam to start our morning.  Heard this on &lt;a href="http://sherendipity.com/blog/"&gt;It's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Sherendipity&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; blog.    Don't need to watch the video...just hear the music as you read on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/eoaTl7IcFs8&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/eoaTl7IcFs8&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the kids' 3rd birthday Sunday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hots Dogs, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Teriyaki&lt;/span&gt; Burgers, Bubbles and Bouncy House.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a blast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lil Rambler had the best day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sn_HBMCSaWI/AAAAAAAAA9k/P0j1dFLW4_U/s1600-h/this+is+too+much+fun.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sn_HBMCSaWI/AAAAAAAAA9k/P0j1dFLW4_U/s320/this+is+too+much+fun.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368228104073537890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Small confession.  I can't sing Happy Birthday to HER without choking up inside.  I am in awe of her, and just being a mother to her, and loving someone as much as her that it literally knocks the breathe out of me when everyone is singing around her while she glows.  She makes a mommy proud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On to hot dogs and the never ending asking of this question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHY in the world do hot dogs come in packs of 8 and the buns come in packs of 10?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHY?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sn-hHNks2UI/AAAAAAAAA9c/cXKCqfz10SQ/s1600-h/beer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 231px; height: 231px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sn-hHNks2UI/AAAAAAAAA9c/cXKCqfz10SQ/s320/beer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368186426123671874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I promised Mo &lt;a href="http://mo-stoneskin.blogspot.com/"&gt;"Mad Dog" &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Stoneskin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; a cold one while he started his Monday trekking through blog land.  Hoping he stops by for his beer.  Wasting beer is bad isn't it? :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's a great writer and has &lt;a href="http://mo-stoneskin.blogspot.com/2009/07/this-is-by-far-greatest-poem-ever.html"&gt;American Moms going gaga&lt;/a&gt; for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another moment brought to you from my job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This person ate all their food.  They then told the server it needed to be taken off the bill because they refuse to pay for it.  Server was nervous and asked me to speak to the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course.  That is why I wear the manager badge.  So that I can get my ass chewed out on a daily basis for ridiculous reasons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I politely, professionally and firmly explained because most (98%) of the meal was eaten I could do nothing.  The person thought &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;I&lt;/span&gt; was the most ridiculous person on the planet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People.  Its like eating all your Big Mac and taking the empty wrapper back to the cashier and saying you didn't like it and want your $1.50 back.  Crazy right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;*shaking head*  I'm getting too old for this sh*t!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;btw&lt;/span&gt;...I did not budge.  He paid for the meal he ate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have started potty training.  It's tricky.  Well actually my daughter is tricky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a great week everyone!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3677019898245736842?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3677019898245736842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3677019898245736842&amp;isPopup=true' title='28 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3677019898245736842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3677019898245736842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/08/random-tidbits-to-start-of-my-week.html' title='Random Tidbits to start of my week.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sn_HBMCSaWI/AAAAAAAAA9k/P0j1dFLW4_U/s72-c/this+is+too+much+fun.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>28</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-7794659105890000628</id><published>2009-08-06T02:42:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T03:01:30.529-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursday #27....Time's up</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SnrT8UVMBaI/AAAAAAAAA9U/Is7UfZpYVJE/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 243px; height: 247px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SnrT8UVMBaI/AAAAAAAAA9U/Is7UfZpYVJE/s320/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366834939168556450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You movie stars had some great answers to last weeks..&lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/think-about-it-thursdays-26your-life-on.html"&gt;."If your life were made into a movie what would it be called and who would star as YOU"&lt;/a&gt;.  Read some of last week's comments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic;" class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c1278194220581408860"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06126096393524594755" rel="nofollow"&gt;Aunt of 14&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd style="font-style: italic;" class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Right off the bat... a straight version of Rosie o Donnell would play the part of me. And she'd have to dye her hair blonde. And the movie would be called "The Boring Life of a Neurotic Blogger"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Ao14...I laughed so hard for some reason.  I heart Rosie...and would so watch your movie!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl style="font-style: italic;" id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c2379434658268526589"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/15356775414049249350" rel="nofollow"&gt;One Sassy Girl&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Well, the most humorous times of my life are when I'm with my gays (no, I'm not Kathy Griffin), so I'd be played by Charlize Theron (cause who wouldn't want that?!) and her co-stars would be a gaggle of gorgeous gay men like Rupert Everett and TR Knight.&lt;br /&gt;The title would be "Megan and her Gay Menagerie" or maybe "The Gay Collector"&lt;br /&gt;It would be a Rom-Com where I'd be swept off my feet by Gerard Butler (a girl can dream) while her gay friends would make witty jokes about hot he is.&lt;br /&gt;I'm off to write the screenplay now ;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Who doesn't love a movie with a girl and her gays?   mmmmm...Gerard....mmmm....share some alright.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl style="font-style: italic;" id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c1911858130326218690"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/04917205938616862137" rel="nofollow"&gt;hotpants™&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I'd call it Sarcasm's Underrated. I think Rachel McAdams could play me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;I love the title.  And Rachel McAdams is one of my favorites.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;She had me at Notebook.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;****************&lt;br /&gt;I was going through some of my old posts and came upon &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2007/02/thoughts-of-today.html"&gt;this one&lt;/a&gt; when only myself was reading my blog.  And I knew I wanted to use it for this week's Think About It Thursdays...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;"If your time was up today, have you done what you've wanted to accomplish in life? Do you feel you made a difference in someones life?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think away blogfriends.  I can't wait to read some of your thoughts!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-7794659105890000628?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/7794659105890000628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=7794659105890000628&amp;isPopup=true' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/7794659105890000628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/7794659105890000628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/08/think-about-it-thursday-27times-up.html' title='Think About It Thursday #27....Time&apos;s up'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SnrT8UVMBaI/AAAAAAAAA9U/Is7UfZpYVJE/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2074580527506238568</id><published>2009-08-05T02:04:00.004-10:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T02:30:42.709-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Grumblings of a Restaurant Worker...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Snl5x1zpbSI/AAAAAAAAA9M/6KNVY5JwvbI/s1600-h/man+on+crapper.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Snl5x1zpbSI/AAAAAAAAA9M/6KNVY5JwvbI/s400/man+on+crapper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366454328152911138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of you that have been reading me for a bit know that I manage a restaurant in Waikiki.  If not, well....um....I manage a restaurant in Waikiki.  &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(smart ass...right...it's what your thinking?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the past month or so I find myself shaking my head at the lack of common sense that people have when they visit the latrine/the loo/the john/the powder room/the little ladies room...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do people NOT flush the toilet at my restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.   They do work.&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;  (Because when I adorn the gas mask and kick the lever to flush, IT WORKS!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.   They are NOT automatic &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;flushers&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(And if they were, wouldn't you realize after pulling up the panties that it didn't flush.  Don't people WAIT for their toxic wastes to disappear in sewer land?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay and one more thing on this one...the days where I open a door to make sure it looks clean and doesn't need a refill on toilet paper and am surprised with poop on the walls and the door...I'm confused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't notice anyone walk out of the stall with fecal matter all over their clothes?  Because again...my toilets are in good working condition. So what happened that my bathroom got 'blessed' with your crap and YOU didn't?  The kind that makes me rethink allowing drunk people in the bathrooms?  Wait...is it that all those people are drunk?  Nah...too easy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not asking for much people.  I do work hard.  I know it's part of my job.  BUT come ON. I would like to keep the gas mask to just my home for use by my husband or myself.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(he says I'm stinky...but I'm sure it smells like roses.  **snicker, snicker**)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think about me next time you visit your favorite restaurant and go potty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pull the panties up.  Turn around.  Kick the lever with your foot (cause that's what I was told), Watch it flush.  Exit the bathroom stall.  Wash your hands.  Viola.  Easy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;peasy&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be kind. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And flush. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or I'll do it and leave you with NO toilet paper.  And you won't know until AFTER....buwahahahahaha. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kid. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kinda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2074580527506238568?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2074580527506238568/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2074580527506238568&amp;isPopup=true' title='38 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2074580527506238568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2074580527506238568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/08/random-grumblings-of-restaurant-worker.html' title='Random Grumblings of a Restaurant Worker...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Snl5x1zpbSI/AAAAAAAAA9M/6KNVY5JwvbI/s72-c/man+on+crapper.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>38</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6615458654892568902</id><published>2009-08-02T03:00:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T03:00:01.190-10:00</updated><title type='text'>A stir of memories...</title><content type='html'>I was perusing through blogland and stumbled on &lt;a href="http://www.vodkamom.com/2009/07/this-makes-me-smile.html"&gt;Vodkamom's blog&lt;/a&gt; and saw this video she posted a couple of days ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7EYAUazLI9k&amp;amp;color1=0xb1b1b1&amp;amp;color2=0xcfcfcf&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;feature=player_embedded&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7EYAUazLI9k&amp;amp;color1=0xb1b1b1&amp;amp;color2=0xcfcfcf&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;feature=player_embedded&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love watching the ones where some random place has a zillion regular people doing a random choreographed dance to a song.  This particular song always makes me smile.  At some point at least a couple of times a year, you might catch me humming it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In fact, this movie bonded me to my grandfather.  Two people, related, but not really 'connected'.   And this movie gave us a connection of being our favorite.  And maybe it's why I loved this movie even more.  Because I will always have THIS connection.  Or whatever that corny saying..."We'll always have this dance.." is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********** &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today just brought me back to some things that I hadn't 'forgotten' but hadn't thought about in a while.  And when the memory is connected somehow to my father, a range of emotions flood me.  Sometimes it's happy and warm and I can go about my day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other times I find myself in a startling reminder of realizing he isn't physically with me.  Even though, come this January, it will be 17 years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Half my life is coming up without him not being in it.  How did time move so fast but feel like an eternity at the same time?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spoke with a man about the &lt;a href="http://www.gohawaii.com/big_island/"&gt;Big Island (Hawaii)&lt;/a&gt; today at work.  It was the last place I had lived with my dad. Memories of the things/places/people we spoke of brought a smile to my heart. It had been a while since I had thought of these cobwebbed pieces of a long ago life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I often wonder about the unfinished life that might have been had he not died. Some days, I let my mind wander far down it's path.   Those are the hard days that feels like life is punching me in the guts.   When life told me my dad's time was up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I know better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything has it's reasons.  Any ONE thing in my life that would be different, ultimately would change where I am today. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And where I am today, is being my beautiful daughters mother.  That always brings me back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ONE thing I am most certain of in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Forgive the tangent today.  It's the song and the innocent conversation with a stranger. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It triggered me today and made the memories stir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6615458654892568902?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6615458654892568902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6615458654892568902&amp;isPopup=true' title='23 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6615458654892568902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6615458654892568902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/08/stir-of-memories.html' title='A stir of memories...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>23</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6630042518491068309</id><published>2009-07-30T03:00:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T03:00:07.209-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About it Thursdays #26...Your life on the big screen</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SnGG-hXl_eI/AAAAAAAAA80/JuDh_56VL6s/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 245px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SnGG-hXl_eI/AAAAAAAAA80/JuDh_56VL6s/s400/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364217039842311650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes.  We took a little break.  But it's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;OK&lt;/span&gt;.  We, meaning me and Think About It, are back to ask YOU what you think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you to those that really LET IT OUT about who bugged them...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c5960466262308363892"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/18306834145036082976" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Saskia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This question is easy-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;peasy&lt;/span&gt; to answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MY BOSS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Urgh&lt;/span&gt; he is the most horrid man IN THE WHOLE WORLD.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~ He has the biggest beer gut&lt;br /&gt;~ And an egg shaped head&lt;br /&gt;~ He is red&lt;br /&gt;~ He bought his wife from a website in Thailand specialising in pretty young wives for rich red old men&lt;br /&gt;~ He has "enemies" by his own admission&lt;br /&gt;~ He knows EVERYTHING about EVERYTHING and is NEVER WRONG of course, by his own admission (and no one &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;else's&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yesterday he told me off for using a paperclip instead of a stapler!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;AAHHHHHHHH&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And breathe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm looking for a new job. Looking really, really hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Saskia&lt;/span&gt; x&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Oh &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Saskia&lt;/span&gt;...you made me feel your pain. 'And breathe' was my favorite part.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c8617464086247880735"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/15910737494137891606" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Tooj&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;The fast guy in traffic.&lt;br /&gt;The slow guy in traffic.&lt;br /&gt;My stepson's mother.&lt;br /&gt;My stepson's grandmother.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes my husband.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes my children.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes my siblings.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes my parents.&lt;br /&gt;The KKK.&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Neo&lt;/span&gt; Nazis.&lt;br /&gt;Lindsay &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Lohan&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Perez Hilton.&lt;br /&gt;The Real World cast.&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Bachelorette&lt;/span&gt; casting directors.&lt;br /&gt;Punk a$$ kids today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you want to know why?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;This was my favorite comment that day!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;On to this weeks question....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"If your life story were told on the big screen what would the title be and who would you want to star as you?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't hold back...:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6630042518491068309?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6630042518491068309/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6630042518491068309&amp;isPopup=true' title='23 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6630042518491068309'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6630042518491068309'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/think-about-it-thursdays-26your-life-on.html' title='Think About it Thursdays #26...Your life on the big screen'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SnGG-hXl_eI/AAAAAAAAA80/JuDh_56VL6s/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>23</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-4630458796886471463</id><published>2009-07-28T02:30:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T11:03:36.870-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Me and Time Out...are like this!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://houseofnosleep.blogspot.com/2009/07/kids-said-what-edition1.html"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SnIKC54wkeI/AAAAAAAAA88/WGb9-wEypIo/s1600-h/kidssaid.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SnIKC54wkeI/AAAAAAAAA88/WGb9-wEypIo/s400/kidssaid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364361151166583266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Just added my post to Cammie's &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://houseofnosleep.blogspot.com/2009/07/kids-said-what-edition1.html"&gt;Kids Say What&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Carnival. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this house...I use my husband as the threat to get my kid that turns into some out of control 28 pounds of madness to "cool it".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this house...The Rambler is usually on the brink of tiredness from the paying job and the non paying job (parenting) that it seems my child knows how to 'work me' over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this house...my husband usually wears the pants of discipline.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this house...Lil Rambler comes to me for comforting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But something happened the other day that tilted our normal Rambler world.  That shifted my husband's cosmic hold on Lil Ramblers way of disciplinary life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me and Lil Rambler (yah, yah...I should of said Lil Rambler and I...) had a timeout.  And I thought for sure she would be the victor of the 'game'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I was persistent.  I kept plopping back the angry little imp in her timeout seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The TV went off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toys were taken out of her reach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her juice was put in the refrigerator...(her one chance of trying to escape).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we had ourselves a standoff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evil stares were thrown my way.  I did not waver.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Runny nose was snotted my way.  I did not falter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked of her one thing.  To say she was sorry.  And I asked nicely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While she temper tantrum-ly refused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to say that I kept my cool, for once.  My brick wall of "I am the parent, you are the child" was strong.  Supernanny would have been proud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She cried.  I almost buckled.  She knows my kryptonite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I said&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt; almost&lt;/span&gt;.  Because I gently asked again if she was sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And her little arms flailed and her legs kicked with venom.  And her tears turned to an angry sea of terror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touche little one, you almost had mommy there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Timeout sat next to me and said to keep it up.  She won't stop loving you because of this.  She won't hate you and start packing her toddler suitcase to look for a better mother.  She will always love you and she needs this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then a half hour (that felt like infinity...since it was me and her in our stare down of the century) came and she had had enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With only drama that could come from my side of the family, she whimpered....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You win Mama...you are the champion...you are the light..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT?  That coulda happened....Alright, alright....she didn't say &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;THAT&lt;/span&gt;.  (giggle.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Immmmm....ssoooorraaaahhhyyy.....Mammmaaammm"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I held out my arms and our life went resumed back to normal.  (If Timeout were a real living person we'd be &lt;a href="http://formyfour.blogspot.com/2009/07/pweasie-hands-pweasie-gwoves.html"&gt;high fiving&lt;/a&gt; like a bunch of &lt;a href="http://crazeescotts.blogspot.com/"&gt;crazee's&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, not exactly.  When I said that our world changed a little.  It did.  Because that night, while out to dinner, Lil Rambler acted up and USUALLY daddy just has to look at her.  And it didn't work.  He said something.  That didn't work.  She put out a little more attitude than she usually does with her father.  And it got to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then all I said was "Timeout?"  and the Lil Rambler knew who was boss in this house!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10 zillion for Lil Rambler.....11 zillion for Daddy Rambler....and finally...TWO for the Rambler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-4630458796886471463?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4630458796886471463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=4630458796886471463&amp;isPopup=true' title='38 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4630458796886471463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4630458796886471463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/me-and-time-outare-like-this.html' title='Me and Time Out...are like this!'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SnIKC54wkeI/AAAAAAAAA88/WGb9-wEypIo/s72-c/kidssaid.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>38</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-1525699554577453693</id><published>2009-07-27T15:39:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T15:41:20.675-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Pass on a high five, if you please...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://formyfour.blogspot.com/2009/07/pweasie-hands-pweasie-gwoves.html"&gt;Fiauna&lt;/a&gt; is someone that's been around my blog for a while...she posted the cutest thing today that her daughter kind of started around her home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's the &lt;a href="http://formyfour.blogspot.com/2009/07/pweasie-hands-pweasie-gwoves.html"&gt;high five coat&lt;/a&gt;...go check it out.  It's simple, but I thought it would be nice if you drop by and say hey and give a girl a high five!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you please. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-1525699554577453693?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/1525699554577453693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=1525699554577453693&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1525699554577453693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1525699554577453693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/pass-on-high-five-if-you-please.html' title='Pass on a high five, if you please...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2045691269826579759</id><published>2009-07-24T02:49:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-07-24T02:49:00.407-10:00</updated><title type='text'>And then...life happened.</title><content type='html'>I know I've been bitter Betty lately....or Negative Nancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever name that describes crankiness and as non-tolerant as one can be....it has my picture next to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But for a brief moment this week I was given a gift.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I witnessed for the first time the birth of a baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, that's right.  My first time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I'd given birth to one, but it's quite different being on the other end of the spectrum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you ask around these Rambler parts, I do NOT have the strongest stomach.  My gag reflex and vomit button are connected to my 2 senses that are vital to being of any help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smell and sight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So just because I might be able to close my eyes to help you, if something is pretty narly smelling on you chances are.....the gag reflex is gonna trigger the vomit in me and I'm a mess.  And you still need help...well, now WE both need help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My own mother wasn't sure how I was gonna deliver.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my cousin &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;(you know, the one who I mentioned forced me to &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/trading-one-addiction-for-another.html"&gt;read Twilight&lt;/a&gt;...I swear, last time, as I've managed to slip in Twilight AGAIN)&lt;/span&gt; called me Monday morning and invited me to be in the hospital room as she gave birth later that evening...my first and most natural instinct response was&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of fricking course.  Call me when you actually get a room and settled"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erm, who am I and what did I do with myself?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was her third and that crazy it's my first child I'll get to the hospital a zillion hours early with my family and a BBQ in tow was of her past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had prior plans to meet the BFF's and have a girls night out and still had time to do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While dining early with the girls, I had had a glass of wine and had received text messages that she had finally got a room...cause it was 'busy' and so the low priority pregnant ladies had to wait until a room was available.  Can you imagine?  Waiting for a room and being pregnant and wanting to just give birth already?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anywho....I'd had a glass of wine like I mentioned and I had questions.  My two BFF's were present at the birth of Lil Rambler and I asked..."How bad was it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They know me.  They know I'm weak in the stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My BFF was funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"um...it smelt like vagina??"  said not in a disgusting way, just trying to get across to me...to be prepared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"WHAT?"  me totally being a drama queen and thinking I was going to vomit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Maybe wet vagina, I guess?"  Important because I use this very sentence later...in front of medical professionals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh. God." Me...sweating it...my BFF's laughing cause again, I. am. dramatic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another glass of wine and I was on my way to the hospital...with words of wisdom from them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Don't pass out...remember it's about the baby."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get there.  I call for the room number again because my two glasses of wine brain couldn't remember and the last thing I wanted to do was walk into the wrong room with some pregnant lady and whoever was supporting at some inappropriate time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I threaten my cousins husband via the phone that if he sends me to the wrong room because he's bored...I'll kick his ass in the hallway.  He laughs.  I swear more, but whisper swearing out of respect for where I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I open the door with hesitation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whew.  Its the right door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cousin and I have been with each other since her birth.  Our mothers are sisters.  We did EVERYTHING together.  It's like we are sisters really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As cousin-sisters we reveled in the art of drama.  We live it, breathe it, love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She says as I appear a little nervous and says she's sorry and if I wanted to turn around and run, not to worry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I plop down on the chair next to her husband and say...I'm here for the long haul baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nurse is there.  Checking the baby's vitals, my cousins fluids that seem to be plenty that are hooked to her arms.  I'm nervous.  So...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some damn reason.....I actually asked...(not really sure who I directed this question to)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So...does the room really smell like wet Va-jay-jay when it gets near?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Goddamn glasses of wine!!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it.  My cousin and her husband laughed.  The nurse giggled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hours later.  My mouth in check...the big moment came.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did good.  My cousin was A.M.A.Z.I.N.G!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New found respect for Mothers.  NEW.FOUND.RESPECT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then folks....a new little 'drama' queen was born to my family and the biggest smile my face had graced all month showed itself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Birthday to my littlest sister today!!  24.  Where does the time go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2045691269826579759?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2045691269826579759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2045691269826579759&amp;isPopup=true' title='30 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2045691269826579759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2045691269826579759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/and-thenlife-happened.html' title='And then...life happened.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>30</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5362060479749706236</id><published>2009-07-23T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T02:30:01.003-10:00</updated><title type='text'>So what...</title><content type='html'>So what...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...if it's Thursday and I usually post Think About It Thursdays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I've had a bitter edge to myself the last couple of months and I unloaded after 2 glasses of wine to my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...if I 'hurt my employee's heart' the other day because she stood in front of me while I was extremely busy to ask if she still needed to be at work...and I didn't answer nicely. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Really?  I'm busy and sweating and you actually think I'm going to send you home so I can work even harder?  And when I answer the first time no, you actually asked me 2 more times in a different way.  And you wonder why I didn't answer in my "oh so cheery self"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...if I lost my blog &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;mojo&lt;/span&gt; and can't write anything creative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...if I'm feeling a little lost having read all the Twilight books and wanting just a tiny bit more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have any So What's for me today?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5362060479749706236?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5362060479749706236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5362060479749706236&amp;isPopup=true' title='24 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5362060479749706236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5362060479749706236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/so-what.html' title='So what...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>24</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2741044543403597120</id><published>2009-07-20T09:22:00.005-10:00</published><updated>2009-07-20T10:01:33.235-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Trading one addiction for another...</title><content type='html'>My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;supergeeky&lt;/span&gt; husband has fixed my &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/waahhhhhhmy-laptop-is-out-of-commission.html"&gt;precious&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am one again with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It got a little strange to not just pop on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt; to surf the world of somewhere else.   I hadn't realized how much I did it.  (probably a little sad really)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it reminded me of when I started my diet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know.  you hate the diet so much.  You look at the food and highly calorie filled beverages you shouldn't be drinking and again, hate the diet that much.  A little sane voice in your head tells you it's good for you, the diet.  But you tell her.  "Your stupid.  I hate you."  But then something clicks and your more into it, you realize the benefits and you see some progress.  If your lucky, you get hooked more on the losing the poundage than not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Um...I don't know where I was going with that.  Can you tell I'm slightly still on a diet?  I'm sure it had a point.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to my story....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you know what happened?  I found a very intense substitution for my laptop being in the shop for repairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said I would NEVER (and I meant &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;NEEVERRRR&lt;/span&gt;) do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I. Read. All. The. Twilight. Books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SmTMKPMZWXI/AAAAAAAAA58/CgE-pwwLVOk/s1600-h/twilight.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SmTMKPMZWXI/AAAAAAAAA58/CgE-pwwLVOk/s400/twilight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360633932727015794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DAMN it all to hell.  (Actually the blame lies on my 9 month pregnant cousin for insisting...hard to tell a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;preggo&lt;/span&gt; girl no.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was the one that scoffed at so many for reading it, and being so infatuated with that silly vampire kid.   I couldn't understand while reading blog posts, hearing my employees say that hadn't slept much since starting the 4 book series.  What was all the hullabaloo about?  Another love story?  Eh...who cares?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me.  Always shaking my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me.  Always leaving comments that I wouldn't waver and do what all the others were doing by being sucked in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Silly girls, I thought confidently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But....I get it now.  I can say honestly that I didn't think in the beginning of book one,"Twilight", that I would even finish it.  But something in that book got me hooked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Probably the intense love that was between the two main characters.  Edward &amp;amp; Bella.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to sit here and review it.  Don't worry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a confession.  My laptop has been fixed since Friday.  I was in the middle of book three, "Eclipse" and petted my precious and told it that when I was done with all four books, I would be back.  That my fingers would be feverishly typing away, surfing the net like we do, maybe even get back into really posting on a more excited level.    My husband couldn't believe I didn't test his finished product.  He wondered at how long I would actually keep my head buried in a book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have finished the series.  It took me since last Sunday.  7 days.  I rarely get a chance to read anymore being a parent of a young active child.   And more rarely do I find a book that sucks me in so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I neglected certain domestic duties around the house, I packed the book and read at red lights in traffic, me and some girls at work had lengthy discussions on how we felt about certain topics Edward &amp;amp; Bella related, and text &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;messages&lt;/span&gt; between a cousins wife about how we didn't think much of Rob &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Pattison&lt;/span&gt; before but as Edward wanted him to suck our blood (weird..I know...but maybe you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;diehards&lt;/span&gt; understand that?).  Some girls  even talked a little about their 'grieving process' after the last book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read the last page of her 4 book series, last night about 8 hours ago.  I was relieved it was over.  I needed to go back to my life.  I needed to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really wanted to come back to blogging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2741044543403597120?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2741044543403597120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2741044543403597120&amp;isPopup=true' title='32 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2741044543403597120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2741044543403597120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/trading-one-addiction-for-another.html' title='Trading one addiction for another...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SmTMKPMZWXI/AAAAAAAAA58/CgE-pwwLVOk/s72-c/twilight.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>32</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-9182467023449788903</id><published>2009-07-12T21:36:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T21:54:11.381-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Some quickies...</title><content type='html'>Not gonna believe what happened?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband's spare laptop crapped out on me.  I'm thinking summertime does not want me to be attached to the hip of my precious like wintertime.  So now I stand hoovering over my husband waiting for him to get off his desktop so I can spill as much as I can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had decided to wait a bit on &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/waahhhhhhmy-laptop-is-out-of-commission.html"&gt;fixing my precious&lt;/a&gt; since we had a spare.  I'll be responsible and not use up money right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;uhmphf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While on the way to work the other day while sitting in traffic, two ambulances were making it's way through traffic to get to the hospital a couple of off ramps down.  The first one passed.  The second one passed and as I looked in my rear view mirror, I noticed a douchebag car following close as to not be stuck in traffic.  Like I said.  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" &gt;DOUCHEBAG&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess what? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That second ambulance stopped.  The EMT got out.  In the middle of the freeway...(remember, traffic so no cars were moving)...and gave that car friggin hell.  NO JOKE.  The EMT came toward the car who had stopped (and was probably pooping his pants a little) and told him "Are you f*cking crazy?  Put your window down....beep beep beep more stuff I didn't hear"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The owner of the car put his window down just a crack.  (Chicken)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think all the cars actually applauded the EMT for 'checking' this guy at the "are you a dumb ass curb".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, that might have been a little dangerous and the whole thing lasted maybe 1 minute or so.  But man, that made my day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One for the good people...and nothing for the douchebag.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a little excited.  As I work in a restaurant I don't work normal consistent days/hours.  So when I get two days off in a row, it's rare and exciting.  It's like summer school a little bit.  The whole one day of school work is actually one week of school work...blah blah. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day gone from the restaurant can bring A LOT of changes.  So when you miss a lot of consistent days it's 'interesting' always coming back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It just so happens that my boss decided to give me off Tuesday so my Sunday, Monday day off thing turned into 3 friggin days off...&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;T&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;HAT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; folks is a long vacation in restaurant world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to log off now...my husband's stare as I nervously and quickly finish this so he can continue his normal computer geeky rituals...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So if you don't see me around this week.  You all know why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-9182467023449788903?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/9182467023449788903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=9182467023449788903&amp;isPopup=true' title='32 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/9182467023449788903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/9182467023449788903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/some-quickies.html' title='Some quickies...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>32</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6031621748727528383</id><published>2009-07-09T01:41:00.003-10:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T02:19:11.647-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursdays #25....Who bugs you?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SlXaYWcZ_mI/AAAAAAAAA1M/eX_URJiqO24/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SlXaYWcZ_mI/AAAAAAAAA1M/eX_URJiqO24/s200/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356427443703512674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Friends...YOUR comments were so fantastic last week with the whole would you or would you &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/think-about-it-thursdays-24tail-or-no.html"&gt;not want a tail?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c4792564785344785866"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="profile/13276777227256457700" rel="nofollow"&gt;Housewife Savant&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;We recently had our long-haired cat shaved which is Just. Too. Easy. [but go ahead, insert your joke here].&lt;br /&gt;It's called a Lion Cut, and his tail is so SWEET I'd surely want one just like it.&lt;br /&gt;Screw function.&lt;br /&gt;I'm all about the swishiness.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Housewife is one of my favorite ladies that is so brilliantly witty and snarky!  I always so look forward to her comments. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c649614501017499124"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="profile/00433158657120364428" rel="nofollow"&gt;Mama Nut&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Well, I suppose what kind of a tail it was. If it was like a dog's dail which doesn't seem to have a function besides letting everyone around it know how it's feeling, (okay, and probably cool themselves off and shoo away flies) then I would probably tuck that sucker in, in an effort to thwart being a completely open book. I prefer a little mystery. BUT, if the tail is a functional one like a monkey's or a gecko's then I would totally whip that baby out and multitask away!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Chuckle.  You know, it would be good to have an extra thing (aka..tail) to swat the flies away when I'm too lazy to bend down and swat with my hands.  But I'm so with you on the mystery thing :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c1815271024372147820"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="profile/07129428477996644401" rel="nofollow"&gt;Martha&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I don't want a tail, I have more than enough "Junk in my trunk" without more stuff back there. Heck, my cat doesn't even have a tail, she's a Manx.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;I don't know why but you made me think of Sir Mix A Lot's song...OH.MY.God. Becky...look at her butt....I like big butts and I cannot lie, you other brothers can't deny...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Thanks.  Thanks for that. :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c7063183936558223120"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="profile/11423346418730195821" rel="nofollow"&gt;Vivienne&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;If I could tuck it UP through my shirt, I would use it to stuff my bra. Otherwise I would probably just pull it up and tuck it into a ponytail to keep it out of my way, like the rest of my hair.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Buwahahahahahaha....this was my absolute top comment for sure on uses for a tail if we had one.  You my friend are genius :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" &gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" dir="ltr" &gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/12434884811193988493" rel="nofollow" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;"&gt;Shan&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" &gt;  &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;said...I've been racking my brain for a suitable question. Now that it's all stretched out and kinda dry, I've realized, I used a couple of good ones recently in a class I teach:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you tell us about a person who irritates you?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(This came from a recent trip to Vegas... ahem... and was very cathartic for me and apparently for the people in class as well.)"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I chose this question because this past week has brought one of my employees to an all code red type of annoyance at work that even before she walks in I prepare myself mentally for the exhaustion that I find myself in when working with her.  She's one of those people that just says something in a tone that just scratches the nail across your brain.  And the evil in you comes out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:sigh:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay friends.  I'm curious.  Anyone in particular? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks so much &lt;a href="http://counterfeitfake.blogspot.com/"&gt;Shan&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://counterfeitfake.blogspot.com/"&gt; @ Counterfeit Fake&lt;/a&gt; for the question!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6031621748727528383?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6031621748727528383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6031621748727528383&amp;isPopup=true' title='27 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6031621748727528383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6031621748727528383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/think-about-it-thursdays-25who-bugs-you.html' title='Think About It Thursdays #25....Who bugs you?'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SlXaYWcZ_mI/AAAAAAAAA1M/eX_URJiqO24/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>27</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5328475167661212045</id><published>2009-07-07T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T02:30:05.690-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Money I don't have,</title><content type='html'>Dear Money,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why?  Where do you go so fast?  Why can't I save you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I work hard.  Really hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband works hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get my paycheck and before I know it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********&lt;br /&gt;Rent..check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Electric bill...check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Phone bill...check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuel for cars...check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pull ups for kid...check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Food for family (mainly kid)...check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cable bill...check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gas bill...check&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stupid bills accrued from stupid younger stupider unknowing days....check.&lt;br /&gt;*******&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fine...I know where your going.  But could you at least leave a little for me to not sweat donkey balls every other week?  Just a tiny bit? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweating Donkey balls until payday Friday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5328475167661212045?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5328475167661212045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5328475167661212045&amp;isPopup=true' title='35 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5328475167661212045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5328475167661212045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/dear-money-i-dont-have.html' title='Dear Money I don&apos;t have,'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>35</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-8509218850664193695</id><published>2009-07-02T02:04:00.003-10:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T02:15:04.490-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursdays #24....Tail or no Tail?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SkyjJ_JIclI/AAAAAAAAA1E/ocJYU0Kjjew/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 243px; height: 247px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SkyjJ_JIclI/AAAAAAAAA1E/ocJYU0Kjjew/s320/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353833449000563282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Oh wow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really loved all the questions you gave me to use for my Think About It Thursdays!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And here's the funny thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite comment/question to start off my readers questions for everyone was from an &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Anonymous&lt;/span&gt; commenter.  What?  Come on!  Well hopefully you'll come back and let us know who you are...or at least read what others have to say about your question.  LWV...is that you?  My dear friend?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here we go people of Blogland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" &gt;"Anonymous said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;dl style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;If you had a functioning tail, would you tuck it in your pants/skirt or use it openly... I wish I had an extra hand regularly so I would probably use it."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/dd&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.  I'm gonna say use it, openly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can NEVER have enough help when being a parent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-8509218850664193695?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/8509218850664193695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=8509218850664193695&amp;isPopup=true' title='24 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/8509218850664193695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/8509218850664193695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/07/think-about-it-thursdays-24tail-or-no.html' title='Think About It Thursdays #24....Tail or no Tail?'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SkyjJ_JIclI/AAAAAAAAA1E/ocJYU0Kjjew/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>24</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-4650719434438855019</id><published>2009-06-30T01:43:00.003-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T02:55:19.477-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Randomly writing here on Tuesday...like the others</title><content type='html'>Tonight while driving home I followed a completely drunk a-hole onto the freeway.  I actually called 911 to report the driver because I was so sure he was gonna take someone out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Followed him for about 10 minutes.  No cop showed up.  Whatever.  I did my duty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the death of MJ, I've been for some reason into reliving my youth with his sister's music. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I went back to her Control album...comeon...you know your singing...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Controooollll....I'm.In.Control.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and how about a little&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Nasty...Nasty boy..don't mean a thing...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, Oh..whatabout&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;What have you done for me lately?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I did move on from that one album but I won't sing the rest of the songs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(how about the one with Antonio Sabato Jr? Yummmmm....)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Skn_9cLZ2FI/AAAAAAAAA08/A2IYQhG9LL8/s1600-h/Antonio+Sabato+Jr..jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Skn_9cLZ2FI/AAAAAAAAA08/A2IYQhG9LL8/s320/Antonio+Sabato+Jr..jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353091063107672146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;You know...I met him once for my job.  I almost had an orgasm when he smiled at me and said hello.  No joke.  His dimples were to DIE FOR.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some strange reason since Jon &amp;amp; Kate plus Eight announced the divorce thing, I've been watching their past shows...analyzing.  Wondering about when it started to go wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weird.  I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I ever say that I have an issue saying shoulder AND solider.  Like the d in solider should be like a j, right?  But my brain malfunctions and gets lispy and tounge tied. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Try say the soliders shoulder hurts?  Say it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm at the point in my diet that I have lost almost 17 pounds.  When I got sick last week I was really at a total of 21 but I guess when you don't eat for 3 days that might do it to you.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I hate diet.  But I know I need it.  I must forge on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have until October until a special person's special day that I said I wanted to have my waistline a little skinnier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The&lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/04/list-of-crap-about-me-for-you-to.html"&gt; skinny bitch&lt;/a&gt; is slowly emerging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have clean laundry piling up waiting for me to fold and put away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't wannnnnaaaaaaaa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter will be three this August.  I can't believe it.  Where in the world has the time gone?  How in the world did I even get here? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mind flips a little and says&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Aren't we 19?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why do you have rules now?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why can't we have that extra piece of cake?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When did you say going to bed at 10pm was awesome?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And when in the world did you think we would be up before 11am?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't really remember my life before her.  And it's okay because she fills my every bit of my heart and soul more than I could ever hope for...(yes, a little awww moment).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will you fine folks visit of real life friend of mine...&lt;a href="http://thechrysanthemom.blogspot.com/"&gt;The ChrysantheMOM&lt;/a&gt;...We met through my BFF years ago and she's been my standing 'date' at events we attend BFF related.  She's absolutely hands down awesome.  Please say hi.  Please :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm confused what day is today.  I worked and closed last night (off at 12:30 am).  I haven't worked a Monday night in probably 8 years.  It really threw me off my mental schedule. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright...enough random for now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bye Bye!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-4650719434438855019?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4650719434438855019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=4650719434438855019&amp;isPopup=true' title='25 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4650719434438855019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4650719434438855019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/randomly-writing-here-on-tuesdaylike.html' title='Randomly writing here on Tuesday...like the others'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Skn_9cLZ2FI/AAAAAAAAA08/A2IYQhG9LL8/s72-c/Antonio+Sabato+Jr..jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>25</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3132343192415350018</id><published>2009-06-27T12:03:00.003-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-27T12:31:16.144-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Waahhhhhh....my laptop is out of commission</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SkaafUjbJJI/AAAAAAAAA00/PT17_9stpFk/s1600-h/url.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 204px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SkaafUjbJJI/AAAAAAAAA00/PT17_9stpFk/s320/url.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352135070060323986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, my hard drive decided it didn't want to work anymore. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe it knew I wasn't &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/think-about-it-thursdays-23um-erm-gimme.html#comments"&gt;"into it"&lt;/a&gt;.  Maybe this is it's way to say....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Here's to disrespecting me, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;biznatch&lt;/span&gt;!  I quit!".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know.  But I feel lost without my stuff.  You know...the stuff that I don't need until my computer breaks down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My super geeky husband is going to fix it (thank heavens for a man like him that lives in this house!).  For now, I have his spare laptop (remember I just said he's a geek so of course he has more than just a desktop).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No favorites, my games are gone, and praise all that is holy that most of my pictures had just been saved to an external hard drive (um, that makes me feel like I know what I'm doing, but I really really don't.  Imagine blank stare as anything computer-y gets discussed.  Poor geeky husband.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**Long sigh**&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***Really long sigh***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S....Thanks to &lt;a href="http://olivestreetstudio.blogspot.com/2009/06/ive-been-tagged-by-chocolate-and-steel.html#comment-form"&gt;Olive Street Studios&lt;/a&gt; (who makes some awesome handbags...and other things) for the tag and &lt;a href="http://inmyminditisfunny.blogspot.com/"&gt;Funny on my mind&lt;/a&gt; for the great award.  Now back to sighing...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***SIGH***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3132343192415350018?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3132343192415350018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3132343192415350018&amp;isPopup=true' title='21 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3132343192415350018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3132343192415350018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/waahhhhhhmy-laptop-is-out-of-commission.html' title='Waahhhhhh....my laptop is out of commission'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SkaafUjbJJI/AAAAAAAAA00/PT17_9stpFk/s72-c/url.htm' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>21</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-134073988797965639</id><published>2009-06-25T03:00:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-25T03:00:36.150-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursdays #23....Um, Erm, Gimme a Question.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SkNlcg3G3HI/AAAAAAAAA0s/FTDvRuQzRFY/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 193px; height: 196px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SkNlcg3G3HI/AAAAAAAAA0s/FTDvRuQzRFY/s320/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351232322778094706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Thanks for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;participating&lt;/span&gt; in last week's "&lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/think-about-it-thursdays-22are-you.html"&gt;Are you where you thought you'd be?"&lt;/a&gt; question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c3793372114403884670"&gt;Some comments to share from the group.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c3793372114403884670"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c3793372114403884670"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/05602481165732790955" rel="nofollow"&gt;K&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My life is isn't where I thought it would be at all - but it's actually better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't planning on even thinking about getting married until I was 30 and never in a hundred years did I expect to be a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;SAHM&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was going to be a hard core career girl all the way. I even had the hard core job for 5 years and got the masters degree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My second is due a week before my 30&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; birthday and I've been married 5 years.  Who knew?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Can I tell you how excited I was to read that post.  That you were pregnant.  Oh.My.God.  So excited.  I'm silly.  I know :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c6479356072450568424"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/11051140760624657630" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;WhisperingWriter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My goal was to be published by 25.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That never happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm working on getting published by 30.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope that happens.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Fingers crossed.  Your an excellent writer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c3407513194316112872"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/12434884811193988493" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Shan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;In some ways, I'm beyond where I thought I'd be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do feel like a grown up who knows her own mind, something I expected by 28 but didn't really get to for another few years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do have more than one child, something I wasn't sure would happen and almost didn't (they're 15 years apart), but nowhere near the eight I "knew" I'd have when I was younger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man I'm married to is frequently the stuff dreams are made of, with not too much real life "guy" thrown in. Not sure how I score like I did, so don't tell anyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We own a home... a dream only recently hatched and very recently achieved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm not a nurse, which was my back up plan for the eight kids. I've looked into it, but my tolerance for school isn't what it once... oh, who am I kidding? I don't have the attention span for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is off topic, but this foggy-brained morning a song came on the radio. Something by Kenny &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Chesney&lt;/span&gt;, where he sings "I was going fast as a Rambler goes... " The visual image that usually comes with that song has now been replaced by some sort of amalgam of you pushing a stroller and working in a restaurant at warp speed. As I said, foggy-brained morning.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Where have you been my whole life?  I completely enjoyed your comments this week!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;"I'm stumped people.  Gimme a question.  I'll use these questions for the next couple of Think About It Thursdays post"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't been really feeling the blog life lately.  I can't understand it.  I look at my laptop and sigh rather than burn it's lifetime in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;battery life&lt;/span&gt; down.  Maybe like &lt;a href="http://mammatalk.blogspot.com/2009/06/blogging-winter-sport.html"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Mammatalk&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said, it's summer and maybe &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;bloggers&lt;/span&gt; prefer this as a winter sport?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I did read a post yesterday from &lt;a href="http://jtfinefamily.blogspot.com/2009/06/epiphony-filling-my-cup-by-emptying-it.html"&gt;It's a Fine Life&lt;/a&gt;.  It really resonated with me and I completely understood what she was writing about.  About filling your emotional cup.  Please go over there and check it out.  Interesting read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next week folks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-134073988797965639?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/134073988797965639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=134073988797965639&amp;isPopup=true' title='21 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/134073988797965639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/134073988797965639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/think-about-it-thursdays-23um-erm-gimme.html' title='Think About It Thursdays #23....Um, Erm, Gimme a Question.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SkNlcg3G3HI/AAAAAAAAA0s/FTDvRuQzRFY/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>21</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5618938619024856945</id><published>2009-06-18T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T02:30:00.615-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursdays #22..Are you where you thought you'd be?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SjooB8r2wXI/AAAAAAAAA0c/ZCM-4HIUhaE/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 206px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SjooB8r2wXI/AAAAAAAAA0c/ZCM-4HIUhaE/s320/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348631521390936434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Thanks for last weeks comments&lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/think-about-it-thursdays-21tell-me-your.html#comments"&gt; on your Senses&lt;/a&gt;!!  A lot of GREAT comments :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c5390378911186065996"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/07129428477996644401" rel="nofollow"&gt;Martha&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Smell- my husband's scent - He smells yummy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Taste- Chocolate, preferably See's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sound- Nature: birdsong, running streams, sighs of the trees as the wind blows through their branches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sight- The smiles of my family, my hubby and our two sons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touch- Hugs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grossest stuff, after 27 yrs as RN I have so got this covered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smell- Patients with GI Bleeds - it is so bad that it is necessary to do the clinician survival trick of putting Vick.s &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Vapo&lt;/span&gt;.rub under your nose and then putting on a surgical mask.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sight- Patient smoking through their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;tracheotomy&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will spare you and your dear readers anymore grossness. I mean unless you want more, than you know where to find me.&lt;br /&gt;Thanks, Rambler.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Martha...whoa.  I could never survive in your neck of the professional world.  I am way too &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;skirmish&lt;/span&gt;.  People like you deserve medals for a strong stomach.  Even if you gotta put &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Vapo&lt;/span&gt; Rub :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c5047263125869091013"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16081240770654599827" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;andy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; gonna go against our flow here girls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;just 'cause &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;here are my LEAST favourite of the five senses:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;touch: pulling &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;styrofoam&lt;/span&gt; out of a box.  can we all say "squeaky hell?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;taste: that four day old half glass of wine from my computer desk. totally disgusting, but it's all that is in the house and you need a drink so you're forced to swig it down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;smell: the boyfriends mothers cooking. i love seafood, but her fish smells like a rotten can of sardines &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;thats&lt;/span&gt; been sitting out in the sun for two weeks. or she burns it. which is awesome too. makes me think &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; about to have a seizure, but then i notice that it's just her burning toast again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sight: seeing that i only have a couple of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;reeelax&lt;/span&gt; pills left in the bottle and realizing i have to ration them until i get back to my awesome doctor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sound: kids puking @ 02:00am.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;nuff&lt;/span&gt; said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;andy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p.s. does that make me sound too negative?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p.p.s. don't care.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/dd&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Andy...for real.  You crack me up!!  Like I'm almost &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;pee'ing&lt;/span&gt; my pants.  God I heart you!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flipping through some highly intelligent literary read (um, alright...it was People...sue me) I came across the topic for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;today's&lt;/span&gt; question to ponder. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;"Did you set life goals for yourself, like what you wanted accomplished by a certain age?  If you did, what are some and have you hit the mark?  Knowing what you know now, would you have still made this a goal?  Or stressed it's importance?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;Discuss.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5618938619024856945?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5618938619024856945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5618938619024856945&amp;isPopup=true' title='18 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5618938619024856945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5618938619024856945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/think-about-it-thursdays-22are-you.html' title='Think About It Thursdays #22..Are you where you thought you&apos;d be?'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SjooB8r2wXI/AAAAAAAAA0c/ZCM-4HIUhaE/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>18</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-4868775640061367414</id><published>2009-06-17T03:55:00.003-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T04:21:55.374-10:00</updated><title type='text'>This is why I'm not a girlie girl!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sjj6Ju5-VgI/AAAAAAAAA0U/pp6MvZM_qus/s1600-h/034_p76.1_w.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 204px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sjj6Ju5-VgI/AAAAAAAAA0U/pp6MvZM_qus/s320/034_p76.1_w.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348299602619422210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it's been a little rough since coming home from vacation to get back into the swing of things here in Ramblerland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried getting back in the saddle, but I hadn't strapped the belt right (or whatever you do for the horses and the saddle).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've started a stupid amount of posts that all lasted as long as two sentences and it's fire went out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But while trekking through blogland tonight I found an inspiration for a post.  FINALLY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my faves and oldies &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(not age girl, meaning length of time I've been reading her)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://sonothotmama.blogspot.com/2009/06/it-can-all-change-in-one-post.html?showComment=1245246903579#c3941892728541368447"&gt;So Not Mom-a-licous&lt;/a&gt; posted something today that somehow mentioned eyebrows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I have to tell you all a story that happened...of course..to ME.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a girl that wouldn't be in the fashion tent in NYC.  I don't know how the frick makeup works &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;(ask the BFF's...I make them cringe)&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that I try to go to others when attempting to beautify myself.  Manicures, pedicures and lets just say waxing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waxing.  Waxing.  Waxing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(God, it's so much taking care of ourselves.  Ugh.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So a very 8 month pregnant me and a cousin (who was more pregnant) decided to mall shop.  She takes care of herself wayyyy better than I can/do/have/will. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when she spotted this new salon at the mall and said lets do our eyebrows, I was like....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um.  M'kay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She says.  You go first.  I have kid #1 acting up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um.  M'kay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go into room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's peaceful like I'm gonna get a facial.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tell the nice lady how I want the eyebrows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lie down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We small talk about when I'm due.  Sex of the baby.  Blah Blah. Blah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some cleaning lady comes in and starts making all this noise looking for something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She distracts nice lady WHILE waxing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nice lady yells at cleaning lady to hurry and leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yah...awkward.  My eyebrow feels 'weird'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cleaning lady leaves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cleaning lady comes back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nice lady freaks out again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ramblers thinking WTF.  But remains calm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cleaning lady leaves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nice lady looks back at Ramblers face and gasps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YES.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She gasped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fricking nice lady ripped off &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;almost 2/3 's of my eyebrow OFF.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She calls in makeup lady while I sit and process and think maybe it's not that bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Makeup lady covers up, calls me sweetie.  The owner comes in and says I look beautiful.  I'm rubbing my belly getting nervous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I come out of the room.  My cousin looks at me and says she doesn't need any waxing.  I smile in some delusional stunned way.  And we leave.  I am so stunned I don't make a big deal about it.  Which might explain the breathing out on the whole staff's part when we left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go home.  I show my husband.  I cry most of the night and avoid the mirror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For 2 months,  I had to have my employees at work help me put a effing fake eyebrow on with a pencil liner (remember I am clueless about makeup) and some fill in eyebrow tracer thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have NOT had my eyebrows done in over 3 years now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait...I do them myself...just they aren't so 'professional' looking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am NOT a girlie girl!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I will not have a UNIBROW!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-4868775640061367414?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4868775640061367414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=4868775640061367414&amp;isPopup=true' title='30 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4868775640061367414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4868775640061367414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/this-is-why-im-not-girlie-girl.html' title='This is why I&apos;m not a girlie girl!!!'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sjj6Ju5-VgI/AAAAAAAAA0U/pp6MvZM_qus/s72-c/034_p76.1_w.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>30</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-8139641990242910049</id><published>2009-06-15T02:23:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T02:23:00.678-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Does anyone have this feature on their phone?</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sjDKrK3uJgg&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sjDKrK3uJgg&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously.  That would be great to use on my husband.  (alright, only on the days we don't like each other!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sick. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like did not get out of bed for two days sick.  On the third crawled to wash dishes and sweated like a whore in church, and crawled back to bed sick. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the fourth day, I went to work.  That really really really sucked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So all you guys get is this hilarious video that I hope you watch and this stupid post! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tee-shirts to follow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I mention I was a little delusional?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-8139641990242910049?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/8139641990242910049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=8139641990242910049&amp;isPopup=true' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/8139641990242910049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/8139641990242910049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/does-anyone-have-this-feature-on-their.html' title='Does anyone have this feature on their phone?'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-1978176533068097567</id><published>2009-06-12T03:40:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T03:41:46.908-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Interviewing can be interesting....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SoLClUSLVCI/AAAAAAAAA9s/fUh9x_WoRSg/s1600-h/interview.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 263px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SoLClUSLVCI/AAAAAAAAA9s/fUh9x_WoRSg/s320/interview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369067652134949922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been in management for over 10 years and I have to say...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've interviewed some really interesting characters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before an interview I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;usually&lt;/span&gt; like to designate someone to 'watch me'.   Just in case I don't know how to politely end the interview.  I don't care what they say just please come by and say it's the effing President on the phone and I have to end the interview.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Below are some of the people I get to interview at least once a month...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;The Over-Talker-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;InterviewEE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;-turned-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;InterviewER&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;OTITI&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;..I know what it sounds like)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;The person kind of sneaks up on you.  Beware.  It's innocent really, because they are dressed nice, good eye contact.  They brought a pen to the interview!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(My pet peeve.  To me, it's like going there without a shirt on...always be prepared.  Bring a pen.  You should only have to ask me for an application.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;OTITI&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; immediately takes over the conversation in an instant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She/He speaks quickly and without breathing.  While you stand there and attempt many inserts of your own questions, they rattle on.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Oblivious&lt;/span&gt; to the fact the manager has not been able to ask one question except to say..."Hi, my name is Boss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Rambl&lt;/span&gt;..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mind wanders a bit in between attempts.  "How many pots of coffee has she had" "Will she shut up so I can ask a question" "Too bad, she looked normal"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Designator&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; was busy 'flirting' with a pretty gal who'd just come to his bar.  (Damn him, must remember to pick more reliable Designator)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Awkward-Quiet-My-Mother-Told-Me-to-Get-A-Job&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a kid that usually sits on their behind at home.  Just graduated from high school, maybe.  Completely unmotivated.  Their mother just wants them to get OUT OF THE HOUSE.  (I don't blame her).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This makes for a most awkward interview because of their one word answers to all your questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or blank looks because they can't believe they had to dress up with a nice shirt and tie and sit at a table with an "old" lady and answer questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me, this is an easy interview to end quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't call me, I'll call you kind of thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;The-Don't-Look-Me-In-The-Eyes-Person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I grew up learning to shake hands firmly and look people in the eyes.  Shifty eyes can be unsettling and uncomfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This person from the moment you shake hands looks over, around and below you.  I find myself secretly brushing past my mouth, nose and eyes blindly searching for remnants of food, buggers and or crap attached to my face in an unattractive way.  Or checking to see if my bra strap is showing or toilet paper is stuck on my shoe.  All at the same time.  Because shifty eyes makes me nervous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ask my questions.  I get answers but with very little to no eye contact.  Again, I wonder if the spinach I ate days ago is somehow lodged still between my two front teeth.  Very distracting for a person like me doing an interview.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And usually after the interview...I go to a mirror to check myself out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gotta catch another thing...Person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dude...you the manager?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes?" (Oh God)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, do you have to work hard here?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Um..." (Oh Lord.  Really?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Cause I need money...but I don't enjoy working.  Dude."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Erm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;...I'm not hiring right now"  (As I hide the Now Hiring sign)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So words of advice from Boss Rambler here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bring a pen, shake hands firmly but not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;WWF&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;ly&lt;/span&gt;, make good eye contact, and let the interview be a two way conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-1978176533068097567?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/1978176533068097567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=1978176533068097567&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1978176533068097567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/1978176533068097567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/03/interviewing-can-be-interesting.html' title='Interviewing can be interesting....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SoLClUSLVCI/AAAAAAAAA9s/fUh9x_WoRSg/s72-c/interview.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-7288574965115287538</id><published>2009-06-11T03:00:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T03:00:02.997-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursdays #21...Tell me your Senses...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SjDrNdhoiNI/AAAAAAAAA0E/k7cDJl5mpEw/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 234px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SjDrNdhoiNI/AAAAAAAAA0E/k7cDJl5mpEw/s320/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346031374185302226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Thanks to those that participated in last weeks&lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/think-about-it-thursdays20-your.html"&gt; influential person question&lt;/a&gt; last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some comments to share with the classroom today :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06988593412232029888" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;OliveStreetStudio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said...  Thanks for your story - very nice that you had the unexpected opportunity to thank this supportive man!! I have two minor bits to contribute:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To the woman who gave me my first job in an ice-cream parlor when I was 12 - I worked for her for 7 summers and she really helped bring me out of my shy-shell. I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;eventually&lt;/span&gt; ran the shop and placed our orders. She trusted me with running her business. To this day I tell her that job was my absolute favorite in the world (and not because i got to eat ice cream everyday!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My negative on this: My Aunt, who when I told I wanted to major in Biology, told me I'd never make any $$ or I'd have to go to med school....she discouraged me at 16 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;YOs&lt;/span&gt; and I got nervous so I switched my major. To this DAY I regret not pursuing my love of science...BUT I have gone back to school and taken bio, chem, and physics classes and one day hope to teach HS Chemistry. :-)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;I loved that you had someone that was an influence on both ends.  Great comment!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/11051140760624657630" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;WhisperingWriter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Wonderful post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;To be honest, I think it WAS my parents who were quite influential in my life. You see, my Mom was an Officer in the Air Force and she battled all sorts of sexism. She never gave up. Then my Dad decided to stay home with me because he walked in to pick me up at daycare once and he didn't like the tone the providers were using at the children. So he quit his job and became a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;SAHD&lt;/span&gt;. Back in those days, it wasn't done as often so he was mocked quite a bit. Both of my pa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;rents have always fascinated me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;As I grow older I find myself looking at my parents &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;li&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;ves&lt;/span&gt; at the age I am now, their decisions in life they made and looking at it with the eyes of an adult.  I understand a little better why things were the way they were.  I'm glad you had parents that weren't scared to not be the cookie cutter type of parents that were expected!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author openid-comment-icon" id="c7528557507063928407"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://vanover521.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;vanover&lt;/span&gt;521&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i would have to say the wife of the youth pastor i hated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;confused? &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt; let me explain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;he was a guy who just rubbed me the wrong way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;his wife was sweet, caring, thoughtful, loved God with everything in her. she was everything i ever wanted to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;well... except for being married to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;she was someone who would listen to anything, was supportive, helpful. she cared so much about each of us girls. it's amazing when i think back to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and no, i don't think that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;i've&lt;/span&gt; ever been able to tell her h&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ow i feel about it because they've long since moved and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;i've&lt;/span&gt; lost touch with her. not that i couldn't find them with a bit of detective work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but she was amazing. and probably still is.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;I have always been fascinated with finding someone that is absolutely wonderful and to find their partner to be someone you would never want to be in a room with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;************************&lt;br /&gt;Okay so my &lt;a href="http://antibloggedy.blogspot.com/2009/06/value-of-human-beingwhat-is-your-appeal.html"&gt;sister &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Antibloggedy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; inspired my question for today....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tell me your favorite/funny&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;/gross thing about the 5 senses.  Sense of Smell, Sound, Taste, Touch &amp;amp; Sight"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SjD27TqczVI/AAAAAAAAA0M/SussMSTao84/s1600-h/5+senses.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SjD27TqczVI/AAAAAAAAA0M/SussMSTao84/s320/5+senses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346044256439815506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smell...Chocolate and hot bread....especially if together...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;mmmmmm&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Sound..My daughters laughter.&lt;br /&gt;Taste...The chocolate and hot bread (What...I can have this has two things right?)&lt;br /&gt;Touch...My daughters hugs.&lt;br /&gt;Sight...Lil Rambler...EVERYDAY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay people...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Discuss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-7288574965115287538?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/7288574965115287538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=7288574965115287538&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/7288574965115287538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/7288574965115287538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/think-about-it-thursdays-21tell-me-your.html' title='Think About It Thursdays #21...Tell me your Senses...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SjDrNdhoiNI/AAAAAAAAA0E/k7cDJl5mpEw/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3077074030523819010</id><published>2009-06-08T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T02:30:01.923-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Mental Note to Self.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sizipw3MCoI/AAAAAAAAAzs/Cr_6gPh6G_g/s1600-h/article-1116362-030ECF39000005DC-847_468x507.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sizipw3MCoI/AAAAAAAAAzs/Cr_6gPh6G_g/s320/article-1116362-030ECF39000005DC-847_468x507.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344896064900827778" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mental Note to Self'ing for future reference....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...When Lil Rambler and I play catch and throw with Jack N Box Antenna Ball....pay attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...Don't smile gloriously when husband whines he's "exhausted" from watching the kid for almost 2.5 days straight....(Buwahahahahahahaha)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...When scheduling myself the "this 40 hours in 3 days will kill you schedule" tell myself I'm stupid...no, no, tell me it's ludicrous and you (wait, isn't it I?) should be confined to a crazy home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...Be better prepared when something like my &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/hi-my-name-is-zombie-mom.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;300th post&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; came and went...WHAT..yah, it totally did!  Yeah me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...Being more prompt when thanking people like &lt;a href="http://jannabee2.blogspot.com/"&gt;Janana Bee&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.mamalocoblog.com/"&gt;Mama Loco&lt;/a&gt; for being a winner to their giveaways!!!....Janana Bee made me a kick ass CD to workout to (like 1o zillion years ago..bowing for forgiveness for my complete rudeness).  Mama Loco...oh man, you gotta check out &lt;a href="http://www.mamalocoblog.com/2009/04/100th-post-giveaway.html"&gt;what I won from her&lt;/a&gt;...If I wasn't so lame you'd be seeing photos of my Boyphone (IPhone for you newbies) with Janana Bee's playlist labeled Kick Ass Playlist....and photos of me fawning over my goodies from Mama Loco.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That will conclude today's post folks...as when I mentioned I worked 40 hours Friday to Sunday any creativity or excitement for writing was zapped when I wrote the title.  (tee hee).  This does not include Wed and Thursdays 16 hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know...eat some cheese with that &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;whine&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Rambler!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3077074030523819010?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3077074030523819010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3077074030523819010&amp;isPopup=true' title='23 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3077074030523819010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3077074030523819010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/mental-note-to-self.html' title='Mental Note to Self.....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sizipw3MCoI/AAAAAAAAAzs/Cr_6gPh6G_g/s72-c/article-1116362-030ECF39000005DC-847_468x507.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>23</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5289009283447112641</id><published>2009-06-05T02:48:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T02:48:00.698-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Hi, my name is Zombie Mom.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SikAMidDEJI/AAAAAAAAAzk/Ncn5lH5Oasg/s1600-h/bstn212l.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SikAMidDEJI/AAAAAAAAAzk/Ncn5lH5Oasg/s320/bstn212l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343802648258875538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe you are her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's the woman who slides out of bed while leaving barely an imprint of herself in the bed.  She fights with the eye boogey that  has attached itself to the top AND bottom eyelash.  And prays that the toothpaste is really toothpaste and not husband's shaving cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The eye boogey has been washed out with remnants of water and traces of toothpaste left on fingers.  Searing pain still does not wake her fully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And stumbles out of the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She dresses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She looks in mirror.  With one eye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She re-dresses as her yoga pants are on backwards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She answers the pleas of Juuucee &amp;amp; Eat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The toddler of the Zombie mother has already gotten up.  And has already lined all toys out on the floor from front door to her bedroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toddler has the energy that defeats the family of the energizer bunnies and wants Zombie mom on full attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All before a decent cup of coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know her?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5289009283447112641?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5289009283447112641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5289009283447112641&amp;isPopup=true' title='25 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5289009283447112641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5289009283447112641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/hi-my-name-is-zombie-mom.html' title='Hi, my name is Zombie Mom.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SikAMidDEJI/AAAAAAAAAzk/Ncn5lH5Oasg/s72-c/bstn212l.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>25</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5082140250812217055</id><published>2009-06-04T02:30:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-04T02:50:18.289-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursdays...#20.  Your Influential person.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SievMT17m5I/AAAAAAAAAzc/mLSVg8Jvk0c/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 218px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SievMT17m5I/AAAAAAAAAzc/mLSVg8Jvk0c/s320/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343432108918152082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So here's the moment I turn off the funny and ask the serious bone in my body to come forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week I had a client, from a local school, throw a function at my restaurant for their junior and senior students.   Their vice principal was to show up and be the "official" representative of the school to make sure the event is 'respectable' from start to finish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I went to introduce myself I was surprised to find it was someone from my past I hadn't seen in almost 15 years.  My high school counselor.  This man got me through teenage angst over lost loves, my parent's divorce, my father's death, and almost not graduating high school.  He was a rock that stood in the storm of my life at the time.  He gave me stability when I had none.  He stood and really believed in me as a person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gently he prodded and never gave up on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was one of 2 people in my educational life that had a direct impact in my believing in myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hadn't expressed my thanks properly while a senior in high school, so I gushed and told the other teachers and party go-ers NOW how special their vice principal was.   How much he had done for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really hope that he knew how important he was to me in that part of my life.  I really really hope.  I hope that he felt I had done something with myself.  Running a restaurant with about 80 employees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because if he told me then back in 1993 that one day I'd be here now, I might have never believed him.  But then again, he is part of why I can be here today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"Who has been influential in your life (not including your parents) and were you able to express gratitude for their role and what it's done for you?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5082140250812217055?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5082140250812217055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5082140250812217055&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5082140250812217055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5082140250812217055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/think-about-it-thursdays20-your.html' title='Think About It Thursdays...#20.  Your Influential person.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SievMT17m5I/AAAAAAAAAzc/mLSVg8Jvk0c/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6650523619316182234</id><published>2009-06-01T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-01T02:30:00.439-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh Dear God....B-52 Cockroach &amp; The Rambler.</title><content type='html'>Just when I was sitting here yearning for something tangible to write. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SiOKoDKk9CI/AAAAAAAAAzU/fMsePAmWyws/s1600-h/roach-image01.jpg172262cd-ca0c-44e7-b52f-193d9404f8b0Large.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SiOKoDKk9CI/AAAAAAAAAzU/fMsePAmWyws/s320/roach-image01.jpg172262cd-ca0c-44e7-b52f-193d9404f8b0Large.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342266003640611874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.hawaii411.com/articles/cockroach.asp"&gt;A B-52 Cockroach.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I say B-52, I am completely implying that they fly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:shuddering:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's hotter than a pig sweating the chopping block in Hawaii.  The trade winds have taken their own vacation.  Somewhere.  Just not in Hawaii.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Yeah, Yeah...You all are like take a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;friggin&lt;/span&gt; number Rambler.  YOUR hot?  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Puh&lt;/span&gt;-lease)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream sequence fingers back to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being hot, I had my lanai (porch) screen door open for extra air flow.  Not realizing that the mammoth of a cockroach (&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;which is extremely COMMON in Hawaii..Ask &lt;a href="http://phhhst.blogspot.com/"&gt;Pseudonymous High School Teacher&lt;/a&gt; or &lt;a href="http://tutusbliss.blogspot.com/"&gt;Tutu's Bliss&lt;/a&gt;.  Or my other local blogger pals.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;) flapped it's ugly wings into my living room.  It's movement distracted me to the point of getting uncomfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a little big girl talk with myself (and the fact that my "not talking to my husband" pride wasn't dare going to ask him for help) to get a towel and whack the crap out of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:extreme shuddering:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wildly and blindly went for the monster who took to walking on the ceiling. As I landed my first crazy whack....it took flight...for my face...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;I.freaked.the.eff.out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's still somewhere and I just might take refuge in my car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because if I don't...this might happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gSlzJU_Y3Ig&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gSlzJU_Y3Ig&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright...tell me...how many of you just &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;erched&lt;/span&gt; your back?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to go now...as I am writing this in the middle of the living room while sitting on my daughter dinner table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's safer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time one of them suckers hid in my couch while we battled a year ago and what happened in the video happened to little ole' me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think I'll kill the car battery tonight if I leave it on?  You know, for the AC?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cause if I leave the window open I can only imagine the nightmare of the shenanigans that will take place if the roach follows me to the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:shuddering intensely:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6650523619316182234?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6650523619316182234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6650523619316182234&amp;isPopup=true' title='42 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6650523619316182234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6650523619316182234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/06/oh-dear-godb-52-cockroach-rambler.html' title='Oh Dear God....B-52 Cockroach &amp; The Rambler.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SiOKoDKk9CI/AAAAAAAAAzU/fMsePAmWyws/s72-c/roach-image01.jpg172262cd-ca0c-44e7-b52f-193d9404f8b0Large.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>42</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6346830072277925630</id><published>2009-05-30T01:31:00.003-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-30T02:18:01.011-10:00</updated><title type='text'>First day back at work....after Va-kay.</title><content type='html'>Is it just me or does going back to work the first day after vacation.....SUCK ASS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Egads&lt;/span&gt;.  I know.  I said ass.  I rarely swear on this blog (for fear my grandmother will maybe one day read this blog of mine and tell me she'll come clean my mouth with soap.  It will be proof that I'm not a totally classy lady, because in real life, truck drivers got nothing on me.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Anway&lt;/span&gt;, back on point here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously.   I went back to work and felt like being there but not really "being there" (insert air hand quotation for more effect).   Like an out of body experience watching yourself do the work.  I only wish I had a margarita while watching myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Slapping my face.  Back to story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walk in and everyone has to tell me everything I've missed (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;may I just put my purse down first and look at my desk for a moment&lt;/span&gt;), and then listen to adults (&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;my staff&lt;/span&gt;)bicker (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;for God's sake people, GROW the EFF UP.  The children (ages 1-3)on my vacation played nicer together than you all and those with children know sometimes that's hard to do&lt;/span&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I'm getting too old for my job.  I really did feel like I was channeling Danny Glover from Lethal Weapon...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3x4RjHLtzp0&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3x4RjHLtzp0&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know.  Stop my whining. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just had some days off.  I should be refreshed and all rose colored happy walking into work today.  Well, I don't wanna.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Humpfh&lt;/span&gt;. (crossing my arms with major &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;pouty&lt;/span&gt; lips.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How about that!?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come back next time for Ramblers kick and scream tantrum on the ground when she stays up past her vacation bed time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I kid)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6346830072277925630?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6346830072277925630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6346830072277925630&amp;isPopup=true' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6346830072277925630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6346830072277925630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/first-day-back-at-workafter-va-kay.html' title='First day back at work....after Va-kay.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-4556738415181422021</id><published>2009-05-28T07:57:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-28T09:29:31.902-10:00</updated><title type='text'>I'mmmmm backkkkkkkk.</title><content type='html'>Yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vacation is over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I'm back to my daily life.&lt;/span&gt; (Hint that I didn't hit it big on the penny machine in Lake Tahoe)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Of eating healthy again&lt;/span&gt; (cause you &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;know&lt;/span&gt; vacation doesn't call for healthy eating...unless a chocolate chip bagel with honey cream cheese and Inn N Out Burgers are somehow on the surprise you can lose weight eating this list.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Having to help guests that were born to make me miserable when they walk into my restaurant.&lt;/span&gt;  (yes these people exist!  It was great getting to eat and spot them out and know I wouldn't have to explain why the napkin was off kelter or that the salt wasn't filled to the top.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Picking up doggy poo.&lt;/span&gt;  (and fending off &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/03/chance-encounter-with-rouge-cat-that.html"&gt;ninja cats&lt;/a&gt;.  One sat by my step welcoming me home, letting me know it knows I'm back.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;And catching up on my bloggy reading&lt;/span&gt; (and writing).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it's Thursday and I usually post the Think About It stuff but well....you understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just got back from vacation :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to the lovely &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/lovely-janana-bee-guest-post-1.html"&gt;Janana Bee&lt;/a&gt; (everything you want to know about raising boys), &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/yum-yum-mammaduckyguest-post-2.html"&gt;MammaDucky&lt;/a&gt; (a yummy recipe post),&lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/so-not-mom-licousguest-post-3.html"&gt; So Not Mom-a-licous&lt;/a&gt; (how we are going to get our two kids together), and &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/who-doesnt-want-little-muppet-soul.html"&gt;Muppet Soul&lt;/a&gt; (Men we'd do dead or alive). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Thank you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; for watching the place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-4556738415181422021?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4556738415181422021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=4556738415181422021&amp;isPopup=true' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4556738415181422021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4556738415181422021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/immmmm-backkkkkkkk.html' title='I&apos;mmmmm backkkkkkkk.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5040578348571612488</id><published>2009-05-27T02:30:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-27T02:30:00.346-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Who doesn't want a little Muppet Soul?  Guest Post #4</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Oh blog people.  Are you in for a treat today!  I don't know or understand this type of blog love crush but I have it for Muppet Soul.  And she crushes back.  If you don't know this fantabulous woman blogger you must go now.  Well after you read this post....but really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This ends my guest posting peeps.   I'll be returning back to full duty tomorrow (boo hoo).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good day, my little Ramblitas &amp;amp; itos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's guest post brought to you by &lt;a rel="nofollow" target="_blank" href="http://muppetsoul.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_0"&gt;Muppet Soul&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.  ( That's me - just thought the 3rd person would give it a sense of occasion).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miniature awkward introduction:  Hi kids!  My name is Muppet.  I'm a 27 year old writer who lives in &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_1"&gt;Los Angeles&lt;/span&gt;.  On my blog, you will find my humiliating dating history ( just-the-tip in your belly button, anyone?), photo walk-throughs of Hollywood landmarks, the occasional paranormal story, and hostility towards whatever I see fit.  I love bad weather ( was L.A. a bad choice?), public breakdowns, and Mexican hot chocolate which I can't seem to find anywhere. I keep repeating this in my guest posts - but if you are in any way muppety (covered in felt, eggs on your vocal chords, or walk with your arms moving independently of your body) we should be friends. Also?  I love Rambler.  I would like to let my hands ramble all up in her blouse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I am, depositing some secrets like a suburban family man at a whore house. Rambler and I are both old married ladies ( try not to hold this against me).  So naturally, as a guest poster, I thought we should discuss men I would like to do, marriage be damned.  Originally I was going to write "Dead men I would do, Death be damned", but decided to mix in some live ones as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:6;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;10 Men I would Do, Marriage Be Damned (In Random Order)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;1.  &lt;span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_2"&gt;River Phoenix&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht7EyfjLNI/AAAAAAAAAyE/VJtN4N7MEDY/s1600-h/RP.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 282px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht7EyfjLNI/AAAAAAAAAyE/VJtN4N7MEDY/s320/RP.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339997105381649618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's start with a dead one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know what you're thinking - the fact that he's been dead for 15 years might make a tryst slightly problematic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, as those-who-read-my-blog know, River Phoenix, in my mind, is the pinnacle of hotness, the Buddha-of-Hotness, the hot little hippie all hot-dead celebrities should strive to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my fantasy, I am 15, 16...  Old enough to be a little whorish, young enough to be a virgin. (Okay, maybe 14). I meet him, somehow, on the set of &lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_3"&gt;Stand by Me&lt;/span&gt; ( come to think of it I don't think there are any ladies, much less muppety-ones in that movie, but say I'm the one lady-extra).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He woos me.. He compliments me...  He brushes the hair out of his face repeatedly just so I can watch, we openly mock &lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_4"&gt;Corey Feldman&lt;/span&gt; together.  He insists on taking my virginity, and after brilliantly acting like there's something to contemplate, I oblige.  He throws me down in the grass somewhere, and I let all of him flow through me like a.. well, you know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This provides me with a much better virginity story than "I was watching Silence of the Lambs in some basement, and he had trouble getting it up and blamed it on the Salsa".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.   &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_5"&gt;Brad Pitt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht8n-ci_vI/AAAAAAAAAyM/RXACNoko6tU/s1600-h/BP.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 302px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht8n-ci_vI/AAAAAAAAAyM/RXACNoko6tU/s320/BP.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339998809397329650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An oldie, but a goodie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fantasy must be pre-Jennifer Aniston, because who wants that sort of tabloid trouble.. Also, in the fantasy, I'm just as pretty as he is, because who wants that sort of blow to the ego...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're spies in some south-american country... Some sort of gang war or government revolt breaks out, and we pretend to be husband and wife to avoid further questions as to why we are in this colorful country to begin with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We end up sharing a bottle of Tequila in a rundown cafe, and long after the cafe has closed and the rain has started pouring down, I straddle him on a chair, mercilessly kissing and humping him.  But, you know, sexy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually that's a scene from &lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_6"&gt;Mr. &amp;amp; Mrs. Smith&lt;/span&gt;, but still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;3.  &lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_7"&gt;Angelina Jolie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht83Ar7KII/AAAAAAAAAyU/A0BUvSFZosw/s1600-h/AJ.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 278px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht83Ar7KII/AAAAAAAAAyU/A0BUvSFZosw/s320/AJ.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339999067696736386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So she's not a man, screw you, it's my list and you know she'd be on yours, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Angelina decides, that despite her Mommy status, she is going to return to her weird-roots, and rejuvenate herself as the strange, slightly-dark Angelina.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She tells the ever-understanding-Brad that she cannot take the confines of being a monogamous heterosexual, and needs to appoint a girlfriend...  When he asks who, she insists on a weird-little-muppety-writer.  I get the weird-and-pouty Angelina while Brad babysits.  She carries my blood around her neck and pouts wherever she goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;4.  Steve from &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_8"&gt;Ghost Hunters&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht9DUbALVI/AAAAAAAAAyc/oj5FcJJ0fSE/s1600-h/Steve.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht9DUbALVI/AAAAAAAAAyc/oj5FcJJ0fSE/s320/Steve.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339999279152901458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All together now - who??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Steve is my T.V. husband.  He's this lovely man on this lovely show on Sci Fi, Ghost Hunters.  He's an ex-cop who's a paranormal investigator, and gives personal-interviews with the egotistical manner &amp;amp; seriousness of a hardened politician.  He's covered in tattoos, and is afraid of everything (flying, bugs, heights, etc. etc. etc.) and quivers at the thought of anything but ghosts.  He's not the hottest guy in the world, but something about him has Muppety appeal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my fantasy, he insists I come along to all haunted locations, and when they're not filming we sneak off to weird places and he talks dirty to me about ectoplasm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(My friend who works on the show insists that he's slightly dickish, and to not laminate my list if he's on it... I want proof!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;5.  &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_9"&gt;Johnny Depp&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht9QUnauGI/AAAAAAAAAyk/hi0jP59kORQ/s1600-h/JD.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 243px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht9QUnauGI/AAAAAAAAAyk/hi0jP59kORQ/s320/JD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339999502543272034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another classic, a &lt;i&gt;forever&lt;/i&gt;-kind-of-love.  In my fantasy, he does me anywhere and everywhere, in his &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_10"&gt;Jack Sparrow costume&lt;/span&gt; and saying weird things to me in french.  Afterward, he would roll me a cigarette.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  &lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_11"&gt;Matthew Perry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht9bUoRAEI/AAAAAAAAAys/aUnzmBnAbsQ/s1600-h/MP.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 312px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht9bUoRAEI/AAAAAAAAAys/aUnzmBnAbsQ/s320/MP.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339999691525390402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it's a little weird.  And to tell you the truth, I don't know if I really want to have sex with &lt;i&gt;Matthew Perry&lt;/i&gt; - I think it's more that I would like to have sex with &lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_12"&gt;Chandler Bing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;.  The man makes me giggle in a non-threatening way and I have a funny &lt;b&gt;FETISH&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If it were Matthew Perry.. Let's see... It's 2002 or so, and I accompany Brad Pitt when he guest stars on the show ( because, you know, after our South American affair, we're still friends).  Mr. Perry slips me a note, and I go to his dressing room.  He could not BE any more naked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if we're talking Chandler Bing, I guess in the fantasy, I'm Monica.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;7.  &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_13"&gt;Jordan Catalano&lt;/span&gt;... err, I mean...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht9spEqGHI/AAAAAAAAAy0/e6_WkpyOQLc/s1600-h/JL.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 237px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht9spEqGHI/AAAAAAAAAy0/e6_WkpyOQLc/s320/JL.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339999989070960754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While we're on the subject of characters-more-than-actors...I realize &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_14"&gt;Jared Leto&lt;/span&gt; is gorgeous, but Jordan Catalano is the stuff of &lt;i&gt;DREAMS&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to be Angela Chase... I want to stalk Jordan Catalano in the halls of a Pennsylvania High School... I want to watch him lean against things, sigh dramatically, and take ten minutes to string together a sentence..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, in front of Rayanne, Ricky, Brian, and the whole damn school, I want him to walk down the hall towards me - in slow motion - and take my hand.  And if I'm operating Angela Chase, here, I WOULD give him my virginity ( or at least omit the fact that River Phoenix had already taken it).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;8.  &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_15"&gt;Matt Damon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht96s8lgeI/AAAAAAAAAy8/win-I8jdz5E/s1600-h/MD.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht96s8lgeI/AAAAAAAAAy8/win-I8jdz5E/s320/MD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340000230629016034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Circa &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_16"&gt;Good Will Hunting&lt;/span&gt;.  It would not be an act of good will to give him a good humping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;9.  &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_17"&gt;Leonardo Dicaprio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht-I60WNOI/AAAAAAAAAzE/ivqABduvoMw/s1600-h/LD.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 312px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht-I60WNOI/AAAAAAAAAzE/ivqABduvoMw/s320/LD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340000474870723810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Frankly, I think he's a bit of a douche bag...  I loathe men who date models exclusively..  This is not a good indicator that he has an actual personality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the pre-douche Leo, the Leo of "&lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_18"&gt;Romeo &amp;amp; Juliet&lt;/span&gt;"..  The Leo with the hair in his face, the Leo who could fall in love with a &lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_19"&gt;Claire Danes&lt;/span&gt; (&lt;i&gt;damn&lt;/i&gt; her - she was &lt;i&gt;ridiculously&lt;/i&gt; lucky for awhile there)...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would wash his hair, then I'd devour him.  Maybe gnaw off an earlobe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;10.  Vince Vaughn/Will Ferrell/Steve Carell&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht-W4hLYzI/AAAAAAAAAzM/SDoRARCZRZw/s1600-h/SC.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 236px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht-W4hLYzI/AAAAAAAAAzM/SDoRARCZRZw/s320/SC.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340000714771620658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I said, I have a funny-fetish... And since neither of these men particularly stand out as way-more-hot-than the other, let's just do them all, shall we?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow, all three would insist that I was the love of their lives (and 2/3 would leave their wives).  I would not be able to choose between them - like that episode of &lt;span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_20"&gt;Golden Girls&lt;/span&gt; where Dorothy (sob) can't decide between &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_21"&gt;Lyle Waggoner&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1242603885_22"&gt;Sonny Bono&lt;/span&gt;.  Rather than lose me to another man, they all begin to woo me mercilessly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vince is a non-stop comedy routine, Will dirty talks me like that filfthy professor character, and Steve, oh Steve - Steve dances.  Eventually they all agree to a four-way, and in the end, I choose... Oh hell, who do I choose?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that, kids, is my list of men I would do despite being happily married.  Maybe my husband could video tape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take care of my Rambler, or I'll take out my sexual-celebrity-fantasies on your leg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5040578348571612488?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5040578348571612488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5040578348571612488&amp;isPopup=true' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5040578348571612488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5040578348571612488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/who-doesnt-want-little-muppet-soul.html' title='Who doesn&apos;t want a little Muppet Soul?  Guest Post #4'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sht7EyfjLNI/AAAAAAAAAyE/VJtN4N7MEDY/s72-c/RP.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5892878548587173791</id><published>2009-05-26T02:30:00.003-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-26T02:30:00.174-10:00</updated><title type='text'>So Not Mom-a-licous....Guest Post #3</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Welcome friends to the third installment of my guest posting while on vacation.  I'm hoping you all had a lovely Memorial Day Weekend!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stalked Mom-a-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;licous&lt;/span&gt; until she HAD to come over and friend me.  We decided we were very much alike and promised forever friendships.  (well, I did anyway....still waiting for her to to check the box yes).  Please enjoy this hilariously awesome lady today.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey everybody! When The Rambler asked me to guest post, I was so excited! No one has ever asked me to do something of this magnitude. I mean a chance to &lt;a href="http://sonothotmama.blogspot.com/"&gt;whore my blog out&lt;/a&gt; on another person's blog?! And one with such a great following. Awesome about sums it up for me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, at first, I wasn't in the least bit nervous because it wouldn't be my fault if I bombed. Well, even if it was my fault she was the one who asked, right? I wondered if I should &lt;a href="http://sonothotmama.blogspot.com/2009/04/even-in-this-economy-apparently-hobos.html"&gt;talk&lt;/a&gt; about &lt;a href="http://sonothotmama.blogspot.com/2009/04/dear-insert-person-place-or-thing-here.html"&gt;things&lt;/a&gt; that I &lt;a href="http://sonothotmama.blogspot.com/2009/03/be-on-look-out-for.html"&gt;talk&lt;/a&gt; about on &lt;a href="http://sonothotmama.blogspot.com/"&gt;my blog&lt;/a&gt;. (Isn't that like great product placement? I know, that's what I was thinking! Seriously though, some of them are funny posts. Kind of.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then I started thinking about what I was going to write. And my deadline began to approach fast. I started to get a little nervous while I racked my brain about what topics to write about. I thought about asking her, but the reason she wanted a guest poster was so &lt;em&gt;she&lt;/em&gt; didn't have to think about that part!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the anxiety started kicking in and when I get anxious I tend to talk very fast and in very long run on sentences where it seems like I never come up for air until I literally can't breathe anymore at which point I might stop to gasp for a small breath but only in order to finish the one long continuous thought I was trying to get across. Yeah, kind of like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I figured I would talk about how awesome The Rambler is. I know we all know this, but I mean it genuinely. Every time I think of her, I always picture her smiling. Never in a bad mood. And on top of being funny, she always has such nice things to say and such great words of encouragement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then I realized that I think we already know all of her qualities and how she can't handle cat attacks and how all the boys she works with are obsessed with b0Obs. So I figured I would maybe start going into how Lil' Rambler is just adorable. And her and my son, The Kid, are very close in age. As mothers, we can relate to so much on so many levels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, as I was thinking about how charming our two children are, I started thinking about what it would be like if someday they met. Maybe my family would be on vacation in Hawaii, and we would eat at The Rambler's restaurant. Somehow, The Rambler and I would recognize each other. We'd introduce our kids. They'd fall in love. Next thing you know I have a timeshare in Hawaii that has The Rambler's address.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started picturing how adorable my grandchildren would be. The Kid's blue eyes, Lil' Rambler's curly locks. I was going to morph their two little pictures together to see what my future grandchildren would look like. *sigh* They would be &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ramb&lt;/span&gt;-a-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;licious&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. Heavenly. We could plan summer and holiday vacations together. I've always wanted to visit Hawaii. Now I could maybe live there!  &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;sidenote&lt;/span&gt; from Rambler..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;How SICK is that?  the good hip kind of sick....&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Ramb&lt;/span&gt;-a-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;licious&lt;/span&gt;!!!  I love her)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Then I realized that there was a possibility that this could all boarder on stalking charges. Not that I can drop everything in a minute to jump on a plane to fly to Hawaii to show up at her restaurant just to meet her. But stranger things have happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Rambler can I have another week to think about a really good topic to write about? Just let me know!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: 0px none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/150/B8C5F3ADEEC77BE70763413BC2FB1917.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Ahhh&lt;/span&gt;, how I heart thee.  Forever yours Mom.  Forever yours.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5892878548587173791?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5892878548587173791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5892878548587173791&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5892878548587173791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5892878548587173791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/so-not-mom-licousguest-post-3.html' title='So Not Mom-a-licous....Guest Post #3'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2836771916197019680</id><published>2009-05-22T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T02:30:00.173-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Yum Yum MammaDucky...Guest Post #2</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;What can I NOT say about Mammaducky?  Like Janana BEE we've been bloggy pals for a while now.  That almost feels like eternity in bloggy time.  MD is absolutely a talented, witty, can cook, hysterical, mean mommy fighting chica who I'm blessed to know.  I knew instantly what I wanted from her.  As this blog will never have a HOW TO COOK THIS post it was obvious I would beg her for one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read on friends, and let your tummies rumble from the yumminess of it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, I need to say how incredibly honored I am that our friend, The Rambler, asked me to do a guest post while she is away. Friggen awesome! I giggled like a little school girl when she asked me. I then proceeded to obsess about which recipe I would post. So many options! So many people to impress! I narrowed it down to two different pies: banana split pie or caramel apple pie. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I chose this one&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336569561515122578" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 400px; height: 266px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgVyMi0HeVk/Sg9NvelFX5I/AAAAAAAABAM/pJa0PNqbogo/s400/banana+split+pie+008.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Don't worry kids, check my blog in the very near future for the other recipe!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;This pie is &lt;em&gt;SUPER&lt;/em&gt; easy and friggen yummy. It never fails to impress at BBQs or other gatherings. How 'bout y'all bring this bad boy to your Memorial Day soirees!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Ok, here we go.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Run out and getcha some:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;1 Graham cracker pie crust&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;1 pkg cream cheese, softened (you can limit the fat content by choosing low fat or fat free cream cheese, but where is the fun in that?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;1/2 Cup sugar&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;2-3 bananas, sliced on the diagonal&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;1/2 can crushed pineapple, drained&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;small container of cool whip&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Maraschino cherries&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;pecans/peanuts/walnuts/no nuts ;)&lt;br /&gt;Hershey's syrup&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Beat the cream cheese and sugar in a small bowl. GENTLY spread the cream cheese mixture into the pie crust. Layer the sliced bananas on top of that, &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336569550583285730" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 400px; height: 266px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgVyMi0HeVk/Sg9Nu12ux-I/AAAAAAAAA_8/EoT6j6CqMlI/s400/banana+split+pie+005.jpg" border="0" /&gt;followed by the pineapple. Spread Cool Whip on top.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;On a paper towel, drain the cherries. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336569557349084290" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 400px; height: 266px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgVyMi0HeVk/Sg9NvPD0rII/AAAAAAAABAE/Hkdi714z1sc/s400/banana+split+pie+006.jpg" border="0" /&gt;Do not skip this step or your pie will look, ummm, interesting when those cherries start to bleed their juice everywhere. Plop the cherries on top, use as many as you fancy. Sprinkle the nuts on, or skip the nuts all together. Drizzle the chocolate syrup on top of the whole thing and you're done...no seriously, that's it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;See man, I told you it was &lt;em&gt;easy&lt;/em&gt;. Easy as pie, if you will. &lt;em&gt;ZING!!!&lt;/em&gt; Man I'm funny. Maybe not.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336569550539269874" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 400px; height: 266px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgVyMi0HeVk/Sg9Nu1sPJvI/AAAAAAAAA_0/XoOq2HPl0Xo/s400/banana+split+pie+009.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;**Side note** If you're going to a bigger event, or you just feel like you need MORE of this tasty treat you can crush 2 sleeves of graham crackers, mix that up with 1 stick of melted butter and press it into a 9 x 13 pan. Then just double everything else in the recipe and you're good to go.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Enjoy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: 0px none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/40/4F52BB4C92328B2C6D78B573FA3816E0.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;That seems easy.  But around these Rambler parts easy and cooking/baking don't come easy.  Oh Mammaducky if I could only live next door.  I'd eat like a queen.  Cause you KNOW me and Team Rambler would be knocking at your back door for meals :)  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2836771916197019680?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2836771916197019680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2836771916197019680&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2836771916197019680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2836771916197019680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/yum-yum-mammaduckyguest-post-2.html' title='Yum Yum MammaDucky...Guest Post #2'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgVyMi0HeVk/Sg9NvelFX5I/AAAAAAAABAM/pJa0PNqbogo/s72-c/banana+split+pie+008.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5442349839153798660</id><published>2009-05-21T02:30:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T02:30:01.245-10:00</updated><title type='text'>The Lovely Janana Bee.  Guest Post #1</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Aloha Bloggy pals.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Welcome to 1 of 4 guest posts being done while I Va-kay somewhere else.  &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in Hawaii.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do I want to go anywhere else for Va-kay?  &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Even an island girls needs too see the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Janna and I have been reading each other since I started back up last year.  You can't NOT love this woman.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;It's like having a long time friend around who really 'knows' me and my blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So without further adieu...The first lovely lady to grace your eyes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the Rambler asked me to write a post for her while she vacationed in California, I was shocked. Not because she asked me to post for her, but she lives in Hawaii and she's vacationing in California? Why? (I kid, I kid.) I was genuinely honored to be asked, and the Rambler is one of my favorite bloggers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So because many of you do not know me, let me introduce myself. My name is &lt;a href="http://jannabee2.blogspot.com/"&gt;Janna&lt;/a&gt;, and I live in a house filled with testosterone. In my household we have two little boys and my husband, and then little old me. I grew up in a female centric house and worked at female centric jobs all my life, and so the male species has always been somewhat of an enigma to me. My oldest is four years old, and I am just now starting to get the hang of living in a house full of boys. As I am such an expert- (yeah right)- let me tell you what I have learned over the years:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Toys!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No matter how many toys you have, you can never have enough balls. Make sure to get as many balls in as many sizes as you can. This goes for trucks as well. You must also own one lawnmower for each child in the house. When your children's father and your son(s) start ganging up on you to invest in a riding lawn mower, feign deafness. Or ignore. And repeat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Wiggly, Slimy, Creepy-Crawly Stuff!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Worms. Get to know them, love them, and understand one day, even in Michigan in January you might find that your son has filled his coat pockets with the slimy things. (True story. I shudder just remembering it!) Also be prepared for your child to be fascinated by spiders, ants, and any other insect that you find disgusting!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a title="Sack of worms by shygantic, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/shygantic/3427380492/"&gt;&lt;img alt="Sack of worms" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3619/3427380492_71dd586211.jpg" width="400" height="275" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Photo by &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/shygantic/3427380492/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Shygantic&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Potty Time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;When removing your infant boy's diaper, take it off, and then put it back on quickly, unless you want to be showered in pee. I know you have probably heard this one before, but the moment you get complacent and forget to is the moment they decide to shower you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once it is&lt;strong&gt; finally&lt;/strong&gt; time to potty train your son, resign yourself to the fact that boys are hard to potty train and your son might wear diapers until he's five. Then, when he potty trains sooner than that, you will feel like &lt;s&gt;you are&lt;/s&gt; he is a genius. Once your son is potty trained, scrub around your toilet often. I think you all KNOW what I am talking about!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Side note: Hide your feminine products, otherwise they might become craft projects/science experiments/nose plugs.) &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Other Child- i.e., The Father!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot forget to mention the other &lt;s&gt;little boy&lt;/s&gt; man in your life. He becomes quite  the helper immediately after your son is born. He makes sure everything looks right "down there", you know, in case the doctor misses anything. Once the child is "much older" (about 3 months) also makes sure to inform his son of &lt;s&gt;all the important things in life&lt;/s&gt; sports.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If your son has no interest in sports, remind your partner of all the cool interests he has (trucks, for example) and tell your partner not to worry, he will be interested in sports later on in life. And then pray. Or have another boy, and pray he is interested in sports. I am thankful for my youngest son for having an early interest in all sports, and thankful that I  have my oldest son who also thinks (like me) that hockey games are boring as h-e-double hockey sticks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Those Awkward Conversations!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As far as the sex talk, breathe a sigh of relief that you are not in charge of the birds and the bees story- leave that up to the Father. Your excuse for not helping with this: "it makes more sense to have you talk about it, because you are a guy".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, understand that at one point &lt;em&gt;you &lt;/em&gt;will have to have a weird discussion about breasts and nipples that you never wanted to have. Just do your best to trudge through it and then wipe it from your memory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Good, Bad and the Ugly&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At some point you will think that your son is perfect and he will never meet anyone that will get him and be special enough for him. Stop that, otherwise you might become THAT Mother when you are older, that overprotective Mother-in-law that drives your son's partner crazy. Try to remind yourself that you're son is not as perfect as you think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Side note: If you possess the ability, make sure to teach your son to cook. His partner will thank you for it.) &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Most Importantly...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feel lucky that you have a little boy, because the stories are true- Mommies and their boys have a special bond, one that is different from Mommies and daughters. Little boys are incredibly sweet when they want to be. (Also be glad that you never have to suffer the teenage years with a daughter.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There you have it. My insights into the "masculine mystique". I'm sure you learned a lot. You can thank me later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Please.  Go stop by &lt;a href="http://jannabee2.blogspot.com/"&gt;her place&lt;/a&gt; today.  Show some love love love. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Mrs. BEE.  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;YOU ROCK!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5442349839153798660?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5442349839153798660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5442349839153798660&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5442349839153798660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5442349839153798660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/lovely-janana-bee-guest-post-1.html' title='The Lovely Janana Bee.  Guest Post #1'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3619/3427380492_71dd586211_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-8697240967480253621</id><published>2009-05-19T02:30:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T02:30:00.974-10:00</updated><title type='text'>V to the A to the KAY baby....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/ShJeun6V6cI/AAAAAAAAAx8/FpUd3p8xcjA/s1600-h/ist2_841836-vacation-time.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/ShJeun6V6cI/AAAAAAAAAx8/FpUd3p8xcjA/s320/ist2_841836-vacation-time.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337432663468140994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's right bloggy pals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's MY turn to go on vacation and leave the islands most people want to come to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where does one go ,I often get, if you live in Hawaii? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some joke that Las Vegas is Hawaii's 8th island.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorta going close to there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lake Tahoe, Nevada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be putting some pennies in a slot machine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe going large by putting down a dollar at one time in the quarter machine (I know, I know...don't go crazy right? :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all that small time casino stuff, Team Rambler and Extended Team Rambler (along with sister &lt;a href="http://antibloggedy.blogspot.com/"&gt;Anti-bloggedy&lt;/a&gt;) will be traveling to San Francisco to visit with Grandpa/ma Rambler and attend a high school graduation for the youngest cousin. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This will not leave me time for much blogging, reading, commenting.  But don't you worry my friends. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FOUR fantastically fabulous ladies will be holding the fort down while I'm gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://jannabee2.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Janana Bee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Secret life of the Bees&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://princessesandpickles.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;MammaDucky @ Princess &amp;amp; Pickles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(A recipe post...and lord knows we haven't seen one of THOSE around here.  Can we say meal in a box anyone?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://sonothotmama.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;So Not Mama-Licious&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://muppetsoul.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Muppet Soul&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank YOU ladies!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;Okay.  I'm lying if I say I won't check this at all.  I'll poke my head in here just to make sure everyone's playing nice :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-8697240967480253621?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/8697240967480253621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=8697240967480253621&amp;isPopup=true' title='34 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/8697240967480253621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/8697240967480253621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/v-to-a-to-kay-baby.html' title='V to the A to the KAY baby....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/ShJeun6V6cI/AAAAAAAAAx8/FpUd3p8xcjA/s72-c/ist2_841836-vacation-time.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>34</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5361913868507661535</id><published>2009-05-18T02:30:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T02:30:01.204-10:00</updated><title type='text'>House hunting blues....Beyond strike threes.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/ShEfyo83KlI/AAAAAAAAAx0/ffth25OxCcE/s1600-h/UglyHouse.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 207px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/ShEfyo83KlI/AAAAAAAAAx0/ffth25OxCcE/s320/UglyHouse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337081988257360466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where do I start?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's pretty much the standard dream.  A girl wistfully dreams of growing up and meeting Prince Rambler and hopefully owning a castle with a 2 car garage and a white picket fence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paradise is an expensive place to live.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when I found a place that seemed to good to be true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the short story of my first visit to a home to possibly purchase.  EVER.  Where I want to put a pretty serious amount of moola in front of you to let me take YOUR home away from you.  So it can be MINE.  (When I say serious.  I just mean my serious.  More than I've ever spent.  Some of you may scoff at it's littleness.  BUT HEY.  Rant over.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shall we begin?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I just say that when the Realtor shows up AFTER you for their open house, this may not lead to a good start.  We weren't even early?  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;Strike one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then you walk in and the first steps you smell is a house that might have not seen fresh air in days.  Maybe weeks.  &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Strike two.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The carpets could HAVE been vacuumed at least for goodness sakes.  It would have slightly helped the fact that the carpet was stained every color of the rainbow throughout the home.  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;Strike three.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The place was obviously home to a family with small children.  But would it have hurt to wipe the crayon/pen marks EVERYWHERE.  I mean, I have a kid but I think if I really NEEDED to sell my house I'd have tried to repaint over it or gave it a courtesy wipe.  An attempt.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Something&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Strike Four.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I mention it was HOT in there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you asking WHY I made it that far and didn't walk out?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I became curious how much more the people didn't do and that this place needed to be sold??  How do you convince someone to purchase this home if you show it like this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The garage was packed with crap.  You couldn't put a motorcycle in it if you tried.  This 'area' always was the laundry room area.  You could open the dryer but what good is it if you can't even get to the washer?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How the hell do these people live like that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My uncle/realtor, husband and I thanked the realtor for his time and walked quietly to the car.  As soon as the car door was closed I said I'd rather drive 2 hours further then live in that craphole. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't the concept.  I sell, I make product pretty for sale, you come, you like, you buy?  Or at least give them visuals for potential?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow.  Pictures can be deceiving when your looking at them on a website.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off to hunting, again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waiting for prices to go down, fingers crossed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoping seven dwarfs will come my way and ask me and the rest of Team Rambler to move in to their spare 3 bedroom/2 bath townhouse for free and all we gotta do is clean the main house while they heigh ho to work?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A girl can dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5361913868507661535?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5361913868507661535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5361913868507661535&amp;isPopup=true' title='25 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5361913868507661535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5361913868507661535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/house-hunting-bluesbeyond-strike-threes.html' title='House hunting blues....Beyond strike threes.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/ShEfyo83KlI/AAAAAAAAAx0/ffth25OxCcE/s72-c/UglyHouse.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>25</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-4641498617864788905</id><published>2009-05-15T01:38:00.005-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T02:10:54.939-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Good times to be had....a little risque from the Rambler</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sg1bb8uOFoI/AAAAAAAAAxs/K9eam8igozM/s1600-h/SuperStock_1613R-17463.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sg1bb8uOFoI/AAAAAAAAAxs/K9eam8igozM/s320/SuperStock_1613R-17463.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336021669218489986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THIS made my entire night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple was fighting in my outside cafe.  The server had just put in their dinner order and was told by the host that she thought a table abruptly left.  The server realizing it was just the one she rang in runs up to the kitchen to cancel the order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While she's gone my bartender's table mentioned to her what the fight had been about and said how it ended.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No sheeshing you here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guest said...&lt;br /&gt;"Uh Someone just stood up and said...'Your not doing it up my ass anymore? I hate you!' and uh stormed off."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Record screeching in your head?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(No they didn't!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CAN YOU IMAGINE?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eating innocently and this is said/screamed/cried by the neighboring table while arguing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would have choked on my food.  Or at least snorted out my sodie pop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You couldn't yell...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You don't LOVE me anymore!  I hate you"???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I suppose we can rest assure that someone ISN'T putting it up someones butt!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a great weekend all!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-4641498617864788905?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4641498617864788905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=4641498617864788905&amp;isPopup=true' title='28 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4641498617864788905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4641498617864788905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/good-times-to-be-hada-little-risque.html' title='Good times to be had....a little risque from the Rambler'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sg1bb8uOFoI/AAAAAAAAAxs/K9eam8igozM/s72-c/SuperStock_1613R-17463.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>28</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-9105615410536413431</id><published>2009-05-14T02:34:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-14T02:34:01.746-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursdays #19...What one thing would you tell YOU?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgwHN6MwOcI/AAAAAAAAAxk/TNP0JnHuKao/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 273px; height: 278px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgwHN6MwOcI/AAAAAAAAAxk/TNP0JnHuKao/s320/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335647594069637570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;You know what time it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lets recap some comments from last week's &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/think-about-it-thursdays-18face.html"&gt;Face Transplant Question&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c7951094756443978060"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/04917205938616862137" rel="nofollow"&gt;hotpants™&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd style="font-style: italic;" class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;First of all, I'm an organ donor. It would be hard to see the face of someone I love on someone else, but I'd be ok with it knowing it could save someone else's life, figuratively speaking. If I needed a face transplant, I'd certainly consider it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That lady's husband should be rotting in jail for the rest of his life. Grrr!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;I'm also an organ donor but never thought my face would be something someone would get.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;If I'm not alive, what do I need it for?  So all yours....future someone who might need a face.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c4697746549945742716"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/08196659868145753196" rel="nofollow"&gt;MammaDucky&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd style="font-style: italic;" class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;WHAT?!  He only got seven years?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Note to self: look up that douche bag's address*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would imagine this will make her life SOOO much easier.  Still difficult, but easier.&lt;br /&gt;As for the donor family I would hope that they are pleased that their loved one's passing was able to give this woman a second chance. Plus, it's not like she's going to LOOK like the donor. Well, at least that's what I've gathered.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Right.  Seven Years?  WTF!  I was wondering about how much the face still 'looks' like it's original 'owner'.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/18306834145036082976" rel="nofollow"&gt;Saskia&lt;/a&gt; said...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Identity is so much to do with what we look like, but it shouldn't be. It's what's inside each of us that makes us who we are. That lady with the face transplant will still see out of the same eyes as before. &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I could go through with a face transplant and I would be happy if any of my family donated their face to help someone after their death. I am on the organ donor list. My husband does not share my view that my body is just my shell.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;What a thought-provoking topic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I agree with your view on identity.  I think this is why I had such a conundrum going on in my noggin on how I really felt about this.  But in the end...YOU are correct.  We shall always look through our same eyes.  With  a deeper sense of self.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c6125951499167007125"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/03103910877999336255" rel="nofollow"&gt;Kalei&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd style="font-style: italic;" class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;The lady said she "forgave him" also. Then they asked what she felt about him getting out in 7 years..."lets not go there".....That guy deserves to be shot in the pee pee hole then be offered a spot on the pee pee transplant list, just to be told "I'm sorry, but not one man is willing to donate THAT organ.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/dd&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Couldn't have said this better myself!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight this question was a topic around closing time at Ramblers work.  And I just knew I wanted it to be OUR topic to this weeks Think About It Question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"If you could pick a childhood age &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(infant - 18) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;you could go back to and give yourself ONE bit of advice, what AGE and what's your ONE bit of wisdom you want to tell yourself?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-9105615410536413431?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/9105615410536413431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=9105615410536413431&amp;isPopup=true' title='22 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/9105615410536413431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/9105615410536413431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/think-about-it-thursdays-19what-one.html' title='Think About It Thursdays #19...What one thing would you tell YOU?'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgwHN6MwOcI/AAAAAAAAAxk/TNP0JnHuKao/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>22</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-7609514577077953792</id><published>2009-05-13T01:05:00.004-10:00</published><updated>2009-06-20T00:49:45.722-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Me and Honesty...having a moment.</title><content type='html'>I know why I've been the way I've been in bloggy land.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know.  Absent.  Lame to zero posts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to spill it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So bear with me.  Make sure you take a shot of your favorite liquid before you continue reading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you get it yet?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ready?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember a couple posts back I asked you to pray for &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/04/lookingwaitingthinking.html"&gt;some strength for me and a pal?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met with a friend after work one night and we had the "heavy" talk.  Which resulted in my pal asking me to help him call his parents (who I don't know)and break the ice for them that he was an alcoholic and he didn't know how to ask them for help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if I didn't do it, I'm not sure he would have found the strength and courage to make that first step.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because as a mother, I can only hope someone will reach out to my child if she needed help and would have the" no doubt about it lets call and do this together" thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Making &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;THAT&lt;/span&gt; call was the absolute hardest thing I've done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I introduced myself to his mother via cell phone (me in Hawaii, her somewhere in the Midwest), I explained the nature of my call, we cried, (mental note: be strong), I listened, she listened, she planned, , we exchanged any and all numbers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we hung up.  I cried and cried and cried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at my child and cried more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got a message from his father hours later telling me I did a good thing and he was glad I made the call for them.....I cried more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was mentally exhausted.  My mind raced and raced and wondered how the following days would transpire.  I don't understand why I cried as much as I did.  But when you hear the pain in another mothers voice for her love, worry and concern for her child, it's hard not too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been going.  Not exactly the way his mother or I would like, but I hope hope hope he continues on the path he started on and stays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To top the cake of my mental state my husband and I hadn't been getting along.  It was wearing on me.  I questioned a lot, I yearned for things from him that I couldn't get through our wall we had been slowly building.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not to be left out, work has been adding it's two cents toward my senility.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, I've been not myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things works itself out.  Or at least you see the light and make the trek toward it with faith and determination.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend has been doing okay.  He's gotten support from people he hadn't expected.  He realized he needs therapy because he is depressed and overwhelmed with 'growing up' and making the adults in his life happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband and I, after a very nasty email sent by myself, chiseled a bit of the wall and we have been moving forward instead of me standing in his crap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work...well....it's work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Small steps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm climbing out of the trenches and back in the blog saddle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;"&gt;THANK YOU&lt;/span&gt; all that read me when I'm funny, when I'm not, and all that in between.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And to my &lt;/span&gt;BFF&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;.  Thank you for just always (times infinity) listening.  I heart you always.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-7609514577077953792?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/7609514577077953792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=7609514577077953792&amp;isPopup=true' title='34 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/7609514577077953792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/7609514577077953792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/me-and-honestyhaving-moment.html' title='Me and Honesty...having a moment.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>34</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3089498736477484560</id><published>2009-05-11T02:00:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T02:00:00.966-10:00</updated><title type='text'>It's about time I answer some of these....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I don't know what it is, but I can't sit down and write a decent post to save my life.  Maybe I'm itching for my vacation and I can't focus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started two different topics tonight and usually somethings always gets me going and I feel really good about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But no.  Not tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started searching the draft section of my blog.  And found one that said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do me, right here....I've been waiting....come on, over here...that's right...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ahhhhhh&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahem, so back in &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;March&lt;/span&gt; I asked my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;bloggy&lt;/span&gt; pals to ask me anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://ladywithaview.blogspot.com/"&gt;Lady With a View &lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;asked:&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;em style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Do you believe a woman's coffee is a direct reflection of the complexity of her personality? For example - let's say you are behind a woman who wants a a "Iced Single &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Vente&lt;/span&gt;, 7 pump Peppermint, Caramel Sauce Top and Bottom, Light Ice, No whip, Mocha" - do you judge her by this? What do you think of women who only add a little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;sweetner&lt;/span&gt; to their coffee? Are they simplistic? As a tag-a-long question - how complicated is your coffee and can you draw any correlation between it and your personality?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**This is the most random subject that I could think of and is inspired only by the fact that it is 7:50AM here and I just finished my coffee**&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Mmmmmm&lt;/span&gt;.....Lady you know me so well.  And I'll tell you.  I have NO problem with the ones that stand in line that say:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Grande&lt;/span&gt; no hotter then 150 degrees but no less then 140.  Skim milk (must be have expiration date not within 7 days of today) added after stewing the espresso in the cup for 10 seconds, 1/2 pump of Sugar-Free Vanilla, 1/4 pump Sugar Free &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Dulce&lt;/span&gt; Luce and 1/4 pump Sugar Free Mocha.  Leave 1 inch at the top."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Grande&lt;/span&gt; Espresso Truffle HOT with Whip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eh, I'm a bit of a simple girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ONLY time I'll judge someone in the Starbucks coffee line is when they don't know what the hell their ordering....Move over.  Read my rules before you stand in line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Side note&lt;/span&gt;:  My dear Lady With a View is no longer 'around' but I know she'll be back one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt style="font-weight: bold;" class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c8916040717662004730"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www2.blogger.com/profile/09282939278824959005" rel="nofollow"&gt;Shorty&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;What to ask you....&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;hmmm&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt;, how bout this one... what is your biggest weakness? Not food or drink items, but an actual habit or vice that makes you feel horribly guilty each time you do or don't do whatever that weakness is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you tell I'm hoping you'll have the same weakness as me so that I'll feel better about myself??? &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Guilted&lt;/span&gt; misery &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;lovin&lt;/span&gt;' some company....&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;So I'm gonna say that my greatest weakness is also my greatest strength.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm guilty if I don't spend enough quality time with her but yearn for a moment to myself and then back to guilty for wanting that and then back to wanting quality time....it's a vicious cycle I'm sure all mom's have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt style="font-weight: bold;" class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c7977996581585405332"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www2.blogger.com/profile/15910737494137891606" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Tooj&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;I have questions that you might have covered in other older posts. How did you end up in Hawaii? Have you always lived there? &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dd style="font-weight: bold;" class="comment-body"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;My family is from Hawaii.   I am a mix of Hawaiian-Chinese-German-French-Dutch. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents traveled as Resort Hotel managers and we lived places such as &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Rarotonga&lt;/span&gt; (near Tahiti) and the Micronesian Islands. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;My sister and I grew up as Hotel Brats.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Ate in restaurants, rode in helicopters, went along on scuba diving expeditions &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;OK&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, me and &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://antibloggedy.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Antibloggedy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; stayed above while the adults did the fun stuff)&lt;/span&gt;, learned about cultures similar to Hawaiians but not, had a native Micronesian nanny take me with her on things such as catching Octopus while on her hip and laying jellyfish traps on the beach.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dt style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sgfw9TvL7oI/AAAAAAAAAxc/wr1lO8TiOKs/s3200-h/kimikoselenatako2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 536px; height: 640px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sgfw9TvL7oI/AAAAAAAAAxc/wr1lO8TiOKs/s640/kimikoselenatako2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334497219704516226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Do you see the octopus there on the right....and me on the hip?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="text-align: center;"&gt;:shuddering:&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Thank you to everyone for their extremely FUNNY FUNNIES on Friday.  Really cheered me up.  Perfect way to go into Mothers Day Weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3089498736477484560?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3089498736477484560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3089498736477484560&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3089498736477484560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3089498736477484560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/its-about-time-i-answer-some-of-these.html' title='It&apos;s about time I answer some of these....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sgfw9TvL7oI/AAAAAAAAAxc/wr1lO8TiOKs/s72-c/kimikoselenatako2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-5767669556653440914</id><published>2009-05-10T08:29:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-10T08:39:15.779-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Mothers Day.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgcegVqZtZI/AAAAAAAAAxU/NTyWToMeQDE/s1600-h/tired-woman1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 250px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgcegVqZtZI/AAAAAAAAAxU/NTyWToMeQDE/s320/tired-woman1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334265824563279250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To all the Mommy's (&amp;amp;Daddy's who have to be both).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kick off the shoes for a moment, put the vacuum down, let the dishwasher do the dishes, the laundry will still be there (ALWAYS...it NEVER goes away...EVER) and enjoy a moment of relaxation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lord knows we all deserve it :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Mothers Day!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-5767669556653440914?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5767669556653440914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=5767669556653440914&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5767669556653440914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/5767669556653440914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/happy-mothers-day.html' title='Happy Mothers Day.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgcegVqZtZI/AAAAAAAAAxU/NTyWToMeQDE/s72-c/tired-woman1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2803975067315959053</id><published>2009-05-08T02:02:00.003-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T02:50:25.036-10:00</updated><title type='text'>I need your funny to make me feel better.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgQphf_nXhI/AAAAAAAAAxM/HinH25E_izw/s1600-h/funnyguyglasses.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgQphf_nXhI/AAAAAAAAAxM/HinH25E_izw/s320/funnyguyglasses.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333433514214252050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things at work that made it to the blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A bug flew up my nose so fast it scared me into frantically swatting my nose &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(while staff looked on like I had just got out of the crazy bin)&lt;/span&gt;.  I felt the bug get stuck in my throat as I gagged from the disgustingness of it while trying to yak it out.  No such luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 21 year old cook endearingly means well and today told me he was sorry he thought I was 40ish like his mother.  "You look old...I don't know."  You stupid A-hole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wondered why one of my employees looked extremely exhausted and overheard another of her co-workers mention that exhausted employee and boyfriend got a new sex book and went through 'a good amount' of pages before work.  :sigh:  I remember those days....now it's all about what grocery store has the best sale for Lil Ramblers Pull Ups.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a bad bad funk this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Hate+Discontent=Uber bitchy Rambler).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been searching for laughter to heal the battle wounds of my roller coaster of emotions my sanity has been on.  Please, please, drop me a funny.  Anything.  I just want to read, be surprised and laugh out loud at any funny you have stored away for times such as these.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(I know, slightly dramatic....but &lt;/span&gt;whadda&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; ya expect?).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A dirty joke&lt;br /&gt;A funny quote.&lt;br /&gt;ANYTHING.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rambler Inc., will resume normal me-ness next week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2803975067315959053?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2803975067315959053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2803975067315959053&amp;isPopup=true' title='50 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2803975067315959053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2803975067315959053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-need-your-funny-to-make-me-feel.html' title='I need your funny to make me feel better.....'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgQphf_nXhI/AAAAAAAAAxM/HinH25E_izw/s72-c/funnyguyglasses.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>50</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-922352428046764668</id><published>2009-05-07T02:15:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T02:15:00.080-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursdays #18....Face Transplant.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgK9zKRfZSI/AAAAAAAAAxE/p34H-3dLbgk/s1600-h/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 221px; height: 225px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgK9zKRfZSI/AAAAAAAAAxE/p34H-3dLbgk/s320/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333033595388781858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Great comments on last weeks question on &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/04/think-about-it-thursdays-17you-real.html"&gt;Are you as you are in real life as your blog life?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c6396952468181569325"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/07281231657407206988" rel="nofollow"&gt;Funny in my mind&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I am much more outgoing and friendly in my blog. I am not a social person in real life because I have too many fears of rejection.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;We must be twins.  I'm more of an observer myself and don't volunteer for things, or jump in things because of the rejection factor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c4129521193312081092"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/08997751779430387407" rel="nofollow"&gt;The Demigoddess&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm a lot more fun in my blog. In person, I'm probably boring.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;I can't imagine that.  Your blog is too fun for you to be boring!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c2756619011897094932"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/07134296184907306393" rel="nofollow"&gt;Lisa&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is something I struggle with, but kind of in the opposite: I think I am much nicer on my blog than I am in real life, meaning I'm much more forthcoming and open if you know me in person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like to think of my blog as a better, nicer, and kinder version of me. :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;That's interesting.  Who do you enjoy being more?  The blogger or the real lifer?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c3361319361294623338"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/10569331164117758646" rel="nofollow"&gt;debilyn&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm just as snarkastically delicious in real life as I am in my blog. I speak just as grammatically correct as I write, and I never misspell any words in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT, I like people in Blogland better than I do in real life. In real life, people tend to get on my nerves and make me want to blog about them=)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I love ANYONE that says they are snarkastically delicious!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c2088694473015245291"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06126096393524594755" rel="nofollow"&gt;Aunt of 14&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;DEFINITELY NOT!! I don't think so. I am so much more candid and so much more open online than anywhere IRL. If you and I were to... like... suddenly bump into each other in the middle of the ocean, say... since you are in Hawaii and I'm in Seattle, just to be rambling like you... I won't even be able to CHAT with you. I'll be petrified with shyness... I may manage to squeak out "hello!" and then there'll be this uncomfortable silence. The silence will stretch on and on until someone says "Oh I have to go to the bathroom" and flee. Either you or me. I hate when that happens but that probably is what would happen with me. Several times... like 20 years ago that is... I was chatting with a guy (when AOL first came out) and the guy would want to meet me and I'll say sure... only to stand them up. I did this more than once. I literally turn into solid rock... no wonder I'm in my late 30's and still single. Too freaking shy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/dd&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Oh Ao14....your answer made me giggle and remember a time that I was (okay am still a lot) petrified of meeting anyone online.   It goes back up to the rejection question.  But, I tell you what.  This blog has given me a confidence in myself that others who don't know me, like me (erm, my blog) which represents my thoughts, the funny side of life that I like to lead and if they don't.  Eh, whatever.  So don't worry.  I ramble enough to make anyone comfortable.  I'll give us a shot for sure if we ever get 'stuck' on a plane together :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this week's question came inspired from questions and conversation over the woman that received a face transplant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"Could you go through with a face transplant?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt; As a family member of the donor how hard would this be for you see to a face you once knew belong to someone else?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;An employee of mine and I discussed this topic tonight about the emotional crap this &lt;a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/discussion/2009/05/06/DI2009050602143.html"&gt;woman must be going through.  &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, having a massive douche of a husband who only got 7 years in prison, Second, surviving such a horrendous attack and lastly living with another persons face that isn't yours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-922352428046764668?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/922352428046764668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=922352428046764668&amp;isPopup=true' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/922352428046764668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/922352428046764668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/think-about-it-thursdays-18face.html' title='Think About It Thursdays #18....Face Transplant.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SgK9zKRfZSI/AAAAAAAAAxE/p34H-3dLbgk/s72-c/235696308_d70e60c0cf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2601952913216150160</id><published>2009-05-05T02:14:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T02:14:00.178-10:00</updated><title type='text'>This is what happens when you go out for girls night and have one....or two...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sf_0ExIhRKI/AAAAAAAAAw8/XAyELI1WYUA/s1600-h/04.11.06.BloggersDilem-X.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sf_0ExIhRKI/AAAAAAAAAw8/XAyELI1WYUA/s320/04.11.06.BloggersDilem-X.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332248846575682722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know.  I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where was I Monday?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tired as as mo-fo is what.  &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Don't worry, no bitch and whine session here about work.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took the bloggy day off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Normally a work out night, BFF Girl night Out intervened (insert evil No Diet laughter).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two glasses of wine for a woman who's been eating cardboard toast and enough greens to make the Jolly Green Giant uncomfortable is kind of a big deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look, I'm a mommy that can't handle her liquor . So I sit here writing this while inebriated.  A little. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was decided from early day text's that due to stress of our drama filled lives an alcoholic beverage would not go under appreciated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dinner was going to be great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We sat in seats that totally reminded us all of sitting on a padded toilet seat.  Seriously.  Ask the BFF's.  I had to check with them to make sure it wasn't just my seat.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;(Note to self.  Double check and make sure they weren't playing a joke on Rambler with padded toilet seat chair)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided to have a pasta dish with a Japanese influence.  Spicy Ahi Tuna Pasta.  (Fresh raw Ahi with a spicy creamy mayo sauce in Spaghetti noodles.)  I knew I would be paying for this later.  And if you know what I mean by 'later' &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(irritable bowel syndrome anyone? mmmm, does this mean my post today will be found by people trying to inquire about IBS?  )&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, this was a sure fire way to flush the system.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm home now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Content &amp;amp; happy from BFF bonding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Editing, typing, deleting, should I even post this, editing more, look for photo, deleting some more....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's exhausting. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drunk Irritable Bowel Syndrome like Blogger OUT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sidenote:  If anyone's keeping track....&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;8 pounds&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; around the waistline.  Gone.  Teehee. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2601952913216150160?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2601952913216150160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2601952913216150160&amp;isPopup=true' title='30 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2601952913216150160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2601952913216150160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/this-is-what-happens-when-you-go-out.html' title='This is what happens when you go out for girls night and have one....or two...'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sf_0ExIhRKI/AAAAAAAAAw8/XAyELI1WYUA/s72-c/04.11.06.BloggersDilem-X.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>30</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-3474012212857211537</id><published>2009-05-01T02:30:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T02:30:00.172-10:00</updated><title type='text'>My Personal Space....Back the Eff up.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfrIikKsxKI/AAAAAAAAAw0/5JWPOLRNHvw/s1600-h/funny-dog-pictures-cat-and-dog-have-personal-space-issues.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfrIikKsxKI/AAAAAAAAAw0/5JWPOLRNHvw/s320/funny-dog-pictures-cat-and-dog-have-personal-space-issues.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330793605096064162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Places my personal space have been invaded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Work: &lt;/span&gt; As I greet you, the guest, coming toward my doors to dine (and in this economy THANK YOU for choosing my place) and you feel the need to be so close I can smell the boogers that will form up your nostrils after your meal....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;BACK THE EFF UP.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Grocery Store:&lt;/span&gt;  When I am paying for my groceries and you feel the need to breathe on my neck waiting your turn as I wait for my card to be approved....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;BACK THE EFF UP.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Starbucks:&lt;/span&gt;  While we wait for our beverages in the "WAIT FOR YOUR BEVERAGE HERE" area and you feel the need to stand with your shoulders touching mine even though there is more then enough room 1 foot away from me in any direction....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;BACK THE EFF UP.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Waiting for the public restroom:&lt;/span&gt;  When a line is formed waiting for the stalls and we are standing in it and your purse keeps whacking my back (constantly)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;BACK THE EFF UP.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Movie Theater: &lt;/span&gt; When you need to scooch past me while I'm sitting and your junk/who ha/private area/va-jay-jay is a little to close to my face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;BACK THE EFF a LITTLE UP.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;ATM Machine:&lt;/span&gt;  Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;BACK THE EFF UP.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Geesh, someone pissed in Grumpy Ramblers cheerios this morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if you don't read this guy &lt;a href="http://mo-stoneskin.blogspot.com/"&gt;Mo Mad Dog Stoneskin&lt;/a&gt;....you must.  He's brilliantly funny.  &lt;a href="http://mo-stoneskin.blogspot.com/2009/04/messing-with-minds-is-secret-to-happy.html"&gt;My favorite post&lt;/a&gt; this week.  Go. Read now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a great personal space invader free weekend!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-3474012212857211537?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3474012212857211537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=3474012212857211537&amp;isPopup=true' title='37 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3474012212857211537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/3474012212857211537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-personal-spaceback-eff-up.html' title='My Personal Space....Back the Eff up.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfrIikKsxKI/AAAAAAAAAw0/5JWPOLRNHvw/s72-c/funny-dog-pictures-cat-and-dog-have-personal-space-issues.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>37</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-6152002294743970912</id><published>2009-04-30T02:20:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T02:20:00.289-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursdays #17.....You. Real Life.  Blog Life.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sfl9BUj4DjI/AAAAAAAAAws/hsCMg2pPyDM/s1600-h/thinking_man2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sfl9BUj4DjI/AAAAAAAAAws/hsCMg2pPyDM/s320/thinking_man2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330429095622217266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Hey Hey &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Bloggy&lt;/span&gt; loves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to those that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;participated&lt;/span&gt; by commenting on last weeks Are you a Fake Polite?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of your comments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/02048341331287236076" rel="nofollow"&gt;Controlling My Chaos&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;dl style="font-style: italic;" id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dd class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Yes, totally. Like when you see someone and you, in your most chipper voice, ask "How are you?!" And then they start to tell you and you're like Oh, crap, I really don't care. But I would never say it, I just listen and wait, and nod in all the right places, while my stomach churns and I think about everything else I SHOULD be doing right then. Yeah, I do that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/dd&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Giggle.  Giggle.  Giggle.  Just happened to me TODAY.  And not ONE &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;frickin&lt;/span&gt; employee jumped to save my butt.   Clueless bunch they are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c2940025145731922887"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/03103910877999336255" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Kalei&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd style="font-style: italic;" class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ALL THE TIME (me shouting). Like when I "run" into someone in the grocery store, then you find yourself saying goodbye only to follow them on the same path to the next food item, then you continue talking saying goodbye, finally someone cuts it short to go to the veggies, even though they have the veggies, just to get away, and say "Oh, I have to go this way,(in a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;sulken&lt;/span&gt; sort of way)" and "It was REALLY great seeing you"(in a really excited happy way)....then you end up in the check out together....."yikes!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;LMAO&lt;/span&gt;!!!!  We ARE sisters!  (No, really.  This is my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;fo&lt;/span&gt;' real sister)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c3432619510538917260"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/01531001180084362992" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Wifey&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd style="font-style: italic;" class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Too funny. I've been known to turn on my "PR" voice from time to time. Shh... don't tell, it'll ruin my reputation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Winks &amp;amp; Smiles,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Wifey&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dt&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Your secret is safe with us :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;**************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My question I thought of while driving home from work last night......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you as forthcoming in REAL LIFE as you are in your BLOG LIFE?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-6152002294743970912?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6152002294743970912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=6152002294743970912&amp;isPopup=true' title='31 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6152002294743970912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/6152002294743970912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/04/think-about-it-thursdays-17you-real.html' title='Think About It Thursdays #17.....You. Real Life.  Blog Life.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sfl9BUj4DjI/AAAAAAAAAws/hsCMg2pPyDM/s72-c/thinking_man2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>31</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-310783395419089693</id><published>2009-04-29T02:22:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T02:22:00.333-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Short post today....boys, boys, boys</title><content type='html'>Tonight at work, one of my servers was taking care of a large group of late teens/early 20's.  One of the pretty girls (&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" &gt;as all my male staff were drooling over them)&lt;/span&gt; in the party had a question that the manager (ME) needed to answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Which girl is it?&lt;br /&gt;Male Server:  The girl wearing no bra.&lt;br /&gt;Me:  Um, what?&lt;br /&gt;Male Server:  Uh, the one with the holes in the side of her shirt.....and no bra.&lt;br /&gt;Me:    &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Erm, could you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;maybe more specific....like color of her shirt?  &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;(as I imagine myself scanning every girl trying to figure out who wasn't wearing a bra.  And had holes in their shirt)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Male Server:  Oh, the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;ONLY&lt;/span&gt; girl wearing pink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He could have just said the girl wearing pink, but his first description is no bra.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just watched this movie &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0829482/"&gt;Superbad&lt;/a&gt; this past weekend while being lazy and this part almost made me spit popcorn out my nose.  (ouch) I don't know why.  Maybe because it's totally awkward, and it's so high school..  27 seconds of your time is all it will waste.  Enjoy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KpC5_RQeG7Q&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KpC5_RQeG7Q&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-310783395419089693?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/310783395419089693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=310783395419089693&amp;isPopup=true' title='33 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/310783395419089693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/310783395419089693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/04/short-post-todayboys-boys-boys.html' title='Short post today....boys, boys, boys'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>33</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2584822900702279083</id><published>2009-04-28T02:30:00.001-10:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T02:30:00.431-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Where my brain went while sitting in traffic.</title><content type='html'>Sitting in my car waiting in traffic.  Trying to get to a work out I didn't really want to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Texting people from work, Real Life Diet buddy on my status of snail crawl speed my Explorer was making, my mother, blah, blah, blah.  (Look it was a LONG drive to the park of I'll make your feet hurt)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some reason I went back in time and chuckled a bit on how much my not so tech savvy self has come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I start with me being introduced to my mothers Hewlett Packard Computer that had about 1/18th the memory my current computer has.  (Don't ask me...I'm not into the 800 gig this, 1,000,000 mb whatever that).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sfa7ZSBVVaI/AAAAAAAAAwM/mZHg6JXOFp4/s1600-h/thp1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 192px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sfa7ZSBVVaI/AAAAAAAAAwM/mZHg6JXOFp4/s320/thp1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329653252048115106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had discovered AOL.  And it's wondrous thing...Instant Messaging and Email.  I couldn't wait to get home everyday and turn on the HP and wait 5 minutes for it to warm up and come alive.  Oh glorious times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I bugged the holy crap out of my mother to puhleassseeeeee purchase the newest and latest gizmo for teens and young 20 somethings.  It was no longer the thing for the telephone repair guys to have hooked to their work belts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sfa7-Wa_9FI/AAAAAAAAAwU/BuqqRfG4pMk/s1600-h/Pager_AA021263.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 235px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sfa7-Wa_9FI/AAAAAAAAAwU/BuqqRfG4pMk/s320/Pager_AA021263.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329653888884667474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My Beegeesus...the numbers that could spell messages!  I couldn't live without this thing!  And the oh so cool colors like transparent (so you could see how marvelous it was inside??).  I was cleaning a work drawer and found one the other day and I stared at it like it was completely foreign to me.  I don't even think I would remember how to operate it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The high school to right after high school boyfriend had moved to Japan for wrestling (WWF style but Japan style) and we racked up the phone bill past my mothers boiling point. His calls came when he could get a moment through his workouts and strict house rules of being focused on wrestling.  Sometimes I'd miss them.   Oh, the pain.  The agony.  The roll of my mothers eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were perusing through Radio Shack and low and behold.  A phone that you didn't need to be plugged into my kitchen wall.  One that could be taken IN the car...hooked up to the fricking lighter thing....WOW.  I don't know how, but we walked out of there with it.  My mother.  The single mom just trying to survive 3 daughters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfbElxaHVhI/AAAAAAAAAwc/QH7FOy5ESbg/s1600-h/oldcellphones3_18_06_08.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfbElxaHVhI/AAAAAAAAAwc/QH7FOy5ESbg/s320/oldcellphones3_18_06_08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329663362236634642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It came with it's own backpack.  Everyone knew I had it.  I wanted everyone to know i had it.  We all wanted everyone to know we all had it.  It served it's purpose.  You big beautiful phone you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I snap back to sitting back in my car.  I chuckle as I cradle my sweet Boyphone and tell it we've come such a long way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfbK20H2AuI/AAAAAAAAAwk/ftVUuYiUy-8/s1600-h/iphone-07-01-09-3.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 225px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfbK20H2AuI/AAAAAAAAAwk/ftVUuYiUy-8/s320/iphone-07-01-09-3.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329670252092850914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2584822900702279083?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2584822900702279083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2584822900702279083&amp;isPopup=true' title='31 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2584822900702279083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2584822900702279083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/04/where-my-brain-went-while-sitting-in.html' title='Where my brain went while sitting in traffic.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/Sfa7ZSBVVaI/AAAAAAAAAwM/mZHg6JXOFp4/s72-c/thp1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>31</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-2065622501155363608</id><published>2009-04-27T02:00:00.000-10:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T02:00:01.567-10:00</updated><title type='text'>A list of crap about me for YOU to read....Beware.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfV4XKq_7cI/AAAAAAAAAv8/-JR58fEgc5g/s1600-h/eight1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfV4XKq_7cI/AAAAAAAAAv8/-JR58fEgc5g/s320/eight1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329298073459879362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think about once a month I feel the bloggy blues.  I search for things to write.  A zillion things inspire a topic but when I attempt to write it doesn't quite flow out as nicely as I'd like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I think I'll gladly do this meme I've been tagged to do.  (ahem, can someone tell me what the hell meme stands for?  I'm slightly blog stupid-o.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you to my twinkie &lt;a href="http://ifnramble.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-am-alive-and-have-been-tagged.html"&gt;The RaMbLeR &lt;/a&gt;(long story, but we have the same blog name and found each other a while back and LOVEEEE like long lost sisters)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and to &lt;a href="http://olivestreetstudio.blogspot.com/"&gt;Olive Street Studios&lt;/a&gt; ( I just love the word Olive since I saw it in a movie with Diane Keaton and dang it what's her name...The Other Sister...anyway they say Olive Juice if your saying I love you across a room to someone and it looks more like I love you.  Weird, but hey, that's me.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And off we go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;8 Things I'm looking forward to.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  My fat ass going away.&lt;br /&gt;2.  My post pregnant stomach going away.  (Buh bye)&lt;br /&gt;3.  My rubber tire hips going away.&lt;br /&gt;4.  The double chin that has made a home under my face only when I take pictures.&lt;br /&gt;5.  The day I can have a cheeseburger and not freak out it's gonna bring the weight back on.&lt;br /&gt;6.  When I can buy a shirt with buttons and not worry my boobies will pop them off.  (some may find this attractive, but I'll go with depressing)&lt;br /&gt;7.  When I can put jeans on and they zip up without me sucking in.&lt;br /&gt;8.  When I can come back to this list and say.  Done, done, done, done, done, done, done AND DONE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;8 things I did yesterday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  Woke up at 10 am.&lt;br /&gt;2.  Couldn't believe that my husband cooked breakfast for himself and Lil Rambler.  (What?)&lt;br /&gt;3.  Took my kid to the tot park.&lt;br /&gt;4.  Read a book under a tree while she played.&lt;br /&gt;5.  Squeezed my fat butte on the slide with her.  (And actually went down)&lt;br /&gt;6.  Thought it would be good to put back in my contacts after 3 days of eye glass wearing (hate it, but I was sick and my eyes were pissed and wanted them OUT)&lt;br /&gt;7.  Couldn't figure out why my new contact in my right eye kept hurting.&lt;br /&gt;8.  Didn't realize until today that apparently I didn't see the slit right in the middle of the lens.  DAMN all to expensive Holy Contact hell!  That was $10 for one contact down the hole.  Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;8 things I wish I could do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  Own a home in the near future rather then the far future.&lt;br /&gt;2.  More time with my Lil Rambler.&lt;br /&gt;3.  A job that paid me what I'm worth.&lt;br /&gt;4.  Some writing conglomerate CEO to see my blog and say they want to make some of my posts into a book.  (HA)&lt;br /&gt;5.  Buy a Wii Fit. I suppose a Wii first would make more sense.&lt;br /&gt;6.  A marathon.  Or at least one of those walks.&lt;br /&gt;7.  Not be so insecure sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;8.  Confront my fathers girlfriend and ask why it was the way it was.  (Heavy, I know.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;8 shows I watch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  American Idol.  (of course you'd know this if you've been reading me back when AI started.  Right Sticky?)&lt;br /&gt;2.  The Mentalist.&lt;br /&gt;3.  The Office.  (I have mad crush love for Jim)&lt;br /&gt;4.  30 Rock (I'm fascinated with Alec Baldwins character, Jack.  Why?  It is what it is.  And Tina Fey...she ROCKS.)&lt;br /&gt;5.  The Life of Old Christine.  (Julia Dreyfuss makes me laugh sooooo funny hard)&lt;br /&gt;6.  Cold Case.  (I like the solving of old cases.)&lt;br /&gt;7.  Wow Wow Wubzy (my kids show...that we watch ALLLLLL the TIMEEEE)&lt;br /&gt;8.  How I met your Mother.  (Doogie Rules)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;8 people to tag....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.&lt;a href="http://muppetsoul.blogspot.com/"&gt;  Muppet Soul&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  &lt;a href="http://www.antisupermom.com/"&gt;Anti-Supermom&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  &lt;a href="http://definitelydebilyn.blogspot.com/"&gt;Definitely Debilyn&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  &lt;a href="http://formyfour.blogspot.com/"&gt;For My Four&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  &lt;a href="http://girlintheglasses.blogspot.com/"&gt;Girl in the Glasses&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;6.  &lt;a href="http://housewifesavant.blogspot.com/"&gt;Housewife Savant&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  &lt;a href="http://gotothegarden.blogspot.com/"&gt;I come to the Garden&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  &lt;a href="http://inmyminditisfunny.blogspot.com/"&gt;In my mind it's always Funny.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whew...who ever made this one up...Geesh, couldn't it have been a teeny bit shorter?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to another week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.  I'm down a total of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" &gt;5 pounds&lt;/span&gt; now.  Woot Woot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-2065622501155363608?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2065622501155363608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=2065622501155363608&amp;isPopup=true' title='30 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2065622501155363608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/2065622501155363608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/04/list-of-crap-about-me-for-you-to.html' title='A list of crap about me for YOU to read....Beware.'/><author><name>The Rambler</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10409123245867533569</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SaeRJTZ9rbI/AAAAAAAAAmo/1xjOlvd7tok/S220/Selenabuttoncopy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfV4XKq_7cI/AAAAAAAAAv8/-JR58fEgc5g/s72-c/eight1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>30</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-4295912020665641244</id><published>2009-04-23T15:32:00.011-10:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T01:23:47.788-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Guest Post:  How I saved my sisters Wedding...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Rambler peeps, meet my sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sister, meet my Rambler peeps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You gotta love a sister that steps in when you've had a crap week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;******************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;Hello Everyone!  (me waving...to you!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My name is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Kalei&lt;/span&gt;....I mean "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Antibloggedy&lt;/span&gt;", don't tell anyone my real name.   (&lt;a href="http://antibloggedy.blogspot.com/"&gt;link to me here-cheesy plug for myself&lt;/a&gt;).&lt;br /&gt;One of the things about me is I am a Rambling type (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;geez&lt;/span&gt;, think it runs in the family?).  Only my ramblings usually occur in my head...."the inner monologue".&lt;br /&gt;Here's how that goes:&lt;br /&gt;My Sister, Rambler:  "hey, wanna do a guest post for me?"&lt;br /&gt;Me:"sure"..... I was really excited. (cheesy smile)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, via text:  "did you finish that guest post?"&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "working on it now"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually, I was not working on it, I hadn't even thought about it since saying "sure".....(don't tell her).  So really when I got the text my inner monologue sounded something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Shiznet&lt;/span&gt;!  I gotta write something.....!" " yikes!  She wants me to be funny!"&lt;br /&gt;........Are you laughing yet?  didn't think so.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;OOOOh&lt;/span&gt; all right, I will tell you a dirty joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually its the joke I told Rambler when I was walking her down the aisle on her wedding day.  The purpose was to keep her from crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me set the scene:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beautiful Hawaiian Afternoon, Rambler in her Pretty White gown.  The family on white chairs in the open landscape surrounded by Mountains &amp;amp; Ocean Breezes:  Here is a picture:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LWDKDkVKerw/SfEXnFcMTuI/AAAAAAAAABA/NJGw0wshlA0/s1600-h/family+pic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LWDKDkVKerw/SfEXnFcMTuI/AAAAAAAAABA/NJGw0wshlA0/s320/family+pic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328065794398768866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Nice right?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;That's&lt;/span&gt; our grandparents on the seats, and my Mom, her siblings, and of course the Bride and Groom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;It rained the whole couple days before then, that morning, it cleared up!  It was just beautiful!....I know I know I am getting to the joke.  Just hang in there.  =).  I have to tell you a little about me too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt; (smile) &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LWDKDkVKerw/SfEYdm6fj4I/AAAAAAAAABI/GpmKTGyixsc/s1600-h/DSC03537+-+Copy.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LWDKDkVKerw/SfEYdm6fj4I/AAAAAAAAABI/GpmKTGyixsc/s320/DSC03537+-+Copy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328066731097165698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I am one of the appropriate people in the whole wide world.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LWDKDkVKerw/SfEYwDSU0VI/AAAAAAAAABQ/l42I0z0gvl4/s1600-h/kai+outside2+024.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LWDKDkVKerw/SfEYwDSU0VI/AAAAAAAAABQ/l42I0z0gvl4/s200/kai+outside2+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328067047950963026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;(not really)&lt;br /&gt;(smile, quit laughing, this isn't the joke, it really hurt!)...yes, that's me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;.....Actually, I do not swear.....&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;welllll&lt;/span&gt;,   Hardly ever!  I keep the mouth clean.  Its not lady like.  I just wanted to get that straight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So anyways:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were walking down the aisle, My mother on her Right and me on the Left (or was it the other way around?....&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;hmmm&lt;/span&gt;, Rambler can clear that up later).....We walked out toward the supporters, and tears started to flow....very emotional giving your only favorite big sis away:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me to Rambler: I thought of the joke....&lt;br /&gt;Rambler: What?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well I asked around and it took me weeks.....&lt;br /&gt;Rambler: What joke?&lt;br /&gt;Me: the one to keep you from crying when we approach "Mr. Rambler"&lt;br /&gt;Rambler: What is it? (she was not really focused....she had her eye on the prize.)&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well I want mom to hear it too.&lt;br /&gt;Rambler: Mom, can you hear her?&lt;br /&gt;Mom: Girls, lets focus (maybe I added this, but she would totally say something like this.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: What "Has Relations" (insert F word here) like a tiger and winks.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom and Rambler in unison: WHAT!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Wink"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.....And that is how I saved her Wedding. =)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://antibloggedy.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Antibloggedy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  (smile) Waving goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been fun!  Have a great weekend!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54486/386/306B104F128BEEE813A773B1780264C8.png" style="border: 0pt none  ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11616301-4295912020665641244?l=noheasmith.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4295912020665641244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11616301&amp;postID=4295912020665641244&amp;isPopup=true' title='34 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4295912020665641244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11616301/posts/default/4295912020665641244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/04/guest-post-how-i-saved-my-sisters.html' title='Guest Post:  How I saved my sisters Wedding...'/><author><name>antibloggedy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LWDKDkVKerw/SfEXnFcMTuI/AAAAAAAAABA/NJGw0wshlA0/s72-c/family+pic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>34</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11616301.post-1714641022474653017</id><published>2009-04-23T02:30:00.002-10:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T02:30:00.240-10:00</updated><title type='text'>Think About It Thursdays #16....Are you a faker?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfBMmMc-KrI/AAAAAAAAAv0/xceNvQrS71k/s1600-h/9780894803208.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 177px; height: 269px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ClHyKz5uuEQ/SfBMmMc-KrI/AAAAAAAAAv0/xceNvQrS71k/s320/9780894803208.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327842578240776882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Happy Birthday to my Mom today!! I LOVE YOU!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thoroughly enjoyed &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;every ones&lt;/span&gt; comments from &lt;a href="http://noheasmith.blogspot.com/2009/04/think-about-it-thursdays-15what-your.html"&gt;last weeks how honest do you want your friends question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some for YOUR enjoyment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl id="comments-block"&gt;&lt;dt class="comment-author blogger-comment-icon" id="c1356246655511224068"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/02681677185895555919" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;DiPaola&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Momma&lt;/a&gt; said... &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dd style="font-style: italic;" class="comment-body"&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I'd only want them to be honest when I asked for it. Otherwise... lie to me, I promise I'll believe it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is that sad or what? I just don't think that because someone sees you a certain way it means that is who or what you really are... Like I see myself as a five foot nine inch, tan, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;blonde&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, skinny super model with the brains of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Harvard&lt;/span&gt; grad and the humor of George Carlin.. and well MAYBE sometimes I might not quite be that.. MAYBE! What
