<?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-1352272084668365258</id><updated>2012-02-16T07:16:46.819-07:00</updated><category term='animals'/><category term='quilt'/><category term='story of the week'/><category term='elevators'/><category term='birthday'/><category term='adventures at work'/><category term='church'/><category term='movies'/><category term='vacation'/><category term='books'/><category term='entertainment'/><category term='it takes all kinds...'/><category term='busy'/><category term='projects'/><category term='the ten tenors'/><category term='gross'/><category term='lunch'/><title type='text'>Ramblings of a Genius</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>38</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-7379086024062537761</id><published>2009-09-13T21:19:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-13T21:26:58.703-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Here we go again...</title><content type='html'>That's right folks, once again, The Ten Tenors are coming to a city near me.  Well, sort of near me.  I don't live in a small town.  I kind of take pride in the great theaters my fine city of Denver has.  In fact I recently made a spreadsheet of all the shows I want to see just to make sure that I don't miss any (and that I have enough money to see all that I've planned).  But I have to drive all the way to Greeley to see the objects of the magnets on the side of my refridgerator (or Colorado Springs or Avon, but I chose Greeley).  SIGH. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, as you might recall, Shannon is not going to be there.  How depressing.  You couldn't tell, though, seeing as I've told everyone I talk to regularly several times about my tickets, (and since they're living in my purse, I often whip them out as further proof of my excitement).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yes, get excited.  And the concert is just a week after Wicked.  Good times.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-7379086024062537761?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/7379086024062537761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=7379086024062537761' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7379086024062537761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7379086024062537761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/09/here-we-go-again.html' title='Here we go again...'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-5629062002728093178</id><published>2009-07-29T12:25:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-29T12:42:14.799-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vacation'/><title type='text'>My new goal in life</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Anyone who knows me will agree: I &lt;em&gt;must&lt;/em&gt; go here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SnCUtwo2bTI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/-okqUp03XCk/s1600-h/Iguazu-Falls-035_jpg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363950670069525810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 298px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SnCUtwo2bTI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/-okqUp03XCk/s400/Iguazu-Falls-035_jpg.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SnCUl2gK4lI/AAAAAAAAAZw/Rk72oG6CKMs/s1600-h/Iguazu-Falls-031_jpg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363950534204777042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 282px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SnCUl2gK4lI/AAAAAAAAAZw/Rk72oG6CKMs/s400/Iguazu-Falls-031_jpg.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I mean, really, I thought Yellowstone and Niagra falls were amazing, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://gosouthamerica.about.com/cs/southamerica/a/IguazuFalls.htm"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;this place &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;is like heaven.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363950322772757378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 282px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SnCUZi22S4I/AAAAAAAAAZo/7_lb4-BkkKk/s400/Iguazu-Falls-030_jpg.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And, while I'm at it, I've decided to go &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amazon_Rainforest"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;here &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;as well.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363951967168374162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 204px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SnCV5QtUJZI/AAAAAAAAAaA/VxomoevdKEY/s400/0001.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363952216150817666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SnCWHwPWu4I/AAAAAAAAAaI/Q5fQhf1I26Y/s400/brasil_amazon_rainforest.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;At first I decided this would be my 30th birthday celebration. But then I realized that's only 2 1/2 years away, I can't possibly save the thousands of dollars this trip will require by then. So maybe it will be to celebrate my brother's 30th birthday. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Unless anybody has an extra $5,000 they want to send my way?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-5629062002728093178?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/5629062002728093178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=5629062002728093178' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/5629062002728093178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/5629062002728093178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/07/my-new-goal-in-life.html' title='My new goal in life'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SnCUtwo2bTI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/-okqUp03XCk/s72-c/Iguazu-Falls-035_jpg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-6227104481109762269</id><published>2009-07-08T16:09:00.011-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T16:51:51.851-06:00</updated><title type='text'>West is North</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;So I've always been &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;directionally&lt;/span&gt; challenged. If I have to turn more than 3 times to get to a new place, forget getting myself out, and the next time I won't remember how to get there either. And don't tell me to turn south. Ever. I have no idea what that means.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, when I lived in Provo I learned that as far as directions go, I'm mostly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt; if I have 2 points of reference. Mt. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Timp&lt;/span&gt; is north, Y mount is east, therefore the other 2 are easy to figure out. And they are huge, so you can't miss them from anywhere in the town. Denver, not so much. People here like to cheerfully say the mountains are in the west- well that's great, but I can't see the mountains from here, and even if I could, that doesn't tell me which way north and south are. You see my difficulty?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day I was at the library and in the parking lot a lady stopped me and asked where the closest grocery store was. I said well, there are a few, which way are you going? And I told her about the one that was just a few blocks away. She said well, I'm headed north, is that north? I said that I honestly had no idea. I pointed in the direction my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;subconscious&lt;/span&gt; thinks as north and said it's that way, thinking it's totally got to be on her way. There was another lady there who said no, you want to go to this other one, it's north. Turns out I was pointing west.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me explain. Shortly after moving back to Denver after college (that's right folks, I said &lt;em&gt;after&lt;/em&gt; college, and after having lived here my whole life before college), I figured out north and south I-25. North I-25 will take me to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Northglenn&lt;/span&gt;, Westminster, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Broomfield&lt;/span&gt;, Lakewood (people try to tell me Lakewood is actually west, whatever, I have to get on I-25 North first to get there, therefore Lakewood is north), &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Arvada&lt;/span&gt;, etc. South I-25 will take me to the tech center.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the problem. I often get on northbound I-25 from Colorado Blvd. It is a right turn. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Nevermind&lt;/span&gt; that there is a beautiful view straight ahead of the mountains, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;nevermind&lt;/span&gt; that I-25 curves all over the place, I'm getting on northbound I-25, therefore that way must be north.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't really realize that direction had been ingrained in my head as north until one day my mom and I were going somewhere north and we were arguing about where we should meet, whose house was closer. Although my house is closer to the highway exit I would take, she insisted that her house was closer and it would be silly to meet at my house. But I live in Denver! You live in Aurora! Aurora is south of Denver! She just laughed. As I was driving to her house &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;contemplating&lt;/span&gt; why her house was closer, driving in what I thought of as the opposite direction of our final destination, I suddenly saw the mountains and realized that the direction I thought of as north was not north. It's west.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that's the way I turn to get on North I-25! Shouldn't I be able to trust the highway to tell me which direction I'm going? Well no, turns out you can't. But it's too late. The damage has been done. This incident happened like a year ago, and here I am at the library just yesterday, totally pointing west and telling the lady that the grocery store that way is north. When I think of going to visit my aunt &amp;amp; uncle in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Broomfield&lt;/span&gt;, that's the way I think of. When I think of going to visit my cousins in Cheyenne, that's the way I think of. Ironically, when I think of my friend whose house is in Lakewood, that's also the way I think of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't even get me started on I-70. I really, honestly have no idea where I am when I'm on I-70.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-6227104481109762269?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/6227104481109762269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=6227104481109762269' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/6227104481109762269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/6227104481109762269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/07/west-is-north.html' title='West is North'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-7111530384290238315</id><published>2009-07-05T17:50:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-05T18:03:51.600-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Allegory of the Light Saber</title><content type='html'>Testimony meetings can be interesting.  We've had the gospel compared to baseball, football, flies (at which the phrase "fly crap" was actually uttered...shudder) and a host of other bizzare and completely unrelated things.  Today we were dreading another such occurence, and so I wrote the allegory of the light saber in anticipation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;     &lt;em&gt; Just like your testimony, everyone acquires a light saber in a different way, and they all  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;     look a little different.  But the green ones are just as good as the blue ones.  Both can be lost  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;     (along with a hand) but through hard work and help from others can be reconstructed.     &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;     Some &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;people forget the value of their light saber, and then it turns red, just as one can turn &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;    away&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt; from their testimony and it's used against them.  A light saber only lights up when you &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;    turn it &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;on and use it.  A testimony only works when you use it, and will provide light when &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;    used&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt; propertly.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;     But a testimony should not be used as a weapon.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Fortunately the meeting went off without a hitch, and I refrained from sharing my inspired allegory with the ward.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-7111530384290238315?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/7111530384290238315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=7111530384290238315' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7111530384290238315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7111530384290238315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/07/allegory-of-light-saber.html' title='The Allegory of the Light Saber'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-1722956132206357356</id><published>2009-06-25T09:29:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-25T09:56:10.301-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sara and the purse snatcher</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#333300;"&gt;What does it take to drive a person to snatch someone &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;else's&lt;/span&gt; purse? I can only imagine that the act of stealing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;someone's&lt;/span&gt; purse makes a bad day worse, but apparently I'm mistaken. And then to steal it right out of an office in plain daylight? That's low.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;, though. The bank wanted to buy you a tank of gas. I didn't really want to use my brand new waterfall checks, and I was just thinking that I hadn't visited the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;DMV&lt;/span&gt; in an awful long time. I needed to buy a new planner anyways, and my mom was secretly wishing that she could have another shot at crocheting a purse for me. Not to mention that T-Mobile has just been pining to scam another $70 from me for yet another new phone. It's ok. I have nothing better to do than to collect all my friend's and family's phone numbers again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day:&lt;/em&gt; Sigh. Lock the door.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-1722956132206357356?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/1722956132206357356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=1722956132206357356' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/1722956132206357356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/1722956132206357356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/06/sara-and-purse-snatcher.html' title='Sara and the purse snatcher'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-4414905684175756921</id><published>2009-06-13T19:59:00.018-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-13T22:28:09.905-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Cruise!</title><content type='html'>At the beginning of May I went on a cruise with my mom, sisters, brother and aunt Dee Ann. It was a great trip! Going on a cruise is a different kind of trip than the kind I usually take, but I must say I enjoyed it! Here are a few pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346998809477904658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRbFm1d-RI/AAAAAAAAAMM/B-T5tWsm3IU/s320/DSC00013.JPG" border="0" /&gt;At the airport.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346998813809588242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRbF2-OOBI/AAAAAAAAAMU/daPs4EEROEg/s320/DSC00050.JPG" border="0" /&gt;In front of a cool tree in Miami, the morning of our cruise before leaving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346998816772038050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRbGCAhnaI/AAAAAAAAAMc/RgwPlRFtdBY/s320/DSC00056.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Laura wearing everybodys sunglasses, waiting around in Miami before the cruise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346999365724312978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRbl_A8lZI/AAAAAAAAAMk/0VMn8ZnWuEY/s320/DSC00074.JPG" border="0" /&gt;The first thing we did once on the ship was a safety drill. Pretty exciting!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346999367780477522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRbmGrLKlI/AAAAAAAAAMs/L1q64M6HppE/s320/DSC00081.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Laura, mom, and Dee Ann sitting on the deck of the ship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346999372737598530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRbmZJC1EI/AAAAAAAAAM0/3xm-yhqMMiQ/s320/DSC00090.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Dee Ann, Emily, mom, me, Laura standing on the deck of the ship (Terrence is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;taking the picture)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347002918421525314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRe0x1980I/AAAAAAAAAOc/24npXPaEvdo/s320/DSC00099.JPG" border="0" /&gt;On our way to go snorkeling at Key West. Everybody looks terrible in the picture but me. But don't I look cute?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347005131466137090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRg1mE63gI/AAAAAAAAAOk/9qD_c4_dIWY/s320/DSC00118.JPG" border="0" /&gt;On the sail boat we took to a reef in Key West to go snorkeling. It was really pretty out there, and we saw lots of cool fish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347001982819796914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRd-UdIh7I/AAAAAAAAAOE/rgaW1OwxD_c/s320/100_0460.JPG" border="0" /&gt;After snorkeling, Laura and I went to a beach on the island. We swam, sat on the beach, and got sunburned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347000115059836850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRcRmgdR7I/AAAAAAAAAM8/KwUV-W2j4vc/s320/DSC00173.JPG" border="0" /&gt;That night was elegant night in the dining room. We got all dressed up for dinner, it was pretty fun.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347000117615919026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRcRwB3_7I/AAAAAAAAANE/mTA3TeXozBc/s320/DSC00174.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Emily on elegant night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347000123451799170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRcSFxQdoI/AAAAAAAAANM/HINY33yLdKg/s320/DSC00189.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Warm chocolate melting cake (in the bowl). I had this for dessert every night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347000818342876706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRc6icM1iI/AAAAAAAAANc/2iPCMc1CwR0/s320/DSC00240.JPG" border="0" /&gt;All of us on elegant night, waiting for the big show to start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347006851003829010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRiZr2pyxI/AAAAAAAAAOs/Nh9WwOjX-OE/s320/100_0477.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Fun day at sea! Here's Dee Ann with a yummy fruit drink!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347006854306764306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRiZ4KIlhI/AAAAAAAAAO0/dmswp_uoG0k/s320/100_0478.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Sorry, I don't know how to flip the picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347011767152668898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRm31738OI/AAAAAAAAAPs/iqHtSvv3i-Q/s320/DSC00301.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Water slide! Well, ok, not in this picture, this is at the bottom of the slide...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347011764009905442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRm3qOlLSI/AAAAAAAAAPk/crxhoEK26dY/s320/DSC00293.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347001567193320018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRdmIIDylI/AAAAAAAAANs/XSEkxjP2QRw/s320/DSC00309.JPG" border="0" /&gt; The mini golf course is at the very end of the ship, the windiest place for some reason. At night we sat at the very back and watched the moon rise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347000812036240066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRc6K8lMsI/AAAAAAAAANU/dMvkDbRfcaw/s320/DSC00190.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Sunset from the ship. I don't know which night this was...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347010281190461810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRlhWS4EXI/AAAAAAAAAPU/V4L2VwFMhBo/s320/DSC00355.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347001990325490306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRd-waoUoI/AAAAAAAAAOM/evikxUtKFLY/s320/100_0486.JPG" border="0" /&gt;We went to this park in the Bahamas and watched flamingos marching. Weird, I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347008608942078786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRkAAryu0I/AAAAAAAAAO8/NRqH_XFWxSM/s320/100_0508.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A weird plant and Emily in the gardens at the Bahamas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347008615044998482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRkAXa15VI/AAAAAAAAAPE/aAlEOBzgYbE/s320/100_0510.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Dee Ann feeding a parrot.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347001995273061986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRd_C2ORmI/AAAAAAAAAOU/6DRolCIajOM/s320/100_0505.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Aren't I cute? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347010287504151186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRlht0LUpI/AAAAAAAAAPc/EKw1TFCQBY4/s320/DSC00487.JPG" border="0" /&gt;The last night of the cruise, with our waiters Budi and Sushi. During this picture I was fast asleep in our cabin, a bit seasick.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347009474777161762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRkyaK9oCI/AAAAAAAAAPM/zKFVyKEAb7A/s320/DSC00103.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Our cruise ship. Not the best picture, but if you look real close, you can see the water slide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And that was our trip! We had lots of fun, saw some fun shows and ate some really good food. Good times! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&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/1352272084668365258-4414905684175756921?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/4414905684175756921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=4414905684175756921' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/4414905684175756921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/4414905684175756921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/06/cruise.html' title='Cruise!'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRbFm1d-RI/AAAAAAAAAMM/B-T5tWsm3IU/s72-c/DSC00013.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-5093175899233170884</id><published>2009-06-13T19:47:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-13T19:59:09.196-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Why is "Free Willy" one of my favorite movies of all time?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know. No, I really don't. I was thinking about it just now while watching it for the hundreth time. Don't get me wrong, it's not Star Wars material (I don't have this one memorized:) but I can watch it over and over (and have).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So why? Is it because I have fond childhood memories of watching it? No, we didn't even have it when I was a kid. Is it because I have a strong affinity for killer whales? Well, I like them, but not much more than the next guy. Is it because I feel for the plight of foster kids? Well, of course I do, but again, not that much more than the next guy. Is it the music? Aha! It might very well be a combination of all of the above, and the music brings it all together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why I'm such a fan, but whatever it is, don't mind me. I'll be in here watching Free Willy. Again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346996905205901570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 130px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 87px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRZWw3pKQI/AAAAAAAAAME/lU-yeqL3IhI/s320/free+willy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a id="thumbnail" href="http://www.riverwired.com/files/u9/__extra_69-Free-Willy2.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.riverwired.com/files/u9/__extra_69-Free-Willy2.jpg&amp;amp;imgrefurl=http://www.riverwired.com/category/tags/al-gore&amp;amp;usg=__lDru08wDo2C8WF6y9lR6Uh4gN60=&amp;amp;h=333&amp;amp;w=500&amp;amp;sz=23&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;start=6&amp;amp;um=1&amp;amp;tbnid=MArbIFNhpykeYM:&amp;amp;tbnh=87&amp;amp;tbnw=130&amp;amp;prev=/images%3Fq%3Dfree%2Bwilly%26hl%3Den%26rls%3Dcom.microsoft:en-us%26sa%3DN%26um%3D1"&gt;&lt;/a&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/1352272084668365258-5093175899233170884?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/5093175899233170884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=5093175899233170884' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/5093175899233170884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/5093175899233170884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/06/why-is-free-willy-one-of-my-favorite.html' title='Why is &quot;Free Willy&quot; one of my favorite movies of all time?'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SjRZWw3pKQI/AAAAAAAAAME/lU-yeqL3IhI/s72-c/free+willy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-8205588967604684268</id><published>2009-05-07T16:54:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T17:00:36.052-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The look of the panhandler</title><content type='html'>So you're driving down the street, stop at a light and there on the corner is a panhandler, with his little cardboard sign.  What does he look like?  I know, I know, you generally try to avoid eye contact and hence don't really look at him, but when he walks behind your car, you know you take a glance in your rearview mirror.  So picture in your head for a second what the guy looks like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the other day I saw an attractive male panhandler, probably my age or a little older (sad that mid-30s I consider "a little older").  Not hot, I probably wouldn't look twice if I were to see him in the store or movie theater, but in the role of standing by the side of the road holding a cardboard sign I must admit I had to look twice.  And then once more.  You know, you just don't expect a panhandler to be attractive.  I thought it was interesting, anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-8205588967604684268?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/8205588967604684268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=8205588967604684268' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/8205588967604684268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/8205588967604684268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/05/look-of-panhandler.html' title='The look of the panhandler'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-2309310208927189491</id><published>2009-05-01T17:59:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T18:19:07.964-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it takes all kinds...'/><title type='text'>Ding Dong, the truck is gone!</title><content type='html'>Julie and I like to abuse pick-up truck owners who live in apartment buildings. Pickups are good for, well, picking things up. Hauling things and helping people move, right? What do people living in apartments have to haul, we frequenly ask. Wouldn't it be cheaper to rent a truck that one time you need it and get something more practical like a Civic for every day driving?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's this one green truck in our parking lot that has been the bane of my existence. In reality, I don't care if you own a pickup, I really don't. But seriously, it's big. Do you have to park it in the exact middle of the lot? And then, the guy forgets that he has it. Seriously, this truck has not moved an inch in a year- I do not exaggerate, it's been a year. Ok, now I'm one to talk, I know, I owned 2 cars for not one but 2 years, a lot of which one sat in the parking lot doing nothing. But at least I put it in the side lot where people don't tend to park! This guy put his truck smack in the middle of the parking lot and completely forgot about it. There are a few other truck owners who also like to park around there, forcing me to park my little Honda in between two gigantic trucks. Frequently. One cannot see in either direction when backing out if they are in between two gigantic trucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then, just like that, on Wednesday night I trot out to my car headed for choir and the truck is just gone! I imagine something like this happened: Wife says hey, didn't you used to have a truck? Husband says oh yeah, wonder what happened to it? They both look out the window and lo and behold, in the middle of the parking lot, there's their truck. Husband says maybe I ought to move it. Wife says let's just sell it. They sell it and bada bing, the world is a better place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get happy about it all over again everytime I see green truck-free parking lot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-2309310208927189491?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/2309310208927189491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=2309310208927189491' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/2309310208927189491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/2309310208927189491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/05/ding-dong-truck-is-gone.html' title='Ding Dong, the truck is gone!'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-3719359792039137130</id><published>2009-04-28T09:35:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T09:38:34.539-06:00</updated><title type='text'>So much for that conversation</title><content type='html'>So this morning I walk into work and the girl at the reception desk says to me- sad, the Bronco’s live mascot died yesterday.  I kind of looked at her blankly and said um, I didn’t even know the Broncos had a live mascot.  She says yeah, you know the white horse that’s always prancing around during games?  I said um, I’ve never actually watched a Broncos game, actually.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-3719359792039137130?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/3719359792039137130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=3719359792039137130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3719359792039137130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3719359792039137130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/04/so-much-for-that-conversation.html' title='So much for that conversation'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-6425923845471005273</id><published>2009-04-22T12:34:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T12:41:41.251-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh to have perfect vision...</title><content type='html'>My contacts and I had a serious fight the other morning. We’re not really on speaking terms at this point. I don’t expect us to make up soon. I mean, you take a new lens out of the box, you kind of expect it to work. You know, go in your eye, help you see, not cause pain. I didn’t think that was too much to ask out of a brand new, just out of the package contact lens. I seem to be wrong, however. I didn’t throw away the offending lens, I’m hoping that it will see the error of its ways and when I give it a second chance, all will again be well between us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-6425923845471005273?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/6425923845471005273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=6425923845471005273' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/6425923845471005273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/6425923845471005273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/04/oh-for-perfect-vision.html' title='Oh to have perfect vision...'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-6219045976448603177</id><published>2009-02-07T16:41:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-07T17:23:10.877-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tagged</title><content type='html'>Ok, so techcnially I got tagged like 5 times over the last few months.  If you're one of those lucky people who always get those emails from me with a bunch of random questions you are supposed to answer, you know I typically love those things.  But for whatever reason I never got around to doing them.  So anyway, here's one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8 favorite TV shows&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Numbers  &lt;br /&gt;2. Star Trek: Voyager&lt;br /&gt;3. Smallville&lt;br /&gt;4. Home Improvement&lt;br /&gt;5. Buffy the Vampire Slayer&lt;br /&gt;6. Ghost Whisperer&lt;br /&gt;7.  Star Trek: The Next Generation&lt;br /&gt;8.  Frasier&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8 Books you recommend&lt;br /&gt;1. Mistborn&lt;br /&gt;2. Harry Potter&lt;br /&gt;3. Count of Monte Cristo&lt;br /&gt;4. Pride &amp;amp; Prejudice&lt;br /&gt;5. To Say Nothing of the Dog&lt;br /&gt;6. Leave it to Psmith&lt;br /&gt;7. anything by GeorgetteHeyer&lt;br /&gt;8. The Theif&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8 things that happened yesterday&lt;br /&gt;1. stayed up until 1 am finishing a book&lt;br /&gt;2. went to Estes Park with Julie&lt;br /&gt;3.  bought a superb cookie in Estes Park&lt;br /&gt;4. saw some co-workers in Estes Park&lt;br /&gt;5. watched some excellent Voyager episdoes&lt;br /&gt;6. never got around to eating dinner&lt;br /&gt;7. played the piano, including a bit from the new song I'm learning&lt;br /&gt;8. um...went to bed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8 things to look forward to&lt;br /&gt;1. eating the superb cookie I bought yesterday&lt;br /&gt;2. my next choir concert&lt;br /&gt;3. dinner&lt;br /&gt;4. cruise in May&lt;br /&gt;5. reading the last Harry Potter book again&lt;br /&gt;6. visiting my sister in UT&lt;br /&gt;7. the new Star Trek movie&lt;br /&gt;8. Phantom of the Opera&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8 things on my wishlist&lt;br /&gt;1. sewing machine&lt;br /&gt;2. knowing where I'll be this time next year&lt;br /&gt;3. Thumbelina and some Cary Grant movies&lt;br /&gt;4. to be able to fit into that one skirt that no longer fits me:(&lt;br /&gt;5. for Shannon to rejoin the Ten Tenors&lt;br /&gt;6. ooh, also for David &amp;amp; Liam to rejoin the Ten Tenors- what were they thinking?!?!&lt;br /&gt;7. hmmm...&lt;br /&gt;8. I don't know what else&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8 things I love about fall&lt;br /&gt;1. crunchy leaves&lt;br /&gt;2. Christmas is approaching&lt;br /&gt;3. pulling out my cute long sleeved shirts&lt;br /&gt;4. sweaters&lt;br /&gt;5. actually...&lt;br /&gt;6. I don't really&lt;br /&gt;7. like fall&lt;br /&gt;8.that much&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-6219045976448603177?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/6219045976448603177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=6219045976448603177' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/6219045976448603177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/6219045976448603177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/02/tagged.html' title='Tagged'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-472280233575363640</id><published>2009-01-16T23:42:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T00:37:52.139-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One year older and wiser too....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Alright, well yesterday while contemplating the fact that I am now unquestionably closer to 30 than 20, I decided to come out of blog exile and once again grace the internet with my presence.  I know, I know, no need to thank me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, without further ado, I present 27 things I did during my 27th year:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;1.   got a new job&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;2.   went to Mexico&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;3.   got a horrific sunburn and therefore now have charming freckles on my shoulders&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;4.   read a ridiculous number of books&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;5.   one of them being the Count of Monte Cristo, numbering 1,465 pages or something like that&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;6.   went to 2 midnight movie premiers: Indiana Jones and Twilight&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;7.   was released from my favorite calling&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;8.   saw The Ten Tenors in a fabulously live concert&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;9.   learned that Shannon was leaving TTT, making for a tragic day indeed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;10. saw Jim Brickman in concert- not the greatest event ever, but he did play Angel Eyes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;11. was called as alto section leader in the chorale, a job which I enjoy quite a bit&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;12. was also called as ward rep in the stake public affairs council...no comment how how I like that...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;13. went to Utah a couple times, and saw a great play called "She Loves Me"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;14. learned the rest of a great song on the piano that I had previously deemed too hard&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;15. watched seasons 1-4 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, remembering what a fun show that is&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;16. visited my grandparents in Kansas, which turned out to be the last time to see the farm as I remember it as they moved into town a week later&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;17. finally got the dents fixed on my car&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;18. wrote in my journal a grand total of 5 times&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;19. decided that I really don't have any embarrassing stories&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;20. decided that I am still afraid of dogs, so I should just own it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;21. took many walks in the summer, discovering what a charming and slightly quirky neighborhood I live in&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;22. got a raise&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;23. finally sold my old car&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;24. took a day off work to go to Elitches, only to find it and every other water park in the city closed and instead swam in my complex pool&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;25. discovered that my ears are still pierced, and that I do like wearing earrings&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;26. decided I was lactose intolerant and quit buying milk&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;27. turned a year older one day at a time&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day:   &lt;/em&gt;Try to come up with 27 things you did last year.  It's harder than it sounds!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-472280233575363640?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/472280233575363640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=472280233575363640' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/472280233575363640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/472280233575363640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2009/01/one-year-older-and-wiser-too.html' title='One year older and wiser too....'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-3266074184673917007</id><published>2008-08-03T18:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T18:29:11.323-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='church'/><title type='text'>Hanging up the hat...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;That's right folks, no more 5 hour church for me!  No more worrying about who's teaching on Sunday, or if the visiting teaching lists are being passed out, or if anybody did their visiting teaching.  No more key to the clerk's office.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And I'm going to miss it all.  Especially the keys.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I've been relief society president for 2 years and 2 months now.  That's a long time for a single's ward.  I don't know if I know how to attend church as a civilian, if you will.  What?  I just show up when the meeting starts, sit through all the lessons and go home?  Really?  Today many people asked me if I was relieved.  I told them all not yet.  Give me a few days to settle down.  I did cry when the Bishop actually released me in sacrament meeting.  I had the new president over this afternoon (who I know and have complete confidence in) and probably overwhelmed her talking for 3 hours about the relief society.  And I felt more strongly than ever what I think every relief society president should be obsessed with and that is God's love for the sisers in her relief society.  As I looked over the sisters today, and taught the lesson, I felt so much love for them that I knew came from God and even though I'm not going anywhere, I'll still see the same people every week, I feel like I will miss them.  It's kind of strange, really.  I know it won't be the same, and this week I'm very grateful for the opportunity I had to serve as the relief society president in this ward for so long.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And hope a little bit that it doesn't happen again.  :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-3266074184673917007?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/3266074184673917007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=3266074184673917007' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3266074184673917007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3266074184673917007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/08/hanging-up-hat.html' title='Hanging up the hat...'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-6936119061887870285</id><published>2008-06-22T15:53:00.016-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-22T20:55:42.639-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vacation'/><title type='text'>English...Romanian...Spanish...can anyone understand me?!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Well folks I made it back from my trip. It was quite fun, and we saw a lot. Exhausted ourselves a couple of days, but also sat around for a couple of days, so it all worked out. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I discovered a weird phenomenon. Whenver someone talks to me in a foreign language, I seem to automatically respond in Romanian. I can't even tell you the number of times I said da instead of si, and got halfway through multimesc before realizing the correct word is gracias. And when I needed to say something slighly more involved, I pretty much had the sentence figured out in Romanian before even approaching the Spanish. There are a couple of words that I'm still not sure if are Romanian or Spanish. So everything I said had to go through not only the English filter, but the Romanian filter too before I got to the Spanish (not that I know either language, really, just enough to make a fool of myself). On the upside, many Mexicans found it rather amusing to be answered with a da by an American. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;So anyway, here are a few pictures. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214830577488269890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 399px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="300" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF7Mx-cIkkI/AAAAAAAAAE0/48RjiDXblBI/s400/Picture+001.jpg" width="477" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;This is in Chichen Itza (not posivitve about the spelling). There is another temple inside this one, so they say, no one's allowed inside it, or on it, anymore. This one was built around the smaller one they think.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8GsFjOubI/AAAAAAAAAGs/mFK4w75MLL0/s1600-h/Picture+007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214894247992277426" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8GsFjOubI/AAAAAAAAAGs/mFK4w75MLL0/s400/Picture+007.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This is a playing field. There was this game that the Mayans played, seemed to have been a big deal because they've uncovered 8 playing fields in the whole area. There are carvings the in wall depicting the captain of one team beheading the captain of another team. So our guide thinks it was probably the captian of the losing team who killed the captain of the winning team, because it was an honor to die or something like that (yes, apparently the Mayans were Klingons).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8HlMFd6TI/AAAAAAAAAG0/eyb6x8xSXRE/s1600-h/Picture+044.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214895228999035186" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8HlMFd6TI/AAAAAAAAAG0/eyb6x8xSXRE/s200/Picture+044.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a close up of the little hoop on one side that the ball is supposed to go through in order to make a point. We referred to this place as the Quidditch field because, well, it looks kind of like a Quidditch field.&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;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214830597912040898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF7MzKhilcI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Fi-iDccy1jQ/s400/Picture+027.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;The observatory, for watching Venus and doing other such astronimical related research. The Mayans seem to have been pretty brilliant.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214830600971819746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF7MzV7DGuI/AAAAAAAAAFU/kW_muds7E-s/s400/Picture+041.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Me (proof that I was there:)&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8JoAFVUKI/AAAAAAAAAHE/5HaquUSx6-g/s1600-h/Picture+047.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214897476340109474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8JoAFVUKI/AAAAAAAAAHE/5HaquUSx6-g/s400/Picture+047.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;So after Chichen Izta we took a 8 hour night bus to Palenque. First though, we sat in a non air conditioned gross bus station in a city called Merida for 4 hours, discovered we were at the wrong bus station, took a taxi to the right one which was air conditioned and sat there, finally putting on our sweatshirts and long pants for another 4 hours. Sitting on bus all night wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't sat around waiting for said bus all day!&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8Kxh8IkcI/AAAAAAAAAHM/Dpmq1ZtG938/s1600-h/Picture+056.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214898739558781378" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8Kxh8IkcI/AAAAAAAAAHM/Dpmq1ZtG938/s400/Picture+056.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But look what we saw when we got there! Totally worth it. This was my favorite place, neat ruins in the jungle, and pretty water falls to boot. Yes, we felt the need to sing Indiana Jones a few times....me and Julie, we're nerds, it's true. We apologized to Brenda several times for our nerdiness...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214832253891925522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF7OTjh6VhI/AAAAAAAAAF8/uMa0mIUDkdc/s400/Picture+078.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214832249525410162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF7OTTQ2mXI/AAAAAAAAAF0/wsRCXteyMEo/s400/Picture+063.jpg" border="0" /&gt;This waterfall was pretty amazing. In this picture, we are looking at it standing on a swinging bridge. Pretty cool. This was right after walking down something like a million stairs and seeing the ruins below. Awesome.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214891265925216210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8D-gfCd9I/AAAAAAAAAGM/qLhPzI1igkY/s400/Picture+093.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8MPtRwlBI/AAAAAAAAAHU/2-qOcSLpdeg/s1600-h/Picture+082.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214900357509977106" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8MPtRwlBI/AAAAAAAAAHU/2-qOcSLpdeg/s320/Picture+082.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In Palenque, you're still allowed to climb up and around most of the ruins (which generally requires walking up a zillion fairly steep stairs- we were pretty sore!)  So this is me inside one of the ruins.  The day before this pictures, our guide told us that these stairs led down to a representation of hell.  You can go through a few things down there and then come out on the other side.  Well we thought it was pretty cool, and so decided to go back the next day to take more pictures.  Well we wandered on top of that ruin for 20 minutes, a good 10 of that spent looking for this stairwell.  Finally we followed a tour group hoping they'd lead us to it, and discovered that we had been walking around it the whole time!  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214891277451415394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8D_LbGT2I/AAAAAAAAAGc/756if7Vw0aU/s400/Picture+112.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;After Palenque we took a 12 hour night bus back across the country to Tulum.  There are 5 states in the Yucatan Peninsula and we wound up being in them all, although we crossed through 2 in the middle of night and didn't really see them.  By this point we had been on our trip for 6 days and had yet to see any beach.  So, we got a hotel by the beach in Tulum, accidentally got sunburned pretty good (yes, I put on sunscreen...got burned anyway).  There are some ruins right on the beach here, which were pretty, but I still liked Palenque better.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214891283168409170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8D_guItlI/AAAAAAAAAGk/XKGqZMfgnPQ/s400/Picture+120.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214891272163759874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF8D-3ubFwI/AAAAAAAAAGU/tc3FSGyO5M0/s400/Picture+111.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-6936119061887870285?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/6936119061887870285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=6936119061887870285' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/6936119061887870285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/6936119061887870285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/06/englishromanianspanishcan-anyone.html' title='English...Romanian...Spanish...can anyone understand me?!'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/SF7Mx-cIkkI/AAAAAAAAAE0/48RjiDXblBI/s72-c/Picture+001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-1429841864093802258</id><published>2008-06-01T18:55:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-01T19:29:24.125-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Where have I been?!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Yup, turns out I'm not a very good blogger.  I even had stuff to write about this month, and spare time, was on my computer- all that.  No excuse.  Just lazy.  Sorry about that.  Hope to make it up to you!  But tomorrow I'm leaving for a week and a half.  So I guess I'll have to make it up in July.  We'll see.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So a few weeks ago I'm driving to work, listening to the radio, doing my thing.  On the radio station I generally listen to they're doing this contest called "pick your purse"  where they call out names every once in a while of people who have signed up for an account on their website.  So on this ordinary drive to work, they suddenly called my name!  And then a few seconds later, just to prove I wasn't dreaming, I got a text from a friend saying they definately just called your name for pick your purse.  10 minutes later I was on the radio!  So, April, you will be happy to know that I am now the owner of a real grown up &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://mix100.com/Pick-Your-Purse--The-Sex-and-the-City-Collection-R/2144919"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;purse&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;.  I would post a picture of it but, again, too lazy.  But at the previous link is a picture.  As you can tell on that link, I also won free passes to a movie screening which I did not attend, by the way.  Gave to a coworker.  In case you were wondering.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;In other news- Shannon has left the ten tenors.  You can imagine my despair over this sad bit of news.  Really, what does he need a solo career for?  Laura (my sister) and I have decided that we'll have to take a trip to Australia to support his solo career.  How else am I going to see him?  And remember Liam?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/03/how-went-concert-you-ask-was-it-as.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;My new #3&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;?  That's right, he left the group as well.  Shannon at least, so their website tells me, is open to the possibility of returning to the group.  Liam?  Relocated to Los Angeles to pursue his opera career.  Another one that I most likely will not have the opportunity to support.   And to spend more time with his wife.  Guess I can't complain about that.  Get this though- apparently, Shannon was recruited into the group right out of high school- in 2003!  That's right folks, that makes him like 3 years younger than me.  Who knew?  I sure didn't.  Go &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thetentenors.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;here &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;for the full story:(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Well that's it for today.  I need to go pack for my trip, as I'm leaving for Mexico tomorrow.  Tomorrow!  Theoretically I will post all kinds of pictures upon my return.  I wouldn't hold my breath though, if I were you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-1429841864093802258?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/1429841864093802258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=1429841864093802258' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/1429841864093802258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/1429841864093802258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/06/where-have-i-been.html' title='Where have I been?!'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-7199476295118169157</id><published>2008-05-07T22:07:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-05-07T22:32:45.890-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='adventures at work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='animals'/><title type='text'>Weather for ducks?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So this morning was a little dreary- it had been raining a lot of the night and was still raining pretty good when I got to work.  I got on the elevator with a co-worker, and she says something like  how about this weather?  It's great for the ducks!  I kind of chuckled, because I know this woman likes ducks and has mentioned ducks on occasion before.  So then about 45 minutes later my boss gets to work, and one of the first things she says is "Great weather for ducks, huh?"  I turned around and said you're kidding me, Sonja said that to me on the elevator this morning, I don't get it.  Well about 10 minutes later my boss's husband comes in the office and says the exact same thing- this is great weather for ducks!  Well I've just never heard of this before, do ducks have a partiality for rain?  I never thought so.  Ducks never would have even crossed my mind on this rainy day, and yet three people completely independent of each other today commented that the rain was great weather for ducks. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Weird, I tell ya.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Today when I was at the drive-through bank, the car next to me had a ginormous dog in it.  He took up the entire back seat, and I really think was bigger than the woman driving the car.  Yikes, the thought of just being on the same side of the street as that dog gets me all panicky, not to mention being trapped in a car with it!  Once I was waiting for an elevator, and there was this guy there also waiting for the elevator with his humoungous dog who, by the way, was a little bit hyper.  And then he was surprised when I wouldn't get on the elevator with him.    He tried to reassure me that he was in control and it was no big deal.  He didn't seem to realize that being trapped in a small 6x3 box with a dog half my size is pretty much my worse nightmare.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day:  &lt;/em&gt;People like their dogs.  I get that.  Just keep it away from me.  It's not too much to ask.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-7199476295118169157?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/7199476295118169157/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=7199476295118169157' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7199476295118169157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7199476295118169157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/05/weather-for-ducks.html' title='Weather for ducks?'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-3709081939137542255</id><published>2008-04-23T22:32:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-04-23T22:51:59.727-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='busy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='adventures at work'/><title type='text'>A Paperclip Fettish</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sorry about the lack of updates, been pretty busy.  I like to blame my business on being RS president, but then realized a couple weeks ago that the things I was off doing every night had nothing to do with my calling, I would be doing them either way.  So there goes that theory.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So quick update on me- job going pretty well, I'm now officially on the payroll, so that's exciting.  The only difference really is that I have a nameplate now outside my door, so if I forget my name, I have a quick reference.  And I now have to use the time clock system, so I can't sneak in 5 minutes late without anybody knowing the difference.  Not that I would do that.  Ahem.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;We purchased our plane tickets for the summer vacation finally, a couple weeks ago.  I will officially be in Mexico June 2-11.  Pretty dang exciting.  Any tips anyone has on vacationing in the Yucatan are welcome, we are flying into Cancun, and wish to see all the cool stuff in the area, while avoiding crowds and over touristy areas.  And let me just say that my tax return, along with the "stimulation bonus" or whatever the heck they're calling it, is pretty much paying for my trip.  Thank you, US government.  Alas, I will not be spending it assisting our great economy as you would wish me to do.  Sorry about that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So I have this weird thing at work.  I use a lot of paperclips.  Legitimately, I mean, I just need them a lot.  I'll have a lot of stacks of paper, with many papercliped throughout- generally because I will need to run them  through a scanner and so don't staple them until I'm done.  As a result of this, there always seem to be a spare 3 or 4 paperclips loitering on my desk.  And I find that somehow, there is constantly one in my hand.  I don't know how it happens.  Generally I don't really realize I've picked one up.  I just go to type something, and discover that I must put down the paperclip I've been fiddling with first.  Sometimes, just to change things up a bit, I find myself fiddling with the little bunny eraser someone planted on my desk around Easter time.  It's pretty strange.  And, incidentally, I have ruined more paperclips.  I play with them, moving the inside part around until it's pretty much useless in actually clipping paper together.  So then I throw it away, put the rest in my drawer, trying to break myself of the habit.  But, since people hand me stacks of paper with paperclips strewn about all the time, I find myself playing with another one a mere hour later.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So the question, I suppose, is why does there always have to be something in my hands?  At least I've moved up in the world.  In college it was always silly puddy or a mini-slinky that I would find myself playing with.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day:&lt;/em&gt; When in a down mood, watch an episode of &lt;em&gt;Remington Steele&lt;/em&gt; or &lt;em&gt;Star Trek&lt;/em&gt; (any of them really, although I would recommend Voyager first).  There's nothing better!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-3709081939137542255?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/3709081939137542255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=3709081939137542255' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3709081939137542255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3709081939137542255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/04/paperclip-fettish.html' title='A Paperclip Fettish'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-8102420864608231056</id><published>2008-03-22T18:38:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-22T18:42:54.855-06:00</updated><title type='text'>And the answer is.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;cream cheese!  That's right, turns out if you leave cream cheese in your fridge for a long time (there is a possibility that it's been in there over a year....) it turns out really, really gross.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So my goal with the "Name that movie" feature over to the right is to stump Laura.  It's a new goal really, when  puting a Newsies quote up there (Remember the hot tip I told you about?  Nobody told the horse.") is never in a million years going to stump Laura.  But this new one might- so check it out and hazard a guess!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day&lt;/em&gt;:  Duh!  Don't let things just hang out in the fridge for over a year!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-8102420864608231056?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/8102420864608231056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=8102420864608231056' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/8102420864608231056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/8102420864608231056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/03/and-answer-is.html' title='And the answer is.....'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-7061280347242779683</id><published>2008-03-19T22:37:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-19T22:41:45.889-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='story of the week'/><title type='text'>Two bathtubs</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Elliot roared into the parking lot, jumped out of the car and up the stairs two at a time.  His wife got out of the car slowly, and went deliberately up the stairs behind him.  By the time she was walking through the door, he had already turned the on water to the tub in the guest bathroom and was laying down the second of three giant plastic sheets.  After they had had to pay to have all the carpet relaid in their previous apartment, she had insisted on the plastic sheets.  She put her coat in the closet by the front door, stepped gingerly over the plastic to the kitchen.  Pouring herself a drink, she returned to the living room and sat on the couch.  Elliot had finished laying down the sheets and was now donning thick rubber gloves that ran past his elbows.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;            “You knew that movie was longer than 2 hours, didn’t you?”  She admitted that she thought it be, and that it wouldn’t be that big a deal- so they got home a half hour late.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;            “Every six hours they need fresh water- I told you there can be give or take of 10 minutes, but not 30!  Never 30!”  He was now carrying large buckets from the kitchen to the master bathroom, to begin the transporting process.  With the buckets full he walked slowly, deliberately, although still sloshing more water than usual in his haste, from one bathroom to the other.  Running back with empty buckets for another load he ran like a madman, nearly slipping on the now slightly wet plastic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;            “I just thought we could have a nice night out.  You know, just you and me.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;            “We did have a nice night out.”  Elliot replied in between trips.  “But we couldn’t have gone to an earlier show?  A little extra planning is all it would take.”  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;            She knew it was no use, so she remained silent, finishing her drink and observing her husband calmly from the couch as he made several more trips.  When he was finished, carrying the last one by hand, he pulled the plug in the master bathroom, and quickly washed down out the tub.  He then moved to the other bathroom to turn the off the water and retrieve clean towels to clean up any water spills.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;            His wife sighed and stood up to go to bed, as Elliot began picking up the sheets.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;            “I’m sorry,” he said.  “But nothing is more important than the jellyfish.  Nothing.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;This story came about as a possible explanation for our upstairs neighbors who seem to drain their bathtub several times at day, at all hours.  Thinking that one couldn't possibly need that many baths, we resorted to more unusual possible reasons for this behavior.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-7061280347242779683?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/7061280347242779683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=7061280347242779683' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7061280347242779683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7061280347242779683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/03/two-bathtubs.html' title='Two bathtubs'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-1188686077590765600</id><published>2008-03-12T23:00:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-12T23:09:26.953-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gross'/><title type='text'>Gross</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I just found this in my refridgerator. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R9i2Abc1KDI/AAAAAAAAAEI/H1VApaw-0Fc/s1600-h/DSCF0014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177087890147321906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R9i2Abc1KDI/AAAAAAAAAEI/H1VApaw-0Fc/s400/DSCF0014.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R9i1w7c1KCI/AAAAAAAAAEA/Soe10KdL-hQ/s1600-h/DSCF0013.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177087623859349538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R9i1w7c1KCI/AAAAAAAAAEA/Soe10KdL-hQ/s400/DSCF0013.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R9i1kbc1KBI/AAAAAAAAAD4/euiYHIa1zjk/s1600-h/DSCF0012.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177087409110984722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R9i1kbc1KBI/AAAAAAAAAD4/euiYHIa1zjk/s400/DSCF0012.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any guesses as to what it is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&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/1352272084668365258-1188686077590765600?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/1188686077590765600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=1188686077590765600' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/1188686077590765600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/1188686077590765600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/03/gross.html' title='Gross'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R9i2Abc1KDI/AAAAAAAAAEI/H1VApaw-0Fc/s72-c/DSCF0014.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-4831376495434590648</id><published>2008-03-06T21:53:00.006-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-06T22:43:25.834-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the ten tenors'/><title type='text'>What to excitedly drive people crazy about next?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;How went the concert, you ask? Was it as fabulous as hoped for, and worth all the &lt;a href="http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/blog-post.html"&gt;hype&lt;/a&gt;?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why yes, yes it was. They did a couple songs that I hadn't heard before, several that I had. And, I discovered a new favorite. &lt;a href="http://www.thetentenors.com/team/tenors/bio_shannon.html"&gt;Shannon &lt;/a&gt;is by far my favorite, followed close by &lt;a href="http://www.thetentenors.com/team/tenors/bio_drew.html"&gt;Drew&lt;/a&gt;. Before it was that the other 8 were just there, pretty fabulous but none really stood out. At the concert I went to last year, I discovered that many times the voice sailing over everyone else that I thought was Shannon turned out to be this guy David. So I was pretty impressed with him. Well he left the group not too long ago. It seems that many of his roles were taken over by (dadadadum!) my new favorite number 3, &lt;a href="http://www.thetentenors.com/team/tenors/bio_liam.html"&gt;Liam&lt;/a&gt;, who has always been in the group, I just never noticed his amazing-ness before, partly because he was overshadowed by Shannon &amp;amp; David. The Ten Tenors do a really great version of the Bohemain Rhapsody, and Liam was the man feature in that song. Although possibly my favorite thing he did was Nessun Dorma. This was one of the last songs they did, and I knew he was my new #3 before then, but that definately confirmed it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let's see, what else....so they really like the Beegees and did a few of their songs, in addition to The Boxer and a couple Queen songs. And of course, the opera and Australian folk songs. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So then after the show we are in the lobby debating about whether or not to stay for autographs. I know, silly question, why would you not stay, but I get shy &amp;amp; nervous in those situations. Well as we're debating they all come out and there's Shannon standing like 5 feet away from me. Well, ok, I have this here program, I'll just have Shannon sign it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174867781413969762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R9DS1F7LH2I/AAAAAAAAADg/d_s-PdmZkXA/s200/DSCF0007.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;And then my mom says are you sure you don't want anymore? I'll go with you. Ok, well, Drew is standing right there, I'd better get his. Elaine says you should open your program to their page and have him sign there. I thought that a good idea, and so did so and got Drew's. And was then about to leave. And then I thought about getting home and only having 2 autographs. How dumb would that be? So I just got the rest.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174868502968475506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R9DTfF7LH3I/AAAAAAAAADo/aCp-wZn8F0Q/s200/DSCF0008.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Now, if you'll look closely, you'll notice that there are only 8 autographs on this page, plus the one on the front making only 9 tenors. Well, some of these are illegible really so I can't be sure, but I think it was a guy named Dom who I missed. I later was thinking about it and didn't recall seeing him in the lobby. He probably was there, I just missed him. Alas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day: &lt;/em&gt;If you must paint your nails right before bedtime (and let's face it, sometimes there's no other choice) dry them as much as possible before sleep is really just the only thing left for doing. Then arrange your hands very carefully so while you fall asleep and the first little while your nails don't touch anything. Theoretically, by the time that you move in your sleep, the nails are dry, no harm done.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-4831376495434590648?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/4831376495434590648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=4831376495434590648' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/4831376495434590648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/4831376495434590648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/03/how-went-concert-you-ask-was-it-as.html' title='What to excitedly drive people crazy about next?'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R9DS1F7LH2I/AAAAAAAAADg/d_s-PdmZkXA/s72-c/DSCF0007.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-6608626978835757774</id><published>2008-02-27T22:59:00.009-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T23:27:08.484-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lunch'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the ten tenors'/><title type='text'>4 days</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R8ZRrhvBXDI/AAAAAAAAACY/NUrUrYPvn3U/s1600-h/DSCF0005.JPG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171911030313409586" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R8ZRrhvBXDI/AAAAAAAAACY/NUrUrYPvn3U/s200/DSCF0005.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Just in case you forgot, which you probably did, I'm going to see The Ten Tenors live. In just 4 days. As if the mere fact isn't exciting enough, I have a visual. You see, there are ten tenors. And at the last concert brillianceness I went to, I was forced to buy the magnets, which adorn the side of my refridgerator. So at 10 days out, I started moving a magnet a day from the side to the front of the fridge. The last one will be Shannon of course (actually Julie's genius idea, not mine). So, here you are: 4 days, 4 tenors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And here's the front of my fridge, for all those days you sadly missed out on:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171909290851654690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R8ZQGRvBXCI/AAAAAAAAACQ/ut4CHw-PQCU/s320/DSCF0006.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So all in all, Saturday night should be fabulous, and I'm excited.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;In other items of interested, yesterday I saw &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.chipotle.com/#flash/ads_billboards"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;this &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;billboard for Chipotle while I was driving around. It said "We put the "burrito" in gourmet". I think that's pretty much hilarious, and I was laughing out loud in my car for a few minutes. And, guess what I had for dinner? That's right. A burrito from Chipotle. Yum! I think that Chipotle's website is pretty funny. Especially the live web cams, which include such exciting videos as "mean marinating" and "avacados ripening". Funny stuff. You should go there next time you're bored.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day: &lt;/em&gt;If you're picky about your bananas (as I am very much) just buy one at a time. And eat it the day after you buy it. Otherwise it will get some brown spots (my limit is maybe 2) and then what a waste!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&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/1352272084668365258-6608626978835757774?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/6608626978835757774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=6608626978835757774' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/6608626978835757774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/6608626978835757774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/02/4-days.html' title='4 days'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R8ZRrhvBXDI/AAAAAAAAACY/NUrUrYPvn3U/s72-c/DSCF0005.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-2874258113809597798</id><published>2008-02-15T17:22:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T23:28:37.455-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='story of the week'/><title type='text'>The Subway, Part 3</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Here is the 3rd and final and, I must say my favorite, part of the Subway story. Ah, Stewart. Make sure you read &lt;a href="http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/subway-part-1.html"&gt;part 1&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/02/subway-part-2.html"&gt;part 2&lt;/a&gt; first&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Stewart looked in the mirror and sighed. Why do these things always happen to me? I’m just an ordinary guy, with an ordinary job. I can’t walk in to my ordinary job looking like this. I just can’t, what will they do? What will they think? I just can’t, can’t do it, I’ll have to call in sick or something. Stewart walked out of the bathroom toward the phone and picked it up. What am I going to tell them? I can’t say I’m sick; I’m a horrible liar. They’ll think I’m just goofing off or something. He realized that he never actually had goofed off before, but he didn’t know if the people at his work knew that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Thinking back to the day before, Stewart groaned. He had met a girl online months before and had friendly conversation. She only liked men with black hair. Oh, what a coincidence, he had said. I have black hair! Then she wanted to meet. Sounds great, Stewart said, name the place! She did and it was set up. Stewart, however, had blond hair. No problem, he thought. I’ll just dye my hair black, she’ll never know. During his incredibly short lunch break, he ran to the store to buy hair dye. The clerk gave him a funny look when he paid for it, but Stewart was in too much of a hurry to notice. The date was set for 7:00; Stewart got home from work at 6. As soon as he got home he set to work dying his hair, working quickly. He got dressed, washed out the dye and stood in front of the mirror to assess his new look. His jaw had nearly dropped to the floor. Standing in front of him was not the attractive, black haired man he expected. Instead was a blue haired idiot. In panic he checked the dye box. Sure enough, it was blue hair dye. Not black. Blue. Not knowing what else to do, Stewart had canceled the date. No explanations, just couldn’t make it. He felt bad for ditching the girl, but he couldn’t show up looking like a blue haired idiot. Not when she expected an attractive black haired man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Stewart checked the time and automatically went into panic mode; he was late. Temporarily forgetting about his dilemma, he finished getting dressed and rushed out the door. On the elevator he realized that his hair was still blue. Suck it up, Stewart. You’re the idiot who dyed your hair blue. You can figure out something to say at work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;He walked quickly to the subway station, trying not to be noticed. Once there, Stewart hid in a corner where he wouldn’t be seen. It was bad enough to have blue hair, he didn’t need all these strangers to notice it and make fun of him. The train came and he quickly got on it. He sat in the first seat he saw and sunk in his chair. Everyone who walked by seemed to be scrutinizing him, wondering what kind of idiot he was. He glared at them. Maybe, I can convince them that I did it on purpose. That’s right! I want to have blue hair, I like having blue hair. By the reaction of the old lady sitting a couple of seats over, his look just came out mean. Well, huh. That’s not what I meant, I don’t want to scare people. So he tried to change the look, not a mean look, just an I-mean-to-have-blue-hair look. The man across from him caught the new look and smiled at him. Stewart noticed several gaps in his teeth, and a twitch in the man’s eye. Oh, well I don’t know, I think I want to give him the mean look. He tried it but the man just smiled wider. Ugh. Well, never mind. I’ll just read my book and pretend I’m not here. Stewart pulled out the book that he was currently reading and tried to concentrate. A man came in and sat in the seat next to him. Stewart kind of scooted over to increase the distance between him and this new person. He realized that the further he moved, the more the man moved. He was trying to see the book. Stewart moved enough to let the man see his book. Ha! Once he discovers it’s a computer science book he’ll leave me alone. Sure enough, the man seemed to be not interested in computer science and turned his attention to someone else. A woman rushed in and the doors closed; she was completely out of breath and a little disorganized it seemed. Stewart’s eyes rolled and he sunk deeper into his chair. Geeze lady, you could just leave earlier and not have to run to the subway station. It’s not that difficult.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Stewart noticed the man next to him begin to stand. Oh man, what’s he doin'? The train just started, where does he think he’s going? The man offered his seat to the woman who couldn’t wake up on time, and she politely refused. He repeated his offer and again the woman refused. She doesn’t want the seat, man, leave her alone! Stewart felt like telling him, but he kept his mouth shut and pretended to read his book. The man shrugged his shoulders and moved to the other side of the subway car. Oh that’s effective. Now no one is going to sit in this perfectly good seat. Stewart decided that he was being rather negative about this whole affair and that it really wasn’t any of his business. Taking a few deep breaths, he went back to his book, trying to forget about the people in the car and his blue hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The ride was almost over when he felt someone’s eyes on him. His thoughts immediately turned toward the woman and sure enough, she was looking at him. The look on her face was a mix between terror and exhaustion. Huh. I didn’t even give her my mean look. I didn’t give her a look at all, what’s her problem? He started to feel uncomfortable and glanced up at the woman. She was reading something now, but he could tell she wasn’t really reading. Well, I do have blue hair. People with blue hair freak most people out. People with blue hair freak me out. Still, the sooner this subway stops the better. I just want to get to work without any problems. A ball dropped in his stomach as he remembered his current crisis and again started wondering what he was going to say when he got to work. Um, hi, I accidentally dyed my hair blue last night, don’t worry it will be gone in 40 washings. The subway stopped and everyone got off. Stewart barely noticed the woman scurrying away in the opposite direction.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-2874258113809597798?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/2874258113809597798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=2874258113809597798' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/2874258113809597798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/2874258113809597798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/02/subway-part-3.html' title='The Subway, Part 3'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-7803135977049555194</id><published>2008-02-07T18:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-07T18:13:22.129-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='elevators'/><title type='text'>Again with the elevator theme</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I find "elevator etiquitte" pretty amusing. There are 2 people standing in the hall. One person gets on and naturally holds their hand over the door to keep it from shutting and then they ask what floor the person wants, and pushes the appropriate button. Yes yes, that's all fine and well. What really cracks me up is if the 2nd person gets off the elevator first, I have witnessed them on many occasions saying thanks to the 1st person. It just makes me laugh. You already said thanks for pushing the proper button, and for holding the door open. I recognize that you feel like you should say something upon exiting first, but thanks just doesn't seem like it. Have a nice day seems more appropriate, which I have said in this circumstance on occasion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then today by the time the elevator came, there were 5 or 6 people lined up waiting for it. So the first guy gets on, neglects to hold his hand over the door causing it to pretend to close for half a second before the motion detector kicks on. No big deal, he was under no obligation to prevent that, yet he apologized. Then everyone told him their floor, and he dutifully pushed each button. It seemed that there was then a pecking order. He got off first, and so the next person stepped up to push the button again to make the door close 2 seconds faster. That guy got off, and then the next person takes over the button pushing duties. I don't know why really, but I found that pretty amusing too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day&lt;/em&gt;: We could all learn this great lesson from President Hinckley: if you're able, take the stairs!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-7803135977049555194?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/7803135977049555194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=7803135977049555194' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7803135977049555194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7803135977049555194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/02/again-with-elevator-theme.html' title='Again with the elevator theme'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-3046565461896076098</id><published>2008-02-01T17:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-01T18:00:39.185-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Subway, Part 2</title><content type='html'>W&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;hoa, sorry folks!  New job started this week, lots of stuff going on, a little busy.  Good news:  I got internet at home!  Bad news:  my computer was being really annoying and appeared to have deleted the network I so carefully had set up.  So, attempting to set it up again.  Why should it just work, afterall?  That would be silly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So here's part 2 of 3 of my Subway story.  They're really meant to be all read together, but I figured that it's too long for one entry. So if you haven't already, read &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/subway-part-1.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;part one &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;first.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Marty whistled while he walked.  He didn’t do it to tick people off, or to make them happy.  There was no particular reason; often he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.  But his mother had told him once to whistle to be happy and it had stuck with him.  Not that he needed any reminders to be happy.  Marty was always happy, it was just his nature.  Today he was especially happy because he was going to the bookstore.  The bookstore was a special treat, a place he only got to go to when he was good all week.  There were many things Marty enjoyed about the bookstore.  He liked Teri, the waitress, who always gave him hot chocolate with a straw.  Then there was Barbara who would read books to him if she wasn’t too busy.  That was his favorite part, and he tried to go when no one else would so she wouldn’t be too busy.  His mother told him what time he should go so it wouldn’t be crowded there.  If it’s crowded at the bookstore, Barbara will be more busy because she has to take care of the other people.  It’s not that she doesn’t want to read books to me, but her job is to help everybody, not just Marty.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;            Marty went down the stairs just like mother had told him to, bought his ticket, and sat down on a bench.  He had only ridden the subway by himself a few times before and was really excited about riding it today.  There weren’t many people in the station, but he was pretty early.  He didn’t want to miss it because then he wouldn’t know what to do.  Marty just sat on his bench, watching as more and more people gathered as it came closer to the time the subway was supposed to come.  Finally it came and he got on the train with everyone else.  He went in, looked around for a minute and sat down..  A nice old lady was on one side of Marty and smiled at him.  He smiled back politely just like his mother had taught him to do.  On his other side was a man with blue hair.  I wonder why he has blue hair?  Most people do not have blue hair.  Marty tried not to stare but it was fascinating, that someone would purposely make their hair blue, of all colors.  He was reading a book and Marty leaned over to see what he was reading.  I’m going to the bookstore, Marty remembered.  Maybe Barbara can read to me today.  He read some of the words in the book the man with the blue hair had and didn’t really understand them.  Why do people read boring books?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Just as the doors were about to close a woman rushed onto the car, looking relieved that she had made it in time.  Marty decided that she looked tired and a little stressed, and thought that he could let her sit in his chair.  He wasn’t tired, and he liked to stand on the subway.  His mother would be proud of him for doing such a nice thing for this lady.  So he politely smiled at her, started to stand up, and told her to take his chair.  No thanks, she said, I’ll just stand.  A little puzzled, Marty moved away from his chair a little more.  I want to offer my seat, and I’d be really happy if you sat in it, he said.  Again the woman said no, I’d prefer to stand.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;            Marty didn’t know what to do, he was just trying to be nice, and this lady wouldn’t let him.  He couldn’t just sit back down now, he had offered her his seat and he meant it.  Shrugging his shoulders, he moved to the other side of the train and held onto the pole there.  Maybe she would see that he wasn’t sitting there anyway and change her mind.  I hope so!  She looks so tired.  He looked over and sure enough, she was still standing there.  Marty didn’t understand why she was still standing, but his mother had taught him to mind his own business.  The lady took something out of her bag and started to read it.  At that Marty smiled. I’m going to the bookstore today, he thought, and Barbara’s going to read to me if she’s not too busy.  Soon the train slowed to a stop and the doors opened.  Marty remembered that his mother had told him to get off the first time the subway stopped and turn left.  He did so, and noticed that the lady went the other way.  He looked back at her, still wondering why she wouldn’t sit in his seat.  The man with the blue hair was in front of him.  He wanted to touch it, make sure it was real, but he was pretty sure his mother would tell him not to.  Oh well, I’m still happy.  I’m going to the bookstore today.  Maybe, if Barbara isn’t too busy she’ll read to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-3046565461896076098?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/3046565461896076098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=3046565461896076098' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3046565461896076098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3046565461896076098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/02/subway-part-2.html' title='The Subway, Part 2'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-4265179398309033378</id><published>2008-01-24T21:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-24T22:21:22.500-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='entertainment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the ten tenors'/><title type='text'>!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;That's right folks, I'm excited. And here's why&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R5lmuF5L8UI/AAAAAAAAAAs/yRCN_DNpAlQ/s1600-h/shannon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159267790171664706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R5lmuF5L8UI/AAAAAAAAAAs/yRCN_DNpAlQ/s320/shannon.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I know, he's not much to look at, but when this man sings, it's just amazing. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159268528906039634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R5lnZF5L8VI/AAAAAAAAAA0/mddVWZUGAGk/s320/drew.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;To be seconded only by when this man sings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159272987082092914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R5lrcl5L8XI/AAAAAAAAABE/b4cHS796rxw/s320/tentenors.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And when all ten of them sing, well, I couldn't be happier. Unless, of course, I am hearing them live and in person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159274004989342082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R5lsX15L8YI/AAAAAAAAABM/NP-fZgl6M6E/s320/DSCF0003.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Which thing I will be doing in a short 37 days. Why they are not doing a concert anywhere in Denver is completly beyond me, but that's ok because I get to hang out with my cousins and their kids before the show, and my cousin Elaine is coming with us to the concert, so I'm excited about that. I seriously have been looking forward to this concert since they announced it way back in September or something like that. I'll look on their website every once in a while to see where they are on their tour (oh, wouldn't it be fabulous to be in (insert random little town somewhere in Germany) right now? If I were, I could see The Ten Tenors today!). I debated long and hard about whether or not I really needed to see their concert twice, but in the end decided against it, eating on a regular basis is probably a better thing to spend my money on. But, for those of you dwelling in Utah, they will be there March 8! I nearly went to that one- hey, I can visit my friends/siblings and see a great concert all at the same time. Alas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you can tell from the picture of my precious concert ticket, my camera is fully loaded nowadays (thanks, dad!). So that's good news, too.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day:  &lt;/em&gt;Man, back to yesterday's tip, just go to bed!  Jeeze, you're exhausted but instead of going to bed to get the much needed sleep you need (see, you can tell I'm tired, totally ridiculous sentence right there) you sit here wasting time for no apparent reason (obviously, if there was a reason, it wouldn't be considered "wasting", now would it).  Especially when you know that the next opportunity for sleeping in will be next Saturday (Feb 2, unless something comes up that day too).  Ok, ok, I get the point, I'm going to bed!  Right now!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-4265179398309033378?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/4265179398309033378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=4265179398309033378' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/4265179398309033378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/4265179398309033378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/blog-post.html' title='!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R5lmuF5L8UI/AAAAAAAAAAs/yRCN_DNpAlQ/s72-c/shannon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-620729262137728136</id><published>2008-01-23T23:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T23:32:41.322-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Driving queries</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Why is it that the only people with dirty back windsheilds are those with back windsheild wipers?  Have you ever noticed that?  Sure, the middle is clean.  But the edges are completely covered, you can't even see through them.  Yet you look at everyone else's car, and you can see through their back windshields just fine.  Why is that?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;4 way stops.  I think everyone has a love-hate relationship with 4 way stops.  So here's my question.  Are you allowed to go at the same time as the car across from you, even if you got there after the car adjacent to you?  Example:  you get to a 4 way intersection, and the car directly across from you is about to go.  There are cars waiting on both sides of the street adjacent to you.  But they can't go yet because it is the turn of the car across from you.  So technically, it's stupid for you to just sit there while he goes, and then the other cars go, and then you go.  But the rule says that whoever gets there first goes first, so you have to go last.  But there's plenty of time for you to go before, and it doesn't interfere with the other folks at all. So are you allowed to go?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Seriously, I have faced this issue several times in the last month, and I never know- half the time I go, half the time I wait, or sometimes it's another car in the situation and I think they're so dumb for sitting there waiting just because they got there last, but shouldn't the rule be that first this side goes, and then that side?  Am I making any senses?  Any insight would be appreciated.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day:&lt;/em&gt;  Don't go to bed at your usual time, and wake up 3 hours earlier 4 days in a row.  When your fabulous 9+ hours of sleep a night are suddenly cut to 7 or less, it's just not a good situation.  Not that I would know....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-620729262137728136?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/620729262137728136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=620729262137728136' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/620729262137728136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/620729262137728136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/driving-queries.html' title='Driving queries'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-8900961177980157632</id><published>2008-01-22T11:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T17:46:43.078-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The elevator's still broken</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So today I got to work and got on the elevator, along with another woman who works on my floor. The one that opened was on the left (which, as you'll recall, was &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/what-your-finger-is-more-powerful-than.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;broken the other day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;). The doors close I'm chatting with this other lady, and pretty soon we notice that we're only on the 3rd floor. About 10 seconds later the thing beeps and we're on the 4th floor. 10 seconds later it beeps again and we're on the 5th floor. Etc, etc. So it took a while, almost a minute I think, to get to the 8th floor. It's a weird sensation, being on an elevator that you think is moving, but you can't quite tell.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day: &lt;/em&gt; Comment on my blog.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-8900961177980157632?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/8900961177980157632/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=8900961177980157632' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/8900961177980157632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/8900961177980157632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/elevators-still-broken.html' title='The elevator&apos;s still broken'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-3209987431102038955</id><published>2008-01-18T10:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-18T11:09:36.005-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='adventures at work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='it takes all kinds...'/><title type='text'>What, your finger is more powerful than mine?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;So a funny thing happened when I got to work today.  There are 2 elevators.  The one on the right only goes up, and the one on the left goes up and down.  So sometimes you push the up button and the system thinks it has to wait for the right elevator, but the little red light above the elevators says that the left one is on the 1st floor.  So you push the down button and the left elevator opens.  You with me so far?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;So today I walk into the lobby, and right behind me is this lady.  I push the up button and nothing happens, but the left elevator sign says it's on the 1st floor.  So I push the down button.  It does not light up, and the elevator remains closed.  I say hmm, that's weird, push the button a few more times to no avail, and so figure it must be broken or being worked on or something, and commence waiting for the other one.  Well this other woman had come up and stood right in front of the elevator on the left, like with her nose 6 inches from the door.  So she looked confused, backed up a little, and then said well that's weird, it says it's on this floor.  We stood there a couple seconds, and she then proceeded to start pushing the down button.  I'm standing there thinking you've got to be kidding me.  You just saw me push that button several times and nothing happened, what you think it'll magically open when &lt;em&gt;you &lt;/em&gt;push the botton?  Because I'm not versed in the art of proper button pushing?  Well, of course, she pushes the down button several times and nothing happens.  So most people would then assume as I did that the thing is broken and just be happy waiting another 5 seconds for the other elevator.  Not this woman.  She proceeded to stick her fingers in the little crack and try to manually open the elevator door.  Who are you, Data?  You think that you can pry the door open with your little fingers, and then the elevator will say oh yeah, I'm supposed to open when people push that button and then it's business as usual?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;So the other one comes, we get on it, I push my floor and she just stands there.  Now I know that this woman does not work on the same floor as I do as I've seen her around before, so I'm standing there thinking is she going to push the button for her floor?  Or at least tell me which floor she needs so I can push the botton?  I should have just let her ride up to the 8th floor, but I was nice and when it was about at 2, asked her which floor to which she responded 3 and I got it hit just barely in time for us to get there.  She got off and I just shook my head.  Some people.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day:  &lt;/em&gt;Always make sure your heater is on before you leave work, so your office isn't like 50 degrees when you get there the next day.&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/1352272084668365258-3209987431102038955?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/3209987431102038955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=3209987431102038955' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3209987431102038955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3209987431102038955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/what-your-finger-is-more-powerful-than.html' title='What, your finger is more powerful than mine?'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-8261246667960482811</id><published>2008-01-16T14:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T15:05:14.279-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='story of the week'/><title type='text'>The Subway: Part 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Melinda hurried out the door still putting papers into her bag. How did this always happen? Every morning she seemed to go through this rush, off to the subway barely in time and barely on time to work. Not today, she had said. Today is going to be different. Sighing, she pushed the elevator button one more time. Ok, well, maybe tomorrow. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Once outside the building she remembered all the things that she had forgotten, but it was too late now. Nothing too important. Hurrying through the crowd of people on the sidewalk, Melinda mentally went through all the things that she had to do that day. Sharply at 9 was the meeting with her boss that she couldn’t miss, and then was her presentation for her new project. Lunch was with her new coworkers, who would have a great influence on future promotions, followed by an appointment with a potential new client. The afternoon would be spent working on the many kinks the boss was sure to find in her project and planning her new presentation, which would be sooner than she could possibly be ready for. Invariably someone would come up with a new crisis that she had to fix which would keep her at work until 7 or 8 at least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Melinda ran down the stairs, glancing at her watch. If she was lucky she would catch the subway and be semi on time to work. She saw with relief that the train had just gotten there and people were still loading and unloading. The doors closed right behind her as she jumped onto the train. A man stood up and offered her his seat. No thanks, she said, I’ll just stand. He smiled and said that he wanted to offer her his seat and he would be really happy if she would sit in it. Again Melinda declined and said she preferred to stand. A man with a twitch on the other side of the car gave her a look and then smiled; he was missing a few teeth. Melinda tried to smile back at him and look cheerful with little success. The man who had offered his seat had stood up even though she declined his offer and was now standing in a corner. She looked at him, contemplating the situation. That is a perfectly good seat right there, and if he’s not going to sit in it somebody should. But I told him I didn’t want it, how can I just go and sit in his seat now? That would be ridiculous. Besides, do I really want to sit in that seat? She turned her attention over to the people sitting in the seats next to it. On one side was an elderly looking lady, someone’s grandma. She looked nice enough. The guy on the other side though, he was questionable. It wasn’t just the way he seemed to be mumbling to himself. It was more the bright blue hair that intimidated her. He was reading a book and seemed to be completely engrossed in it. She looked at him, wondering if he was really reading his book or was just waiting for the perfect time to strike. The thought of the old lady sitting right there near this psycho sent chills up Melinda’s spine and suddenly she wished very badly to be somewhere else. The man with a twitch was still watching her, and the other man who had given up his seat seemed quite perturbed to see her still standing. Pretending not to notice these things, Melinda took a notebook out of her bag and began perusing her notes for her presentation later that day. She soon realized that she wasn’t really reading any of the words and immediately thought of the man with the blue hair doing the same thing. Quickly she glanced up at him to see that nothing had changed; he was still apparently engrossed in the book. Melinda gulped. She was apparently engrossed in her notebook yet not a word of it was reaching her brain. Oh how I want to be off this train! I would even be late for work to be off this train!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She noticed that the subway was slowing down and she wondered where they were. She looked at her watch and was shocked to discover that she had been riding for her full 7 minutes. They were now approaching her stop and her dream of getting off would be a reality. Melinda stepped off the train and said a quiet thank you when the man with blue hair went in the opposite direction as she did.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;PS  So as Laura obviously found too easy, and nobody else seems to care, the quote for last week, "Stay on target, stay on target" was from Star Wars.  Of course.  This week's quote nobody but &lt;em&gt;maybe&lt;/em&gt; Julie will know, and even then the only reason I know it is because I was watching this show last week and I just thought this quote was so funny.  From a Star Trek:TNG episode.  You don't care about the details.  But it's a funny quote.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&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/1352272084668365258-8261246667960482811?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/8261246667960482811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=8261246667960482811' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/8261246667960482811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/8261246667960482811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/subway-part-1.html' title='The Subway: Part 1'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-1792995872332894639</id><published>2008-01-14T13:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T12:57:35.857-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='movies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='birthday'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='entertainment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='books'/><title type='text'>26 and counting...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So in honor of me turning 26, and because I really like lists, here, my friends, are 26 of my favorite movies, books, TV shows and songs in no particular order.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;1.  Pride &amp;amp; Prejudice&lt;/em&gt;- the book, although I did see the BBC version finally and enjoyed it, the book is top notch.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;2.  Star Wars&lt;/em&gt;- the originals, of course&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;3.  Return to Me - &lt;/em&gt;one of the most predictable movies ever made, and yet I still love it and watch it over and over again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;4.  James Bond - &lt;/em&gt;I like all of them, really, but have a special place for Sean Connery and Peirce Brosnan. I did like the new guy too, Daniel Craig.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;5.  Remington Steele - &lt;/em&gt;continuing on the Pierce Brosnan theme, I really like &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.klast.net/steele/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;Remington Steele. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;6.  Harry Potter - &lt;/em&gt;really, what list is complete without mention of good ole Harry?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;7.  Star Trek -&lt;/em&gt; I am particularly attached to Star Trek: Voyager, but really love all things Star Trek with the possible exception of the originals. Mock me if you will.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;8.  Twilight&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;series - &lt;/em&gt;Yes, yes, it's a hokey love story involving a 17 year old girl and a 100 year old vampire. Your point is.....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;9.  Slipper and the Rose -&lt;/em&gt; If you haven't seen this movie, you really should. A Cinderella movie, with a couple of twists and some pretty funny lines. "Make sure she has teeth! He has an obsession with them having teeth!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;10.  Ever After - &lt;/em&gt;More on the Cinderella theme. Classic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;11.  To Say Nothing of the Dog&lt;/em&gt; - by Connie Willis, a great book, loosely based on &lt;em&gt;Three Men In a Boat, to say Nothing of the Dog&lt;/em&gt; by Jerome K Jerome. Highly recommend both. Great for a laugh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;12.  Les Choriste -&lt;/em&gt; Song by The Ten Tenors I can listen to over and over and over again...and have. I'd include a sound clip if I knew how to do that...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;13.  Thumbelina - &lt;/em&gt;I can't quite figure out why I love this movie so much, but it's great!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;14.  Bringing up Baby&lt;/em&gt; - Oh man, seriously one of the funniest movies ever made. Cary Grant is my hero!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;15.  Leave it to Psmith - &lt;/em&gt;by PG Wodehouse. Laughed on almost every single page. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;16.  Hairspray - &lt;/em&gt;This movie I think is fantastic, every time I watch it I'm sad when it's over.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;17.  The Wizard and I - &lt;/em&gt;Ok, so here I could just put anything from Wicked, but if I could only listen to one song, it would probably be this one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;18.  Goose Girl (and following 2 books) - &lt;/em&gt;by Shannon Hale- fun fairy tale books&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;19.  Casablanca&lt;/em&gt; - "Here's looking at you, kid."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;20.  Home Improvement - &lt;/em&gt;I've seen every episode at least 3 times (with the exception of the last season, I kind of missed those). Funny every time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;21.  I was a Male War Bride - &lt;/em&gt;another classic from Cary Grant, he is so funny!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;22.  David Copperfield - &lt;/em&gt;no, not the magician, the book by Charles Dickens. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;23.  Smallville - &lt;/em&gt;Do the plot lines get more and more ridiculous with each season? Yes, yes they do. But I still like it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;24.  Superman Returns - S&lt;/em&gt;peaking of Smallville...."I think those are coordinates, chief." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;25.  Spiderman - &lt;/em&gt;Might as well continue with the superhero theme here. "Hi. This is really heavy."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;26.  Cast in Stone - &lt;/em&gt;Song by The Ten Tenors. I &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;love&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.dmandsupply.com.au/product_info.php/cPath/2/products_id/10"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;the whole CD &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"&gt;but this song is my favorite at the moment...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day&lt;/em&gt;: This morning I got to work, parked my car, and then sat in it for a couple minutes so I could hear the end of the song on the radio. I was parked in front of this duplex type place. As I'm about to get out of the car, this guy walks out of the door of this duplex- wearing no shirt, the biggest beer belly I've seen in a while, several tatoos, talking on a cell phone (and I'm seeing him smoking too, but that's probably not true...). I said to myself man, I didn't need to see that. So, although most of my readers I believe are female, my tip for today is if you don't want to see it, neither does anybody else. Keep your shirt on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-1792995872332894639?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/1792995872332894639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=1792995872332894639' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/1792995872332894639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/1792995872332894639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/26-and-counting.html' title='26 and counting...'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-3331853052193464791</id><published>2008-01-10T13:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-10T17:08:01.413-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='quilt'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='projects'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='movies'/><title type='text'>The end is in sight!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R4Z7xukMuvI/AAAAAAAAAAU/PibY_FFRiG4/s1600-h/Sara"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153942917815778034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R4Z7xukMuvI/AAAAAAAAAAU/PibY_FFRiG4/s320/Sara%27s+quilt.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"&gt;So I've been working on this quilt off and on for the last year or so, and finally it looks like something now, and the tying party is Friday. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Wahoo&lt;/span&gt;! I'm pretty excited to slap this sucker on my bed and admire it's greatness every day. In case you were wondering, there are 1,184 pieces of material that I had to cut out and sew together to get it to look like this. First, I cut out all 1,184 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;pieces&lt;/span&gt; (2 different sizes, 2 different materials, making four piles). Then I sewed 592 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;pieces&lt;/span&gt; to the other 592. That is what took the most time, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;because&lt;/span&gt; they are curves and turns out it's really hard to sew curves. Then it was just a matter of sewing 16 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;pieces&lt;/span&gt; together to make a square, 37 squares, sew the squares together and voila! You get this cool design that only looks that way when you put it together, just looking at one square you'd have no idea that it would do what it does. I'll try to post another picture when it's all the way done, but it shouldn't look too much different.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;PS Did anyone guess my movie quote of the week (top right corner)? It's kind of obscure I guess, probably the only people who would know what it's from are my siblings and Julie....look for a new one tomorrow!&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-3331853052193464791?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/3331853052193464791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=3331853052193464791' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3331853052193464791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/3331853052193464791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/end-is-in-sight.html' title='The end is in sight!'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R4Z7xukMuvI/AAAAAAAAAAU/PibY_FFRiG4/s72-c/Sara%27s+quilt.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-7287544651192170859</id><published>2008-01-09T15:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-09T15:48:27.935-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Heaven forbid they lose interest!</title><content type='html'>So I listen to the radio online most days.  For some reason they can't play regular local commercials online, so you get a whole lot of &lt;a href="http://www.adcouncil.org/?gclid=CMj35oyZ6pACFQIOIgodkGgpXg"&gt;public service &lt;/a&gt;ads, most of which are just ridiculous.  A couple that really get me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first one is partly from the Girl Scouts.  A little girl is singing a lullaby to the baby, and is singing all about how sleep works and REM dreams, etc. etc.  Kind of a funny song, that part's fine.  And then comes the voice over: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;em&gt;A lot of girls lose interest in science by middle school, so it's up to their&lt;br /&gt;parents to keep their dreams alive.&lt;/em&gt;  &lt;/blockquote&gt;Here's what gets me.  If they've "lost interest", whose dream is it that you're keeping alive? I mean, ok, if they've lost interest to more trendy things, but really wish that they could keep doing the science thing, I can see that.  So teach them about doing what you like and want to do, even if it isn't cool.  But seriously, you have to keep alive every dream that a kid has when they're 7?  Every 7 year old wants to be an astronaut.  So when they are in middle school and lost interest in that dream for, say, math, that should be discouraged?  Yes, you want to encourage young girls to have ambition and follow their dreams, but if they lose interest in their original dream and move onto something else, what's wrong with that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second one is from Faith Hill.  She says that kids should be involved in learning some sort of instrument, it will teach them all sorts of valuable skills that will help them in other areas of their lives, etc.  Well, of course being into music I totally agree with that.  Again, the last line of the ad is what gets me:  &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;em&gt;And remember, your kids all have an instrument that is free and sounds&lt;br /&gt;great: their voice.&lt;/em&gt;  &lt;/blockquote&gt;Ok, so technically that's true.  And I do think you should encourage kids to do what they enjoy.  But here's the thing.  Not everyone is good at everything.  Yes, your kids all have a free voice, but I'm sorry, they don't all sound great.  Some people just can't sing.  There's nothing wrong with that, it's just the way it is.  If everyone was good at everything, that would be pointless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, just a couple of thoughts for the day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-7287544651192170859?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/7287544651192170859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=7287544651192170859' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7287544651192170859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/7287544651192170859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/heaven-forbid-they-lose-interest.html' title='Heaven forbid they lose interest!'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-2471706656196769028</id><published>2008-01-09T14:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-09T10:11:39.584-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Yay for Wednesdays!</title><content type='html'>Chorale starts again today. Hooray! I really just don't know what to do with myself when chorale takes break. Apparently we're starting music for Easter concerts, which we've never done since I've been singing with the chorale. Pretty exciting stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the Day: &lt;/em&gt;There's an old adage "If at first you don't succeed, try try again." I disagree. It should say "If at first you don't succeed, find out what you're doing wrong before reattempting." For example, if you put tapioca in your jello salad and it turns into a cement mix type substance, don't just go buy more ingredients and do the same thing again. Call somebody &lt;em&gt;first&lt;/em&gt; and discover that you indeed need tapioca &lt;em&gt;pudding&lt;/em&gt;, not just tapioca.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-2471706656196769028?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/2471706656196769028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=2471706656196769028' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/2471706656196769028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/2471706656196769028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/yay-for-wednesdays.html' title='Yay for Wednesdays!'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-2084580168031036920</id><published>2008-01-07T14:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-07T10:21:33.731-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lunch'/><title type='text'>Fast Food Adventures</title><content type='html'>So the other day I went to get some fast food. I hate getting pop at a fast food place. I drink like a quarter of it maybe, and then either give it away, throw it out, or let it sit forever going completely gross and then throw it out. I'm just not a pop drinker. But on this particular day I didn't feel like going through the whole thing of telling the person behind the counter that I don't want the drink, and then getting the blank why-in-the-world-would-you-not-want-the-drink look, whereupon they inform me that the ridiculously priced drink is included in the price of my combo, and if I don't get the drink then the sandwich and fries are actually more...tell me how that makes sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway so I got the drink, and I had a drink for somebody else too, so I got one of those cardboard cup holder things to put them in. So I'm holding those in one hand, and my bag of food in the other hand. Open my car and put the drinks on top, throw in my bag and start the car. I then got out to get the drinks. Well a hole was already developing in this high quality cardboard holder thing, and drink #1 went sailing out of my hand, landing top down on the pavement, splashing my pants, shoes, and car on it's way down. I groaned, assessed the damage and decided it wasn't too bad, and I didn't really want the drink anyway (it was a red punch sort of concoction). Went to get drink #2 and it inexplicably sailed out my grip as well, landing itself right on the driver's seat of my car (which, for easy clean up convenience, is leather- the one upside to this story). Drink #2 happened to be a milkshake. SIGH. Did I mention that it was like 5 degrees outside and very windy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now my car door sticks a little every time I open it. Go figure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip o' the day:&lt;/em&gt; Just use the drive thru.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-2084580168031036920?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/2084580168031036920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=2084580168031036920' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/2084580168031036920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/2084580168031036920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/fast-food-adventures.html' title='Fast Food Adventures'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-1834033003907339202</id><published>2008-01-04T10:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T11:07:07.319-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='story of the week'/><title type='text'>Bob the Ant</title><content type='html'>Welcome to the story of the week!  It is my intention to have a new story, or piece of a story, every week for your entertainment pleasure.  These first few weeks I'm going to cheat a bit and put up stories that I wrote a while ago.  This one I wrote a few years ago while sitting on my parent's front lawn, watching my mom sprinkle ant killer all over the driveway and front steps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      Bob the ant was having a bad day.  He had gotten up early, as usual and could sense that something was awry, but didn’t think too much of it.  He emerged from his hill to begin gathering scraps for breakfast.  As soon as he came out he heard a horrendous sound.  He looked up just in time to see a huge black boulder with spikes rolling towards him.  He started to run away, but the boulder was too quick: he was going to be smushed.  Fortunately, there were many little grooves in the boulder and he escaped unsmushed.  Right behind it was another one but he was able to get away before it hit.  Shaking a bit from the shock, Bob went on.  The previous day he had found a landmine of food.  Although he had gathered as much as he could and had enlisted the help of nearly everyone he knew, there had still been a lot there by the time he decided to call it a day.  Soon his friends were joining him outside of his hill, talking excitedly about the boulder that had just passed by, asking Bob to tell them again and again how exactly he escaped.  Some didn’t seem too impressed: they had heard a similar story hundreds of times, from hundreds of different ants.  Bob himself had heard stories, but before he had never believed them.  It was a long journey to the food, but that didn’t dampen their spirits any.  Bob got more and more excited as he passed landmarks that he remembered from the day before.  Finally, they were there- he knew it was the same place.  When they got to the spot, however, there was nothing there.  The ants were outraged, and scurried around for a bit, thinking that perhaps they had misjudged and were actually at the wrong spot.  Finally, they decided that a bird must have taken their food and sadly turned around to go looking somewhere else. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            As they slowly made their travel back toward home, Bob noticed that there was a great commotion going on in the front of the caravan.  Curiously he ran up ahead to see what was going on.  He was horrified by what he saw.  Hundreds upon thousands of ants were laying around dead.  Half of them were so disfigured that one could not even tell that they were ants anymore.  Bob frantically looked for someone he knew among them, but it was no use.  He wouldn’t be able to tell even if his whole family were there.  Many of the ants set out to help take care of the dead.  Others decided that they might as well collect the food the ants had left behind: no need letting it go to waste.  Still others were outraged at this monstrosity, and commenced arguing over what could have happened to them, and demanding immediate action.  Bob gathered up as much food as he could and slowly made his way home.  There was no one there- he expected that.  In fact, the whole hill seemed to be deserted.  Feeling more horrible than he could ever remember, he ate some of the food he had gathered from the horrific scene and went to sleep- never to awake again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip O' the Day:&lt;/em&gt;  Make your hot chocolate really hot and then put a scoop of vanilla ice cream in it.  Yum!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-1834033003907339202?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/1834033003907339202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=1834033003907339202' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/1834033003907339202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/1834033003907339202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/bob-ant.html' title='Bob the Ant'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1352272084668365258.post-2440507846275435656</id><published>2008-01-03T15:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-03T16:45:43.440-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day One</title><content type='html'>Ok, so I'm not really a genius.  But I do ramble on occasion.  So I decided to join the rest of the world and start a blog about it.  Look for new exciting features to be rolled out in the coming weeks, and maybe even pictures, if I ever buy a new card for my camera. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tip 'O the Day:&lt;/em&gt;  Don't put toast in the microwave.  Yes it will melt the butter.  It will also turn your nicely toasted bread into a big crouton.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1352272084668365258-2440507846275435656?l=sarasrambling.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/feeds/2440507846275435656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1352272084668365258&amp;postID=2440507846275435656' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/2440507846275435656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1352272084668365258/posts/default/2440507846275435656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarasrambling.blogspot.com/2008/01/day-one.html' title='Day One'/><author><name>Sara</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00175169671917148959</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp3.blogger.com/_4VdLvyPGRnU/R-R0AnxjWYI/AAAAAAAAAEU/NeLk16Pho_Y/S220/Sara.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
