tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45819185878794087772024-02-06T20:11:24.188-07:00...At least they said wow.They may say:
‘Wow. That sucks.’
But at least they said wow.Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-41894688647673457032013-01-12T10:37:00.001-07:002013-01-12T10:37:33.209-07:00When people don't think you're funny.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's been a minute, folks. I've been pretty busy. But I'm excited to say I've started off my last semester of my undergrad program. I graduate this spring and am currently working on my application to a graduate program (wish me luck). A few pre-requirement classes for my Masters application is required so I'm taking Behavioral Analysis this spring. Behavioral Analysis sounds hard. And it requires me to buy virtual rat software that will teach me the ins and outs of behavioral analysis. Neil thinks it sounds cool. I do not.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWgk4EywmBD3PIxyrDyUi0HD2yYV7S2TN9h1Z_d2I3JJL01n7RzNEmYYk4L0Qiq5XT5DyMLaxRREpFkfs6p1m5MwvfE_e72BcHkQFkBvdpewSPKoK7SzWc0ecJjmCMGSaO5CuWSHvaUN4/s1600/Picture+7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWgk4EywmBD3PIxyrDyUi0HD2yYV7S2TN9h1Z_d2I3JJL01n7RzNEmYYk4L0Qiq5XT5DyMLaxRREpFkfs6p1m5MwvfE_e72BcHkQFkBvdpewSPKoK7SzWc0ecJjmCMGSaO5CuWSHvaUN4/s640/Picture+7.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Yawn. Yeathanks.Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-39744456306604966382012-09-18T15:45:00.001-06:002012-09-18T15:45:28.557-06:00Dealing with grief.I'm a counseling intern. At a middle school. And a high school.<br />
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The high school wants to start a grief group for kids that are dealing with the loss of a loved one. And I get to invite the grieving students to join the group. First one on my list is *Bobby. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(*Name changed for confidentiality.)</span><br />
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I pulled Bobby out of class.<br />
Me: "We're putting together a grief group for students that have lost loved ones. In light of your recent loss, we'd like to invite you to attend this group to gain support and give support to others."<br />
Bobby: "Mmmmmmmm..... I haven't really lost anyone."<br />
Me: "Oh. Really?"<br />
Bobby: "Well, like.... my great-grandpa died a long time ago."<br />
Me: "Your parents are both still alive?"<br />
Bobby: "Yea."<br />
Me: "Ohhhh..."<br />
Bobby: "Like...my dad...lost...his leg a about 9 years ago? Would that count?"<br />
Me: "No. Probably not."<br />
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I really hate dealing with grief.<br />
<br />Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-12352914935117623412012-09-06T20:00:00.000-06:002012-09-06T20:00:13.752-06:00Cool Kids.If you're like me, you wake up every morning believing you are basically the coolest.<br />
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Then you go through your day.<br />
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And by the time you're climbing into bed that night, you have discovered a truth. You are not cool.<br />
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I've recently started my internship in the counseling office at the Morgan School District. I'm trying to decide whether I love it or hate it. But either way, I'm learning. Learning how I'm not cool.<br />
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For example:<br />
Today we had a "New Student Orientation". The counselor I'm shadowing was going around introducing everyone to the new students. Principal, vice principal, counselors. And then came my turn to be introduced as I WAS standing in the line-up of people to be introduced.<br />
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The introducer-er pointed directly at me.<br />
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I pulled one of these:<br />
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It's just my little way of saying, "Hey hey. Where's the coolest counselor? Right here. That's me."</div>
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And just as I struck this pose, some chubby old dude walked in front of me. </div>
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"Oh boy, you guys! This is a super important person to know right here. He's the school janitor!!! And if you need help getting into your lockers, he's the one to know," says school counselor. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">(I'm not a man. I'm not a janitor.) </span>The janitor who just happened to be wandering through the "New Student Orientation" stole my moment. My light. My shine.</div>
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Pose quickly turns to this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xYbgzgytnDvAUZgxWSq1-BjbM90dwstkS4eRLRJVkeQ7IvNk03qbtbJsyua0T0NCDUyEfu-MqAys2vz4iUC1kqOpvpToZiP-6oYlZEdeJbWtFeNX-tDoHGLV5da7tc3JTAGSs7C1fXM/s1600/Photo+338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xYbgzgytnDvAUZgxWSq1-BjbM90dwstkS4eRLRJVkeQ7IvNk03qbtbJsyua0T0NCDUyEfu-MqAys2vz4iUC1kqOpvpToZiP-6oYlZEdeJbWtFeNX-tDoHGLV5da7tc3JTAGSs7C1fXM/s320/Photo+338.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's just my little way of saying, "Yea! Look at that guy over there! Coolest janitor right there."<br />
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I never actually got introduced.<br />
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Please let me make it through this internship. And please let go to bed some night still thinking I am cool.<br />
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<br />Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-4478451380881443842012-07-31T23:43:00.001-06:002012-08-01T00:11:06.300-06:00Things that make me cry.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Here is a list of things that have made/make me cry.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">1) Finding out that my beloved Barneymobile was going to be sent to the recyclers.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RIP</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIpY_B3dPxFi-bytmm9U1ZV8y0VmG81KCkC2is3ovQwNaQX-1E0F-kZVsf1TymeyQn9sr3Bb7DR875fTN05gWViibA6WJHSxhMP1-2xlnunU2_LQXlpM4WHGwmY2T9CtNg0MQingLOYWs/s1600/17266_251121192735_8188523_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIpY_B3dPxFi-bytmm9U1ZV8y0VmG81KCkC2is3ovQwNaQX-1E0F-kZVsf1TymeyQn9sr3Bb7DR875fTN05gWViibA6WJHSxhMP1-2xlnunU2_LQXlpM4WHGwmY2T9CtNg0MQingLOYWs/s200/17266_251121192735_8188523_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd take you back in a heartbeat.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7QgvIDWD8PfsKFTN560Sr3nG-ekGn1F2Fc5eIZmOc0rKIX-03XCZPL1CoOOqOiEcnpx7F7qbcch4ViCLZJBw399JqF5II0D8uakf723O0aip5wxIfgoXop4CMWvzpbIXgqeaaJwih3zs/s1600/17266_251121182735_3834639_n-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7QgvIDWD8PfsKFTN560Sr3nG-ekGn1F2Fc5eIZmOc0rKIX-03XCZPL1CoOOqOiEcnpx7F7qbcch4ViCLZJBw399JqF5II0D8uakf723O0aip5wxIfgoXop4CMWvzpbIXgqeaaJwih3zs/s200/17266_251121182735_3834639_n-1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cried for days.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">2) The olympics. </span><br />
Olympics have a very soft and tender spot in my heart. Very soft. Very tender.<br />
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And no one knew this fact until Neil and I went out to dinner. At Applebees. Fun fact: Applebees has lots of TVs in which you can watch sports. Olympic sports in particular. And this particular night at Applebees some random little man... won a big olympic bike race. And then I cried.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span>And Neil laughed at me. Everyone in Applebees laughed at me. And then Neil told our friends. And they laughed at me. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">My secret was found out. </span></div>
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And now basically everyone knows. And now basically everyone is laughing at me.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're so sexy.</td></tr>
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I cry. Over olympics. </div>
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Most recent Olympic cry spree?<br />
Learn about the Sculling Sloth <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Sports/wireStory/sculling-sloth-back-water-london-olympics-16892573#.UBi7qxwT_ks">Here</a>.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">3) Olympic commercials. </span><br />
Am I weirdy? Cause 2 out of the 3 things that make me cry are olympic related...<br />
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On to more crying.<br />
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Now if you've sat next to me and a computer for around 32 seconds, chances are you've already seen these. Cause I show them to anybody and errybody. All day, erryday. And yay. You get to see them again.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/BU3jfbb172E?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
Favorite.<br />
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Another favorite.<br />
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Now. If you're not crying yet. Then....it's probably safe to say that you have no heart.<br />
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And also. I don't like you.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Just kidding. </span>But seriously. Go ahead and squeeze out a little tear. Then cheer for America! Go World! Go Visa! Go olympians! And now, let us get back to crying some more.Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-44130692365953087052012-07-02T11:42:00.000-06:002012-07-02T11:42:55.252-06:00Parenting.Neil and I got conned into a newlywed parenting class.<br />
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We're the only couple in the class missing a baby. We misplaced it. Just kidding, we actually don't have one of those.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We currently parent a dog. Which apparently doesn't mean anything.</td></tr>
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Today, we got to take a parenting style quiz in order to compare our parenting styles with one another.<br />
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Our results:<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Allow me to highlight my favorites.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Scenario:</span> If your teenage boy wants to rent an R rated movie that his friends have all watched, you...<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Katie Answered:</span> Explain to him why we don't watch rated R movies.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Neil Answered:</span> Take them out to a different movie that isn't rated R. I'm going to be the cooler parent.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Scenario:</span> Your 14-year-old doesn't want to go to church meetings. "No friends," he says. You say...<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Katie Answered:</span> Explain that the risks of not going to church are far worse than having "no friends".<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Neil Answered:</span> I would have him come to priesthood with me until he got bored enough to go back to his own church meetings.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Scenario:</span> Your 5-year-old daughter says, "Grandpa is a bad person because he smokes." You say...<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Katie Answered:</span> Grandpa isn't a bad person, he just isn't making a very good decision but we still love him.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Neil Answered:</span> When did Grandpa start smoking?<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Scenario:</span> Your 8-year-old looks you in the eye and asks you, "Is Santa Claus real?" You answer...<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Katie Answered:</span> No.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Neil Answered:</span> Absolutely.<br />
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Probably going to stick with that dog for a while.<br />
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<br />Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-13926254186274451362012-06-25T20:58:00.000-06:002012-06-25T21:06:46.146-06:00Beauty marks. Not beautiful.I don't know many people that have upper lip moles.<br />
But... I know that I have an upper lip mole.<br />
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When I was younger I thought that made me pretty cool.<br />
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My mom would tell me stories of old fashioned ladies that would draw little "Beauty Marks" on their face because they weren't beautiful enough to ACTUALLY have one like I did.<br />
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I knew it. I is. Hot shiz.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlq4plUTsFU-qxOXnmeKn08trTvu8ITWD4xC9BENgh05nCc6dGUnQXJDYXW1rjEur5iaa37MiRG1NI958TrgQtgDduUpfSrrdgMCeRjesFOh_zIdBgL4rQIBXF8XmZ6urh2_ia1URTfbU/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlq4plUTsFU-qxOXnmeKn08trTvu8ITWD4xC9BENgh05nCc6dGUnQXJDYXW1rjEur5iaa37MiRG1NI958TrgQtgDduUpfSrrdgMCeRjesFOh_zIdBgL4rQIBXF8XmZ6urh2_ia1URTfbU/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beauty mark. Totally fake. Not hot.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnH4Blv5ehoe6VpwpfeitREmrnBZ71ibs37AcszIcR_N4_wfdfltUIxD3gQxRJugGw7ZAR0YltK9FAZUZlZHyn6t01MH0FPa0d6ZaBriPgdvcRAUYHIppc-TUmxJj0HeOjEEvbRHdQ9ag/s1600/Photo+323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnH4Blv5ehoe6VpwpfeitREmrnBZ71ibs37AcszIcR_N4_wfdfltUIxD3gQxRJugGw7ZAR0YltK9FAZUZlZHyn6t01MH0FPa0d6ZaBriPgdvcRAUYHIppc-TUmxJj0HeOjEEvbRHdQ9ag/s320/Photo+323.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My beauty mark. Marking my beauty.</td></tr>
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<i>Fast forward a few couple of years. </i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidD_bEKE9MUgsjD1_j17711krhhZgoe2i3Ep5e6FDMo9JyZbecqJNC2e9Uzz9UoBECyaVFnLcPr6F-phP8ForG3ssntj4uN1K6V8ImkqdaF9oKMN0JeGTdu_bsKK2tw3UHRObmZyxH96w/s1600/Picture+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidD_bEKE9MUgsjD1_j17711krhhZgoe2i3Ep5e6FDMo9JyZbecqJNC2e9Uzz9UoBECyaVFnLcPr6F-phP8ForG3ssntj4uN1K6V8ImkqdaF9oKMN0JeGTdu_bsKK2tw3UHRObmZyxH96w/s1600/Picture+4.png" /></a></div>
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"Hey Katie. You forgot to pluck your mole hairs."<br />
"Katie's never been kissed. All the guys are afraid of her mole. And the mole whiskers."<br />
"Katie your mole is so big. You can't tell the difference between mole and lip."<br />
"My life sucks. But at least I don't have a mole like Katie's."<br />
"Don't tell a soul. But I tried to kiss Katie last night and the whiskers stabbed my face. Took an hour to stop the bleeding."<br />
"First thing I notice in a girl is her eyes. First thing I notice in Katie is her mole. And actually, that's the only thing I notice about Katie."<br />
"Hey Katie you got some chocolate on your face. Oh. Wait. Nevermind."<br />
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So contrary to what my mom led me to believe, beauty marks are just really great to make fun of. And a really great way to lower self esteem.<br />
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"Please. With that mole? She was begging for lower self esteem."<br />
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<br />Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-89611189457072709802012-06-20T14:22:00.000-06:002012-06-20T14:39:03.313-06:00The day I never met Julie B. Beck.Neils sweet grandmother passed away last week. It was a sad week for all because Lucille will be missed. She was a wonderful woman.<br />
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And by "wonderful woman" I mean "rock star". Because about 3 billion people showed up to her viewing and funeral. One of those people being Julie B. Beck.<br />
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"WHO IS JULIE B. BECK?!" you ask.<br />
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I'll tell you.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8YV27lBx6wPA9FnWSZ77iCxloTYVXMTgFsiyAsfmytZ24yCymNcMWetbzppTrsfOQARah0YMqwGJy8vfTEo-wFGVVBHRBJ7peT9dHILEL5jerJ1KzKGSImbVqUzM5S5Tbsd6wwLEaBg/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8YV27lBx6wPA9FnWSZ77iCxloTYVXMTgFsiyAsfmytZ24yCymNcMWetbzppTrsfOQARah0YMqwGJy8vfTEo-wFGVVBHRBJ7peT9dHILEL5jerJ1KzKGSImbVqUzM5S5Tbsd6wwLEaBg/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously. Look at her rad hair.</td></tr>
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Julie B. Beck is somewhat of a rock star herself. (But she doesn't rock out, it's more all in the hair.) Julie B. Beck is one of those ladies that gives talks during LDS Conference meetings. And it turns out, I can pay attention the entire way through her talks. So. She's pretty good.<br />
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While she was going through the viewing line with her little, old mother, I was gearing up to talk to her. Mentally preparing. Planning the introduction in my mind. Daydreaming.<br />
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But meet her? I never did. Let's just say some choice individuals <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">(whom I thought loved me)</span> blew my chance by interrupting our ALMOST handshake.<br />
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I ALMOST touched Julie B. Beck.<br />
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Guess who didn't ALMOST touch Julie B. Beck. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">*cough*</span>Sarah and Nolan Johnson<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">*cough*</span>. And that's probably because they totally DID touch her.<br />
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And as they were all touching her celebrity-ness and chatting with her, I got to talk to Julie B. Beck's little, old mother. Which is fine. Really. It is. I mean, she gave birth to the famous. So I'm ok with that.<br />
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Little, old mother asked who I belonged to. And as I answered.......Julie B. Beck turned back to hear me.<br />
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"Oh I'm actually Neils husband."<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Silence. Neil's panic stricken face.</span><br />
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It turns out... I'm actually not Neil's husband.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I'm his wife.</span><br />
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Julie B. Beck's mothers' response? "Oh. Well. We love you anyway."<br />
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Julie B. Beck. And her mother. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Think I'm a freak. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I'm a wife. I'm wife. Happy to be a wife. Always a wife. Not a husband. My bad. I love you Julie B. Beck.</span><br />
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<br />Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-88666301306825702752012-06-18T17:54:00.001-06:002012-06-18T17:55:35.021-06:00So My Mom is Falling Apart: Part IIMy mom had surgery on her knee for something or other. Since her body IS falling apart, it's hard to keep track of what is happening to what part of her body. But I try.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKPnvNwBMW1Bv_hYKTF7mqJMjsFFQtL1kmCzhJmLYW3pT9czxz__pIckGWAItBSEKoluWIhyphenhyphenLYu9b3ezWIHHUUqvJPXqpiTkKQx08eaBQq2pUR5wM4pQwLbJTZ7VBqsxV_qn_jiO3Oa8c/s1600/securedownload.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKPnvNwBMW1Bv_hYKTF7mqJMjsFFQtL1kmCzhJmLYW3pT9czxz__pIckGWAItBSEKoluWIhyphenhyphenLYu9b3ezWIHHUUqvJPXqpiTkKQx08eaBQq2pUR5wM4pQwLbJTZ7VBqsxV_qn_jiO3Oa8c/s1600/securedownload.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the knee. The picture is fuzzy and upside down.<br />
But you get the point.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdlLhiV8dxz8Wjf1y8tCfIdz22n4_YSaeYimmpZLIa8IRdtuPNzUo6NgO1jwn-nHY8sV1OdqlYM8RfT1IIScGKJ_r1cL4C8wizsaI6Kqc37BH73WqGcMb4kH4DS33lsRmOt2eblpsMUg/s1600/securedownload2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdlLhiV8dxz8Wjf1y8tCfIdz22n4_YSaeYimmpZLIa8IRdtuPNzUo6NgO1jwn-nHY8sV1OdqlYM8RfT1IIScGKJ_r1cL4C8wizsaI6Kqc37BH73WqGcMb4kH4DS33lsRmOt2eblpsMUg/s1600/securedownload2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here are my moms crutches. She sent me this picture because<br />
she knows I've ALWAYS wanted crutches. <br />
Just rubbing it in my face a 'lil.</td></tr>
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My mom's going to be sitting around healing up for a few days. And who better to take care of her, pamper her and nurse her back to health, than my dad? Am I right? Am I right??<br />
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Mmmmmm............... . . . <br />
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When my mom made it home today from surgery, my cute little dad quickly began his duties as "Kathy Caretaker". He left for the kitchen to whip up my sweet mother some lunch.<br />
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15 minutes later he came back with toast.<br />
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Toast.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Toast.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Toast. For lunch.</span><br />
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I'm just gonna throw this out there... If any of you are in the general Star Valley, WY area... And happen to have some butter on hand. Or maybe some cinnamon sugar. Jam? Jelly? Heck. She's even been wanting to give Nutella a try. Anything really. Just drop some by. Maybe?<br />
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Toast is going to be the main ingredient/dish for the next few days and she could use some help jazzing it up. <br />
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Especially since that's all her caretaker really knows how to fix (in 15 minutes).<br />
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Kthanxbye.<br />
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<br />Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-63965787587395716062012-05-19T00:19:00.000-06:002012-05-19T00:19:00.117-06:00Mug Meals are for lonely people.While Neil was gone, I decided to make mug meals. For all of my meals. They're cool cause they're one serving. It's kinda classy. And kinda white trash. A perfect contradiction. And a perfect meal for a lonely person. Heck mug meals pretty much make being lonely awesome.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcavQyh1b93wJFBMIKKsUDf4x3KNce7qk15s7Dg6nLQmK4TSRLfi6FpnB1WotfEBGLVqC936qwvHirN4tC9te0QQf-1H_kGw0OV0C37wjdCaD9On4819fMTyMLrldqtuReiD7GhX_Jog/s1600/Photo+333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcavQyh1b93wJFBMIKKsUDf4x3KNce7qk15s7Dg6nLQmK4TSRLfi6FpnB1WotfEBGLVqC936qwvHirN4tC9te0QQf-1H_kGw0OV0C37wjdCaD9On4819fMTyMLrldqtuReiD7GhX_Jog/s320/Photo+333.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mug French Toast.</td></tr>
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Mug French Toast Recipe<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">1 Egg</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Some bread</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Stuff some bread down in a mug. Crack an egg over it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Microwave it. Pour some syrup on that shiz.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Eat it.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8Zn7KpicJGC28W9nCCssbA8RN6dmXH_cpUMy4FU8AYkWgxu05aSQpjRjZ1XLgegXflxkUOY4BvFZSkEOir4APEsJmJDVeXo_MUCo17M5bh2VyNEmcEWAOM_T4BxG5WR48d9bbNma9KY/s1600/Photo+334.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8Zn7KpicJGC28W9nCCssbA8RN6dmXH_cpUMy4FU8AYkWgxu05aSQpjRjZ1XLgegXflxkUOY4BvFZSkEOir4APEsJmJDVeXo_MUCo17M5bh2VyNEmcEWAOM_T4BxG5WR48d9bbNma9KY/s320/Photo+334.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coffee Cake.</td></tr>
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Mug Coffee Cake Recipe<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Google Mug Coffee Cake Recipe.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Follow recipe.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Eat it.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcGilLf3gZjj-62yc3ygkJa9Aabt9gJLdkzDAf3kyzNcbWH4pVT6Ze3qoSevKFjnNnOJF099R3VfI7i3mWtZNvbimKpeuMOpXOWsum6OnM2NrJ0pfEOoChOOtwMz6kyMcShR3motQ68k/s1600/Photo+335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcGilLf3gZjj-62yc3ygkJa9Aabt9gJLdkzDAf3kyzNcbWH4pVT6Ze3qoSevKFjnNnOJF099R3VfI7i3mWtZNvbimKpeuMOpXOWsum6OnM2NrJ0pfEOoChOOtwMz6kyMcShR3motQ68k/s320/Photo+335.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tator Tots and Fish Sticks</td></tr>
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Mug Tator Tots and Fish Sticks<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Some fish sticks</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Some tator tots</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">This one is super easy. Cook the tator tots and fish sticks in an oven.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Pour the tator tots and fish sticks in a mug. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2LJrqU8zD-0rt4VJwlBRGnzs7pkkNv8qwT6LCVVJ8ckPJbCSL8ZR5lFSy9_0Grg3eE_7lUZNtv_diVFX8RH9xxYNJ-FbFlwXntO2FX4dDJB9ejUUA3TcY3mh52z6sftHqVt8D8JGQfjw/s1600/20631187.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2LJrqU8zD-0rt4VJwlBRGnzs7pkkNv8qwT6LCVVJ8ckPJbCSL8ZR5lFSy9_0Grg3eE_7lUZNtv_diVFX8RH9xxYNJ-FbFlwXntO2FX4dDJB9ejUUA3TcY3mh52z6sftHqVt8D8JGQfjw/s320/20631187.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-46808326044736948842012-05-17T22:30:00.000-06:002012-05-17T22:30:43.465-06:00Lonely Inspirationals.I'm really lonely. My husband left to go on a 3 day river Canoeing trip with his Cousin Garret in Wyoming. I'm jealous much. But more lonely than anything. And bored.<br />
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And what do I do when I'm bored? Pintrest. Now I'm not super proud to admit I use pintrest. It's kinda lame. I try to pretend I'm too cool for it. And I don't like people following my pins. And I don't really get how to use it. And I'll forever love facebook more. BUT when you're desperately bored (ex: facebook has nothing good, you have to work an extra hour at work, you're lonely and don't have friends) it's time to pop out the pintrest.<br />
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And that I did. With my first search being 'lonely'. (See how lonely I am??)<br />
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AND LOOK WHAT I FOUND!!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Lonely quotes and pictures. That people...actually come up with. And pin on pintrest. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZO3iRM9eMhtpPGerW5Mlt0ArG4TjIScdSJkL-evtVedmg-Jd7wK-n_-TrNluEHQfI0VFyZf9Et0XigWHm6NjisRA0K7QMuaqij9CM1J2xODkHiBtJxR-27AJImIjAj6r9S3tt8qItgCs/s1600/53761789272003462_vOdP7zVJ_f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZO3iRM9eMhtpPGerW5Mlt0ArG4TjIScdSJkL-evtVedmg-Jd7wK-n_-TrNluEHQfI0VFyZf9Et0XigWHm6NjisRA0K7QMuaqij9CM1J2xODkHiBtJxR-27AJImIjAj6r9S3tt8qItgCs/s320/53761789272003462_vOdP7zVJ_f.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sooo TRUE!!! Am I right ladies?! You think you've got your<br />
man and then he leaves. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">For a few days.</span><br />
SO. DIFFICULT. TO. DEAL. WITH.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9uQeF8WxyLCC6n78Ckj4lCU1N4TUgadiL4oMu3WBBWJjLm2nNcDX-W6dMxqG0FQU4GzuJnSaeIUlYEC18-4MKCFeA3xHGxlBvOxptHNNPhHtfTDR-Y-_1vFGXOsItmeSn7WtuJez3os/s1600/271271577524428998_Wulv2FnM_f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9uQeF8WxyLCC6n78Ckj4lCU1N4TUgadiL4oMu3WBBWJjLm2nNcDX-W6dMxqG0FQU4GzuJnSaeIUlYEC18-4MKCFeA3xHGxlBvOxptHNNPhHtfTDR-Y-_1vFGXOsItmeSn7WtuJez3os/s320/271271577524428998_Wulv2FnM_f.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GAH! Pintrest just knows what I'm thinking and feeling.<br />
It's like having a best friend that finishes your sentences.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlbOC8ttem3LML-9UsjFKs2HSQyHfhI0IJXOxQ44KKp0SjHTO0S7qE8M9vpV8EFjyjDIefb1Njl7KCOoKyEzFzIUhUqUtavuSFfojAGNFNMAoUPDGTyx1MNmiK0DO7kAfi-Ymdzib2-w/s1600/174796029257408801_RVISiLkk_f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlbOC8ttem3LML-9UsjFKs2HSQyHfhI0IJXOxQ44KKp0SjHTO0S7qE8M9vpV8EFjyjDIefb1Njl7KCOoKyEzFzIUhUqUtavuSFfojAGNFNMAoUPDGTyx1MNmiK0DO7kAfi-Ymdzib2-w/s320/174796029257408801_RVISiLkk_f.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A really great tattoo idea.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOcQlKeZubEhbmqflGcr_JQrYY4RLHwoHnIlXjudc8MU-jkYEpL4UIQrIJ6-QaBR8gV4so6AgRGs8P-5tQchWtzVf7ySOnht2LbzRfmrSJhwqDT9OIQQHwcrIvB3RmAXAUU92SuQfhZA/s1600/109353097172272248_rWie7pVV_f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOcQlKeZubEhbmqflGcr_JQrYY4RLHwoHnIlXjudc8MU-jkYEpL4UIQrIJ6-QaBR8gV4so6AgRGs8P-5tQchWtzVf7ySOnht2LbzRfmrSJhwqDT9OIQQHwcrIvB3RmAXAUU92SuQfhZA/s320/109353097172272248_rWie7pVV_f.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's so crazy that this was on pintrest under the lonely<br />
category. Cause this is the exact same thing I did when<br />
Neil left. Did that for hours.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUprhSOAGXKtUxKelof9LxbNszqiOGzXs2s3FeM5Xr7MSrvQcHUQEn-BlEkiabecAmbL81Sg4mGe6gSG4ioKDrAOm14j0Ghp2MnexhcCZn6kBpUQyqZV0vX_nVJe9gWoGBvUOoq3JPe4o/s1600/Photo+333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUprhSOAGXKtUxKelof9LxbNszqiOGzXs2s3FeM5Xr7MSrvQcHUQEn-BlEkiabecAmbL81Sg4mGe6gSG4ioKDrAOm14j0Ghp2MnexhcCZn6kBpUQyqZV0vX_nVJe9gWoGBvUOoq3JPe4o/s320/Photo+333.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3SFJn1qZatXEgA4c7mUZq7dAIFHEXXY95qZy_KsoQU-XSNAB66sKIi9q5PIn3dUaZVE3gbCL5-UmjUYQVr8FhTWZDOqq7k896fPbvNM2gX5AAjstE43HYtQvRK572nEbSKup6F-nyerY/s1600/248472104410836731_ZRL6DzfF_f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3SFJn1qZatXEgA4c7mUZq7dAIFHEXXY95qZy_KsoQU-XSNAB66sKIi9q5PIn3dUaZVE3gbCL5-UmjUYQVr8FhTWZDOqq7k896fPbvNM2gX5AAjstE43HYtQvRK572nEbSKup6F-nyerY/s320/248472104410836731_ZRL6DzfF_f.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Personal favorite. Because I've been wondering this all day.<br />
Starting from the moment I pulled out my hidden stash of <br />
cigs as soon as Neil drove away.</td></tr>
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But before you think I'm desperately lonely and creepy. Don't get weirded out. It's ok. I'm ok.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVQ0HmRUHUlfmBhUZxPfjYs3oOSgT1Jmy7Iit62LqpBe7soqYiT2clCcFGwp3CUv0PwRhZJQYMmbUb4axzjccemOfFlp41Mvr5d_iF1LL8i-BIDhTnSEQ6v_nFvYTkMVZAPeGNN4g-y9c/s1600/Photo+334.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVQ0HmRUHUlfmBhUZxPfjYs3oOSgT1Jmy7Iit62LqpBe7soqYiT2clCcFGwp3CUv0PwRhZJQYMmbUb4axzjccemOfFlp41Mvr5d_iF1LL8i-BIDhTnSEQ6v_nFvYTkMVZAPeGNN4g-y9c/s320/Photo+334.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't hang out with Neil. But I CAN hang out with his shirt.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5K7P-RARzV5bJTJewANixEoNjcPr7VWhnCGv-lhLQ5Em_yAlS2QU0hzlG9rUVuqhFj30xA9UynDJ7BPc4okEPodnczoN07p-z7ltqjnZQ_G16SaZuAn4mjHjBT9auVwXq4q7ukDR9xqs/s1600/Photo+335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5K7P-RARzV5bJTJewANixEoNjcPr7VWhnCGv-lhLQ5Em_yAlS2QU0hzlG9rUVuqhFj30xA9UynDJ7BPc4okEPodnczoN07p-z7ltqjnZQ_G16SaZuAn4mjHjBT9auVwXq4q7ukDR9xqs/s320/Photo+335.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm cuddling while Neil(s shirt) works on his computer.<br /></td></tr>
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See? Everything's ok.Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-43933728720793195852012-04-13T10:02:00.004-06:002012-04-13T14:13:44.707-06:00Rain Puddle Strip Tease.It rained today. And that means rain puddles. I know. You know. We're all aware of the puddles. What you may be unaware of is how cool puddle jumping really is. It should be an extreme sport. And I should be the world champion. Cause I'd like to be. It'd just make me feel good.<br />
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I begged Neil to go puddle jumping with me. He declined. But since he knew I'd be lonely, and since I make puddle jumping look soo o o good, he stood far off to the side and took pictures.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZIeQD4uEezkI2MWyoSdN0nCzkbiVFYxsRbDTbLxe21lvCEMHXF2TGQWtYPRa7x4ncVjIwjbDUYvwSu-21ajI3YS5LShOZnx9FV2bKhmVFLMH3lCnI4X9E3mcAzEbpm5xXEv3KKeDsfTI/s1600/DSC_0765_tonemapped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZIeQD4uEezkI2MWyoSdN0nCzkbiVFYxsRbDTbLxe21lvCEMHXF2TGQWtYPRa7x4ncVjIwjbDUYvwSu-21ajI3YS5LShOZnx9FV2bKhmVFLMH3lCnI4X9E3mcAzEbpm5xXEv3KKeDsfTI/s400/DSC_0765_tonemapped.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I started with a full outfit. Sexy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht0b7h0WGktuKCafFr2fR44WddE_fVtzmhrDhDuLqLX_uO6axVDeWWx70yAIe67lLJx7zGSh7VyTFnqAKZwKNQ3NF610mkUHijRHKjmMnUR7UCYKB8m_AyfjfDW3GAT5jsDqSKBKgTb0c/s1600/DSC_0789_tonemapped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht0b7h0WGktuKCafFr2fR44WddE_fVtzmhrDhDuLqLX_uO6axVDeWWx70yAIe67lLJx7zGSh7VyTFnqAKZwKNQ3NF610mkUHijRHKjmMnUR7UCYKB8m_AyfjfDW3GAT5jsDqSKBKgTb0c/s400/DSC_0789_tonemapped.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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Mm mm. Would you look at those Keens? So sexy. I can hardly stand it.<br />
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Ok ok. Ya got me. Though comfortable, the Keens aren't sexy. So I took them off.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then all of a sudden, it was like, if the shoes come off, everything else had to come off. Pop! Into thin air my clothes went. And I was left, momentarily suspended in the air, with my mothers swimsuit which she wore in the 80's. Since I desperately needed a new swimsuit, I made her mail it to me. And ever since I have patiently waited for the day when I could gallop around in my matronly, yet sexy, one piece. And today was that day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Unfortunately however, I suspect the swimsuit's "shelf bra" probably gave out somewhere in the mid 90's. Which left my dangles...danglin'. Unsupportive swimsuits. Not sexy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So if you know me very well, you know what my last/favorite resort was. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nude puddle jumping.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ok ok. I lied. Though nude puddle jumping would be my favorite/last resort. We ACTUALLY took Neils last resort option.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And he only took pictures from the knees down. </div>Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-69726095861456314112012-04-02T16:08:00.000-06:002012-04-02T16:08:59.453-06:00Crazy.I was informed this week by my classmates that we had a book report due.<br />
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ON AN ENTIRE BOOK.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cool. Backwards. But you get the point.<br />
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Or do you?</td></tr>
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I hate reading. Reading is informative.<br />
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And I don't like being informed.<br />
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Especially when the book is about mental illness. And shares individual stories of people and how they went totally nuts thinking people where following them and the CIA was sending them secret messages. I had no idea this was like...a real thing. Like I said. Let me live naive. In this situation especially. Because now... I feel very unsure of myself.<br />
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Most examples in the book began their mental health battles in their early 20's. Which is not an uncommon age for schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, ect. to surface.<br />
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I'M IN MY EARLY 20's.<br />
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So:<br />
Driving home from work last night, I'm pretty sure I saw a furry mountain goat in the road. Hallucination? Or maybe a government spy?<br />
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Last night I turned the lights off and went to climb into bed when I saw a tall skinny shape in my window. Curtains? Or maybe a government spy?<br />
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In the middle of the night I woke up to scratching. On our head board. I looked around but I couldn't see anyone scratching our head board. I'm now fairly certain it was a government spy. A mountain goat government spy that happens to be tall and skinny and have fingernails. Trying to send me a secret code that only I could understand.<br />
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I have to go finish reading my book now. But I'm scared to. Because there is probably a hidden code in there for me. That only I can understand. And then the safety of the world is going to rest in my hands.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6JSI30cZnJQAK-qODHLJ77ltV7rkY9WfTEjrE7Rx36SVwrSeJqoX6ut4YdFG7SBVC85Z6h3W8Yj63f_PMs9hBoN6PcJ-CizJ0WOxj28AZmul-F2Am81k81fhlvkSZLBHFe5FBBwSKvo/s1600/e86ab7dc42109fd0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6JSI30cZnJQAK-qODHLJ77ltV7rkY9WfTEjrE7Rx36SVwrSeJqoX6ut4YdFG7SBVC85Z6h3W8Yj63f_PMs9hBoN6PcJ-CizJ0WOxj28AZmul-F2Am81k81fhlvkSZLBHFe5FBBwSKvo/s320/e86ab7dc42109fd0.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yo. This is the real deal. Not a face-in-holed, face-in-holed<br />
picture of a mountain goat with fingernails following me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-41275634459522391922012-03-28T10:08:00.000-06:002012-03-28T10:08:34.592-06:00This is a guest review of "The Lazy Lizard" in Moab, UT.This weekend we went on a trip to Moab to do Granary Canyon. And Granary canyon we did. See here:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFrE4jC16XN3gLYcurzljkzR8aAZv0If2hBnL_fxCftlgtf09RGQoiK1wWl35lmliKrVq9XB0J4Hd3QlGrjY9T785JnKb9z5kPxSp6PQ51debCxSTQc0JvoznAjVKhtIo1TCEmBEDhOKE/s1600/540725_10150638909246693_737561692_9459622_2138996739_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFrE4jC16XN3gLYcurzljkzR8aAZv0If2hBnL_fxCftlgtf09RGQoiK1wWl35lmliKrVq9XB0J4Hd3QlGrjY9T785JnKb9z5kPxSp6PQ51debCxSTQc0JvoznAjVKhtIo1TCEmBEDhOKE/s320/540725_10150638909246693_737561692_9459622_2138996739_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's Bryan with me. Just making sure he doesn't fall to<br />
the big boulders below.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All of us at the top while Daina repels.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dakota modeling some water.</td></tr>
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After we finished, everyone wanted a shower. So Neil suggested we sleep at a hostel for the night. Yay. I immediately did not want a shower.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Buuuut we ended up at the lazy lizard anyway.</span></div></td></tr>
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And this is the part where I wanted to die. Kill me dead. Because if there's one thing that creeps the crap outta me, it's hotels. Add an extra "s" and it makes hoStels. And that little "s" makes life significantly worse. Panic attack mode. Go!<br />
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But being the tough girl I am, I took it like a man. And became roommates with Neil, Bryan and Dakota.<br />
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<div style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; clear: left; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The gentleman at the front desk was very nice. He was definitely high. Very high. Fried. Sizzled. Gone-zo. Stoned. But very pleasant nonetheless. And informative. He informed us that we were not allowed to bring a sleepingbag or pillow inside. Due to bed bugs. Fantastic. He gave us the key to our room and up the stairs we went.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Welcome to my dusty <strike>hell</strike> hostel."</td></tr>
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</div><div style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; clear: left; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The room was nicely decorated. Fantastic pictures. Great mood lighting. And thank goodness for the milk crates underneath our bed to hold us up. Also the bedding was clean and crisp...y.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOd1s-z4jpbr0t_Wewf5zuFYneY0mgN81O6xKYK_sdiV3vsD7oFav3m_a3gCqet62A8KXwK01NxYWPDMGgfOUa-aRRuFwnQh2Y12GpxTsSTHzKM_YbGnmlgSzQqyuWkzfo6ZYaOhXki4/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOd1s-z4jpbr0t_Wewf5zuFYneY0mgN81O6xKYK_sdiV3vsD7oFav3m_a3gCqet62A8KXwK01NxYWPDMGgfOUa-aRRuFwnQh2Y12GpxTsSTHzKM_YbGnmlgSzQqyuWkzfo6ZYaOhXki4/s1600/image.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soft chairs.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; clear: left; color: black; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqlQUCjYQaIDp3Gwk_TE6ZlgxTau8vtbQ4FRyFeXx_Zo0VIcp59k3pWTyJNjlXk24huCWhs1odhCvlWaVrHEsJfqIRF5eO2cEI0B6vFYdH89Q8nD2N76obnZD3S2DBuroWqdNujSV9ys/s1600/0325120010a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqlQUCjYQaIDp3Gwk_TE6ZlgxTau8vtbQ4FRyFeXx_Zo0VIcp59k3pWTyJNjlXk24huCWhs1odhCvlWaVrHEsJfqIRF5eO2cEI0B6vFYdH89Q8nD2N76obnZD3S2DBuroWqdNujSV9ys/s1600/0325120010a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqlQUCjYQaIDp3Gwk_TE6ZlgxTau8vtbQ4FRyFeXx_Zo0VIcp59k3pWTyJNjlXk24huCWhs1odhCvlWaVrHEsJfqIRF5eO2cEI0B6vFYdH89Q8nD2N76obnZD3S2DBuroWqdNujSV9ys/s320/0325120010a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super great decor.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><div style="text-align: left;">The hostel got even better with my shower. The women's shower was truly a delight.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieudNL0R1_um86SrFttJ8GDp9uaGdAx1wN-S4Bmomj-jWuD-VZBFdHIFl5b2nHaach_6aiVstel7qXKJM9YyJVUcntkqzRsR1L1PAtNuNlHAzqFtBByT35JzmjyzhqTiZk8cRRupIHqCg/s1600/523139_10150647124427736_540752735_9564889_624826572_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieudNL0R1_um86SrFttJ8GDp9uaGdAx1wN-S4Bmomj-jWuD-VZBFdHIFl5b2nHaach_6aiVstel7qXKJM9YyJVUcntkqzRsR1L1PAtNuNlHAzqFtBByT35JzmjyzhqTiZk8cRRupIHqCg/s320/523139_10150647124427736_540752735_9564889_624826572_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Took me a second to find a spot on the shower<br />
curtain that I could touch without getting<br />
a handful of mildew. But I totally got it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><br />
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There were a variety of soaps and shampoos to choose from. All of which were empty. But don't fret. I got an amazing "rinse off". In my socks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpp0jZS5L2ejczoV9UYviCT0Os_z6AO-qK0Qre3kN-IfciVT1ZF7Mibw8joiwWq6rtDR8HthttKhsy-G0M5dOaL2rkvFxEYAK95fPNhZs_FYh6i6QPzOy_MN_h0KjPBYEjs9LeML7e9A/s1600/image_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpp0jZS5L2ejczoV9UYviCT0Os_z6AO-qK0Qre3kN-IfciVT1ZF7Mibw8joiwWq6rtDR8HthttKhsy-G0M5dOaL2rkvFxEYAK95fPNhZs_FYh6i6QPzOy_MN_h0KjPBYEjs9LeML7e9A/s1600/image_3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soap selection. Left by previous tenants. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp6gWPq5B9FMKCeFiRot0qeLX-hPp927O9bALwZaw22UcKTFFqmiI9ANv824wC8UCUDLZKRj2qbY1xEm9BbsLZI0Ju0lDTqmHY84Nu2DF-4Gi8mfLu2RCz4DFWM-EOENE2Js1iYntFB8Q/s1600/IMAG0162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp6gWPq5B9FMKCeFiRot0qeLX-hPp927O9bALwZaw22UcKTFFqmiI9ANv824wC8UCUDLZKRj2qbY1xEm9BbsLZI0Ju0lDTqmHY84Nu2DF-4Gi8mfLu2RCz4DFWM-EOENE2Js1iYntFB8Q/s320/IMAG0162.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nice bathroom closet filled with all <br />
the essentials.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicHZSRy7GLYHWn04kr9BI7W2yJJRqqANxFDVm39jTQpbbxdA0aVnTGvqV2u8nQay2bRCwjGHrLKZ9CB7sek3TK1UPCvWfmdoCd3vM0V9HW4kK6iYvYpBwrloGMkMHztFekiXKtAIm5s54/s1600/image_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicHZSRy7GLYHWn04kr9BI7W2yJJRqqANxFDVm39jTQpbbxdA0aVnTGvqV2u8nQay2bRCwjGHrLKZ9CB7sek3TK1UPCvWfmdoCd3vM0V9HW4kK6iYvYpBwrloGMkMHztFekiXKtAIm5s54/s1600/image_2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My threadbare towel. But who cares when it<br />
has all your favorite Space Jam characters on it.</td></tr>
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When it was time for bed I pulled my hood over my head, and wrapped my body up as much as possible in order to prevent any skin from contacting the bedding. Ya know. To avoid bed bugs from transferring back and forth from sheets to skin.<br />
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I lay perfectly still. All night. Perfectly. Still.<br />
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Everyone slept great. Minus me. Maybe because I wasn't actually a man. The hostel knew I was a poser.<br />
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All in all, as far as ratings go, I'd give the Lazy Lizard 0 stars out of 5.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhYKQ5o-2qre5-sZiajFKt5x0msh7vZarUMnb50L6t1MlEUk8GxAkQr-MTLq-_6nYuKo7QH4omROlip9LqhOeVM17XtDqnhuqgp1jnuv75Ma7zNaXcAD7Tf08tTkyubjRP-lbagknKBE/s1600/FotoFlexer_Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhYKQ5o-2qre5-sZiajFKt5x0msh7vZarUMnb50L6t1MlEUk8GxAkQr-MTLq-_6nYuKo7QH4omROlip9LqhOeVM17XtDqnhuqgp1jnuv75Ma7zNaXcAD7Tf08tTkyubjRP-lbagknKBE/s320/FotoFlexer_Photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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But I will give them 1 lizard.... in fact, I'll even give them 1 whole LAZY lizard rating.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYai_ugCuJ2i3GVcYqoCMUvS0cGpMh5zpm5s4xYjcD9Licog26WUiKwf3GP8yY96rogKTCxEqHFL8plWpnBc_eCTgm38ApU7DCXynZnI8khFIblZ69EM8YVjUkoF6s9VQeB3dejqhsI4/s1600/Aqua+40+-+Lazy+Lizard.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYai_ugCuJ2i3GVcYqoCMUvS0cGpMh5zpm5s4xYjcD9Licog26WUiKwf3GP8yY96rogKTCxEqHFL8plWpnBc_eCTgm38ApU7DCXynZnI8khFIblZ69EM8YVjUkoF6s9VQeB3dejqhsI4/s320/Aqua+40+-+Lazy+Lizard.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Thanks Lazy Lizard.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6p7n8EDjQs705jAlpDBdx696DMUso0asJhsYvSWqz1-2zWVwFVFRY-O380cu_TYSKzKixFn_35XpgpXfcXHYxYGazKIjj9BEK_R8Qm0_-LBmT6-6dY05sPJJK6vIXmZKhnZuKLYOsPDA/s1600/528243_10150638914121693_737561692_9459646_147513512_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6p7n8EDjQs705jAlpDBdx696DMUso0asJhsYvSWqz1-2zWVwFVFRY-O380cu_TYSKzKixFn_35XpgpXfcXHYxYGazKIjj9BEK_R8Qm0_-LBmT6-6dY05sPJJK6vIXmZKhnZuKLYOsPDA/s320/528243_10150638914121693_737561692_9459646_147513512_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That was an exquisite time.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-6756623781910247912012-02-27T19:31:00.001-07:002012-02-28T17:17:51.979-07:00Steve turbo crawls.Went to Moab this weekend to do Granary Canyon.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4lVzhgE-mZN5pyIY1JAKSze5dHz5A-jl5zZkeUgiPA14KkEZdcIEmoh4LcenjJGq0zChPfSW0Y6d7JuWt93k2axriSL5ksIP6ZCGX2sqVf_xAOlNjDA-p0jQ3rUJd0jeVCjR8ub7vIdM/s1600/423620_10151328579990468_509310467_23039151_2080610224_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4lVzhgE-mZN5pyIY1JAKSze5dHz5A-jl5zZkeUgiPA14KkEZdcIEmoh4LcenjJGq0zChPfSW0Y6d7JuWt93k2axriSL5ksIP6ZCGX2sqVf_xAOlNjDA-p0jQ3rUJd0jeVCjR8ub7vIdM/s320/423620_10151328579990468_509310467_23039151_2080610224_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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We brought Kyle and Steve. Steve was super excited to be canyoneering for his first time. He bought all new gear.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvf4Dqc74did52e6Cj-OVFeL5U5eR29WIjnEbg7fpT1RvtAUVXePtrp_-zzBPdxAxxHP7-EUOrU_P6X7E0z0sWnzV3-yIlJ-IZ7PTZ1yHKs4UTE2oc6rcYOXM2h5sJdIIoxG3cb4YAxc/s1600/423620_10151328579990468_509310467_23039151_2080610224_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvf4Dqc74did52e6Cj-OVFeL5U5eR29WIjnEbg7fpT1RvtAUVXePtrp_-zzBPdxAxxHP7-EUOrU_P6X7E0z0sWnzV3-yIlJ-IZ7PTZ1yHKs4UTE2oc6rcYOXM2h5sJdIIoxG3cb4YAxc/s1600/423620_10151328579990468_509310467_23039151_2080610224_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Including:<br />
ADVENTURE PANTS!!!!</span></td></tr>
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So basically he was set to canyoneer. Am I right? Yes. Yes I'm right.<br />
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So we all put our adventure clothes on and climbed down into Granary Canyon.<br />
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And then we repelled down our first repel of the canyon.<br />
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And then Kyle jumped down from a 6 foot ledge.<br />
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And then Steve jumped down a 6 foot ledge.<br />
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And then Steve couldn't stand up.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvBvNwJrHHpVOl-U_m5Yi8zN0Un1t5oFBUjQxpYfDscK63w-dU8X70ZvHNVG1LA55EzG_ltAoD4tvqCLl8IvBf_0qxXSK8lWcZPEcNGGrinF6d79eVUjwtXf52smLbulqtCXZVEQStpTA/s1600/431321_10151328580670468_1381571982_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvBvNwJrHHpVOl-U_m5Yi8zN0Un1t5oFBUjQxpYfDscK63w-dU8X70ZvHNVG1LA55EzG_ltAoD4tvqCLl8IvBf_0qxXSK8lWcZPEcNGGrinF6d79eVUjwtXf52smLbulqtCXZVEQStpTA/s320/431321_10151328580670468_1381571982_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Sooo.... we went back up the canyon. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Which is really hard to do considering you're supposed to go down a canyon.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCcS4g3fmNltJhhj3Wqw6T_1t3dRT7DOAB2pnyhu4_YhpMELaLI5fJ6v1r6N6xo1KYlXeMD9pIAhzyFRvX64kYuk4Sl-DgITRaE8_LXm40VVn5w7OJg53T14Grymy2kIyhLnk2uVgJ6I/s1600/427040_10151328583920468_509310467_23039190_1157816022_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCcS4g3fmNltJhhj3Wqw6T_1t3dRT7DOAB2pnyhu4_YhpMELaLI5fJ6v1r6N6xo1KYlXeMD9pIAhzyFRvX64kYuk4Sl-DgITRaE8_LXm40VVn5w7OJg53T14Grymy2kIyhLnk2uVgJ6I/s320/427040_10151328583920468_509310467_23039190_1157816022_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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So Neil had to climb this lil spot which we had just repelled. And climb he did. Sexily too.<br />
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And then ascend we did. Sexily. To follow Neils example.<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And then we strapped knee pads to Steve so he could turbo crawl. Notice how bummed Steve looks. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">And his sad little adventure pants. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">Also n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">otice how pretty Neil's hair is.</span></div></div><div><br />
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And then Steve crawled like he'd never crawled before. But seriously. He's speedy.<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here we'll pause so you can notice what a cut</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">e </span>couple Neil and I are. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Steve crawling away in the background.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
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And now we'll get back to the crawling. And Neil tugging on Steve with a leash.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqo9okb4poiGRsvEkLMNPZPBksvzoDLCb9Q2tjngfK2Bips0-7eMt1sAF5HS7kGjPYUDOw7UrpC0AQcvIE7w7-AKoufjDAnen7zU6n956YNbO8ISeQ_VJ718PTRNeN3H-Fpl6aBOx5ykg/s1600/100MEDIA36IMAG0078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqo9okb4poiGRsvEkLMNPZPBksvzoDLCb9Q2tjngfK2Bips0-7eMt1sAF5HS7kGjPYUDOw7UrpC0AQcvIE7w7-AKoufjDAnen7zU6n956YNbO8ISeQ_VJ718PTRNeN3H-Fpl6aBOx5ykg/s320/100MEDIA36IMAG0078.jpg" width="180" /></a></div></div><div><br />
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</div><div>And Kyle butt pushing.</div><div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdGHxklhrmSRoNNh4xMcsbLLKuLFDRhVdg4n_JKiGhsGsmnikhi6KvMY7JDArffdDx7sCcy03vs04CL3umg9jhswsZQ9-5PI16nTuiZ7mKNKIQ_uJ_W34kRxhZGSdlhVJvGqx7NfZNts/s1600/100MEDIA36IMAG0088_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdGHxklhrmSRoNNh4xMcsbLLKuLFDRhVdg4n_JKiGhsGsmnikhi6KvMY7JDArffdDx7sCcy03vs04CL3umg9jhswsZQ9-5PI16nTuiZ7mKNKIQ_uJ_W34kRxhZGSdlhVJvGqx7NfZNts/s320/100MEDIA36IMAG0088_01.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br />
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And all 3 of the boys doing a bit of this.<br />
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So 4 hours of crawling, a really good piggy back ride from Kyle, and an offer of ice cream on the ride home later... Steve got checked into the hospital.<br />
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And then 3 hours later, we learned he'd broken one ankle in 2 spots and sprained the other one. We couldn't fit the wheelchair in car unfortunately. But we COULD fit Lortab in the car. Which is what Steve enjoyed the whole way home.<br />
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The pills made him feel happy. And the ice cream he asked for made him feel happy. On the inside.<br />
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And seeing Steve happy made us happy. Trip success.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-58618391497510383342012-02-22T13:19:00.002-07:002012-02-22T13:50:41.066-07:00All about my moms neck.My mother informed me today that she his taking a strong dose of medication in hopes of healing scar tissue in her throat. Ok.<br />
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I'm not really sure how she got scar tissue in her throat. But this is what she described is going on:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFjJLJFgBf2g0lncMmxI-KaGkGXDLRms6VuuFVFiKMvviFRuF3-McM_1fV_3OU9-aUzYioSRha5etIb0L7yzWfTuPUnsD2sYACH3q3HmQxgkOPpuCCPFamrYQekuVgKJIFdYIgxwXzAg/s1600/FotoFlexer_Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFjJLJFgBf2g0lncMmxI-KaGkGXDLRms6VuuFVFiKMvviFRuF3-McM_1fV_3OU9-aUzYioSRha5etIb0L7yzWfTuPUnsD2sYACH3q3HmQxgkOPpuCCPFamrYQekuVgKJIFdYIgxwXzAg/s320/FotoFlexer_Photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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If this medication doesn't work, doctors will have to perform a tricky surgery to remove the scar tissue so she can do vital things. Like breath and stuff.<br />
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So basically, if this medicine doesn't work, my mom could have the following side effects:<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A hole in her neck.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Darth Vadar throat noises.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Or complete removal of neck.</td></tr>
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While all of these symptoms may seem scary or really cool <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(depending on who you are)</span> my mom is getting really excited about the potential symptoms.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"NECK HOLE?! Sign me up!"</td></tr>
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She informed me that she is going to take up smoking. Just so she can fit that cigarette in her little neck hole. Like all the other people do that have a neck hole.<br />
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We may or may not have made up or own side effects... And we may or may not specialize in morbidity... And my mother may or may not be a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"badass".</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Actually, yea. She's a badass.</span>Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-9099063806505579462012-02-11T13:20:00.001-07:002012-02-11T13:27:36.810-07:00A bad hair day.I was having a bad hair day. It's true. And it's my fault because I had chosen not to shower my hair.<br />
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So when I went to get a new drivers license... and I had to get a new picture taken... I didn't expect it to look good.<br />
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But... when I really looked closely at the temporary license they printed out for me. I was kinda surprised.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVN4BxEsn993breiDizWJk1oFXnhstn5Mer87z9zigh18PF0uCwxvRoJC6z_e7rud5B2_ijXuW1I4QxrC9_QBvn9mQhaaj1hUzjASVE7BUjnYVF3U-OD4vyXzT5_cDfVOm3acXlc6NH9Y/s1600/252112_183671518365699_160014580731393_428649_6121960_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVN4BxEsn993breiDizWJk1oFXnhstn5Mer87z9zigh18PF0uCwxvRoJC6z_e7rud5B2_ijXuW1I4QxrC9_QBvn9mQhaaj1hUzjASVE7BUjnYVF3U-OD4vyXzT5_cDfVOm3acXlc6NH9Y/s1600/252112_183671518365699_160014580731393_428649_6121960_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously the picture printed on<br />
my drivers license.</td></tr>
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I look like a man.<br />
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Always. Wash. Your. Hair.Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-34995643706290923472012-01-26T10:29:00.000-07:002012-01-26T10:29:25.781-07:00How to lose at least 3 facebook friends a day.This week I've still been a little upset over my name change. Johnson. Yea.<br />
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But then I realized how easy it is to make fun of others names.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqpHjUHyILjcfh3wnNZUdIIsU-QsbeT4nIrh2AwQx8PzNtw2kHWgEo2T0CUDA-SZ4Csm6iiBl1eTPmF1w-DI-11xwkN_m8JLY_VbN7jlIUJicW_88wpftjHNl-cd9YH2lC7vMAmcMVotc/s1600/Picture+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqpHjUHyILjcfh3wnNZUdIIsU-QsbeT4nIrh2AwQx8PzNtw2kHWgEo2T0CUDA-SZ4Csm6iiBl1eTPmF1w-DI-11xwkN_m8JLY_VbN7jlIUJicW_88wpftjHNl-cd9YH2lC7vMAmcMVotc/s400/Picture+1.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwoJNUJBC-J91w2JX1RRW2_FEo2v-g4SQpCeFtQFpHieCicK2FWlkSD4r0XDprSd_YuW_7DIXaUQZtKMzZAO4XQmifz0HR0Op3JFirHIYtS9hwXCBVO2X-2H8H8hAGjiUnIT-VzyMfsc/s1600/Picture+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwoJNUJBC-J91w2JX1RRW2_FEo2v-g4SQpCeFtQFpHieCicK2FWlkSD4r0XDprSd_YuW_7DIXaUQZtKMzZAO4XQmifz0HR0Op3JFirHIYtS9hwXCBVO2X-2H8H8hAGjiUnIT-VzyMfsc/s400/Picture+1.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They say a bully is someone that puts people down because they actually feel bad about themselves. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And yea. I make fun of names. Because I feel bad about my common name. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But by being a bully and undoubtedly pissing people off, suddenly, I didn't feel bad about my name anymore. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Johnson? You're ok.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-49779645372260766932012-01-16T09:15:00.000-07:002012-01-16T09:15:25.847-07:00Captain Obvious comments on blogs.I've had some anonymous posts on my blog lately that haven't been so nice. I delete them... because I don't want it to become a trend. I need self esteem you guys...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emo hair. Emo face.</td></tr>
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But I thought I'd just address this anonymous blogger now. He/she/it/gangster's most recent comment was how I am a racist small town mormon girl that doesn't know anything.<br />
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While I'm not racist. I'd say everything else highlighted in his/her/it/gangster's anonymous post is <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">OBVIOUS</span>.<br />
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So thanks for pointing that out. Duh. I'm trying to be like Jesus but I hope you feel dumb.<br />
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P.S. I'm listening to Lil Mama. Doin' the G-Slide. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Not racist. </span><br />
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</span>Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-45644512973128240822012-01-15T22:09:00.001-07:002012-01-15T22:12:52.954-07:00What a nice gangster.I have a cold. Which sucks.<br />
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Even worse when you have to work an 8 hour shift in a tiny little mall kiosk. Even worse when you have a sneeze face like mine.<br />
Observe.<br />
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Before I go any further, I'll need you to observe this picture also. Because it's a G like this <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(but thug-ier) </span>that happened to be pimp walking through the mall just after my sneeze face had formed.<br />
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We made eye contact. He stopped. "Wasss your problem?"<br />
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Crap. I gave the gangster a funny look.<br />
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Now if you're familiar with stereotypical gangsters and have ever watched a movie about gangsters, you'll know this is the part where he pulls out his 9mm glock and starts shooting. Killing me dead.<br />
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With this in mind, I began to duck behind my kiosk. Planning my escape. He was coming closer. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Important sidenote: mall cops are useless.)</span> He reached my counter.<br />
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"Girl, wass your problem?"<br />
"I...uh... I just have a cold. I'm about to sneeze."<br />
"D*** girl. How long you work?"<br />
"Till 6..."<br />
"Sheesh! That's a long shift. I hope you get feelin' better. Take care!"<br />
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Then he pimp walked off. Just like that.<br />
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Did I mention that I never judge people by their looks? And I'd NEVER assume a nice young man in his baggy clothes and do-rag would ever shoot me.<br />
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What a nice gangster.<br />
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P.S. I liked your gang tats. Fo realz.Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-92119216668928326922012-01-09T10:36:00.001-07:002012-01-09T10:39:11.785-07:00I'm really into killing things.Kinda. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Ok not really at all. </span><br />
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I've been working at the Browning kiosk in the Ogden mall. Annnd I don't really hunt. At all. But I promised my boss (Neil's kind cousin) that I'd dress the part. Ya know. In order to gain customer's trust and make more money.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-gNfg5L2mHB6MB6LRsEPomExqVsxrBfIzROoHXNNBwwEoRBXADuEAhghMsFf0PPSqPlkKz92RKfz0rTDRFPCRNOUR6x2p1RuXFMTN80wB1TQZeekR0k3Tej62casrex9v7EA2vqRoZc/s1600/Photo+319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-gNfg5L2mHB6MB6LRsEPomExqVsxrBfIzROoHXNNBwwEoRBXADuEAhghMsFf0PPSqPlkKz92RKfz0rTDRFPCRNOUR6x2p1RuXFMTN80wB1TQZeekR0k3Tej62casrex9v7EA2vqRoZc/s320/Photo+319.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hunter orange 100%-animal-killing cotton hoodie. <br />
Paired with a hick vest.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denim suit. Paired with an I-love-guns style coyote howling shirt.<br />
Hunters always trust people in denim suits.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KTpFNO-Mn46e8dOO2w3mLgHLaJDxrYlVL3dX1YFbCItBXoyaRJyRqwHQuX5Gyhc5NfLE24ktdvlfES0usnSkhnjI0KqCKkPpNJxqa01IQmLeNhKYsvvhV4w9MMU25XQQQ5j65MNIPl4/s1600/Photo+321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KTpFNO-Mn46e8dOO2w3mLgHLaJDxrYlVL3dX1YFbCItBXoyaRJyRqwHQuX5Gyhc5NfLE24ktdvlfES0usnSkhnjI0KqCKkPpNJxqa01IQmLeNhKYsvvhV4w9MMU25XQQQ5j65MNIPl4/s320/Photo+321.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oversized Indian/Wolf t-shirt. I was hoping the hot indian<br />
lady would draw in more male cliental. Besides, they don't<br />
care if stuff fits...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I went all out. Glamour deer shirt. Paired with real fur. Hunters don't like<br />
the fake stuff. They can spot a fake hunter from a mile away<br />
(with their Bushnell Excursion 8x42 binoculars).<br />
And I, children, am no fake hunter.</td></tr>
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</div><div>I didn't make Neil's cousins any money.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-8451344147805661832012-01-01T14:29:00.000-07:002012-01-01T14:29:18.279-07:00The adventures of being a housewife."Stupid title. Being a house wife is boring and not adventurous. Housewives get fat and boring. And none of their single friends like them anymore." That's what you're thinking.<br />
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WHAT YOU'RE THINKING IS WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.<br />
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BEING A HOUSEWIFE IS HARD. And it's only been like three days...<br />
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Like the other day.... I had to go buy a bag of flour. And the bag was really heavy. And no one would come help me. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Cause I had a ring on my finger.</span> And then I got up to the counter and the lady over charged me by 2 dollars. 2 DOLLARS! <b style="font-size: x-large;">Are you kidding me?! </b>So I got up in her face. I was like "Look lady. I'm married now. And I'm watching my budget like a killer hawk. So give me my 2 dollars back so that I can afford breakfast tomorrow." I had to crawl to my car after that. That experience took a lot out of me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just hauling the flour to my pantry. SUPER. HARD.</td></tr>
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I'm having an identity crisis because I have to sign everything "Katie Jane Johnson" instead of "Katie Jane Elliott". Identity crisis' are hard. Especially when you have a new name like Johnson. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">FUN FACT: Johnson happens to be the second most common last name in the United States. </span>It takes me 4 minutes to sign Johnson in cursive. It is WAY exciting.<br />
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House chores are mind blowingly intense. Especially since I turned them into "Housewife Olympics", in order to convince Neil that I'm a good housewife. Housewife Olympics are hard. Speed ironing. Long jump bed making. Heavy weight box lifting. They're all intense games and I continue to improve my personal best. It's really crazy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neil relaxing on his freshly made bed.<br />
Little does he know, a few short hours ago I<br />
was sweating it out with my long jump<br />
bed making. </td></tr>
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I know that a lot of you are sad that you aren't married. I understand that's all you wish for everyday. And I know that hearing about all my exciting adventures and intense moments just make you desire it even more. Sorry bout that. Maybe someday soon you will be racing to have a lavish breakfast ready for your husband <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">who woke up 40 minutes late </span>to eat just in the nick of time. And you will think to yourself "My life is so exciting."Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-3879385857061707592011-12-14T21:57:00.000-07:002011-12-14T21:57:13.285-07:00I'm all getting married and such.I hate weddings. I LOVE NEIL. But I hate weddings. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">And I hate weddings a little more extra.</span><br />
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WEDDING SUBJECT 1:<br />
Neil and I had pictures taken for our announcements. And since we looked so hot in so many of them, we couldn't agree on which one to send out to people. So we split it up. One to my side of the family and friends. Another to his side of the family and friends.<br />
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Guess which one Neil chose. Guess which one I chose.<br />
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Times up.<br />
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Turns out, for whatever <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f1c232;">chest-rash-inducing</span> reason, my picture didn't make it to most of my side of family and friends... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">(Pray that Neil's family didn't get my chosen picture. I have a feeling they wouldn't enjoy it as much.)</span><br />
And surprisingly....people are upset about this?? Bah. Chill. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I resent my picture to you kiddos. Give it a few days and then your life will be whole again.</span><br />
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WEDDING SUBJECT 2:<br />
Now allow me to refer back to that "chest-rash-inducing" that I highlighted in gold a few lines back. I had an awakening this week. A marriage awakening.<br />
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<b>Text Conversation</b>:<br />
Friend Niccole: Hey gurrrl! Wanna go out and grab a snack? We've been studying for so long and we need a break.<br />
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Katie Jane: Oh man! I so would but Neil just got here and I've gotta clear up the poor little rash on his chest!<br />
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Friend Niccole: Ew<br />
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Then it hit me................. I'm totally getting married.<br />
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WEDDING SUBJECT 3:<br />
In one of my last classes, right before a final, I had 4 beautiful girls approach me. They handed me a gift with a sweet little card in which they had all written in. It was a wedding gift. They had all discovered I was getting married a few days earlier. They wanted to wish me well and say goodbye as I will be moving at the end of this week. And in their sweet sweet glorious wonderfulness, bought me a very nice mixing bowl with whisks and scrubby sponges.<br />
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How nice right? NOOO. NOT. COOL.<br />
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I. Don't. Know. Their. Names.<br />
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Then to make a bad situation worse, one started crying. *I'll allow you to pause here to feel really awkward with me.*<br />
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I'm thinking: "Did I miss something here? It's marriage. Not death. Wait. Is someone not telling me something about marriage??"<br />
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I didn't know what to do. So I just walked off. Awkwardly of course.<br />
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Now I really should write them a thank you note, and check to make sure the one isn't still crying.<br />
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And I will.<br />
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As soon as a track down those names......Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-82286431251096105122011-12-05T17:30:00.000-07:002011-12-05T17:30:04.311-07:00Bad Katie.Last week, I had to go fight an insurance ticket. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I couldn't find the proof of insurance in my car. So the meany-pants cop gave me a ticket. </span>What the cop didn't realize is: NO ONE GIVES KATIE A TICKET.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
I showed up in the court waiting room at the little Riverdale police department. And I was asked to to be seated while I waited for my ticket to be checked.<br />
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There wasn't much of a choice for seating.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A. Sit by a cute little kid.</span><br />
-Wearing handcuffs and feet shackles.<br />
-Sporting a nice Juvenile Detention uniform.<br />
-Looks like he's never bathed a day in his life.<br />
-Smells like he's never bathed a day in his life.<br />
-Slight chance he may soak his arms in sour milk everyday. Why? I'm sure I'll never know.<br />
SUMMARY: I'm pretty sure the only crime he committed was never showering. Ever. CRIME! Oh the crime we see these days...<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">B. Sit by a guy.</span><br />
-That weighs at least 100 lbs more than the cop sitting in the corner.<br />
-Also handcuffed and feet shackled<br />
-(Remind me if I'm wrong, but don't you have to be in some serious trouble to have your feet chained together??)<br />
-Sporting a nice prison uniform.<br />
SUMMARY: I had an imagination moment. In a mental battle between this guy and the corner-cop.... the guy killed the corner-cop. I saw it. In my head. This guy was scary. <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">C. Sit by lady holding baby.</span><br />
-Lady hunched over baby. Rocking it. I think the rocking was some sort of.... tick.<br />
-Talked about when the baby was going to poop.<br />
-Talked about who would change its pants and other weird things you don't talk to a baby about.<br />
-Mumbled a lot.<br />
-Had crazy lady hair. All stringy and grey.<br />
SUMMARY: That. Poor. Baby. I don't know who's it was. Why she was there. Or what she was talking about. But I immediately knew... kidnapper.<br />
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Oh the options!!! This was great! I just couldn't decide who to sit by! They all looked like really awesome sitting buddies. And as I stood there trying to decide...<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">It hit me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
These guys are COOL. Smelly juvenile kid! Huge killer guy! Crazy baby lady! And then.... girl with an insurance ticket. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Booo! Hiss! LAME!</span><br />
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So I changed my ticket up a bit.<br />
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Awesome Drug Trafficker! Bad Katie...WIN!Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-17803077666751817972011-12-02T01:04:00.000-07:002011-12-02T01:04:56.212-07:00Tony Little came to say hi on my last day of work.Today was my last day of working at Al's Sporting Goods <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">(We don't want everybody's business, just yours)</span>. Sad? Pretty much not. Ok ok. I'm gonna miss my Als Pals. Most of them. Cause I love them so dearly and they've been so good to me. But other than that.... I'm happy to get away from the evil.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let me repeat: We don't want everybody's business<br />
JUST YOURS! <br />
(So don't bring your friends because<br />
we're pretty sure they're gonna steal something.)</td></tr>
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But guess who came to wish me well on my last day of work??<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHAPx9YENpMlwLN06jpTK6ygohRJoCpR8GAT-9dNTsyoy0o5ary-8IV9rHOhbtMQZ-UBQt69NLYBcmbPeQzt9_XYSJV7AcdvYQfBKqUhZMMZdO8rBcZPbFB-8gBFzYGwn12xlR_SNEfo/s1600/DownloadedFile.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHAPx9YENpMlwLN06jpTK6ygohRJoCpR8GAT-9dNTsyoy0o5ary-8IV9rHOhbtMQZ-UBQt69NLYBcmbPeQzt9_XYSJV7AcdvYQfBKqUhZMMZdO8rBcZPbFB-8gBFzYGwn12xlR_SNEfo/s1600/DownloadedFile.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy!! Do you recognize him??<br />
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NO???</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How about if I add his Gazelle machine?<br />
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STILL NO??</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ok ok. It's Tony Little! Come on guys! He does infomercials for exercise equipment! He's pretty much a workout equipment superstar!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/pyK-3Em8__c/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/pyK-3Em8__c&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/pyK-3Em8__c&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div style="text-align: center;">This was pretty much our interaction today. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Ok I lied. We pretty much just looked at each other lots.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">HOW IT REALLY HAPPENED:</div><div style="text-align: left;">He walked into my shoe department and started touching every shoe that was within reach. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">He's short.</span> First I couldn't stop staring cause I knew that I knew him from somewhere. Then I couldn't stop staring because his hair flowed gorgeously from his workout hat. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">My hair will never be that amazing, I thought to myself. </span>Then when I walked up to him and asked if he needed help, I noticed he had a heavy amount of MAKEUP on.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Let the stare off begin.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I starred thinking "Who IS this guy??"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">He starred back thinking "I wish I wasn't so famous and ripped!! There's no one that can take their eyes off me!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After our stare off we became best friends forever.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They say he headlocks people he really likes.<br />
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*Sigh* The friendship and headlock is also a lie. But a really nice thought...</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4581918587879408777.post-91963895339745899872011-11-29T01:24:00.000-07:002011-11-29T01:24:51.831-07:00That friend you have that is more awkward than yourself.Setting: LIBRARY. In Passing.<br />
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Katie: "Hey Bart*! I had a really crazy dream about you last night!!"<br />
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Bart: "Oh really? Was it of us making out??"<br />
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*Really. Awkward. Pause.*<br />
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*Name changed cause he's my facebook friend.<br />
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Disclaimer: I only dream of making out with Neil.Katie Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10729572756835007839noreply@blogger.com0