tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4159139025988961302024-03-12T17:30:46.416-07:00Cleverful LifeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-60063048879658842682015-11-24T11:55:00.000-08:002015-11-24T11:55:57.512-08:00Ivy's Birth<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*If you do not want to see birth photos, then this post isn't for you. Don't worry, there's no nudity*</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> </i></span></div>
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<u><b>THE BACKSTORY </b></u></div>
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After the ectopic pregnancy in 2011, to which I became a uni-tube gal, getting pregnant again proved to be difficult. We tried unsuccessfully for many, many months. Last year around October, we tried an IUI which was also unsuccessful and heartbreaking to go through. Because of the holidays, we decided that we didn't want to add the stress of fertility treatments to our life so we took a break from the madness that is trying to conceive. <br /><br />Then in February, I decided to randomly take a pregnancy test seeing as I was supposed to start my period soon and I was mildly curious. I didn't have any inkling either way except for the fact that my boobs were still a bit sore, which was unusual for me. I was shocked to see the test come up positive instantly. <br /><br />Ivy's pregnancy was very non-eventful. I first had an early ultrasound to determine if the pregnancy was in the correct spot and from then on out, it was smooth sailing. She was due on October 26th and the entire pregnancy, I felt very patient for her to get here. I wasn't feeling that , "Okay, I'm DONE" feeling until I was about 39 weeks pregnant.</div>
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Now, it's here I should mention that up until 32 weeks, I had been living in Denver and had seen a team of OB's there. I knew that I wanted to try to deliver naturally this time around and that I wanted to utilize the birthing tubs offered in the hospital. They were very supportive of that, which was nice! <br /><br />Then Tyler got a new job in Sacramento. His job in Denver was not working out and the company was not doing well at all. There were a few times when we wondered if he would be downsized. So we made the decision to move out to California with the new job offer. <br /><br />Among the many things with moving, I had to find a new OB that was supportive of my natural birth with low interventions, a hospital that supported that practice, and they had to both be in my new insurance network. With the stress of moving, I broke down a bit and said to Tyler, "I can't do all of this at 32 weeks pregnant! If I want to have a natural birth, I might as well find a midwife and do a home birth!"<br /></div>
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It was something that I said half-jokingly and then, with the next few days, really thought about it. I was low-risk and a perfect candidate. I could have my peaceful birth with low interventions. I knew a midwife would be supportive of a waterbirth. It was then when I decided to go for it.</div>
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I began calling different midwives in Sacramento and when I talked to Randi, I felt an instant connection! I loved so many things about her and her practice of care, like how <i>she came to my home for all visits.</i> Let me tell you, this is the BEST thing ever. Why did we ever change this? </div>
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<br /><br /><b><u>THE BIRTH</u></b></div>
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So I had my midwife and my homebirth kit, I was ready to go! I felt completely at peace with the thought of a homebirth and I felt confidence that I could do it. I was not afraid of anything "going wrong" because I trusted my body and I trusted Randi.<br /><br />On Saturday night, October 24th, I started having some very mild waves (contractions). They felt similar to medium-level period cramps. Not the worst period cramps I've had, but noticeable enough to start timing them. They were about 6-8 minutes apart but mild enough that I could sleep through them. Once they had been coming for a few hours, I texted my midwife to tell her what was going on (yes, TEXTED, how awesome is that?!)<br /><br />The next morning, they were staying consistently about the same and Randi decided to stop by that afternoon to check me. Yes, no going to a hospital with a bunch of germs! She came to my house on a Sunday afternoon to just check on me even though I had an appointment the next day with her. I was dilated to a 5 and was 100% effaced. During the previous weeks, I had been slowly dilating and at my 39 week appointment, I had been 4cm and 75%. <br /><br />She swept my membranes and then told me that she was going to go get something to eat, but that she was SURE she would be back in a few hours and we would be having that baby tonight!<br /><br />Immediately, my contractions picked up in both intensity and time. They were now coming every 3 minutes and I would compare them to intense period pains. Enough that I had to stop and breathe through them but definitely still bearable. I texted her within the hour and told her that she should make her way back. <br /><br />When she arrived, I had already made Tyler put down the painter's tarp on the living room floor just in case my water broke. I was bouncing on the ball in my underwear and a shirt and listening to my birthing day affirmations. Between contractions, we could easily converse and during contractions, I would switch from yoga ball to kneeling over the couch. I was able to walk freely (no IV!) and get into any position that I felt comfortable with. Mostly it was on the yoga ball with my hips rolled forward. <br /><br />Every few minutes, Jack would come and check on me and ask, "Is baby sister here yet?" Then he would run back to his room to play. He was very excited to meet baby sister and I had prepared him earlier in the weeks for birth by showing him some youtube videos of natural birth. I didn't want him being frightened if I started making noises. He chose to mostly stay in his room and was totally fine with the whole process.</div>
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I was able to labor on the ball for a few hours and when I was checked again, I was at a 7! It felt good to have progress seeing as the contractions were becoming more and more intense. It was at this time that I wanted the tub filled up and try laboring there. Let me just tell you, everything they say about birthing in the tub is true! It's AMAZING! It took all of the gravity off of me and allowed me to concentrate on the pressure of her head on my cervix alone.<br /><br />I remember that the contractions started getting sharp and I would moan through them. I concentrated really hard on allowing her to put that pressure on my cervix to open it up. That meant relaxing my pelvic floor even though it was difficult. After laboring a while in the tub, and still only being at a 7, I decided to let the midwives break my water so that we could progress some more. They broke my water in the tub and the fluid was nice and clear with some vernix floating around! All good!<br /><br />After my water was broken, transition hit and I was really having to concentrate on breathing through the contractions. Yet after a while, I was STILL only at a 7 so my midwives suggested that I get out and allow gravity to help me get those last few cm out of the way. <br /><br />Let me tell you, I did NOT want to get out. The weight was so incredibly heavy and the pressure became so intense. Randi brought in a birthing stool that I was able to sit on. I remember Randi saying, "At this point, you just need to give in to everything. Give in to the pain." and I did. When a contraction would come, I would grunt to the student midwife to indicate that I wanted her to press my hips (or back) as hard as possible, all while I would relax my pelvic floor and squeeze the crap out of Tyler's arm or hand. Over and over again I would do that and try to relax. </div>
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I could feel the student midwives arms tremble from becoming tired. It was then that I realized that when you give birth with a midwife, you aren't just another patient. You feel this sacred sisterhood that is generations upon generations of birth. I realized that their goal was not just to have a live baby in the end, it was also to help me through labor emotionally. They labored along <i>with</i> me instead of just watching and waiting.<br /><br />It was at this point when I began to seriously doubt how I was going to continue. I didn't know how I was going to be able to bear one more contraction and I would say stuff like, "I don't want to do this anymore" and "I can't keep going." but my midwives were supportive reassured me that I WAS doing this and I COULD get through. <br /><br />They suggested that I tried laboring in the shower but all I wanted was to get in that tub again. They encouraged me to stay out of the tub just until I had progressed some more, so into the shower I got! Out of all the laboring positions, that was my least favorite. I think it was because my shower was so small that I felt confined and I hated using any extra muscles than necessary, like my leg muscles to hold myself up. I tried sitting on a chair in the shower but I didn't want any counter-pressure on my bum. I only stayed for a few contractions before making my way to the bed with the help of my team.<br /><br />I laid on the bed and the contractions were so incredibly intense! So much pressure! I knew I was so close and must have only had a tiny bit to go because within a few minutes, I felt the urge to push through the contractions. That's when I said, "I want to get in the tub and push now!" <br /><br />I waddled over to the tub and began to push and it felt SO AMAZING. It really does take away almost all of the pain from the contractions when you push. I sat on hands and knees and pushed my way through slowly. Pushing was hard work! It was as if I was running a marathon, and sweat would drip off of my forehead. I would try to breathe through each contraction but they were coming so close together that I couldn't take enough breaths before having to push again. <br /><br />I reached down and felt her wrinkly head progressing down the birth canal. I always imagined that the stretch would only really hurt at the entrance, right when she was crowning, but I never considered that the WHOLE way down would have to stretch as well. I know, it makes sense that the whole vagina would have to stretch but it was something that I had just never thought about before.</div>
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What they say about the ring of fire, is also true. At least, it was for me. Oh boy! That stretch was quite the feeling. I remember feeling her head crowning and could only feel about a sand-dollar's worth and wondering how on earth it was going to stretch even MORE. But once I had reached that point, I couldn't slow down. With each contraction, my body pushed her out itself and I merely had to sit there and allow her to come. Again, I had to succumb to labor and allow everything to stretch.</div>
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Just when I felt like I couldn't stretch any more, I felt a pop and remember saying, "Her head is out!" and then I switched to my back as I quickly pushed out her shoulders and the rest of her body. At 10:20PM she was born and was quickly put on my chest. I felt the immense relief that it was done! I had birthed my little girl at home and caught her myself (with the help of my attentive midwives). She was very pink and covered in vernix. She would cry intermittently and her lungs sounded very clear.<br /><br />A few minutes later, the placenta came out (which was so oddly relieving) and when the cord was white and limp, Tyler cut it. The water in the tub was getting cold so I handed Ivy to Tyler while the midwives helped me get into bed and get warmed. </div>
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Moments later, Ivy was placed on my chest for skin-to-skin time and nursed. While I relaxed in bed, the midwives were busy working and cleaning up. They put away the tub, started laundry of all the dirty towels and clothes, brewed tea, threw away all of the used chuck pads, and a million other things that I probably didn't even notice. They worked as they monitored myself and Ivy. Later, they stitched me up (only 3 stitches), showed us the placenta, and did the well-baby check. </div>
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<br />They left at 2AM after we had all been fed and settled and Tyler and I were left to bond with our new little person. Jack was asleep during her birthing and woke the next day to meet baby sister. </div>
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<br /><u><b>AFTERTHOUGHTS </b></u></div>
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After this experience, I told my midwives that I hated it! I didn't feel this empowering rush, I felt exhausted! I couldn't understand how women did this multiple times and I was certain that I never wanted to do it again.<br /><br />But over the next few days, I began to feel that, "Holy crap, I did that!" feeling. Yes, it hurt but it was so worth it and yes, I would do it again. </div>
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In the weeks leading up to Ivy's birth, I had serious doubts and anxieties about the pain of it all. I wasn't afraid of something going wrong, I was more anxious about the oncoming storm of labor. I told Randi that I wasn't sure I was ready and she told me, "Well of course you can't go through labor now but when it starts, your body will have the perfect cocktail of hormones that will get you through it." and she was right! </div>
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So if you are considering a homebirth (or a natural birth), please don't let the fear of pain prevent you from going through. There are many reasons why some women should not have a homebirth but fear of labor (or tearing or contractions) should not be one of them. There are many things that I would be afraid of and childbirth is not one of them.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-91558902119408869012015-02-15T10:01:00.001-08:002015-02-15T10:01:03.860-08:00Why I Decided To Leave The (LDS) Church.<br />
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It may or may not come as a shock to anyone, but in November of 2013, I decided that being a part of the LDS faith was no longer what I felt was right. A few months later, I stopped going to church altogether. I have since "come out" to family and some friends about my faith transition but I have never actually taken the time to explain <i>why</i> I left in the first place.<br />
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First, there are many misconceptions about individuals that have left the church. So many, in fact, that I could dedicate a whole separate article listing those. What I have experienced is that usually people are so engrained with the misconceptions that they <i>never actually hear me</i>.<i> </i>They never really take the time to listen. They hear the truths I tell about my transition, but they never actually <i>hear me</i>. They choose to believe their own fallacy.<br />
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This is essentially the "agree to disagree" statement. And so, what I have found, is that it is a dichotomy of responses. Either they accept that my experiences in the church were different than the "right" way or they choose to interpret falsely "what's <i>really</i> going on" to pacify their cognitive dissonance.<br />
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I understand that some will respond as the latter group. I understand that some will misinterpret <b>me</b> and I understand that I can't do anything to change that.<br />
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So why the article?<br />
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Because I feel that true freedom comes from authenticity and that being true to myself is where I will find happiness.<br />
<br />
<b> . . . </b><br />
<br />
<br />
First, let's cover some background. I was born into the covenant (parents sealed in the temple) by parents that loved the church wholly, who were taught by their parents the same ideals and who raised me to also love the church.<br />
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I was baptized when I was 8. We attended church every Sunday and mutual every Wednesday. We had scripture study and family prayers. We attended firesides and watched conference every 6 months. We were taught to have reverence and respect for the prophet. I even attended EFY while I was a teen and graduated Seminary. Later, I got a degree from BYU-Idaho (a church school). <br />
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I was married in the Arizona temple to an amazing man that had served a full-time mission. We paid tithing every month and went to the temple often. We continued to attend church and both would gladly accept any calling the Lord sent our way.<br />
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I was devoted. I mean, <u><b><i>devoted</i></b></u> to my faith. I had a testimony and I believed--no, <b><i><u>knew</u></i></b> that the church was true.<br />
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So what happened?<br />
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Around 2010, I decided that contrary to The Church's stance, I did NOT believe LGBT's chose their sexuality. I remember taking a class at BYUI (a Family Proclamation class) that <i>specifically</i> asked this question. <i>"Individuals who are gay are NOT born that way and simply choose their lifestyle"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>I couldn't consciously choose "true". I took the hit and the point lost.<br />
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I soon learned that being even a tiny bit liberal in the LDS church is a very lonesome place to be. Rarely did people agree with me and if they did, they were also too afraid to say anything aloud. Those lessons where a well-intended person went off on "those liberals and democrats" in a subtly but knowingly way, it felt as if I was being personally attacked. I was shamed and damned for my different opinions.<br />
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But that didn't matter because I <b>knew</b> the church was true and I held on to that. It didn't matter if everyone thought I was going to hell because I supported gay marriage (or abortion, or legalization of marijuana, etc.) because what mattered most was the principles I had been taught my whole life. Trust in the Lord and His mouthpieces and all will be well.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b> . . . </b><br />
<br />
<br />
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A few years later, I learned that I didn't even know much about the history of my own church. I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet and that the early saints had struggles, but I didn't <i>really</i> know.<br />
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Soon, issues began to pop up and it was a punch to the gut. Since when did Joseph Smith have 40 wives? Some as young as 14 and some that were already married? Why did I never know that Joseph Smith translated most of the Book of Mormon by placing his face in a hat? You mean to tell me that the priesthood bad was on the temple too? So black men and women couldn't receive their endowments nor get sealed in the temple? Since when are there multiple accounts of the first vision with vastly different details?<br />
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Then more and more and more unfolded. Pre-1990's temple endowments, Book of Abraham, errors in the Book of Mormon, blood atonement, second anointing, the kinderhook plates.<br />
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That was only the history. There were so many unanswered questions about the policies today. Why can't women receive the priesthood? Why do we never talk about Heavenly Mother? Why do mission presidents receive excessive compensation? Why will they not tell us where the tithing money goes?<br />
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And piece by piece everything crumbled and I was left alone in a pile of unanswerable questions combined with questionable history, policies, and doctrines.<br />
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Deep depression came over me and I felt completely alone and isolated. <br />
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Unless you have also gone through a faith crisis, you will never understand the excruciating pain it is to find yourself again after one. I prayed excessively to know truth. I opened my heart to both possibilities. I prayed and cried and prayed some more and I got an answer. <br />
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<i>That it is so much bigger than the LDS church.</i><br />
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I felt peace and I knew what I had to do. I asked myself, "Do I believe that God would build a multibillion dollar mall instead of putting that money towards humanitarian relief? Do I believe that God commanded adultery? Do I believe in a God that discriminates eternal life based off of skin color or sexual orientation?"<br />
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The answer was a resounding, "NO". <br />
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<b> . . .</b><br />
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Of course, this transition happened over a matter of many, MANY months of praying and searching. Tyler was along side me the whole way. Talking and supporting and loving me just the same.<br />
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At first, yes, I was angry and very depressed. I felt as if I had been lied to my entire life. I was grieving fiercely. <i>I never wanted this to happen and I never asked for this</i>. It made me angry that I was put through such emotional turmoil. And just like any process of grieving, anger turned to sadness, which turned to bargaining, which turned to denial and then back to sadness. And over and over again.<br />
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Looking back now, it was my transformation. It was me emerging from the chrysalis until I was finally free and in the acceptance stage.<br />
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When I decided to "come out" to my family, I was expecting the worst. To them, I was rejecting eternal life and damning myself to hell for eternity. I had no clue how they would react and just like any group of individuals, the reactions were mixed. Mostly support, which was unexpected but appreciated. Some condemnation. A little gossip. Hey, jerks exist in every group and I didn't allow it to affect me.<br />
<br />
<b> . . .</b><br />
<br />
And that brings us to today. I haven't officially resigned out of respect for Tyler and my family but that's just a formality to me. It doesn't mean anything either way.<br />
<br />
I'm rarely angry anymore and I definitely don't hate the church. I support those in my family that still choose the LDS faith. I'm happy that they have found something that makes them happy.<br />
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As for me, I don't believe Joseph Smith was a prophet. Nor do I think that the only way back to God is through the church. I don't believe in any of the doctrine or in the Book of Mormon. I don't believe in a God that would command polygamy or polyandry. I don't believe in a God that discriminates eternal life based off of skin color or sexual orientation. I don't believe that the church is led by inspired men now.<br />
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And you know what? I am happy.Very happy. Joyful.<br />
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I would hope that my friends and family would still choose to love me for who I am and not which religion I affiliate with. In a perfect world, there would be no side-ways glaces of judgement, there would be no gossiping about "what's really going on" and there would be no, "She's being led away by Satan".<br />
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In the end though, I think reactions are a good judgement on character and a good indication of who I choose to remain a part of my life. A life that is perfect and whole without The Church.<br />
<br />
<b> . . .</b><br />
<i><br />"<span class="bqQuoteLink"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" title="view quote">Man
looks in the abyss, there's nothing staring back at him. At that
moment, man finds his character. And that is what keeps him out of the
abyss.</a></span>"</i><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-44099139355581568742014-08-20T10:58:00.000-07:002014-08-20T10:58:55.328-07:0010 Dos & Don'ts When Talking To Infertile Couples<div style="text-align: left;">
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Infertility is something that, for whatever reason, isn't talked about much. Is it any wonder then that not many know how to respond? I'll be honest, before I experienced infertility, I didn't know what to say either. </div>
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When I was young, my sister had experienced years and years of painful surgeries, procedures, medications, financial burdens of treatments, and so much more from infertility. Even now, I can't even begin to understand her pain. Back then, I was barely an adult and had no idea how to show my support and sympathy for her.</div>
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Now that <a href="http://www.runninincircles.com/2014/07/my-ongoing-journey-with-secondary.html" target="_blank"><strong><span style="color: #073763;">I am in the thick of infertility</span></strong></a>, I have a better understanding of what it means to experience it and have learned what has helped and what hasn't.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*disclaimer: I do not claim to write from the experiences of every infertile woman. I can only write what I have personally learned and experienced from my situation. This list may not apply to everyone. I can say, that from talking with many other infertile women, they also feel the same way to some degree*</span></div>
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<b>1.</b> <b>DON'T</b> <strong>use the phrase "At least…"</strong></div>
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…you already have a child.</div>
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… you were able to get pregnant in the first place.</div>
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… you haven't had to struggle with this for 8 years like, so-and-so.</div>
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No. Just stop. Whenever you use an "at least…" phrase, you are essentially saying that my struggle now doesn't matter because of other factors in my life (either past or future). This is completely untrue and a very uncaring phrase to say.</div>
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First off, I don't need you to count my blessings for me, I am very capable of doing that myself, thankyouverymuch. </div>
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Second, just because I may have other positive blessings in my life, does not mean that this current struggle is somewhat "less" of a struggle. Heartache is heartache. Yes, there are always positives in my life, but I don't need you to be a ray of sunshine in this dark point. I need you to be by my side, supporting me through it.<br />
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<b>2. DON'T say "Just relax, and it will happen…"</b></div>
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It's rude and condescending to assume that because it was easy for YOU to conceive (or your sister, or your aunt) that it's also so easy for me.</div>
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This is essentially like going up to a cancer patient and saying, "Oh just relax and ignore it! All that stress is what's REALLY causing this. Believe me, it will just go away". <br />
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It's essentially saying that my infertility is all in my head when, in fact, infertility is an actual disorder.<br />
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<b>3. DON'T give me anecdotal advice.</b></div>
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Yes, that's awesome that your sister (or cousin, or aunt, or best friend) had infertility, went on vacation, ate salmon every single day, and then got pregnant that month. Good for them but I don't want to really hear about their happy ending right now.</div>
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And please don't tell me the story about how your sister (or cousin, or aunt, or best friend) had sex in some unimaginable position and they conceived. </div>
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Don't even start telling me about when your sister (or cousin, or aunt, or best friend) just started doing positive affirmations and she magically got pregnant.</div>
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Seriously, I don't want to hear it. It doesn't give me hope, it just makes me angry and even more frustrated. This is, again, essentially saying that my infertility is a product of my imagination.</div>
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<strong>4.</strong> <b>DON'T tell me, "You can just adopt!"</b></div>
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While this may be a solution to eventually add to our family, it does not undo all of the trauma that comes from infertility. Did you know that studies have shown that the depression and anxiety from infertile couples is comparable to those that have cancer, heart disease, and are HIV-positive?</div>
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Think about that for a while and let it sink in.</div>
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Plus, there is no "just" in adoption and it isn't something that is easy to do. It's not as if I can run down to my nearest Miss Hannigan's Girls Orphanage and pick out a child to bring home, like I would a dog at the humane society.</div>
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While I have never personally experienced the adoption process, I have asked many friends about their experiences. They have all told me of the stress, anxiety, and heartbreak that came from their adoption process. It's not for everyone and it's not a "cure-all" for those with infertility.</div>
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<strong>5. DON'T bring religion into this.</strong></div>
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Please, don't tell me to keep praying or to trust in the Lord and everything will work out. I do not need to hear that this is a trial from God to make me into a better person</div>
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I may not be religious like you and even if I go to the same church,, I may not even have the same ideas about deity. It's not a source of comfort to some. </div>
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If there is a chance that I do share the exact same beliefs, then I would say to tread lightly. It may be a source of comfort or it may not so I would recommend to err on the side of caution with this one.<br />
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<strong>6. DON'T ask about my treatment.</strong><br />
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I know that family and friends want to show support, but talking about treatment is a very personal thing. It's usually not polite to ask about someone's pap smear or mammogram. We usually don't ask people when they're going to get a colonoscopy or ask about their yeast infection treatment.<br /><br />Infertility treatment is invasive as it is. What was once something personal that could be created by a couple in the bedroom, is now subject to tests and tubes in a lab. <br />
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It's a sensitive topic to most and while I don't want to discourage people from asking, you also need to be prepared that if you <em>do</em> ask, you may be met with, "I don't want to talk about that right now."<br /><br />Try to understand that it's not a reflection on our relationship and it's nothing personal against you. <br />
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<strong>7. DO show your support</strong></div>
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So while it's mostly not appropriate to ask about fertility treatments, there are other ways you can show your support. Here is a short list:<br />
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- Share articles about infertility awareness. I wouldn't recommend tagging the person with infertility and saying "See! This is for you!", but a general interest that you want to bring awareness to infertility is great.<br />
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- Donate money (if they have a fund). <em>Infertility is expensive.</em> IUI's can range from $1,500-$4,000 <em>per cycle.</em> Even then, there's only about a 20% chance or less of conceiving. IVF can range from $10,000-$17,000 <em>per cycle.</em> And even with all of that, there is no guarantee that you will have a baby. If the couple has a fund set up, donate! Even $5 can help. If you can't donate, share their donation page on Facebook so they can have more reach.<br />
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- Write a simple "Thinking of you" message. It doesn't have to be an official card in the mail, but even just an email with kind and encouraging words can help.<br />
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- Offer to babysit (if they have kids) for the couple to go to appointments/treatments/consultations.<br />
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- Offer a shoulder to cry on. They may take your offer or they may not, but at least they will know that you are available when they need to vent/cry.<br />
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<b>8 DO tell me your experience.</b></div>
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Earlier I mentioned that sharing "happy ending" stories is discouraging, I do appreciate when people tell me their personal experience with infertility.</div>
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It means a lot when people say something like, </div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;">"I watched my sister struggle with infertility for years. It broke my heart to see her go through all of these invasive medical procedures only to come out of it not pregnant and even more broken-hearted than before. I'm sorry that you are going through this too."</span></div>
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Phrases like this? Good.</div>
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Now let me tell you an opposite example,</div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">"My aunt tried for 7 years to have a child. It was really sad because she didn't have any children and she had gotten married in her 30's. Then, one day, she had a dream she was pregnant. She took a test and she was!!!"</span></div>
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Phrases like this? No good.</div>
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One is relating to the individual with infertility. The other is telling a magical ending story that is depressing to people with infertility. Got it? Good.</div>
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<strong>9.DO allow me to have bad days.</strong></div>
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When someone close to us experiences something traumatic, we sympathize with them and comfort them. I also think it's normal that afterward, friends and family forget. I'm not trying to make anyone feel guilty or place blame upon you. It's just a fact of life. You have your life to concentrate on. Soccer games, birthday parties, school, work, and overall life goes back to normal for you.</div>
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But it's not usually how it works for those that have experienced something traumatic. Infertility is a real, traumatic event that affects lives every single day.. </div>
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Now, I'm not saying to bring it up constantly to show your support either. That's probably not going to help (and I say "probably" only because infertility experiences vary and I cannot speak for them all).</div>
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What I am saying, is to not take it personally if I don't want to participate in baby-related events. I may even have trouble being in the same room as a pregnant woman. I'm not mad at the fact that they're pregnant, it's just that it is a very physical reminder of what I don't have.</div>
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<strong>10. DO say...</strong></div>
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Earlier I gave examples of what not to say and I wish I could make an opposite list of phrases that would be appropriate.</div>
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The problem is twofold. </div>
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First, there really is nothing you can say to make the situation better. Don't put too much pressure on yourself to say a profoundly touching remark.</div>
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And second, each case of infertility is different. Some women are dealing with poly cystic ovarian syndrome, some are dealing with endometriosis. There are some that have male-factor infertility, some both male & female. There are some, like me, that have no explanation.</div>
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Because there is such a wide spectrum of infertility, the needs are going to be different for each woman or couple.<br />
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The bread & butter of phrases to say would be, "I'm sorry. If you need me to do _______, I would love to help you. Just know that you have my support".</div>
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. . .<br />
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Overall, infertility is a sensitive subject and the best guide would be to be willing to listen and respect the needs & requests of the infertile couple. Even if it doesn't make sense to you. Even if you don't agree. Even if you can't understand.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-24420026380537394882014-07-23T08:04:00.002-07:002014-07-23T08:04:50.142-07:00My (Ongoing) Journey With Secondary Infertility<div style="text-align: center;">
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It's time that I opened up about something that I've tried to keep hidden for almost 3 years. </div>
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The best place to start would be at the beginning. </h4>
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In November of 2011, I was admitted into the ER with extreme pains in my lower abdomen. I was 7 weeks pregnant and I knew something was wrong. </div>
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I don't think words can adequately explain just how painful it was. It was off the charts on the pain scale. Labor looked like a 4 in comparison. </div>
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After throwing up several times from the pain, I remember beginning to lose myself. I just thought over and over, "Give me the epidural, give me the epidural". After an ultrasound, they found that the baby had implanted in my fallopian tube where it had grown and burst. I was bleeding internally and would have to have emergency surgery as soon as possible.</div>
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I remember waking up in my hospital room afterwards. Just numb.</h4>
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I knew it that moment that I didn't only lose my baby, I had lost my fertility. I don't know how, but I just knew that this would affect me for the rest of my life. I asked the doctor on call what this meant for my future family. </div>
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"Well, the body is amazing. Because you have both ovaries, your one tube may actually 'pick up' the egg from the opposite side."</div>
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<i>Not me</i>, I thought. Maybe it was the deep depression I was in or maybe it was just intuition, but I knew that wouldn't happen.</div>
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"Your best bet would be to get on medication that will cause you to super-ovulate so that you would have a better chance to ovulate from the side your tube is on."</div>
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<i>No, that won't work, I just know.</i><br />
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That summer, I watched as members of my family had their babies. My due date silently came and silently passed. It was just another day for everyone else while I silently wept in my cubicle at work. Tears poured out while I basked alone in the emptiness that filled my body and soul.</div>
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When it came time that we were ready to try again, I began to research everything there was about conceiving with only one tube. The information was hopeful and I read story after story of couples that were able to continue their family and get pregnant. I wanted to prepare myself for what journey lay ahead of me.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we had been trying for 5 months</span>, I went to the doctor and requested to have an HSG done. It's a simple, and in my case, painless procedure where they inserted a small catheter unto my uterus and pushed dye through. This way, they can look at the shape of my uterus and if the tubes are clear or blocked.</div>
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At the end of the procedure, the doctor said, "Now, give me a call when you get pregnant. Many times this will 'clear the cobwebs', so to speak, and women are able to get pregnant within 3 months."</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I hit the official 1 year mark that we had been trying, I cried</span>. I had suspected that this would be my experience but at the same time, I was trying desperately to ignore the fact that one of my worst fears was unfolding.</div>
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For those of you that have been fortunate enough to conceive with ease, I will try to illustrate what it is like to be on the opposite side of the spectrum.</div>
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Each month, you spend days and days preparing for when you will ovulate. When you do, you meticulously count the days until you can test. It consumes your thoughts. You overanalyze symptoms that you may or may not have. Hope swells in your heart that this might be the month that you see those bright double lines. You can't help but imagine ways to announce the pregnancy. You can't help but think of when your due date would be and who the baby would look like. It's inevitable that you wonder if it will be a boy or a girl.</div>
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And right when your hopes are at an all-time high, you get a "no".</h4>
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For the next week, you get a physical and sometimes painful reminder of your failure. There will be no baby this month. No due date. No boy or girl. No announcements. </div>
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In a sense, you have lost a part of your future. No one knows but you and your loss is not recognized as legitimate so you keep it to yourself and think, "it's no big deal…We can try again next month…"</div>
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Month after month after month passes and you can't get off the roller coaster. Each month your hopes rise only to die again. It's a vicious cycle that you have absolutely no control over.</div>
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Naturally, you start to self-loathe and hate your body. It's defective and broken.</div>
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And the bargaining begins. <i>If I could just have one more, then I promise that they can take my uterus afterwards. If I could just get pregnant, I promise I will never complain. </i><br />
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Then the anger comes. It's a deep, hateful anger that weighs your heart down. You can't help but feel jealousy towards pregnant women. You feel guilt when you skip baby showers. Some days you feel so alone you just want to scream so anyone will hear you. <br />
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But mostly, you are enraged with yourself. You wonder if people really knew how much anger you have and just how much you hate yourself. You hide it away because you don't want to be pitied and you don't want people to feel bad for you.<br />
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It's more than just trying to conceive. It's the deep depression. It's the awkward questions. It's the feeling that your heart may break at any moment. It's the hopelessness that comes with infertility.</div>
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When I hit the year mark, I decided it was time to lose weight to be more healthy. Only 5% of weight loss can dramatically help your chances. I ate better and I ended up losing 13.4% of my body weight. </div>
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So we took a break for a few months while I concentrated on eating healthier.</h4>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I hit the 15-month mark of trying</span>, I made an appointment with my OB to help boost my chances. I was put on 50mg of Clomid.</div>
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Every night I religiously took the pills and would often wake up, drenched with sweat as a side-effect. When that month failed, it was bumped up to 150mg. Then that failed as well.</div>
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I felt like my body was mocking me and I forced myself to face the idea that there could be a chance that I may never have children again. I may never experience the feeling of getting a positive test or feeling the small movements of a baby again. </div>
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Now, I realize to outsiders that this may sound dramatic and irrational but it is a fact that people with infertility have to think about. It is just as real of a possibility as the fact that maybe someday I will become pregnant. I'm already prepared at the thought of having a baby, otherwise I wouldn't be trying to conceive. But I have not processed the thought of never having children again.</div>
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So yes, it may sound dramatic but it's reality.</div>
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And that brings us to today. I have now been on my silent journey for almost 3 years and we are moving forward.</div>
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I remember making that call to the insurance company to ask about fertility treatments. I couldn't help it, I began to cry. It just isn't fair that I have to pay thousands of dollars for what other people can get for free.<br />
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I'm going to be honest, I cry a lot these days. I cry myself to sleep more often than not. I bottle it up so much, I can't help when the tears fall. It's my only catharsis <br />
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The reason why I write this is not to have a pity party. It's not so that you will feel bad for me.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's so that you will understand.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
There will be days that I am bitter and there will be moments where I have to excuse myself. I may or may not want to talk about it and don't judge too harshly when I don't share the same enthusiasm at a birth or pregnancy announcement. <br />
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But now that it's out there, we don't have to tip-toe around the subject, like it's a dirty family secret.<br />
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Yes, this is the absolute hardest thing I have gone through in my life. Yes, it sucks. Yes, I am still trying to process this journey so be patient as I navigate these unknown waters.<br />
...</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-9272226720011805152014-03-11T11:02:00.000-07:002014-03-11T11:08:38.464-07:00Please. Stop Posting Graphic Images on Your Facebook Feed.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNqFykYucZmAmH8QXjPD9rgnls0FvQIaxMRMlOkQ_AF98TXk1Fpi14GKmkXYRYWpHF2EKa93IIBcc-MHrirvn044taPO0-1LX19BARAYMlVFKJzGJ0DCLGsGQNuSFinaLV-hIbPixlNI/s1600/1-Depositphotos_4600145_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNqFykYucZmAmH8QXjPD9rgnls0FvQIaxMRMlOkQ_AF98TXk1Fpi14GKmkXYRYWpHF2EKa93IIBcc-MHrirvn044taPO0-1LX19BARAYMlVFKJzGJ0DCLGsGQNuSFinaLV-hIbPixlNI/s1600/1-Depositphotos_4600145_s.jpg" height="334" width="640" /></a></div>
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Every Tuesdays and Thursdays my son goes to preschool for 2 hours. During this glorious time I eat breakfast peacefully without having to get up and get yet another glass of orange juice for the umteenth time and I relax. I log onto facebook and other social media websites and I just surf.</div>
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Could I be doing better things like cleaning my kitchen? Sure. Should I do better things like take a shower? Probably. But this is *my* time to do what *I* want with no interruption. Plus, I can shower and clean the kitchen when my son gets home.</div>
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So as I was soaking up my newsfeed, I came across a picture. An extremely graphic picture of an aborted fetus. I think I can stop there without going into further details.</div>
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Immediately my stomach churned and my day plummeted. It wasn't because I have never seen these type of images before, it's because seeing those violent and graphic pictures elicits a deep emotional response from me.</div>
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But that's the point, isn't it? Extreme images evoke extreme feelings which...what? Makes extreme change? I'm assuming thats the reason why these photos get posted in the first place. I'm assuming that you aren't a sadist that just likes to see graphic photos. I'm assuming that you shared this particular photo because it's a cause that you believe in.<br />
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And you know what? That's okay that you believe strongly in a cause. I too have ideas that I believe in and change I want to see.</div>
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And it's not only abortion photos that now frequent my newsfeed. It's animal rights. It's domestic abuse. It's rape victims. It's abused children. It's starving families. </div>
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Is this real life? Yes. Do I want to be exposed to it? Not always.</div>
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You see, what you don't realize as you share that picture of an aborted fetus, is that a woman in your friends list had a second-trimester miscarriage the month before. Now she sees these images and the emotions and pain she felt before comes back stronger than ever as she imagines what her precious baby looked like.</div>
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And that picture of a woman that was presumably raped and beaten? Another woman in your friends list now gets to spend the rest of her day coping with the intense anxiety, anguish and even shame surrounding the memory of her own rape.</div>
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And that video of animal abuse? Another friend just lost their life-long pet to a horrible car accident and now spends the rest of her day remembering the graphic way her kids had to witness the death of their beloved dog in their front yard.</div>
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The reality is that bad things do happen and I'm not saying that we should ignore it. What I am saying is that we need to ask ourselves before we share trigger-worthy pictures, "what is the point?" and "is there a better way to post my views?"</div>
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The fact is, there probably is. More change can come from positive influences rather than negative.</div>
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Or think of it this way, would you post pictures of a man that was murdered? Or a soldier that was caught in a roadside bomb accident? I would hope that out of respect for those people and their families, the answer would be "no".</div>
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So please, stop posting graphic images on facebook. Because while those images might be reality, there's a reality that you CAN'T see. It's the woman that miscarried. It's the man that just lost his beloved pet. It's the woman that was raped. It's the family that lives with an abusive parent.</div>
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Please, think next time if you could portray your beliefs without the graphic images and if after all that, you can't, at least put a trigger warning in your post.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-10181427036288991722012-10-19T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-19T07:33:38.878-07:00Flashback Friday: The Tale of My Batshiz Crazy Rabbit<div style="text-align: center;">
When I was in kindergarten, we were learning about all the letters of the alphabet. On each day, we focused on a specific letter and if we wanted, we could bring a show-and-tell item that corresponding to the letter.</div>
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Well, lucky for my class, "R" day was coming up and I just so happened to have received a rabbit for my birthday.</div>
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You see, my birthday is on April 21st and my <a href="http://www.weedemandreap.com/" target="_blank">sister's</a> is on the 22nd which was SUPER convenient for my parents because basically whatever they were planning on getting my sister for her birthday, I got the same thing. Oh don't worry that there was an 8 year gap between us. A rabbit that was an age-appropriate gift for a 12-year old, probably isn't for a 5-year old pet owner as I was.</div>
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Of course, I named the rabbit "Thumper" like any respectable 5-year old would do. Let's just say my creativity hadn't exactly bloomed yet, mmmkay?</div>
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Thumper was an awesome grey bunny but he was pretty much fudgin' crazy! Whenever we would hold him, he would rip into our arm-flesh and leave gashes. Okay, my 5-year old mind may have exaggerated that a bit but you catch my drift.</div>
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The brilliant resolution to this issue was to wear my thick winter coat whenever I held Thumper so that whenever he would go all Mrs. Poole on us, we wouldn't feel a thing.</div>
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So on the day that Thumper was to make his debut to my kindergarten class, I was super nervous. I was an unnaturally shy kid. If the teacher even looked at me with any hint of a stink eye, I would bawl. However, growing up with overactive tear ducts did teach me to hide and subside my emotions which explains my heartless demeanor. </div>
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As we were finishing up a story, my dad walked into the classroom with a box that obviously contained Thumper. The thing is that you'd think "Hmm, rabbits are small = small box".</div>
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No. Oh, no! I had to have gotten my class from at least one of my parents and it's evident as to whom. My dad came in with the biggest mother freakin' box he could find. Yes, my 2 lb. rabbit was contained in a box that stretched his whole arm-length. </div>
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As the teacher explained why a mysterious man was walking into a kindergarten class, holding a box, all you could hear was the frantic scratch of Thumper trying to find traction.</div>
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<i>Shhrk shhhrk shhhrk!</i></div>
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I kid you not, it was like Thumper was going to burst through the box, all Alien's style, with fangs bared.</div>
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<table align="center" 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;"><img height="220" src="http://worstprofessorever.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/rabbit.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thumper!</td></tr>
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I knew the routine. I went to grab my protective 1980's puff-coat.</div>
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As I walk over to the coat rack, my teacher said, <i>"Oh, Jessica...It's not time to go!"</i></div>
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Now, I know that I must have been a slow child, but just how slow was I? Did my teacher honestly think that I reasoned, <i>"Welp, my dad just showed up with a rabbit in a box....See ya!"</i>? I mean, c'mon lady. I wasn't <b>that</b> slow.</div>
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I awkwardly explained to her that in order to keep my arms beautiful so that I could one day marry, I had to wear a coat while holding Thumper.</div>
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Of course, my fellow classmates were thrilled to each take turns petting my batshiz crazy rabbit. This. This is quality education, people. You're welcome 'Mmerica.</div>
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After a while, Thumper went on to live the rest of his life on a peaceful farm. Oh you think he got killed? No, no. He <b>actually</b> went to a farm. Right, mom & dad?</div>
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Right?</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-35678564403908066902012-10-17T00:00:00.000-07:002012-10-17T00:00:08.641-07:00The time where I get to play Pintester for a while.<div style="text-align: center;">
I have a bone to pick with the pinner who originally pinned this:</div>
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<img alt="Turn-Toaster-Sideways-Get-Grilled-Cheese" src="http://media-cache-ec6.pinterest.com/upload/43558321366417371_GV8WMMh0_c.jpg" /></div>
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I know that I'm pretty much abnormal and such but when I pin something, I remember it and actually try it. I know, crazy idea.</div>
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So when I saw this pin, I was all, "<i>Oh heck yes! I don't want to take time to butter my toast. And while I'm at it, my arm kind of hurts from scrolling through Pinterest in the first place, forget ANY type of flipping action, here.</i>"</div>
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So I documented my quest .</div>
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<table align="center" 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;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uncYAXOrN5A/UHuWJzraM1I/AAAAAAAABlg/jzbgE6szRzk/s1600/DSC_0117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uncYAXOrN5A/UHuWJzraM1I/AAAAAAAABlg/jzbgE6szRzk/s400/DSC_0117.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First, my ingredients.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TrD7Sjb-J8A/UHuWMLgk7FI/AAAAAAAABlo/vd4rGbmLAzc/s1600/DSC_0118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TrD7Sjb-J8A/UHuWMLgk7FI/AAAAAAAABlo/vd4rGbmLAzc/s400/DSC_0118.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gettin' all cozy in the toaster and heck yes, I'm gonna use shredded cheese, peeps.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KEl7yNrXyPk/UHuWOUwyqgI/AAAAAAAABlw/ku69-gZf5ig/s1600/DSC_0119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KEl7yNrXyPk/UHuWOUwyqgI/AAAAAAAABlw/ku69-gZf5ig/s400/DSC_0119.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cooking...Do you see something wrong with the picture?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HDT6Qaa_4xU/UHuWQXo-RPI/AAAAAAAABl4/yUVgnek4F_w/s1600/DSC_0120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HDT6Qaa_4xU/UHuWQXo-RPI/AAAAAAAABl4/yUVgnek4F_w/s400/DSC_0120.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No? Maybe now that there is a little more noticeable smoke coming out? </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pIM9eSznkx0/UHuWSBzn8GI/AAAAAAAABmA/eQjlo2jPUhA/s1600/DSC_0121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pIM9eSznkx0/UHuWSBzn8GI/AAAAAAAABmA/eQjlo2jPUhA/s400/DSC_0121.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know how toasters "pop"? Hoooney...kiiiiiiidds....dinner!</td></tr>
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Just pick off the dog fur and dust then scrape off the cancer-charcoal and baby, you've got yourself a meal! I don't know about you, but I always take it personally when pins fail. I'm all, "<i>You don't break me, Pinterest! I'm not defined by your socially accepted pins that people blindly pin without testing them!</i>"</div>
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Then I go cry in the shower with the water pouring over my head because you just know that out there, somewhere, the Original Pinner is maniacally laughing, thinking, "<i>Oh you've got them now, you sly dog, you. Just you wait, the repins will pour in and you can relish in the idea that hundreds of pinners will look like fools, FOOLS, for pinning an idea that didn't work.</i>"</div>
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Curse you, Original Pinner and original pinners everywhere that pin crappy things!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-62271349031631939322012-10-14T21:26:00.000-07:002012-10-14T22:30:17.674-07:00This is a story of my bangs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My bangs irk me. What do you do with them?! I do love them but then sometimes I want to just shave them off. Then again, I always want to shave my hair off, so no surprises there. This morning, when I stepped on the scale, I thought, "Drats! It's probably because I have my coat on." then after I take that off and weigh myself again I think, "Okay, what else can I lose? I don't need my hair, right?! I could shave that off and lose some more weight."</div>
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But enough about my deeply disturbed body image perception, we're talking about bangs, man.</div>
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So I thought I could grow them out to something like this:</div>
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<img src="http://images.beautyriot.com/photos/scarlett-johansson-short-bob-wavy.jpg" /></div>
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For a while, I could totally part my hair down the middle and feel like I was back in the 70's. </div>
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But most of the time, my hair looked like this:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8_CJ3H7SvQk/UHnWiXKA6BI/AAAAAAAABlE/tH14fllMq3I/s1600/kristin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8_CJ3H7SvQk/UHnWiXKA6BI/AAAAAAAABlE/tH14fllMq3I/s320/kristin.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Yes, they were way too long and I couldn't style them and I ended up looking like Kristin Stewart. Gaaaa, Kristin, stop being so bad at everything! You're bad at acting, relationships, and now add "bangs" to your resume.</div>
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I decided that I needed to take the fate of my bangs into my own hands. I was going to do a tutorial on how to cut your bangs to look amazing but then I realized that all of the bathrooms looked really sad and I didn't want to take the time to set up a camera. No worries, though. I totally still did the tutorial but without the camera. I was all, "Now, you want to hold the scissors like this, people" and "Be sure to cut like so!" to no one. My husband even asked who I was talking to. No big deal, I'm just talking to myself in the mirror and walking myself through my own tutorial.</div>
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It's always a little nerve-wracking to cut your own hair but when you have walked into the valley of shadows as I have, you are fearless when it comes to hair. </div>
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Overall, I'm happy with how it turned out and it's just in time for the cooler months.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dOPM-SChQ-k/UHnWVqf7-4I/AAAAAAAABk8/dUTAXnbNVp8/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dOPM-SChQ-k/UHnWVqf7-4I/AAAAAAAABk8/dUTAXnbNVp8/s400/image.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you spot my fox necklace? You would if my boobs weren't pathetic swollen-mosquito-bite-like.</td></tr>
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P.S. My facebook page is up and totally runnin' (in circles. Ha, just kidding...but seriously).</div>
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You should go <a href="http://www.facebook.com/runninincirclesblog" target="_blank">check it out here</a> just so that you will be up to date on all of my crazy Instagram posts and stuff. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-14846608088267381642012-10-10T22:08:00.001-07:002012-10-10T22:08:34.689-07:00Why We Decided To Give Our Dog Up For Adoption<table align="center" 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;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_aRfx-2Hcs/UHZS5HmMJeI/AAAAAAAABj0/6Pc-L37a2_M/s1600/IMG_1647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_aRfx-2Hcs/UHZS5HmMJeI/AAAAAAAABj0/6Pc-L37a2_M/s400/IMG_1647.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I feel you, Johanna. I feel you! (+10 pts if you know where this is from which is totally an easy question so more like .10 pts)</td></tr>
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This week, we had to make a very sad and hard choice. You see, we are currently homeless, insuranceless, and unemployed. Because Tyler's family doesn't want to watch us slowly deteriorate until we are eating our own feces, they graciously allowed us to live with them.</div>
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Let me tell you, living with in-laws is something else. Actually, I'm not going to say it's horrible because, really, I have the best in-laws and I'm not just saying that because my mother-in-law reads this blog. I think all of the people who got stuck with horrible in laws is because all of their niceness was absorbed by my my in-laws.</div>
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But there were some issues, nevertheless, and it was about our dog. </div>
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We got Johanna 3 months ago and fell in love with her awesomeness but our neighbors that have sticks up their bum-bums were prejudiced towards her. We were all, "Guys, give her a chance! She only <i>looks</i> like she is going to rip you to bits". Then they were all, "No, she's huge and is probably illegal, on government assistance, and is the vicar of the anti-christ which, as you know, is Obama."</div>
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Yeah, it didn't make sense to me either but when they are threatening that she may or may not get "lead poisoning", this shiz just got real!</div>
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So we decided to put her up for adoption on Craigslist because, well, we liked her but we just didn't <b>love</b> her. Plus, I'll admit, we couldn't afford her anymore and I'm not going to apologize for that fact because, really, no one plans unemployment and when it comes down to my first-born son that is literally a piece of me or...a dog, I'm going with my kid. Call me a meat-eating, animal cruelty-lover, irresponsible person but I'm letting my true colors fly.</div>
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We instantly got a bajillion calls on her which made us feel better. There was a long line of people that would really love her and could provide her with a safer environment.</div>
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It was bittersweet handing her over to her new owners and on the drive home, Tyler and I had this conversation:</div>
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<b>Tyler:</b> Well...I think she is going to a good home.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> Yeah, those people are totally dog lovers, you can tell.</div>
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<b>T:</b> Awwww................they looked so white-trash.</div>
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<b>J:</b> Yeah, they did....but they are the kind of people that Johanna needs. They'll probably let her sleep in their bed.</div>
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<b>T:</b> Then they'll figure it out that she's in heat and we didn't tell them....</div>
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<b>J: </b>Yeah when they wake up with doggie-heat mess in their hair. I sure hope their other dog is neutered or they are going to have some ugly pit bull/Johanna puppies.</div>
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<b>T: </b>I bet they smoke. Aw, Johanna's lungs! She's going to get cancer.</div>
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<b>J:</b> ...And she'll probably get fat because they'll feed her table scraps.</div>
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<b>T: </b>And they probably yell a lot and wear tank tops that are 2 sizes too small.</div>
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<b>J:</b> Yeah....but, It's better this way, right?</div>
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<b>T: </b>Yes, they <b>really </b>wanted her.</div>
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Is it weird that I feel so shizzy about giving away a dog? It's not like I gave her to a dog-eating tribe or a research lab where they would test the effects of electricity on dogs. </div>
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Am I the only one that feels guilty over dumb stuff?</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-9668840875368546162012-10-03T21:42:00.001-07:002012-10-08T12:47:32.683-07:00Inanimate Objects Sometimes Attack Me<div style="text-align: center;">
Last Saturday, a piece of plywood decided to attack me. It was all, "<i>Ahhhhhh! I hate you mother &%#%!</i>" and stabbed my toe to death.</div>
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Seriously, though, it hurt so bad. </div>
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There I was, minding my own business and BAM! What did I ever do to the wood? Okay... so I occasionally <strike>burn</strike> heat wood to a stage where it may or may not catch on fire <strike>for fun</strike> so I don't get hypothermia, but that's because I'm a superior race and it's just a stupid piece of wood, right?</div>
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Did I mention it hurt? Like, really, REALLY bad?!</div>
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Well, I'm no nurse so I figured, "<i>Hey, it bled a little. All the bacteria should pretty much have been flushed out. I'll be fine</i>"</div>
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I was NOT fine!</div>
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The next day, I couldn't walk. When I was changing Jack, I accidentally brushed it up against our bed-frame and then proceeded to roll around in agony for the next 10 minutes repeatedly yelling Mormon swears. </div>
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<i>Son of a biscuit! Mother Futher! Piece of shiz! Darn, Darn, Darn you metal frame! </i></div>
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What can I say? I'm a wild woman when I get hurt and there's no telling what I'll say. Kids, cover your ears.</div>
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Then, I was late for church and as I was running up the stairs, I smashed it against one of the steps. My foot was all, "<i>I don't deserve to heal!</i>" and then didn't lift up the rest of the 1/4 an inch it would take to clear the step. Because church was starting soon, I resolved to only saying a couple of real swears then I could go back to being the pious woman and homemaker I am.</div>
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If there is anything I learned from having dry sockets when I got my wisdom teeth out, it's that when you get hurt, the pain should slowly go down, not increase. I also learned that clove oil from your strips of muslin packed in your jaw is not a good additive to your meals.</div>
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Again, I'm no nurse but I guess a wound shouldn't be hot and oozing pus. My cousin confirmed that it was indeed infected. I was faced with quite the conundrum.</div>
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See, we don't have insurance because we are still trying to find Tyler a job so a simple "going to the doctor and getting antibiotics" would be a $300+ trip and with us just paying off our $3,500 student loan, it wasn't like we had any money to spend. You guys, I haven't gone shopping in weeks, I tell you, <u><i><b>weeks</b></i></u>! It took all my strength to talk myself out of buying free glasses. Yes, you read right. All I had to pay was shipping and <i>still</i> I was all, <i>Oh well darn, Jack's gotta eat...I better not.</i></div>
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So I did something that forced me to swallow all my pride. People, you haven't been in the lows of lows until you.....</div>
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<u><i><b>call a free clinic to set up an appointment.</b></i></u></div>
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I was so nervous calling them. I was afraid they would say something like, <i>"Well you're calling us from a phone so why don't you sell your phone and pay for medical services like everyone else, you lazy moocher." </i></div>
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And then what would I do when I actually went IN for the appointment? I decided that I would have to put on my poorest looking clothes. Maybe I'd even rip them up a bit, smudge dirt on them, and not brush my hair for 3 days so I would look poor. That way, they would look upon me with pity and think, "<i>Awww, there goes a poor woman. She so totally deserves to be here because life has been unkind to her. She probably hasn't gone shopping in, like, weeks.</i>" </div>
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I was afraid that if I went in with decent looking clothes on, they might think, "<i>Oh there goes another person cheating the system and putting all of the people who REALLY need these services out on the street to die. You murderer, you.</i>"</div>
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When I mustered up the strength to call, they told me that it takes 1-2 weeks to get an appointment. I was both relieved and worried about this. Maybe my toe would heal on its own?!</div>
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But judging from the swollen-ness, redness, and puss-ness of it all, the prospect was unlikely. So my fate was decided for me. I was going to have to turn to the streets and because we had no extra money to spend, I would most likely have to prostitute myself to pay for the street drugs I needed. </div>
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Luckily, my father-in-law doesn't take his antibiotics and had half of a bottle left. Also, lucky that my cousin is a pharmacist and told me correct dosage and how much pain killers my liver could take before shutting down.</div>
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Well, my toe started improving but it still stung a little and looked pretty nah-stay. It wasn't red anymore or leaking pus but the wound was black so being the curious bugger I am, I decided that I had to fix it.</div>
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That was when I pulled this out:</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-89ldFbPW6gE/UG0MbQa4MBI/AAAAAAAABjQ/G2CvnqsGitE/s1600/DSC_0109photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-89ldFbPW6gE/UG0MbQa4MBI/AAAAAAAABjQ/G2CvnqsGitE/s400/DSC_0109photo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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That little shiz was at least 1/2 inch long and wedged all snuggle inside of my toe-wound! What's even crazier is that when the board initially attacked me, I got a stick and a piece of leather to bite on while I carefully searched the super painful wound for any sign of a sliver and obviously didn't see this devil.</div>
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I feel so violated that it was living inside of me for so long. I suspect this is what it feels like to poop out a tapeworm.</div>
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The good news is that I am healed and I never had to tear up any of my clothes. Although I did have to go a few days without brushing my hair, but that was all by my freewill and choice.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nl0fDHvw22Q/UG0N6rmWIDI/AAAAAAAABjY/DZZ8VRhI3kg/s1600/DSC_0110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nl0fDHvw22Q/UG0N6rmWIDI/AAAAAAAABjY/DZZ8VRhI3kg/s400/DSC_0110.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le healed toe sans mother ^%$#@ splinter. Why yes, I did have to contort my body to get this shot. Yes, I did give myself a Photoshop pedi and yes, my leg in the background does need to be shaved but I make it a personal mission to only shave my legs once every 2 weeks, so I've still got time.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-87871861817378741342012-10-01T06:18:00.000-07:002012-10-01T06:18:50.752-07:00My Interview With A 2-Year Old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>My</i> little stinker is two now. In honor of his 2nd birthday, I interviewed Jack-Jack. A tell all, so to speak, of his eventful day.</div>
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<b>Runnin' In Circles:</b> With a day dedicated all to yourself, you must be very excited.</div>
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<b>Jack:</b> Oh I'm really happy, but I'm planning on taking on the day with class. It was a hard decision but in the end, I decided to whine & throw fits for most of the day, not take a nap, and then be grumpy until bedtime.</div>
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<b>RIC:</b> A classy approach... Let's discuss the presents. I've heard from a reliable source that your parents went to 5 different stores to try and find a good deal, only to realize that it was inevitable; they were forced to buy full price.</div>
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<b>J:</b> As they should! A birthday present on sale?! If my playgroup would have found out, I would have been bullied endlessly and probably had a few toys thrown at my head!</div>
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In the end, it was a pretty cool toy, even for a full priced one, but I only played with it for a few minutes before moving on to the balloons. I liked the 99 cent balloons more.</div>
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* Long pause with a few eye twitches from RIC *</div>
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<b>RIC:</b> You are known for going to see the animals at the local pet store often. Tell me about the surprise of visiting there.</div>
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<b>J:</b> It's one of my all-time favorite spots. I can never be sure that we are <i>actually</i> going so I always ask at least 50 times to see "amols" (animals). That's the key: to ask at least 50x. Parents can forget so easily so I always make sure to remind them. What would they do without me?</div>
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Yes, the animal store was amazing, as usual. It's always relaxing to run from display to display because no matter what, my parents just follow me! It's amazing, really! It was a win-win for both of us because I love to run away from my parents where pedo-men could kidnap me and my parents love to chase me all over the store. It's a fun game!</div>
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*Exasperated sigh from RIC*</div>
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<b>RIC:</b> Tell be about what happened then.</div>
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<b>J:</b> I got a goldfish! I liked when they put the fish in the baggie. It was fun to squish and rattle the bag. I don't know why my parents kept on freaking out and saying The Dreaded Word (no). It wasn't like I was going to kill the fish!</div>
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<b>RIC:</b> But...the fish died. Didn't it?</div>
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<b>J:</b> Purely circumstantial. </div>
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* Awkward pause. *</div>
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<b>RIC: </b>I seemed to have forgotten to address the birthday breakfast. How was that?</div>
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<b>J: </b>We went to IHOP. Some might argue that I get cranky and whiny when I'm hungry but those are all just spiteful rumors. I don't think it's unreasonable for my parents to produce the exact food I want at any given moment. After all, what else do they have to do? So at the beginning, when the server forgot about us altogether and we waited for 2 days (more like 30 minutes) for our food, it was a bit touchy. </div>
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However, I'm a reasonable person. I entertained myself with sugar substitute packets and daddy's hot chocolate cream. I also made sure to try the cream with every single spoon on the table, just to be sure I liked it.</div>
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<b>RIC:</b> Yes, I remember...I was there. Well, thank you for taking time for this interview. I know how you would have rather watched Yo Gabba Gabba or Barney.</div>
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<b>J: </b>Can I have mac n' cheese now?</div>
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<b>RIC:</b> Well, it's 9:00 AM but why not?</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P0BVTwbht7c/UGkdRrrivjI/AAAAAAAABiU/aB4luhVmegg/s1600/DSC_0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P0BVTwbht7c/UGkdRrrivjI/AAAAAAAABiU/aB4luhVmegg/s640/DSC_0048.JPG" width="424" /></a></div>
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Jack-Jack</div>
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<u><b>Favorite Food:</b></u> Mac n' Cheese</div>
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<u><b>Favorite Song:</b></u> The Wheels on the Bus</div>
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<u><b>Diapers or Potty?</b></u> Diapers...still.</div>
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<u><b>Favorite Show:</b></u> Barney, Sesame Street, or any Disney show but my favorites are Bugs Life, Cars, Nemo & 101 Dalmatians.</div>
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<b><u>Favorite Pastime:</u> </b>Swinging outside and giving Nana and Papa kisses. I give great kisses.</div>
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">Favorite Toy:</u> Guys (army guys), cars, blocks, and anything with buttons.</div>
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<b><u>Funny Sayings:</u></b> Bluhbies (Bananas), Cevah (cereal), Week (Drink)</div>
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"Noppppe" & "Yyupppp" (with the "p" emphasized).</div>
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"Wha' Da Heck?"</div>
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Happy Birthday, Jack. We sure do love you even though you are a stinker!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-79379951757616158662012-09-21T21:36:00.000-07:002012-09-21T21:36:58.035-07:00I Should Probably Close The Door While I Pee<br />
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I have some pretty amazing habits. Tyler would call them "bad" habits but I like to refer to them as neutral. </div>
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Sometimes I...totally dig for gold in the car. I can't help it if I can't breathe!</div>
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Sometimes I...will argue with a person on TV. I'm sorry, but people are so wrong.</div>
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Sometimes I...have trouble mustering up sympathy for others. Oh you have a headache? Big whoop. Someone in a 3rd world country with no Midol, clean water, or access to a Brazilian wax is having their "time of the month". </div>
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Usually Tyler will just roll his eyes and maybe even scoff at my me-ness. Over time, he has learned to accept me for who I am. This woman is set in her ways! But there's one habit that maybe I should break for the sake of humanity.</div>
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See, I have a habit of not shutting the door when I pee. I don't know what it is, but it just feels so darn good. It's like, "This is me, biotches! Let me not be confined to an enclosed room whilst I relieve myself."</div>
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Of course, I close the door when guests are over most of the time and when I have to go #2, you have about a 50/50 chance, so I wouldn't say my habit is THAT bad.</div>
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So as I was openly peeing this morning, Tyler contemptuously said, "You know, there are these things invented called 'doors' that people close when they go to the bathroom"</div>
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"I don't have to!" I retorted, "The only people that come downstairs is you and Jack and since Jack has come outta this (referring to my muffin bits) and you've seen this, I don't really need to. Plus maybe you should just not come into the bathroom when you hear pee noise and so obviously know that I'm doin' business. You creeper."</div>
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Defeated and still scoffing, he walked away. <i>Ha, I won! I don't need no stinkin' door.</i></div>
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The day proceeded as normal until it became time for our usual bedtime routine. As Jack was taking a bath and Tyler was flossing his teeth and wandering around, I thought, <i>Dang, I'm peeing a lot today, I need to go again</i> and proceeded with my usual habit.</div>
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Mid stream, my mother-in-law walked right past my open-door pee to get something stored in the basement<i>. </i></div>
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"Oh! Oh...um, don't mind me, I'm just peeing here! Uh, maybe I should close the door" </div>
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I do this awkward "reach for the door" thing and realize that the door is a little too out of reach without getting off the toilet. I end up having to stand up, with my pants fully down, and shut the door, no doubt dripping pee on the toilet seat.</div>
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Of course, Tyler was within hearing distance and for the rest of the night, he had a smirk on his face. Thank goodness it was only my mother-in-law. We be tight. We so tight, she didn't even blink an eye at the sight of me peeing in the open...maybe we're too tight...</div>
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I should maybe think about shutting the door.</div>
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What bad habits do you have?</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-63184300989159148522012-09-19T21:18:00.000-07:002012-09-19T21:18:25.308-07:00My Very Stupid Thing<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Yup. I have about that expression on my face, too." src="http://media-cache-ec5.pinterest.com/upload/225531893809123094_bApLMupi_f.jpg" />
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I actually do this often. Maybe I'm too hard on myself but sometimes it creeps up on me and when I'm least expecting it, I'll remember some stupid thing I've done and BAM! I've gone into a resent-life coma. </div>
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Every time I slip into these, I feel like excusing myself from the room so that I can lock myself in a closet and rock back-and-forth for comfort. My thoughts consume me! <i>You ignorant b8tch, consumption <u>is the same as</u> TB! Why did you raise your hand in class. You deserve nothing! Not even your hair. GO! Go shave off all of your hair your unworthy piece of shiz.</i></div>
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And then just as quickly as it comes, I think, <i>Eh, it wasn't that bad...</i> and I am back to my normal self.</div>
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But when I remember something <b>so awful</b>, <b><u>so stupid</u></b>, <u><b><i>so bad</i></b></u>, I find it best to tell Tyler about it. That way, when I think of the memory again, I remember laughing it off with Tyler instead of wanting to curl up and waste away.</div>
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This has recently happened and now I am sharing with all of you because, well, everyone loves to laugh and realize that you're not the only person who has done stupid things.</div>
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Let me start by saying that I had kept my innocence until about my senior year of high school. Call it sheltered or call it whatever you want but the fact was that I didn't understand things of sexual nature at all. Even saying the word, "sex" was pretty much confess-your-sins-worthy in my eyes.</div>
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I was really young too, guys. Probably 13 or 14 so you know my level of understanding was still at the "the baby is in mommy's tummy" stage.</div>
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So one night, the stake president came for an informal visit. I was always super jealous of my younger sister because she always knew the right thing to say. She was always the one that would win the adoration of visitors and sister's boyfriends alike. She was just so witty and cute while I sat there with my buckteeth and shallow chin.</div>
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But not this time! Oh no, a new Jessica had come to town and I was about to wow these visitors with my charm and humor. I was going to tell an awesomely funny joke that I had heard recently.</div>
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Everything was going great until I hit the punchline.</div>
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No one laughed. Actually, I got a pity laugh which is worse than no reaction at all. I couldn't see why. The joke was so obviously hilarious. </div>
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It was only after they had left (hastily, I might add) that I had it explained to me that I had just told one of the dirtiest jokes that I know, to this day. Then again, I don't know that many dirty jokes since I tend to like punny jokes.</div>
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It sufficeth me to say that the punchline was, "...because M&M's melt in your mouth, not your hand."</div>
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<br /></div>
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Oh yes, I had just told <b><a href="http://www.ebaumsworld.com/jokes/read/80478864/" target="_blank">that joke</a></b> to my <b><u>stake president</u></b>!</div>
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Oh sure, NOW it's funny but even typing that out I still cringe a little inside. Tyler laughed and laughed when I told him my Very Stupid Thing and now you can too. </div>
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This is why I now stick to Laffy Taffy jokes and jokes like, "What did the mommy buffalo say to her son as he left for school? Bison!"</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">C'mon, that one's a crack up!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-62475465918310463862012-09-09T22:21:00.002-07:002012-09-09T22:21:55.636-07:00So, Foxes Make Good Pets, Right?<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://static.desktopnexus.com/thumbnails/477515-bigthumbnail.jpg" />
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I have a fascination with foxes.</div>
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I can't be sure of when it started. I wish I could tell you it was because I was raised by them or that a fox was my labor coach or that I was wounded in the forest once and a fox brought me gathered wild berries and fresh stream water (sans giardia lamblia).</div>
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No, actually, it was probably from something lame and mainstream like The Fox & The Hound. Ugh, I hate being such a conformist.</div>
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But it explains why I've wanted one of these pooches for as long as I can remember.</div>
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<img height="320" src="http://www.pomeraniandogsite.com/wp-content/uploads/pomeranian%20Dog.jpg" width="400" />
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Can you see the similarity?<br />
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'Cause, you know, owning a wild fox would only result in scratched out eye balls and probably some parasitic worms and rabies.</div>
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But then I found out about this:</div>
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<img height="284" src="http://www.bionet.nsc.ru/booklet/images/imagesLaboratories/Markel3Big.jpg" width="400" />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px; text-align: start;"><a href="http://www.bionet.nsc.ru/indexEngl_normal.html" target="_blank">The Institute of Cytology and Genetics</a></span>
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In an ongoing evolutionary experiment, a team of genetic scientists selectively bred silver foxes to see if they could become domesticated. Well, about 50 years later, they succeeded and because of funding issues, they now sell some of the pups!<br />
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Once I found this out, it was like inception. I became obsessed with the idea that I could own my own fox!</div>
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Could you imagine going to the park? <i>No, dummy, this is my pet <b>fox</b>. Get it strait.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
What's even cooler as that the institute breeds foxes without devil eyes like the one in the picture above (and wearing your hair in a I-just-woke-up-from-a-4-hour-nap ponytail is not required. SCORE!). Sure, a possessed fox would make for a great conversation at a dinner party but I would like to keep my soul from being possessed, thank you very much. <i> So, after the lemon chiffon cake, I've invited a priest to exorcise me. No biggie, it's just that I have a hair appointment tomorrow and my stylist said that she prefers me to NOT bleed out of my eyes when she cuts my hair. Hair people, they're such witches.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
So because I'm an inquisitive gal, I emailed the institute directly and asked them about their fox pups.<br />
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Basically they told me that it would cost $3,000 just to buy the fox, not to mention shipping and importation shiz. I'm thinking I can forego the expenses for papers and whatnot because I can just let the importation officers pet my fox in lieu of payment. And I mean that in every literal state possible.<br />
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Of course, who has about $5,000 laying around to spend on a fox? Not us.<br />
<br />
I had to convince Tyler somehow that a pet fox was more important than having a vehicle and eating for the next 3 years. Don't get me wrong, I <i>completely </i>believe in my cause. I'm willing to sell my kidney on the black market but Tyler...he's gonna be a hard one to convert on this one. He was there for me when I wanted him to pick up a dead owl 1/2 a mile down on the side of the road so I could use its feathers for jewelry, only to find out that it's actually a federal offense to use owl feathers in any way so I ended up just throwing it away in a bag like some owl serial killer, but something tells me that's his limit.<br />
<br />
When I ran my proposal to get a pet fox, he reacted in an unusual way. He said nothing. Normally he scoffs at my absurd plans, or rolls his eyes, or throws up but this time, nothing!<br />
<br />
I think he thought I was kidding.<br />
<br />
Do I sound kidding to you?<br />
<br />
So it looks like it's up to me to figure out a way to save up my money and buy my own pet fox. I'm thinking of something along the lines of selling weapons to war lords or getting a sugar daddy. Every cigarette burn and STD will be worth it in the end. Anything for you, my future pet fox. <i><b>Anything.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
Or maybe I could just get 5,000 people to donate $1 to my cause and then it will be the people's fox. A blogosphere fox!<br />
<br />
What do you think I should do to get the money for my pet fox?<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And don't say, "Just don't get a pet fox". That's not an option, okay?! NOT an option.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-41833057038733388632012-08-29T08:45:00.001-07:002012-08-29T08:45:43.742-07:00How to create multiple links on one image<div style="text-align: center;">
You see my blog title up there and the little thingy options underneath? Well, I actually made it myself! Instead of having a generic horizontal navigational bar, I decided to try out my amateur graphic designing skills.<br />
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Why? Well, because, let's be real, some of the basic navibar options can look like a sack of potatoes. Just...there. <i>Wah-wah.</i><br />
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So I thought, "HEY! Why don't I just create multiple links in one image to make my own navibar?"<br />
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So I did. I live life on the edge, people.<br />
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I promise this tutorial is going to be so easy. You may even have some of your hair left and only a little bit of mascara stains from crying, it's going to be that good.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
This tutorial will be for building a design from scratch. If you don't want to do this because you already have your image you want to map, then skip steps 1 & 2</div>
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1. Go to paint and save it as .JPEG. Don't do anything to it, just leave it blank.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RTasbON3Njo/UDpujKWyFpI/AAAAAAAABgQ/Oo7H8_mCVQ8/s1600/s1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RTasbON3Njo/UDpujKWyFpI/AAAAAAAABgQ/Oo7H8_mCVQ8/s640/s1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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2. Go to <a href="http://www.picmonkey.com/" target="_blank">PicMonkey</a> and click "edit a photo". Open up your blank .JPEG that you saved and get creative. Play around with the stamps and whatnot. </div>
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What I did for the image below was create a texture, added words, a graphic, faded them a bit and voila!</div>
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If you need to, resize or crop it to fit what you want. </div>
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Save it.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CfSCTxExbYs/UDpykPbQK_I/AAAAAAAABgo/6yFYAw8bfrY/s1600/s2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CfSCTxExbYs/UDpykPbQK_I/AAAAAAAABgo/6yFYAw8bfrY/s640/s2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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3. Go to <a href="http://www.image-maps.com/">www.image-maps.com</a> and upload it there. It will load for a bit, have you click a "continue" button, and then it will go to a page that looks like this:</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8wcaAcfeEPo/UDp0CzMXr3I/AAAAAAAABgw/1kQwOnwLIUM/s1600/s3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8wcaAcfeEPo/UDp0CzMXr3I/AAAAAAAABgw/1kQwOnwLIUM/s640/s3.JPG" width="514" /></a></div>
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Then make sure you do the highlighted items which is to change the URL to your own and uncheck the box that says "show text links".</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pA_BkS9tbj8/UDp2ewyaVgI/AAAAAAAABhM/-QjT5PHbl0A/s1600/s4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pA_BkS9tbj8/UDp2ewyaVgI/AAAAAAAABhM/-QjT5PHbl0A/s640/s4.JPG" width="568" /></a></div>
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4. Now you can begin mapping. Click the "rectangle" box and highlight the part of your image you want to be linked. Then put in the URL you want that part of the image to be directed to. Leave the "title/alt for this map:" blank and then click "save"</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vfGfD5PEUfg/UDp3WjiyuPI/AAAAAAAABhU/OT41lhmWsOE/s1600/s5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="394" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vfGfD5PEUfg/UDp3WjiyuPI/AAAAAAAABhU/OT41lhmWsOE/s640/s5.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Repeat this step until you have everything linked that you want.</div>
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6. Click on "Get Your Code" button and then on the "HTML Code" tab in the upper left. Copy all of the text and paste into an HTML Widget on blogspot!</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CMKSh0xNR1g/UDp6uybeLvI/AAAAAAAABhw/CfeI9EO7kHQ/s1600/s6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="394" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CMKSh0xNR1g/UDp6uybeLvI/AAAAAAAABhw/CfeI9EO7kHQ/s640/s6.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Once you update that, all should be good and wonderful in the world!<br />
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You can do so much with this. Make your own navigation bar with custom pictures for each page, or....<br />
pretty much that's all I can think of right now because that's all I've used it for.<br />
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Good luck and show me all of your awesome map image links you make!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-48501255365007892742012-08-27T08:36:00.000-07:002012-08-27T08:36:49.433-07:00Why being a working mom just isn't for me.<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So you know how I've been MIA for a few months? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, it's because I have been working full time in Burley. A potato plant, at that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I tell people that I have an internship at a potato plant, most of the time I get, "What do you do <i>there</i>?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Count my teeth, people, they're all there! Do you think a college graduate would be peeling potatoes and shoveling scraps?</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd politely reply, "Oh I'm a safety intern there. I make sure that you don't have any fingers in your french fries." Most people aren't amused by that last part. I don't know why.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although it really wasn't true. I really had no idea if someone's phalanges were getting mangled up in your side-order. But I <b>did </b>save lives. At least, I would like to think so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I made lockout/tagout programs which basically is that when someone needs to work on a machine or if a box is stuck and then need to fix the jam, I create a program that they can refer to so they know how to shut it off. Usually it's pretty self-explanatory on how to turn off something but there's a whole process and shiz. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now that you're all super impressed with my abilities and wisdom, let's move on to why it just wasn't for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although I feel really blessed to have gotten the internship, I knew four weeks into it that working away from home just wasn't for me. At that point, I had 4 weeks down and only 16 more to go! Yipee...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It wasn't that it was hard to work, it was just so <i>boring</i>. I didn't realize it until then, but I needed a more creative outlet. My boss didn't appreciate me hot gluing adornments on my reports or editing the pictures of equipment I took to have a whimsical look. <i>See? It's now fashionable <b>and</b> functional</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Plus, it was <b>too hard</b> to be away from Jack-Jack; crying, whining, begging not to go. Plus Jack would cry some too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I decided I would stick out the internship until the end and then make my choice. Maybe my, so to speak, work-muscles were weak and by the end, I would like it. Well I've made it to the end and I'm making my choice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I choose Jack.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
At first, I felt guilty that I didn't want to work and it wasn't because of what people said at work, or what people say women should do in magazines or on teh interwebz.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I was more afraid of what my professors would think and what my fellow co-students would say.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
People, who coming from the same religion and standards that I have, that would judge me because I, "just graduated" and chose not to have a career. Them, even when taught the same standards and views on parenthood, that would pressure me into thinking staying at home is a mistake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, that makes me sound like I think being a stay-at-home-mom is <b>the thing</b> to do. I realize how it makes me sound hollier-than-thou. <i>I'm choosing to emulate my true calling while you selfishly work. Neener, neener, neener.</i></span><br />
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Actually, I don't give a rats tail if people decide to work or stay at home because I really don't care about what other people decide to do with their life. Want to become the first person to eat 100 lbs of cheese in a day? Do it. I don't care.</span><br />
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My point I am making is that in a world where there are so many pressures to do what is accepted as "right", let's just get off each other's back, people!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am choosing to stay home and be a full time mom while managing my Etsy shop (which is actually a hard job) because that's what I like to do and right now, we can afford to do that. Maybe in the future, things will change but for now I'm happy with my decision.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">P.S. Make sure to check out <a href="http://www.sayitwithstyle.etsy.com/" target="_blank">my shop</a> being featured on <a href="http://www.groopdealz.com/" target="_blank">GroopDealz</a> for the next 3 days!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-3773213151014634922012-08-06T12:49:00.000-07:002012-08-06T12:49:18.362-07:00Save the Date! (or don't, whatever, I'm a post title, not your mother)<div style="text-align: center;">
Hey all you's out there, I'm posting about this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so listen up!</div>
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My friend, Kate, is hosting an awesome photo party. Never heard of one before? Good, that just means that your friends and family have probably never heard of it either which makes you, <em>like, totally hipster when you explain to their super-mainstream lives what it is.</em></div>
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Basically you get to go to a party where there are door prizes like shirts, gift certificates, and free prints. Then party with some <strong>fun</strong> people (seriously, Kate is a crack-up). I'm sure there will be awesomely great food there too (but if there isn't, then <u>relax</u>, you greedy little smooch...)</div>
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Oh and did I mention that THE Kate Mower herself is going to be taking pictures of you (in a totally non-creepy way)? Later, she'll tag the photos on FB where you can make it your profile picture! It's a total must because, let's be real, we all have some ex's we would like to shove it back in their faces when they facebook stalk us.</div>
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It's only $5 to get in too! C'mon, you'd drop $5 on a Filiberto's steak burrito like it's nuthin' only THIS $5 you spend won't give you indegestion and bloat. Instead you'll get a super sexified profile picture, <span style="font-size: x-small;">maybe</span> some prizes, and new friends!</div>
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<img height="640" src="https://mail-attachment.googleusercontent.com/attachment/?saduie=AG9B_P9muNMs2DgZgAVZkF8zdRAi&attid=0.1&disp=emb&view=att&th=138815009dd25d0e" width="435" /></div>
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Plus Kate is really talented. She took Jack's newborn pictures for us and they were <strong><em><u>super </u></em></strong>cute. Check it out:</div>
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<img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="480" src="http://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/73815_449151281089_371265_n.jpg" style="height: 480px; width: 720px;" width="720" /></div>
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<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" src="http://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/72520_449151366089_4684886_n.jpg" style="height: 480px; width: 720px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="700" src="http://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/37188_449151231089_3157927_n.jpg" style="height: 673px; width: 449px;" width="467" /></div>
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<img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="480" src="http://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/40148_449151181089_6598726_n.jpg" style="height: 480px; width: 720px;" width="720" /></div>
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<img alt="" aria-busy="true" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="480" src="http://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/72195_449151096089_8382497_n.jpg" style="height: 480px; width: 720px;" width="720" /></div>
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Awwwww! Don't those pictures just make you want to get your egg fertilized? Okay, maybe that's just me...</div>
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So don't be a Debbie Downer and not go just because you may not know someone there. Just go and be sponateous and you'll have fun!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-37611389723267747682012-07-30T08:52:00.000-07:002012-07-30T08:52:15.362-07:00Winner!<a id="rc-b35f802" class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b35f802/" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a> <script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>
I have emailed the winner!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-68130411676030119222012-07-26T12:56:00.000-07:002012-07-26T12:56:34.397-07:00Really, Etsy?<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.runninincircles.com/2012/07/test.html" target="_blank">You! Enter my giveaway</a>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.momtheintern.blogspot.com/2012/07/giveaway-vinyl-home-decor-by-say-it.html" target="_blank">Plus, you can enter my <em>other </em>giveaway from Yours Truely's Etsy shop.</a><br />
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Ah, Etsy. Sometimes it can go so right like with my giveaways mentioned above and the front page features. But sometimes it can go so wrong. Oh, so wrong...</div>
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But these next items are just too good not to share. It's a segment I like tocall, "<u>Really, Etsy? REALLY?!</u>"</div>
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Number 1) Have you ever been smoking outside of K-Mart in your mom jeans paired with a tweety bird shirt and while you're waiting for your step-son to buy his collectible Pokemon trading cards you then say to yourself, "Man...my lighter is so boring and totally makes me look like a poor person. I wish they had classy lighters..."?</div>
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No? You've never been in that situation before?</div>
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Well perchance that you may, there are these:</div>
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<a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/99624858/lighter-decorated?ref=sr_gallery_7&ga_search_query=decorated+lighter&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=ZZ&ga_min=0&ga_max=0&ga_search_type=all" target="_blank"><img alt="Lighter Decorated" height="640" src="http://img0-llalt.etsystatic.com/il_570xN.337199436.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/99624858/lighter-decorated?ref=sr_gallery_7&ga_search_query=decorated+lighter&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=ZZ&ga_min=0&ga_max=0&ga_search_type=all" target="_blank"><img alt="Lighter Decorated" height="268" src="http://img1-llalt.etsystatic.com/il_570xN.336193201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Yup! Now you can get a totally classy (and not to mention gorgeous) lighter that says, "I'm totally beachy and classy because I've got shells on my Wal-Mart lighter". Forget the obvious fire hazard present because I'm completely convinced that once you have one of these bad boys, you will instantly be popular, rich, beautiful, talented, thinner, and smarter.</div>
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Number 2) You know me! I'm all about savin', savin', savin!! Don't you dare throw away those slivers of soap, I could use those someday and don't even think about burning my stack of newspapers from 1993!</div>
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So if you've had a brazillian wax lately, <strong>ask the salon ladies if you can keep the hair</strong>. Seriously, I've done it many times and don't worry, the stares and judgements substantially fade over time but first, you've got to ask!</div>
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Why should you keep that unwated hair? Because you can always turn it into one of these:</div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_769772654"></a> <table align="center" 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;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_769772654"><img alt="Needle Felted Pig - miniature Nerd pig figure - 100% merino wool - Pig With Attitude" src="http://img2-llalt.etsystatic.com/000/0/6780849/il_570xN.350311070.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="570" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_769772654">Perfect for snuggling to sleep with!</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/93980811/needle-felted-pig-miniature-nerd-pig?ref=sr_gallery_1&ga_search_query=felted+pig+nerd&ga_order=most_relevant&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=ZZ&ga_min=0&ga_max=0&ga_search_type=all" target="_blank"></a> <div style="text-align: center;">
This nuzzle-worthy cutie is perfect for pretty much anything! Christmas, birthdays, Bar Mitzvahs, baby showers, funerals, and everything in between.<br />
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Number 3) I read somewhere that one can grow spiritually closer to Ryan Goslin by crocheting more than <strike>stalking</strike> any other craft. It's true. Crocheting was a lost art form only to be used by the Amish and grandmas (and probably Amish grandmas, for that fact). But now? It's totes "in" to be all Amish <span style="font-size: xx-small;">except for the plain clothes and electronic abstinence</span> and to be grandma-like <span style="font-size: xx-small;">except for the smelling like death and incontinence.</span><br />
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I've always said, you can never go wrong when it comes to crocheting. When you are essentially taking one, long piece of string and forming it into a series of knots, you know that anything that pops out is going to be genius. Including this bad boy:<br />
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<a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/88015624/crochet-push-digestive-system?ref=sr_gallery_1&ga_search_query=crochet+digestive&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=ZZ&ga_min=0&ga_max=0&ga_search_type=all" target="_blank"><img alt="Crochet Push Digestive System" height="640" src="http://img0.etsystatic.com/000/0/5504272/il_570xN.293717556.jpg" width="382" /></a> </div>
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I 've always wanted to cuddle with my digestive system and now I can! <br />
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Number 4) For some reason, it's "in" to look like you wrestled with a chicken and got their feathers stuck in your hair. Maybe it's the whole I-look-super-natural-like-I-dance-naked-in-the-rain type idea. Thankfully it's slowly fading away but not before THIS:</div>
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<a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/101299234/pet-or-short-hair-pink-5-feather-hair?ref=sr_gallery_32&ga_search_query=dog+feather+extensions&ga_order=most_relevant&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=ZZ&ga_min=0&ga_max=0&ga_search_type=all" target="_blank"><img alt="Pet (or SHORT HAIR) Natural 5 Feather Hair Extension : Salon Grade Whiting Feathers - Free micro link clamp" src="http://img1.etsystatic.com/000/0/5147609/il_570xN.231883081.jpg" /></a> </div>
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I'll give this one a pass because, hey, everybody just wants to fit in. Even dogs. <br />
Like I've said before, if you want to get ahead in this life, <strong>do everything as humanly possible to not look poor</strong>. Yes, get into debt, steal, cheat, and lie to <em>look </em>like you've got your shiz together. When it comes to opportunities in life, you're goining to get judged right down to your dog so you'd be a fool not to have your pooch lookin' sharp. <br />
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So you know what? I'm mad. I'm mad at the people who DON'T put feathers in their dogs fur. Curse you genetics for having Johanna's fur too short for feather extentions. Do better, people because if we don't, then the terrorists win.</div>
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What crazy things have you seen on Etsy lately?</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-54142188733943663132012-07-22T21:02:00.002-07:002012-07-22T21:58:03.170-07:00Schmiveaschmay! (That mean's "Giveaway")<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My last post was probably a little too sappy for summer time, yes?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I agree! Let's not dwell on what we <i>don't</i> have and celebrate what we <i>do</i> have. Or more like, what you <i>may get.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I recently came across a super fierce Etsy shop named Made By Lin Lin. I instantly fell in love because, well, she's pretty much awesome. You can tell from just looking through her shop! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not really a dangly-type girl, if you catch my drift. I prefer my earrings to be post. So when I came across her shop, I had to try it out. I actually rarely buy anything on Etsy and I don't even have a good excuse as to why. Maybe it's the instant inadequacy I feel in my hipster-being abilities or perhaps it's the fear that someone will run off with my precious, precious $10 weekly allowance of "fun" money.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then, I looked at Lin Lin's prices and my inner-girl squee-ed. Her prices were jaw-dropping. </span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gy9B7fkKepU/UAzXCMjHYDI/AAAAAAAABfw/Xj9RnUMThDU/s1600/linlinowls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="398" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gy9B7fkKepU/UAzXCMjHYDI/AAAAAAAABfw/Xj9RnUMThDU/s400/linlinowls.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These awesome posts are only $1.98. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Wal-Mart.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okay, that must mean that the quality is shizzy.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yeah, I thought that initially too but I was wrong. <b><i><u>Do you hear me, world? I , Jessica, am admitting that I was wrong and was a Judgey McJudgerson!</u></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh no, no, no, no, no. These were affordable <b>and</b> high-quality items here. Plus they shipped fast and soon I was wearing them to work even with the obvious hazard that they could be ripped from my head from a machine. It was a risk worth taking. I was, like, the coolest girl in the office!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So then I thought, <i>I wish there was a thing invented where generous and more creative people than I would give away something for free to readers that would adore these items such as I have.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Made By Lin Lin has generously agreed to give away a Brass Rose Ring & 2 Pairs of Rose Stud Earring<span style="line-height: 16px;">s for FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (I told you she was awesome)!</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2ixh8DUKbmQ/UAzTrv7DEpI/AAAAAAAABfk/XEZ3h34qUx8/s1600/linlin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="308" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2ixh8DUKbmQ/UAzTrv7DEpI/AAAAAAAABfk/XEZ3h34qUx8/s640/linlin.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b35f802/" id="rc-b35f802" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js">
</script></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You're welcome, World.</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-87599277883668056042012-07-19T12:03:00.002-07:002012-07-19T12:03:27.556-07:00Happy Birthday<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<img height="640" id="il_fi" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrbJgZjqHqjHSOwqZHE5vWq34hWtJXw3ET8cp77fn6YnbuYxS5HG0iC0sg9Vms1SQHVJoGKbYJoxYQX8-aH-Nm0IxJgiqGftS-fmcgYw6vG43zmzdJYF4_RzIFXiQbSP_qpr8l79voPM/s640/Alright.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="456" /> </div>
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<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are hypocritical
human beings. We play the lottery, thinking and wishing that the one in
a million probability will be in our favor and we will hit jackpot.
Then, we turn around and gamble with our life to simply drive to work.
We bet on the fact that we will</span></span><span lang="en-us"><i> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">not</span></i></span><span lang="en-us"> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">get into a car crash when in reality, there is a 1 in 16 chance. We bet and hope on what we</span></span><span lang="en-us"><i> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">want</span></i></span><span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> to see and shrug off the chances that we take every day that would end in our demise.</span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But chance is no
respecter of persons. She is Switzerland. Neutral. She doesn’t care what
has happened before or who you are. The numbers in our lives are all
rolling and it’s only a matter of time before the numbers fall wrong.</span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe probability
has made a bigger impact on me because it is my job. I am a safety
intern and I could tell you countless stories of concussions, fingers
severed, eyes burned, and bones broken and every person that it happened
to would say the same thing: “I just didn’t think it would happen to
me”. But it does happen. When will it be your turn? </span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One in every four
pregnancies ends in miscarriage. Just like the inevitable accidents that
come with an industry job, I found myself saying something I was
familiar with; “I never thought it would happen to me”. In my world,
miscarriages were something that happened to</span></span><span lang="en-us"><i> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">other</span></i></span><span lang="en-us"> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">people. Not me. But it did and my life became a living statistic. </span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have 3
sister-in-laws that are married and this summer was supposed to be
different. We were all due within 3 months of each other. Could you
imagine four cousins laughing, playing and creating memories together as
they grew up? But it just wasn’t meant to be, I guess, because I was
the one. And you know what? <b><i><u>I’m okay.</u></i></b></span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first weeks
after my miscarriage were hell. I couldn’t watch a paper bag fly by
without bursting into tears and I freaked out many of my teachers then.
It was like I was made of some very unstable chemical that would
spontaneously burst into flames at any moment. And I did. Often.</span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I felt alone in my
pain and I often wondered if there was something wrong with me. As if I
had broken inside forever and my emotional fissure would never heal. The
moment I knew I was beginning to heal was after one of the worst
episodes of emotional pain. I had cried until I couldn’t cry anymore and
I felt as if I had detoxed from everything I had pent up inside of me.</span></span><span lang="en-us"><i> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why
did this happen to me? Was God punishing me? What about my future
children? Would I even be able to have more? How can I watch my
sister-in-law’s pregnancies proceed when they were so close to mine?</span></i></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It has now been
about 8 months since my ectopic pregnancy. I’ll admit, it was hard at
first to watch my sister-in-law’s pregnancies progress and I would often
have to excuse myself. My bleeding after the miscarriage was my own
physical reminder of what I had lost and once that stopped, I felt could
move on a little more. But I couldn’t get rid of the other pregnancies
around in my life. They were another painful a reminder of what I had lost.
I can honestly say though that I never despised or hated them because
of their pregnancies. It wasn’t their fault that I had and ectopic
pregnancy and it wasn’t fair to them if I was a Debbie downer. What I
found instead is that my love for them increased. I was beyond happy for
them and their pregnancies. Maybe I couldn’t have mine but I was still
going to have 2 new nephews and 1 niece to adore. Maybe I was living
vicariously through them but that didn’t really matter because my pain
was gone.</span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The source of my comfort? The Lord. </span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, I’m not one to
talk about spiritual experiences or religion but I have to say, I would
have never healed if it hadn’t been for Him. I never doubted the
Lord’s hand in my life. He was always there. He healed me in ways that I
didn’t know I could heal and He showed me how great things can come out
of horrible situations. He made me</span></span><span lang="en-us"><i> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">more than</span></i></span><span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> whole again. </span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I didn’t ever think
I could be this happy again. There were times where I wondered if I
would have this burden to carry until the day I die but what I found was
peace. Peace that everything was going to work out in the end and that I
had gone through this for a reason. Now, if anyone would have told me
that at the beginning, I probably would have told you to eff off. But
now I would tell you that you are right.</span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are still times
when I cry thinking of how it could have been
but it doesn’t sting like it used to. I recognize my feelings and can pull myself out of it faster. I’ve healed.</span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today is my due date. Happy Birthday to my child that was never born.</span></span></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<img height="295" id="il_fi" src="http://www.thepracticingcatholic.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/The-Child-Who-Was-Never-Born1.png" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="400" /> </div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="LTR" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="en-us"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next time you
see me, and if you have any questions about my ectopic pregnancy, feel
free to ask me and believe me when I say, I’m okay.</span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-88730174132627837852012-07-13T08:57:00.000-07:002012-07-13T08:57:21.120-07:00Print <table align="center" 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;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iIoHzOLhO-I/T_-ZXH5LYoI/AAAAAAAABfU/0DEm8yF8vYw/s1600/print.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iIoHzOLhO-I/T_-ZXH5LYoI/AAAAAAAABfU/0DEm8yF8vYw/s640/print.jpg" width="482" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">-Joesph Fielding Smith</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-26322478006778092012012-07-11T12:18:00.001-07:002012-07-11T12:18:50.049-07:00Stuffed Bell Peppers<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://ourlifeinfood.com/2009/08/05/stuffed-bell-peppers-with-black-beans-and-cheddar/" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-2423" height="445" scale="0" src="http://ourlifeinfood.files.wordpress.com/2009/08/vegetarian-stuffed-bell-peppers.jpg?w=614&h=445" title="Stuffed Bell Peppers with Black Beans and Cheddar" width="614" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I made these for dinner last night AND.....</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
no one ate them.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jack was a long shot but Tyler had no excuse! I even generously applied cheese to his and offered to put ranch on it (I know, right? <em>RANCH!</em>)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I kind of made up the recipe but this is what I did:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><strong>Stuffed Bell Peppers</strong></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><u>Da Innards</u>:</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>1 C. of cooked Quinoa (Keen-wa)</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>1/2 can of Black Beans</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>1 C. of shredded Zucchini (w/ water pressed out)</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>1 package of chopped Mushrooms</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>3 stalks of chopped green onions</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>1 handful of cilantro</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>1 pkg. of Taco Mix</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>Cheese</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>3 Bell Peppers</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>Chop peppers in half & coat peppers with olive oil and bake for 20-30 minutes at 350 or until roasted. Mix all stuffin' materials and um...stuff the peppers. Top with cheese if you want and bake for 10 minutes or until cheese is melted or heated through.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>Serve to family that will poke and prod it. Wait until children take a tiny nibble and say, "yucky" to get offended. Make sure to watch husband's reaction to realize that he think's it tastes like @$$ and then get REALLY offended. Pop leftover mac 'n cheese in the microwave while you eat your beautiful, gourmet stuffed bell peppers by yourself.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So for the rest of the week, I've got lunch. No biggie. <strong>I</strong> thought they were delicious although I have issues with bell peppers. I'm not sure if I like them or not. Maybe it's the texture...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Is it weird that I made a meal that I knew that I wouldn't really like, knew Jack wouldn't touch, with ingredients like "mushrooms" & "zucchini" that would mentally block Tyler from eating it?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It goes great with chips and salsa.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-64881962142559964352012-06-26T10:55:00.000-07:002012-06-26T15:54:42.889-07:00You've Been Lied To<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our body is an amazing conversion unit. It can take individual compounds in our food and convert it to energy for us to use. This isn’t just limited to the energy required for us to breathe, talk, and walk. It also includes energy for our body to reproduce cells, heal injuries, and grow. I don't know about you, but I don't want my new cells to grow sub par because of a lack of good nutrients. That kind of stuff causes cancer, people!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So what kind of fuel are you putting into your body? What kind of energy are you giving your body to work with?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As much as we could wish away the fat from our body, it really is quite a useful thing. You already know form 7<sup>th</sup> grade science that it keeps us warm and cuddly in a case if buttery goodness but what you may not know is that fat also stores toxins.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toxins; a</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> word that seems so popular lately but what is it really?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The truth is that you are exposed to toxins daily through the air, food, and water that we consume. This includes pesticides, organochlorides, preservatives, and so much more that I couldn’t even list them all!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we ingest these into our body, our body freaks out and says, “Woah now! That’s just not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">natural”.</i> It doesn’t know what to do with a foreign chemical that it can’t use for energy and so it puts it away in our fat cells to deal with it later. In fact, if our diet is rich in toxins, our body may even create more fat cells in order to store these toxins! Yikes!</span></div>
<shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"><stroke joinstyle="miter"></stroke><formulas><f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"></f><f eqn="sum @0 1 0"></f><f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"></f><f eqn="prod @2 1 2"></f><f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"></f><f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"></f><f eqn="sum @0 0 1"></f><f eqn="prod @6 1 2"></f><f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"></f><f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"></f><f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"></f><f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"></f></formulas><path gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect" o:extrusionok="f"></path><lock aspectratio="t" v:ext="edit"></lock></shapetype><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<shape alt="Hero" id="product_detail_image" o:spid="_x0000_s1026" style="height: 172.5pt; margin-left: 193.5pt; margin-top: 459.75pt; mso-position-horizontal-relative: margin; mso-position-horizontal: absolute; mso-position-vertical-relative: margin; mso-position-vertical: absolute; mso-wrap-distance-bottom: 0; mso-wrap-distance-left: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-right: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-top: 0; mso-wrap-style: square; position: absolute; visibility: visible; width: 304.5pt; z-index: 1;" type="#_x0000_t75"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><imagedata o:title="Hero" src="file:///C:\Users\JEBELLNA\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg"></imagedata><wrap anchorx="margin" anchory="margin" type="square"></wrap></span></shape><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The sad truth is that most Americans have the SAD: Standard American Diet. This diet is high in processed foods, chock full of preservatives, and low in natural, whole foods complete with a mostly plant based diet. But we can’t help it! We are constantly being tricked by greedy, money grabbing companies that care more about profit than their customers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let’s take this for example:</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AJQYbwR_dvY/T-nzbbWBGcI/AAAAAAAABeo/_QzIp9p-F_c/s1600/hero.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" rca="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AJQYbwR_dvY/T-nzbbWBGcI/AAAAAAAABeo/_QzIp9p-F_c/s320/hero.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ah, the Kashi brand! Totally organic looking, right? And look! It has almonds in it which are so good for you plus 8g of protein and 5g of fiber. Smack the “all natural” label right on it and BAM, you’ve fooled a lot of people into thinking that this is healthy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But let’s dig deeper.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<img height="366" src="http://www2.kelloggs.com/ServeImage.aspx?BID=84753&MD5=81e2e35a18923e6c37a51adde0073062" width="640" /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ah, there it is; a list longer than my wedding party filled with ingredients like “natural flavors”, “mechanically fractionated palm kernel oil”, and “vegetable glycerin”. Um...who invited them to my meal? Not to mention they manage to pack 13g of sugar into one small bar. That’s a little more than this much sugar:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="320" src="http://www.sciencephoto.com/image/217703/large/H1102013-Sugar_cubes-SPL.jpg" width="259" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What the hell, Kashi?! </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You don't have to be munchin' on Twinkies and Snickers bars to lead a life full of preservatives. So go ahead and stay within your "calorie limit" with these little devils but I promise you that it's the quality of the calories, not the quantity.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sure, reducing your caloric intake will make you look skinny but if you are fueling your body with preservative-filled foods, you will still be <u>unhealthy</u>.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Okay, I realize how this sounds. It's like you can <em>NEVER</em> eat anything pre-packaged again and heavens forbid you do! No, I'm not saying that but what I am saying is to be aware of what these companies put into your food and realize that when it comes to losing weight and feeling healthy, you don't have to restrict or count calories, you just have to make sure the calories you <em>do</em> eat are wholesome.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Help me stop the madness here of counting calories, people.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-415913902598896130.post-17033386989190457262012-06-20T14:28:00.002-07:002012-06-20T14:28:34.280-07:00Ventsday<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today is Ventsday!</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Time to get out all of those angry and pent-up feelings that accumulate from stupid people that always seem to be there just to ruin your day. When it comes to venting, there are a few rules:</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">1. The venter is <em>always</em> right.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. Other people are <em>always</em> stupid.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So let us begin:</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">-Why is there NEVER enough checkout lines open at Wal-Mart? I know, I know - It's my fault for shopping at the white-trash breeding ground in the first place but let's be real, Wal-Mart <em>is</em> cheap and sometimes when you live in a town that has a total area of 4 sq. miles, it's your only choice.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I like to call Wal-Mart, "The Death Star" (courtesy of my brother-in-law) because it is pretty much an evil corporation that sucks the life out of our universe.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I swear, though, <em><u>every </u></em><u>s<em>ingle time </em></u>I shop, there are 20 checkout lanes but only 3 are open. Then, the 3 that are open are at the opposite side of where I parked. I mean, I don't get my panties in a bunch over a little more effort to walk, but this just adds insult to injury. </span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I declare this a<strong> fail</strong> on Wal-Mart's end.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">______________________________________________________________</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">-I honestly don't have road rage. Really. I'm usually so calm when I drive. When people cut me off, I thank them and they pray for them to arrive safely at the hospital (because they have the benefit of the doubt). <em>Oh it's okay; I'm sure wherever you have to get to is way more important than the life of me and my child's</em>. <em>Dear baby Jesus, bless them...</em></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But one thing that really gets to me are Burley drivers because they drive <strong><u>so slow</u></strong>! I'm not talking about a 5-under offence here, I'm talking a 15 to 20-under offense and if you think I'm kidding, I'm not. This shiz be real. I don't kid 'bout no shiz!</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Do you remember playing Mario Kart as a child and weaving in and out of the other drivers? In Burley, that's real life sans magic boxes with bananas and star boosts. Yeah... 'Cmon, Burley, get your head outta your butt!</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">______________________________________________________________</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">-This one may hit a sensitive spot but.... it's Ventsday, so refer to rule number 1.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am really tired of seeing women post on Facebook about how their husband is the best. The post is dripping in goo and mush with an overdose of glitter, smiley faces, and GAG!</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Lean in real close because I'm about to tell you something:</span></div>
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<strong><i><u><span style="font-family: inherit;">NO ONE CARES</span></u></i></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">No one cares that your husband painted your toenails because you've become too much of a lard while pregnant to do so yourself. No one cares that your husband just cleaned the whole house, cooked dinner, delivered a litter of kittens, potty-trained your toddler, and rid the world of cancer so that you could go to bed early. No one cares that your husband is the epitome of Ryan Gosling via The Notebook.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mmmkay? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And I'll tell you why no one cares, because either:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">1. Readers are in a good place in their marriage where they don't feel the need to justify why their husband is already doing (or not doing) amazing things like your post is so publicly displaying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">or</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. Readers are in a bad place in their marriage to which they compare their ghetto, Joe Dirt-like husband to your husbrag post and realize that their marriage is failing. Thus begins downward spiral to suicidal-depression and wedge of conflict in marriage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If your husband does something amazing for you, <strong>then thank <u>them</u></strong>. If I get a scholarship for school from a rich philanthropist, I'm not going to go up to random hobos and say, "Hey thanks for the money, I'm really going to need it" and I shouldn't have to explain why.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Get it?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I should see no more posts like this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">______________________________________________________________</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now it's your turn. Go ahead and vent about anything you want; big or small. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So what do you have to vent about?</span></div>
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</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02362575625661395706noreply@blogger.com4