tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26818616310620084072024-03-18T23:16:26.814-04:00Thirty-four Mile PizzaWishing I was thin and crispy but more like stuffed crust and extra cheesy ... with a side of crazy sauce!34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-67082575967691660332010-11-01T15:24:00.000-04:002010-11-01T15:24:15.427-04:00The obligatory Halloween PostThis was a rather tame Halloween this year compared to those in the past. With the boys off at college and serving in the military, the girls were left to their own devices. They both devleoped their own costumes, and they were great. My teenage drama queen decided to be Zombie Marilyn Monroe and Niece was a Zombie Prom Queen. And let me tell you, I'm glad I wasn't her competition. The girls were also joined by our little friend Andy who was dressed as a character from Star Wars, Episode I Don't Know What (And don't ask me the character name. Even though I asked Andy many, many times over the course of the evening, I cannot for the life of me recall.).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYiE4EkgZnZkTljyJi65WI5le2yQVXv1rouVgMgfNVqOlHkCP29VnL6BfB3HwxVu-VSbVjaG8DKKcqhtga0ZMwyrOFXJJPdzSjoaU-F1ixXDY2QylzdwoS7NYso8AFura562kF2F-3pw/s1600/Zombie+Girls+and+Star+Wars+Andrew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYiE4EkgZnZkTljyJi65WI5le2yQVXv1rouVgMgfNVqOlHkCP29VnL6BfB3HwxVu-VSbVjaG8DKKcqhtga0ZMwyrOFXJJPdzSjoaU-F1ixXDY2QylzdwoS7NYso8AFura562kF2F-3pw/s320/Zombie+Girls+and+Star+Wars+Andrew.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All right, who knows how to drive this thing?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05jzKyJYDV_CCDWY8ToX-I4A1C1cVFMF_yogQRjgxEHFZziGwD35JydNnmAxPn7DrpZNmQEe6Cw9IqaaCn3-hS2xlLMWg-UqEh1Oi2PSV-C6NGt5dCybkemPOwjfFRyAk9N-4POGJ_pc/s1600/Zombie+Girls+Andrew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05jzKyJYDV_CCDWY8ToX-I4A1C1cVFMF_yogQRjgxEHFZziGwD35JydNnmAxPn7DrpZNmQEe6Cw9IqaaCn3-hS2xlLMWg-UqEh1Oi2PSV-C6NGt5dCybkemPOwjfFRyAk9N-4POGJ_pc/s320/Zombie+Girls+Andrew.jpg" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marilyn Monroe with an Elvis lip</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp9_wOgMuy96omLAYhEANAQcXwI02vgwgWf8qt_h9-mQlCIksvre-i9g00u1YFgzwyPTCOYfsjdnKJDqQCvyaaZYIx92U8JhahtfTKtMyZTNQzs5Q9mRaLxSveaOljNRNQL1KKerYe9Ys/s1600/Zombie+Girls+Pumpkin+Patch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp9_wOgMuy96omLAYhEANAQcXwI02vgwgWf8qt_h9-mQlCIksvre-i9g00u1YFgzwyPTCOYfsjdnKJDqQCvyaaZYIx92U8JhahtfTKtMyZTNQzs5Q9mRaLxSveaOljNRNQL1KKerYe9Ys/s320/Zombie+Girls+Pumpkin+Patch.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who knew Zombies wore flip flops?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxsyW-POVB5begdU52OnCQpoQzHEjZfGb8Xvcu7ihH3rUvtimwpXFspgm1PsBTsmg5xYuqxVygYG_g4FoNlJNKesh-PkSR1cjco3hK2eciIl3IUGRxxQcqLgm_WG3BdK4INJJUkgKWmY/s1600/Zombie+Girls+Tractor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxsyW-POVB5begdU52OnCQpoQzHEjZfGb8Xvcu7ihH3rUvtimwpXFspgm1PsBTsmg5xYuqxVygYG_g4FoNlJNKesh-PkSR1cjco3hK2eciIl3IUGRxxQcqLgm_WG3BdK4INJJUkgKWmY/s320/Zombie+Girls+Tractor.jpg" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great. Our driver left.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguzTQdSlGa41pDe9Xcv5r1GMcvHach7vK_IDaHltVR0xIFvmmQaIbV8ikWsyIX6gezQB3Tjyirr4GQKBQ6_5KkPVpkf2FZXoNUV0aYotYRzjelCUvF_lYfEFcwMXUaiaS8i5a23SpLxEA/s1600/Zombie+Girls+truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguzTQdSlGa41pDe9Xcv5r1GMcvHach7vK_IDaHltVR0xIFvmmQaIbV8ikWsyIX6gezQB3Tjyirr4GQKBQ6_5KkPVpkf2FZXoNUV0aYotYRzjelCUvF_lYfEFcwMXUaiaS8i5a23SpLxEA/s320/Zombie+Girls+truck.jpg" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stop smiling. You're supposed to be scary!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8NVsXlLrOJRH7s8cFRJ1hkjefMW338IJQy51_p3REBz_a7jWv4uN0D6k9rUQuwoq19OzNKmVf_COq902ELVY4WwlF9s5lHTv2t2M7Ce42HcjmjFNiqeHu3SVGTwQOE6nHdv_vd53E-7E/s1600/Zombie+Prom+Queen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8NVsXlLrOJRH7s8cFRJ1hkjefMW338IJQy51_p3REBz_a7jWv4uN0D6k9rUQuwoq19OzNKmVf_COq902ELVY4WwlF9s5lHTv2t2M7Ce42HcjmjFNiqeHu3SVGTwQOE6nHdv_vd53E-7E/s320/Zombie+Prom+Queen.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My date left me in this pumpkin patch and all I got was these dead flowers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMM5JVBVbiiQJx5CYJkhRp-i9fJEAfOlFKAZNCuDOmV60tj3w-DslkyniJi7TJNJ62NJqMf0CcTIQLzizACt3daMXAgaKxfka661A9wXkZ2EhkPiODardQIgYIaXMoEs4k8q4AZxQrvD4/s1600/Zombie+Girl+with+a+little+Elvis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMM5JVBVbiiQJx5CYJkhRp-i9fJEAfOlFKAZNCuDOmV60tj3w-DslkyniJi7TJNJ62NJqMf0CcTIQLzizACt3daMXAgaKxfka661A9wXkZ2EhkPiODardQIgYIaXMoEs4k8q4AZxQrvD4/s320/Zombie+Girl+with+a+little+Elvis.jpg" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Elvis lip again. Who knew Marilyn and Elvis were so close?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After their marathon makeup session (it took me about four hours total to apply all the fake skin and zombie-esque makeup and blood), we descended upon the <a href="http://www.southernbellefarm.com/">Southern Belle Farm</a> for some fun. The girls really enjoyed running through the corn maze, encountering unsuspecting people coming around the corners. They had a great time and had lots of requests for photos and compliments on their costumes.<br />
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Later, the girls provided a great view for the other people in the pizza place. Pizza ... Zombies with bloody festering wounds. A great combo. After a quick run through WalMart (with more requests for photos that hopefully won't end up <a href="http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/">here</a>), we called it a night. The girls were a little disappointed they were "too old" for trick-or-treating, but Sister L made up for it by buying out half the candy aisle. Hope you and yours had a great, safe Halloween, however you ended up spending the evening. Oh, and by the way, if you go through a roadblock with a Zombie, it's not necessarily a bad thing. It provides the guys and girls who have to work a little bit of levity.34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-21186094441155199372010-09-03T12:11:00.000-04:002010-09-03T12:11:53.044-04:00Yes I am alive...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am a bad blogger. A bad blogger in that I have not posted for the greater potion of a calendar year. But I have an excuse! Since my last post my son was transferred to his technical school in Gulfport, MS, </div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL4mUy8ee2DF14ccZYzMKy2OE9yt1VGGd8ooCl9bee_HYsCfjtL-7ZfpmDfTSMvgVFx7l33ed5eVjfJ1_monhFUE7tHZCzazIMaInhE1tQjNXBE4zExqIb6e-3Nxvwhd9ntisf5-dx1R4/s1600/DSCN0004A+(14).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL4mUy8ee2DF14ccZYzMKy2OE9yt1VGGd8ooCl9bee_HYsCfjtL-7ZfpmDfTSMvgVFx7l33ed5eVjfJ1_monhFUE7tHZCzazIMaInhE1tQjNXBE4zExqIb6e-3Nxvwhd9ntisf5-dx1R4/s200/DSCN0004A+(14).JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the Classroom</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQifLEj0rEvw_zbviUfbULQQKltk1th9GkYJUtB7jafnssYzXDYmq-sn2_iOMpR4UiJkhgvqo3ZosjIX1bugoeU3y8pZdnD5rqu5aqSrkB9fppjugaC0s9UichXTQLauQ3peqtNGNgeU/s1600/DSCN0004A+(86).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="181" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQifLEj0rEvw_zbviUfbULQQKltk1th9GkYJUtB7jafnssYzXDYmq-sn2_iOMpR4UiJkhgvqo3ZosjIX1bugoeU3y8pZdnD5rqu5aqSrkB9fppjugaC0s9UichXTQLauQ3peqtNGNgeU/s200/DSCN0004A+(86).JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can make things!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">and we made a few trips to see him, </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuo8Gc7Xoe-Y592S-OSaZrj86eivzJNxhgVbdPRNkocdXWLNVxrloNnl28KlORhsEjc8uudObYxvWsh3NYRPLWI8QObG59N0yeBbDUwcBEvakhmzP4m6rNk5XCaut1hjpNOFRLHg3YD08/s1600/DSCN0004A+(160).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuo8Gc7Xoe-Y592S-OSaZrj86eivzJNxhgVbdPRNkocdXWLNVxrloNnl28KlORhsEjc8uudObYxvWsh3NYRPLWI8QObG59N0yeBbDUwcBEvakhmzP4m6rNk5XCaut1hjpNOFRLHg3YD08/s200/DSCN0004A+(160).JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I started seeing another doctor and had another surgery which I am still trying to recover from, </div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgybeYO3Jolw5nGfyT1JqRq4Ee0Ltrr30dygYqhNHB6KBTkKaawpCx3hQCVQSIrLfYTu-PAiG3lB7mEPVJPMv9Mf3GimgPtNKJAosKn2nl556jPuUsJ2xepkCbhu7Ch6sCto0hQw7MDi_c/s1600/DSCN0004A+(405).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgybeYO3Jolw5nGfyT1JqRq4Ee0Ltrr30dygYqhNHB6KBTkKaawpCx3hQCVQSIrLfYTu-PAiG3lB7mEPVJPMv9Mf3GimgPtNKJAosKn2nl556jPuUsJ2xepkCbhu7Ch6sCto0hQw7MDi_c/s200/DSCN0004A+(405).JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Told ya (and yes, those (14) wires are embedded in bone)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">celebrated my son graduating from his tech school and coming home for a short visit, saw my nephew graduate (with Honors!) from high school,</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNQD8B8z9ksCTjk_zyY0wXBNNOt8B22tyuYk0Z9wHKVq6O54BfLNz7ky4OA15rURfuTBgkcdu75BkSCQszv8v_XGZZAB9eq0O60k43Vq0jb1HwyHaL7TyLUtfGeWZ7Mb_ZyRvpp8eSu0/s1600/DSCN0004A+(465).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNQD8B8z9ksCTjk_zyY0wXBNNOt8B22tyuYk0Z9wHKVq6O54BfLNz7ky4OA15rURfuTBgkcdu75BkSCQszv8v_XGZZAB9eq0O60k43Vq0jb1HwyHaL7TyLUtfGeWZ7Mb_ZyRvpp8eSu0/s200/DSCN0004A+(465).JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SURPRISE! Look who made it home for your big day!</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">sent my son off to his first permanent duty station clear across the country, sent my daughter back to school as a Junior and went back to work, but not before learning to crochet. </div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDqgJXiu6zG7mUr4052gIGkVCUlRDOctX9NrY7RMG0LL2UPLiu_s5BbjBOZYZRW2jmt39qBL_lrz9e9XEqxRbEyZgwevPJ-2tQmm8egJzXWd5IrVZDQthNqCtaSKvPp4Xa1qef3HMx10I/s1600/First+Afghan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDqgJXiu6zG7mUr4052gIGkVCUlRDOctX9NrY7RMG0LL2UPLiu_s5BbjBOZYZRW2jmt39qBL_lrz9e9XEqxRbEyZgwevPJ-2tQmm8egJzXWd5IrVZDQthNqCtaSKvPp4Xa1qef3HMx10I/s320/First+Afghan.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Saw my little girl apply her skills:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZOOUONaY5ftmKgyIVBbTRBDeKGR95GH2MKtc9NnW86KSUzxl3878-HO-hwoTOogxQOtLkxzGmv2jksWqQBjATVrfJIv9liC1A5_9VVnww8ZzFewBbtmyRd7QPbzkt2NXJQwEmCtQxeY/s1600/Sissy+AR15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZOOUONaY5ftmKgyIVBbTRBDeKGR95GH2MKtc9NnW86KSUzxl3878-HO-hwoTOogxQOtLkxzGmv2jksWqQBjATVrfJIv9liC1A5_9VVnww8ZzFewBbtmyRd7QPbzkt2NXJQwEmCtQxeY/s200/Sissy+AR15.jpg" width="149" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And made a road trip to see my nephew begin his college career.</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbA625X3DlhoHsw9WQXpm_O6OC40o6q0jlzTITFN7Dqp_4wyHhQQ501Y2fgLMR6Th5vlzPxy8QPd_7zz8KR-X4KZ2Vt6zakzdVklN51wegZk9gu3DxooiJDo4UHn4dHYkjlYSlJKjx1dk/s1600/Sisso+Road+Trip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbA625X3DlhoHsw9WQXpm_O6OC40o6q0jlzTITFN7Dqp_4wyHhQQ501Y2fgLMR6Th5vlzPxy8QPd_7zz8KR-X4KZ2Vt6zakzdVklN51wegZk9gu3DxooiJDo4UHn4dHYkjlYSlJKjx1dk/s200/Sisso+Road+Trip.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road Trippin' to Savannah</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Hopefully, I can get myself in gear and start posting again. Hopefully. </div>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-55965972315970119352010-02-25T09:47:00.000-05:002010-02-25T09:47:22.276-05:00The Earth almost slid to a stop ...A disturbing thing happened yesterday on the internet(s). Check out the article <a href="http://www.neowin.net/news/youtube-removes-original-quotrickrollquot-video-due-to-terms-of-use-violation">here</a>. Thankfully, YouTube <a href="http://www.neowin.net/news/youtube-confirms-quotrickrollquot-removal-was-a-mistake-brings-back-video#comments">came to its senses</a> very quickly.<br />
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<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/oHg5SJYRHA0&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/oHg5SJYRHA0&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-80238938759018871142010-02-04T14:18:00.001-05:002010-02-04T14:18:48.704-05:00I'm working on it...We've been back from San Antonio for a couple of weeks and I'm still working on putting together a video of our trip. The Flip was the best and worked great AND I didn't drop it in the water on our tour of the Riverwalk. Bonus! It was a great trip, beautiful weather and most importantly, we got to see our Scootie for the first time in months. Woo hoooo! So stand by and I'll get it up as soon as possible. Promise. For now, a snapshot of my pride and joy (and his "Flat Cousins" who weren't able to make the trip).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczupaAMPQYGdcZnSVLBQt4E-ODcZFzE9_dRhgoypycnRZt95F4FTFP_I0PmwNV9shIxFrD58U4B-eb3z9W0xe3OitupAcJLp7ki7xBZbOR5WBTBcxrA6xbfnBIu4NHBtqD0HvrTI2Mjk/s1600-h/Airman+Scootie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczupaAMPQYGdcZnSVLBQt4E-ODcZFzE9_dRhgoypycnRZt95F4FTFP_I0PmwNV9shIxFrD58U4B-eb3z9W0xe3OitupAcJLp7ki7xBZbOR5WBTBcxrA6xbfnBIu4NHBtqD0HvrTI2Mjk/s320/Airman+Scootie.jpg" /></a></div>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-9365451924587842782010-01-13T06:48:00.001-05:002010-01-13T10:05:45.749-05:00I'm a Flipper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3lcGXH6F7XAzPYf2cbrOgJz8M_5GM9zustEsR_ds4YPJU_8YOsxQNYLbn8c2lOxJ14rLs0fONAxQHWVkzM60WSl7_rKdoN-oIVeIqeo6RBCicbnaHGJqrhPxwblWGAhiqIiCtMFfErE/s1600-h/FireandDiamond.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3lcGXH6F7XAzPYf2cbrOgJz8M_5GM9zustEsR_ds4YPJU_8YOsxQNYLbn8c2lOxJ14rLs0fONAxQHWVkzM60WSl7_rKdoN-oIVeIqeo6RBCicbnaHGJqrhPxwblWGAhiqIiCtMFfErE/s640/FireandDiamond.bmp" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo from <a href="http://store.theflip.com/designs/view.aspx?product_id=1747&cat=new_designs&subcat=new_designs&cid=m2">here</a></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I got my new Flip Mino HD yesterday and cannot wait to start using it to annoy everyone around me. So far, Sissy and I have just been goofing around, but I really am going to work it when we go to San Antonio to Scootie's graduation from boot camp. I hope I will be singing its praises from the rooftoops and not picking up the pieces after I've slammed it to the ground in frustration. We shall see. Of course, I am not being compensated in ANY way for my opinions (however, I wish I was!), which are just that. MY opinions. So far, so good. I was able to slip it in my pocket this morning on my way out the door with no annoying need for extra batteries, connecting cables, chargers, etc. <br />
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The website was super easy to order from, and the design options are excellent. You can even make your own, with your own photo! I did not choose that option ( I chose the design above), but if I order another in the future, I probably will. Also, because I ordered directly from <a href="http://www.theflip.com/en-us/">Flip</a>, I got a free accessory! I chose the power adapter, which allows you to charge the camera in any standard power outlet (instead of plugging into a computer). There are bunches of retailers you can buy this camera from like Best Buy, Office Depot, Target, WalMart, etc. but you would be limited in what colors you could purchase at these places.<br />
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So, stay tuned for videos and we'll see how we like this little gadget. IF I can keep Sissy from converting it to her own use.34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-28980576605089177102010-01-12T14:59:00.000-05:002010-01-12T14:59:26.178-05:00So I haven't been here in so long people thought I was dead...As you can see, my blogging has been non-existent. I probably could blame it on a lot of things. Perhaps it's because I shipped my son off to bootcamp and the world around me seems so much quieter. Perhaps it's because of all the holiday hoop-la. Maybe I've lost my mojo. Well, today I was called on it and I guess I have to give in and post. I'll make it a long one filled with pics of what's been going on and maybe that will suffice for today. Here we go:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeox0KRYf5BsGwaSsx_Bjvp37-t63Er570cqUZITgK6RCRLR4qZcQBqgLNN641p5lfvEqaM8mtxqQLCTKg08v7JdtKNkeYheEy_8SPqdpvGO_9zae2byvPuOAqm5Y4LyHO28zLTeOVkU4/s1600-h/DSC_0028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeox0KRYf5BsGwaSsx_Bjvp37-t63Er570cqUZITgK6RCRLR4qZcQBqgLNN641p5lfvEqaM8mtxqQLCTKg08v7JdtKNkeYheEy_8SPqdpvGO_9zae2byvPuOAqm5Y4LyHO28zLTeOVkU4/s320/DSC_0028.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">We had a going away bonfire chili party for Scootie</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Scootie and Friends</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The last shave...with an audience</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The morning before "shipping day"</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">the biggest rice krispie treat i've ever seen, decorated by Sissy and Niece</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">ThankChristmas</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">He swears</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzT_Yf3czpEUTRawWmSUywIigTi1XInbiBuAS_x8hNI-yq-1H5jDtXkLThSFSlT2VA2qXB4c2z7pxkoE3kVbEV81nuCiFt4C2i-ZqnuCmYTXEfXy8Xh2bJLJX7u8K5Rkxrp8d8182P6BA/s1600-h/shipping+day.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzT_Yf3czpEUTRawWmSUywIigTi1XInbiBuAS_x8hNI-yq-1H5jDtXkLThSFSlT2VA2qXB4c2z7pxkoE3kVbEV81nuCiFt4C2i-ZqnuCmYTXEfXy8Xh2bJLJX7u8K5Rkxrp8d8182P6BA/s320/shipping+day.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">This is REALLY happening</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">It's like the first day of school all over again</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Flat Scootie is born</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">for some reason, I got NO DOUGHNUTS from this shopping trip</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Flat Sccotie helps wrap gifts</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">My kids on Christmas Eve</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Everyone loves (Flat) Scootie</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Maybe a little TOO much</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">A-nut L and Andy</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Flat Scootie gets first piok (pay no attention to the rolls [and I don't mean the crescents])</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">BTK gets humiliated...AGAIN</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me, too!</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Happy New Year!</span><br />
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And, that should catch me up somewhat. Happy?34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-40462550056771739452009-12-09T08:24:00.000-05:002009-12-09T08:24:38.188-05:00Thanks!Thanks to Rae Ann over at <a href="http://criticalmassachieved.blogspot.com/">Critical Mass</a> and <a href="http://raeannsbuttonbox.blogspot.com/">The Button Box</a> for giving my humble little blog a makeover. She did a great job! Maybe now I'll get myself in gear and start posting again!34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-47608999087157524052009-11-17T12:52:00.000-05:002009-11-17T12:52:48.994-05:00Under ConstructionPlease bear with me. My site is under construction. <br />
<br />
Also, I am having a crisis.<br />
<br />
My baby is leaving in exactly seven days for boot camp. SEVEN DAYS, PEOPLE! I may not be posting very much. We just had his going away party this past Saturday and now we are preparing to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas in one fell swoop. So, Harry Thankmas or Meppy Chrisgiving and I'll see you when I see you.34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-81513008015984691372009-11-05T18:41:00.002-05:002010-01-12T15:03:57.558-05:00<div class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLuCs7ZZfRNRfWHEhXCy6a0g_YzHpYpkzPhAVMsZskOckN6WIu8HRsgNUqc1cAOMasJOmt__-t0DlA54sRsK0Iyn-gxgOEUnUwx5YHMG8HnXPASsmEiTlxbknI_LHQCVAJNVpOnmRfR4/s1600-h/1105091834-719636.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400768988013589634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLuCs7ZZfRNRfWHEhXCy6a0g_YzHpYpkzPhAVMsZskOckN6WIu8HRsgNUqc1cAOMasJOmt__-t0DlA54sRsK0Iyn-gxgOEUnUwx5YHMG8HnXPASsmEiTlxbknI_LHQCVAJNVpOnmRfR4/s320/1105091834-719636.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="mobile-photo"><br />
</div>Poor BTK. he has to suffer so much humiliation. Every time his *mother* Sissy puts his Snuggie on him he immediately falls over and refuses to move. Perhaps it's from embarrassment. Perhaps it's because his mother has a matching Snuggie in pink. Whatever it is, as soon as that thing comes off, he disappears for quite some time. Odd.34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-60158583609636921752009-11-05T06:00:00.000-05:002009-11-05T10:28:41.733-05:00Poker Face ReMixI love <a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/">Funny or Die</a>. When I need a little pick me up, I immediately go for the funny these guys provide. The latest? Christopher Walken doing Lady Gaga's Poker Face. <br />
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<object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" height="328" id="ordie_player_5fd26cd608" width="512"><param name="movie" value="http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf" /><param name="flashvars" value="key=5fd26cd608" /><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed width="512" height="328" flashvars="key=5fd26cd608" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" quality="high" src="http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf" name="ordie_player_5fd26cd608" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><br />
<div style="font-size: x-small; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left; width: 512px;"><a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/5fd26cd608/christopher-walken-sings-poker-face" title="from TubularGoldmine">Christopher Walken sings "Poker Face"</a> - watch more <a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/" title="on Funny or Die">funny videos</a></div><br />
<br />
OMG. It's almost as good as his skit on SNL. What would make it better? <a href="http://www.funnyhub.com/videos/pages/snl-more-cowbell.html">More cowbell</a>. <br />
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Some of my other favorites from funnyordie.com are "The Landlord" and "Good Cop, Baby Cop." <br />
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You're welcome.<br />
<br />
<object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" height="400" id="ordie_player_74" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf" /><param name="flashvars" value="key=74" /><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed width="480" height="400" flashvars="key=74" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" quality="high" src="http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf" name="ordie_player_74" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><br />
<div style="font-size: x-small; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left; width: 480px;"><a ghost="" href="http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/74/the-landlord-from-will-ferrell-and-adam-ghost-panther-mckay" mckay?="" panther?="" title="from Will Ferrell and Adam ">The Landlord</a> from <a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/will_ferrell">Will Ferrell</a></div><br />
<br />
<object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" height="400" id="ordie_player_33f2687080" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf" /><param name="flashvars" value="key=33f2687080" /><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed width="480" height="400" flashvars="key=33f2687080" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" quality="high" src="http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf" name="ordie_player_33f2687080" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><br />
<div style="font-size: x-small; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left; width: 480px;"><a ghost="" href="http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/33f2687080/good-cop-baby-cop-from-will-ferrell-and-adam-ghost-panther-mckay" mckay?="" panther?="" title="from Will Ferrell and Adam ">Good Cop, Baby Cop</a> from <a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/will_ferrell">Will Ferrell</a></div>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-82184804167742429682009-11-04T13:10:00.001-05:002010-01-12T15:04:19.985-05:00<div class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pxRJKzQnyDBeqygCSlJM9N_26bQP9XBA8hLfKYJjI1DskVmeuDZN_LZWun0L_2cxUNVztOrZyB2RkoULmTolYE8XkPYggct1InjOue4CnLVXIHz7HZBQWk_eccQ4NOJfzRM-eM8IwQk/s1600-h/1104091309-762074.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400312618023820754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pxRJKzQnyDBeqygCSlJM9N_26bQP9XBA8hLfKYJjI1DskVmeuDZN_LZWun0L_2cxUNVztOrZyB2RkoULmTolYE8XkPYggct1InjOue4CnLVXIHz7HZBQWk_eccQ4NOJfzRM-eM8IwQk/s320/1104091309-762074.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Another picture of my lunch date. Little Perry is THE BEST baby. And I can say that because I don't live with him.34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-53915711285816960952009-11-04T13:07:00.002-05:002010-01-12T15:04:35.240-05:00<div class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjR2ngM24j9J87OvzGOTRsiEQWyztomSeOZtC85vvA5eJIA6IOpWkYDg-tn5Rtl8xEByWluPVUJE7wwtm8XmtkutfJoRHtpArnukTCP48BqfUJd39WbIa7JYymK_67WOyVpnjQyfXbZ1E/s1600-h/1104091303-746324.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400311687910561874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjR2ngM24j9J87OvzGOTRsiEQWyztomSeOZtC85vvA5eJIA6IOpWkYDg-tn5Rtl8xEByWluPVUJE7wwtm8XmtkutfJoRHtpArnukTCP48BqfUJd39WbIa7JYymK_67WOyVpnjQyfXbZ1E/s320/1104091303-746324.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>My lunch date today is THE best cure for the Wednesday blahs.34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-90213416709962195172009-11-03T10:47:00.000-05:002009-11-03T10:47:52.742-05:00I think I have to kill my boss ... or Please bathe me in Lysol<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So, yesterday Boss calls in to the office to tell me he won't be in because he's sick and has a fever. To this, I reply, "Okay. Please stay there. Oh, and hope you get better soon."<br />
</div><br />
I'm fully expectant he won't be in today either. But what do my wondering eyes see? Boss comes in waving a piece of paper around in the air saying, "I'm done." What? "I'm done." I also note he's in jeans and a sweatshirt. Coupled with the "I'm done" statement, I am now thinking I am going to have a new boss because he has been summarily let go. Has he been laid off? Not possible in this business. Fired? He hasn't screwed anything up, to my knowledge. Quit? It's definitely a possibility, but I think I would have some advanced notice of that was going down. Little did I know exactly how nefarious that statement would be to me.<br />
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When asked for clarification on the "I'm done" statement, Boss reveals he most likely has SWINE FLU. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILl5Vpx5IxQI_64iaixS61_kyJhDe8RhRX7GwsrcUZgVu4fMsiNHHcjOPoPVFsTSdw5CYU5RzO9V4jR4BR87phUNS__665kCpSL-G-8aPB99OXoPLNP0R1s0b_My3gzWvh2OwZEzZPWw/s1600-h/swine_flu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILl5Vpx5IxQI_64iaixS61_kyJhDe8RhRX7GwsrcUZgVu4fMsiNHHcjOPoPVFsTSdw5CYU5RzO9V4jR4BR87phUNS__665kCpSL-G-8aPB99OXoPLNP0R1s0b_My3gzWvh2OwZEzZPWw/s320/swine_flu.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* Image from <a href="http://blogs.mysanantonio.com/weblogs/medical/swine_flu.jpg">here</a></span><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Is he nuts? Does he know what he has done? I only have so much hand sanitizer on my desk. I certainly don't have enough to baste my entire being with, much less wipe down every surface in our shared space. I have no Lysol on hand, either. What to do? Why is he here? He said he had to locate some paperwork. ACCCKK! Boss could have called me. I would gladly have looked for said paperwork and left it out somewhere for him ... like in his parking space. Then, I know I wouldn't have to possibly come into contact with piggy germs that are probably right now gathering into formation in the air duct above my head. I can hear their little microbial feet marching, the leader calling cadence just waiting for the attck signal. <br />
</div><br />
Why? Why me? I was just sitting here, minding my own business and WHAM! I am subjected to a dastardly communicable disease for which I have not been immunized because I am not a member of a "high-risk" group. Yay for me. I shall now sit here and look up schematics for a hyperbaric chamber to seal myself off from the rest of the world, 'cause if I don't get the H1N1 out of this, no one else is getting the chance to infect me.<br />
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Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to Sam's to find the largest can of disenfectant I can find ...34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-43382651845256988372009-11-02T06:05:00.000-05:002009-11-02T09:37:08.258-05:00Happy Birthday, Sissy!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGsbtp0rDibn5G9m5RhltioZNuITWmI3n1ZR12y9Py5H6VOV6C1MmpV6zL6nLHXtcmQRZ4XPTQysV6bn0lbo9RfRsWIhl_EHVRUGNECWhHZ7gSQ11rajPPoYyhP1ks7NWQmf2fa7V9Psk/s1600-h/sissy+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGsbtp0rDibn5G9m5RhltioZNuITWmI3n1ZR12y9Py5H6VOV6C1MmpV6zL6nLHXtcmQRZ4XPTQysV6bn0lbo9RfRsWIhl_EHVRUGNECWhHZ7gSQ11rajPPoYyhP1ks7NWQmf2fa7V9Psk/s320/sissy+16.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I can't believe it, but my baby is 16 years old today. <br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It seems like just yesterday you were too impatient to wait for the doctor, waiting just long enough for him to run in the room and catch you. Growing up, you've always been the one to march to her own theme song (Deet deet deet doo doot deet deet). Over the years, we've watched you go from sitting on the stage staring at your feet, arms crossed while everyone else danced around you at your first recital to starring in a one act play in an Advanced Drama class. <br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I hope in the years to come, you start to understand all of the decisions we as parents have made. It has been our hope all along that you grow into a kind, considerate, loving person. Please keep this in mind on the days we make decisions with which you don't agree. So far, I think we've done a pretty good job. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, on this most important milestone in your life, I hope everything goes your way, your theme song wins an Emmy and you keep striving to not be the girl on the floor, staring at her toes while everyone else dances around you. We love you and hope you have a Happy 16th Birthday.<br />
</div>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-70933517265990983412009-10-30T23:59:00.001-04:002009-10-30T23:59:00.086-04:00Happy Halloween, y'all!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFTRmdv53poDYqAcq2pXjTqgfo63Y4RsaarELGAxfa55n8tQ0cq1GuKh5O2XPcyu1fdlW0PTNZwozmJ4MWL5WZ7jQJO9GQAC_yq3BxhmUFWyTQZE-uet9SZu2bGs64qeL-LHEtCnME-o/s1600-h/halloween+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFTRmdv53poDYqAcq2pXjTqgfo63Y4RsaarELGAxfa55n8tQ0cq1GuKh5O2XPcyu1fdlW0PTNZwozmJ4MWL5WZ7jQJO9GQAC_yq3BxhmUFWyTQZE-uet9SZu2bGs64qeL-LHEtCnME-o/s320/halloween+kids.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*Photo "ghouled up" courtesy of <a href="http://www.picnik.com/">Picnik</a><br />
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<div style="background-color: #e9e9e9; width: 425px;"><object data="http://aka.zero.jibjab.com/client/zero/ClientZero_EmbedViewer.swf?external_make_id=CasVSMflHlyVKMeq&service=sendables.jibjab.com&partnerID=JibJab" height="319" id="A64060" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" quality="high" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" wmode="transparent"><param name='wmode' value='transparent'></param><param name='movie' value='http://aka.zero.jibjab.com/client/zero/ClientZero_EmbedViewer.swf?external_make_id=CasVSMflHlyVKMeq&service=sendables.jibjab.com&partnerID=JibJab'></param><param name='scaleMode' value='showAll'></param><param name='quality' value='high'></param><param name='allowNetworking' value='all'></param><param name='allowFullScreen' value='true' /><param name='FlashVars' value='external_make_id=CasVSMflHlyVKMeq&service=sendables.jibjab.com&partnerID=JibJab'></param><param name='allowScriptAccess' value='always'></param></object><div style="margin-top: 6px; text-align: center; width: 435px;">Try JibJab Sendables® <a href="http://sendables.jibjab.com/ecards">eCards</a> today!</div></div>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-17910038678035818952009-10-26T00:01:00.002-04:002009-10-26T15:40:34.371-04:00My Two Year Wreckiversary or "Food Could Have Saved Me" Night<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">*** CAUTION: GRAPHIC PHOTOS *** CAUTION: GRAPHIC PHOTOS *** </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>*Before you start, this is going to be a long one. Click on any photos to embiggen</em></span><br />
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** UPDATED**<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This is what I see every night when I close my eyes:</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Two years ago today, my life was irrevocably changed forever. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Marv and I were going to be working all weekend and even though Scootie and Sissy were perfectly capable of staying home by themselves, I didn't want them to have to sit in front of the t.v. and be bored. So, Sister L said they could come over and hang out with her, my BIL Scott-dot and their Grandpa. Marv had already been working all day after having worked his regular job and was headed home for some sleep before going back out again the next morning. The kids and I went to leave the house and for some reason, instead of getting in my assigned (by Marv) vehicle, we jumped into the nice, much newer Ford F150 (you know, the one we were still paying for that had all the bells and whistles, not to mention 4-doors and a full backseat). </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sister L and BIL Scott-dot live about 13 miles from our old house. Just a hop, skip and a jump. I was in a ratty old t-shirt, sweats and flip-flops because I was going right back home to try to get some sleep myself. I dropped off the kids, hung out for a few minutes talking to the family, telling the kids to behave, yada yada yada. They invited me to stay and have some dinner, but I told them I needed to head home because tomorrow was going to be a long day. I should have stayed.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Less than five minutes after I left their house, less than three miles away from where I had just left two of the most important people in my life ( and three that come in a close second), I thought mine was about to end. The road I was traveling on has a speed limit of 45-mph. I had the radio on, but just for a little background. There were a few cars behind me, but not too close. I was probably about 300-yards from "THE CURVE." We all have one of "those" roads where we drive just a little extra-careful. This was my road. I noticed approaching headlights coming around the curve, knowing they were attached to some heavy machinery. "Hmmm. That car looks like it's going a little fast." The next series of events took seconds, but seemed like they were in slow motion. The swiftly (too swiftly, it turns out) moving vehicle came around "the curve" waaaay too fast, on my side of the road, and did exactly what those pesky driving instructors tell you not to do. The driver over-corrected. This promptly sent the vehicle veering (at a high rate of speed) to the shoulder of the road. Again, over-correction. I am observing all of this and have started to slow my speed because I know the driver is probably going to over-correct again when they hit the dirt on the shoulder. Fast-moving tires, dirt, gravel and fear do not mix well. I'm still slowing, moving over onto my shoulder of the road, trying to give the driver room to manuever, hoping they can get the vehicle under control. My heart is racing, I'm checking my rearview mirror to make sure the people behind me are slowing, seeing what's happening. The driver corrects again and the vehicle darts back up onto the road, still going so much faster than the posted speed limit and I'm thinking to myself, "Why don't they hit the brakes? Why aren't they slowing down?" By this time, I am almost completely off the road and the other vehicle has swerved back onto the road, but is going back and forth in a crazy zig-zag motion and then .... </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-qKYBfd24gI89W9Vu0fts051HsvwH_NQEe1FWFlpfHLq1yTWwmH1RQ-sU69yJqP7B7z1TCzfG_TeJo5NMXWqxxVMDXsz7seajDZvUUpspe1t-fu3eOFsvv0PjEzdzBajc8TMIuu1n65I/s1600-h/IMG_0812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-qKYBfd24gI89W9Vu0fts051HsvwH_NQEe1FWFlpfHLq1yTWwmH1RQ-sU69yJqP7B7z1TCzfG_TeJo5NMXWqxxVMDXsz7seajDZvUUpspe1t-fu3eOFsvv0PjEzdzBajc8TMIuu1n65I/s320/IMG_0812.JPG" vr="true" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">All I could see were headlights. It was almost like the driver just said, "screw it," and let go of the wheel. The vehicle took an abrupt left turn and came straight at me. I was pretty much off the road by then, but still slowly moving forward. There was no squealing of brakes, no smoke clouds rising up like you see in the movies. Just headlights. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The impact was at the left front and the trajectory of the resulting waves was right into the driver's area.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">At the scene</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLnXaRrMJ8kgsb1rMnA97BLg80guzjosFrLparppMXAk76xjfbMdpPh86ltTpzVkj7Nyc6S_Oak_gonQ5f26QcvBYC_UMXeMO482c8lRZsDu1F5XNxuWLsveAq4RM-kye4jQQ3t-t_Ik/s1600-h/IMG_8164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLnXaRrMJ8kgsb1rMnA97BLg80guzjosFrLparppMXAk76xjfbMdpPh86ltTpzVkj7Nyc6S_Oak_gonQ5f26QcvBYC_UMXeMO482c8lRZsDu1F5XNxuWLsveAq4RM-kye4jQQ3t-t_Ik/s320/IMG_8164.JPG" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">At the wrecker yard, in daylight</span><br />
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</div><div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Just before the impact (literally when the car was about five feet away), I did what anyone would have done instintively. I shied away from it, drawing my left side up and away from what I knew was coming. "They" always say, if you're going to be in an accident, don't hold onto the steering wheel (if you're driving) or brace yourself. Yeah, right. I was holding onto the steering wheel (because I was driving) and my right foot instintively went to the brake pedal.</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">The floorboard crinkled like a Ruffle's potato chip.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0OIK_9HY3YokD9QMqbcGZeJrWG5pcRAxpfd_u9jbCQoniSz2oggSOjyIytXhLa8XiVAhnNYFwCFN8wheSlKtYgK_G1mOE0KDvOZ6BbscqwGIctVHDIgXTtsd4JPgZ_MV9c4N7FOPU_s8/s1600-h/flip+flop.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0OIK_9HY3YokD9QMqbcGZeJrWG5pcRAxpfd_u9jbCQoniSz2oggSOjyIytXhLa8XiVAhnNYFwCFN8wheSlKtYgK_G1mOE0KDvOZ6BbscqwGIctVHDIgXTtsd4JPgZ_MV9c4N7FOPU_s8/s320/flip+flop.JPG" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">That red arrow is pointing to my flip-flop. No doubt my foot was on the brake pedal.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Everything went really quiet. Then, I must admit, I screamed. Twice. I was knocked sideways into the middle console from not only the impact, but also from the airbag deployment. I have always heard airbag horror stories about people's faces, chests, ribs, being broken upon deployment. As I am vertically challenged, I was so happy with the adjustable pedals on the F150. It allowed me to be able to move the seat back so I wasn't five inches away from the steering wheel. Soon after my last scream, I did an evaluation, telling myself I wasn't dead and that was good. I look down at my hands (why do we always do that?) and notice my left arm is looking a little like an "s". "That's not right." I noticed everything on the vehicle shut down. There was nothing working ... except the radio. The satellite tuner had been plugged in and it was on something like "top 20" whatever. But I looked over and the tuner had come unplugged and the radio had tuned to another station. It was a sermon. Did I mention that EVERYTHING ELSE electrical in the vehicle was not operational? No lights, I couldn't roll down the windows, nothing. Weird. But wait, I smell smoke. I smell burning. I don't want to burn, I don't want to burn. I see shadows outside the vehicle, so I start yelling at someone to please open the doors. Open the door. Open the door. I don't want to burn. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A good samaritan, one of several, yanked and yanked on the door until he could get it open. Finally. I was able to get fresh air. I then realized it was not smoke or fire, but the chemicals from the airbag. There were several people outside the vehicle and I could tell there were others over near the other vehicle. I kept asking if the other driver was okay, but no one would tell me anything. "Don't worry about him." I thought he was dead and they just didn't want to tell me. Someone had called 911 and they were asking about injuries. I showed her my arm and told her I couldn't feel my feet. Help was on the way. I was trying not to lose it, asking about the other driver. No one would tell me anything.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One of the ladies on the scene went around and got in the backseat to talk to me and help me stay calm. Turns out she was the attendance lady at Scootie's high school. They asked me if there was anyone they should call. I told them to contact Marv. The 911 personnel kept trying to call Marv, but he had just fallen to sleep. Anyone who knows Marv knows he does not like to be disturbed after he's fallen asleep, especially after having worked a double. Marv ignored the phone as long as he could before snatching it up. "Katie's been in an accident." Now, this was not an unusual car for Marv to get. You see, I seem to be a magnet. People LOVE to run into me, though usually it's minor. A fender-bender, if you will. Did you remember I was driving the nice, new truck? Yeah. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Emergency crews began to arrive. I was trying to stay calm. I knew these people. Well, I know them, but I don't KNOW know them. You know? People are shining lights in my eyes. "Did you pass out?" "Did you hit your head?" "What hurts?" There's people everywhere, I'm stressing, I'm still trying to find out about the other driver. I just know he's dead. Then, I hear a voice I recognize. It's our friend, Maximum Justice. He lives right down the road from the accident scene and knew he could get there before Marv. I still don't know how he heard about the accident. At that moment, I knew everything was going to be okay. I could breathe. Someone I KNEW was here with me. I have told him before (several times, in fact) but MJ will never know how much it meant to me for him to be there. MJ finally told me the other driver was okay but did have some injuries (he had a broken femur and some type of injury to his collarbone). I kept looking for Marv, but I couldn't see him. I didn't hear him. Turns out, as Marv was headed to the crash scene, he was almost involved in a head-on collision when a motorcycle crossed the center-line into his lane. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The rescue personnel pulled me out of the vehicle and placed me on a backboard. If you've never experienced this, and I hope you don't, you'll have the WORST headache before they get you off the thing. Anyway, as they're about to load me into the ambulance, I finally see Marv. The first thing I said was "It wasn't my fault," but I think he figured that out. Did I mention Nascar was in town? No? Well, it was. I didn't get one of the nice, new, high-dollar ambulances. Oh, no. I was loaded into a "back-up." All the good ambulances were at high-volume stations or at the track. Yay! When you have a back-up ambulance, it is not as well-stocked as one that is used every day. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">So, I'm in the back of the ambulance and I hear things like "fracture", "compound fracture", "laceration", etc. I realize they are talking about me. I mean, I know my arm was messed up, but I had no clue. I also hear Marv about to argue with the ambulance personnel. They are trying to refuse to let him ride with me saying there won't be room for him with me on a stretcher and two of them in back. Let's just say Marv won that argument. The AmbuBoys start pulling out wraps and gauze and lines for an i.v. I told them I had very small veins (why can't the rest of me fall in line with that?) and they would need to use a butterfly needle. Back-up ambulance, remember. No butterfly needles. They then proceed to stick me in the right arm (the only appendage I have that does not have any trauma)</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">about 15 times trying to get a vein. No luck. Then it's on to the back of the hand, about five or six times. No luck. They finally are able to get a doctor on the radio to request a stop-over at the local hospital (I have to go to the big ATL to a trauma center) to stabilize me and then fly me to Atlanta Medical. Doc, of course, says no can do. They are full up and by the time they do all that they could have me at AMC. Oh, did I mention there's a rookie driving? Hitting every pothole? I forgot that part? So sorry. It's SUCH an integral part of the story because as everyone knows, if they can't get an i.v., you get no fluids and NO PAIN MEDICINE. The whole time I have two AmbuBoys and Marv looking at me and talking about how they would be screaming. I still didn't know at this point exactly what was wrong. I was just trying not to cry and scream my head off. I think I definitely surprised Marv, but I know I surprised myself. I just kept telling myself it could have been a whole lot worse. And, I remembered everything my Auntie BJ had gone through years ago when she was hit by a woman who ran a stop sign. My Auntie BJ was so brave and fought through so much. I knew I had to try to be half as strong as she was during her recovery. After everything they had tried, and kept trying, the AmbuBoys finally got approval for a direct shot of some morphine to "take the edge off" ... when we were getting off the exit ramp in the ATL. Did I mention potholes before? ATL is built on potholes. Yay!</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I have to say, I was still doing pretty well ... until I got in the trauma room. Those places are CRAZY! I had people yelling, yanking on me, moving me from the stretcher to a trauma bed. A nurse climbed on top of me and got right in my face. All I could see were her eyes and a blue mask and she's asking so many questions. "Did you hit your head?" "Did you lose consciousness?" "Do you have any pain in your abdomen?" And on and on and on. The AmbuBoys are shouting out numbers and all the trauma personnel are asking why there's no lines. Marv is being shuffled down the hall and I lose sight of him. I'm doing okay, but I'm starting to panic. There's too much going on and I can't see anything except this person in my face and then ... AAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Someone has taken their fingers and stuck them inside the open wound on my right calf (from an apparent compound fracture). Totally unexpected and it BURNS. Someone has taken a fire poker and stuck it in my leg. I couldn't help screaming. Everyone around me starts screaming. I hear someone yelling at whatever jerk did this not to touch me again. "No one touch her again until we can get some meds in her!" Turns out it was an intern and this particular intern apparently had a hearing problem because next thing I know, someone is taking my left foot and rotating it and STICKING THEIR FINGER IN THE OPEN WOUND!" AAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!! More yelling, the doctor throwing someone out of the room and threatening everyone if they touch me again. I'm APOLOGIZING to Mask Face because I yelled. I just wasn't expecting it. Then, I'm out. Apparently, this is the point where they stuck a FIVE INCH LONG WIRE into my neck, directly to my heart because they couldn't get a line anywhere else. One working appendage, no good veins, no good for me. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Meanwhile, the ER waiting room is filling up. I can't tell you to this day who all was there waiting with Marv. I just know we have a bunch of great friends. They stayed with Marv and my sisters and my dad and took care of them while they were waiting on news about me. From what I understand, they took me into surgery right away, but only to stabilize me. The serious stuff would come later. I had a fracture of the left fifth metatarsal (the bone on the outside of your foot), a compound fracture of the right tibia and fibula, fractures of the cuneiforms in the right foot (the bones on the top of your foot) and fractures of the left radius and ulna. I was a mess, but it could have been worse. I was in the ICU for 5 or 6 days and had several surgeries, one to alleviate what they call compartment syndrome in the right foot (the blood goes in, but doesn't want to come out). I don't remember much about those days, but I do recall Cousin Mark coming in to check on me (he is a respiratory therapist at AMC) and Aunt Jean coming by one day. The rest, a blur. Apparently, someone decided it would be a good idea to put a phone next to me. I immediately called Marv (who was and had been in the waiting room for days) asking why he hadn't come to visit me. They took the phone away from me after that. Marv thought it was funny. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">After the ICU, I had more days in the hospital. I had to learn how to do things with one arm and nothing else. That was fun. I have to tell you, it is quite humbling having to ask for help. Me being so stubborn and private, it was particularly hard. I've never been one for public displays of affection, or sharing information about personal habits. Trust me. Things got personal. That's all I'm saying. Sister L, who was job hunting at the time, stayed with me a good bit, alternating with Marv. I had a good many visitors including my cousin Nick (and cousin Sarah-A and their parents Little Ruth and "Shoulda Been My Brother" Scott) who said he never wanted to drive after visiting, my boss, my MIL Gwen. Aunt Sue and Uncle Wallace. Niece came by and brought me a home made bowl in UGA colors filled with treats because I missed Halloween. I know it pained her to make it. She's delusional sometimes and thinks Tech is better.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">We had to figure out what we were going to do with me when I was released from the hospital. Where was I going to stay (our house couldn't accomdate a wheelchair), who was going to take care of me, who was going to take me to doctor appointments, etc. I had one more surgery, and then I could go. I had a filter put in to help prevent any blood clots going to my brain, which I thought was nice of them to give me. It looks like a littel upside down umbrella, just floating there in my artery. So special. But then I couldn't stop worrying about getting blood clots.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> The first car ride home was traumatic. Not because Sister L was driving, as some might believe. It was just the first time I had been in or around a vehicle since the accident. I had my eyes closed the whole time, but was still panicked. Auto collision victim + ATL traffic = vomit inducing panic. But, I made it home (to Sister L, BIL Scott-dot and Dad's home). Then we began the "dance." How to get me out of the car, into the wheelchair and into the house. It helps to have pants with a slick butt and a board. We did it, finally and the "real" healing process began.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I won't go into all those details, but the days and nights ran together. Sister L became a nurse overnight (no long study hours needed!), Marv worked at night, taking care of the kids and came over during the day before starting all over again. Sister D was there, too, in between work. My first night home, Mom and Auntie BJ brought by supplies for the long haul. Movies, gowns and pj's that would go over all my bandages. Dad and BIL Scott-dot hooked up a t.v. Even though I was still drugged up and unable to concentrate, I was able to catch the Georgia game that day. I left a drunken birthday message for Auntie BJ. She still has it on her answering machine to this day. At least I remembered, right? After that, it was Food Network 24/7. We figured out how to get me from the wheelchair to the bed to the toilet (thanks for sharing, right?) and back to the bed. Our friends Brian, Trisha and Meghan-Meghan came by to visit. I was worried little Meghan was going to be upset, but she just came over to me like she always does and gave me a big hug. This is when I found out Brian had been on his way home from work that evening, saw the truck as he passed the accident scene and then realized it was ours. NOT the best way to find out your friend has been in an accident.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">After a few days, I was finally able to give my statement to Officer Randy. Even though I see it every night when I close my eyes, it's still difficult reliving it. I remembered every detail. I couldn't forget it. The driver of the other vehicle was an 18 year old boy who claimed his throttle stuck. He was going between 60-70-mph on that 45-mph road. Notice, I said "claimed." Over the course of the investigation, investigators from the police department and my insurance company would have to spend a lot of time and money disproving this claim. All because this boy was over at a house he wasn't supposed to be visiting and his mother had caught him. The person he ws visiting even told him when he was leaving not to drive fast. This is the part I don't understand. If you're already caught, why are going to try and rush home? The case finally ended a few months ago with him pleading guilty to a felony charge of serious bodily injury (tell me about it). We decided instead of jail time he would perform a boatload of community service, but he would have to do this service with accident victims. I'm told he entered an "official apology" onto the record, but I wouldn't know. I was at home recovering from another surgery I had the previous day. To this day, I have not received any kind of apology. No call, no note, nothing. I MISSED MY DAUGHTER'S BIRTHDAY BECAUSE OF YOU, JERK! THAT is what angered me the most. I've NEVER missed one of my children's birthdays. NEVER.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I was hoping when this day came around, I would be "back to normal", whatever that may be. Unfortunately, that is not the case. After my last surgery in my arm when they removed one of the plates and the attached screws, it was discovered my radius had grown back in an hourglass shape (again, why can't the rest of me fall in line?) and was very weak. It will never grown back to the normal size. It was always be prone to breakage. My doctor's advice? "If you start to fall, fall to the right." As for my foot/leg combo, it too is as good as it's going to get, which sucks. After my last surgery, where they removed the bottom screws from my rod, removed a nerve from mid-calf to mid foot, shaved the top of my foot and inserted two more plates with screws on the top of my foot, I still walk with a limp and have constant pain. I have some circulation issues which causes my leg to go numb and my feet to feel like they're freezing. When they first inserted the rod in my leg, they had to go through the tendon in my knee. That now is filled with scar tissue, causing constant pain and weakness in the knee. I was told if they went in to attempt to remove the scar tissue it would just cause more damage. Oh, and my doctor said I would be having more problems in a few years with the plates in my foot and would most likely have to have more surgery. Yay! Again, no apology.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">If you've made it this far, I know you're thinking this has been the longest post ever. But I just wanted to put it out there. Sometimes, you get asked politely, "How are you doing?" But most times, I've found, people just want you to say, "I'm doing okay." So most days that's what I say. But most days I'm not. I know there are people who are dealing with things much worse than my problems. I know that. But some days, I'm just not having a good day. I've only broken down twice. The first was a few days after I came home from the hospital. I was tired, hurting, frustated and angry (Turns out, the next moring at about 4am I woke up with a kidney stone). I waited until I was alone in my room with Marv and I just started bawling. I didn't want the kids to see me that way. I cried it out and let it go. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I am so thankful for all of our families, friends and co-workers. I am thankful for everyone I work with that donated time to me so I wouldn't have to worry about losing my job. I'm thankful for the friends I used to work with that tried to donate time, too. I received donations from people whom I've never met. Family members cooked meals, brought movies, helped with my Scootie and Sissy. My Auntie BJ who religiously took me to therapy and then on "field trips" so I wouldn't go stir crazy and o.d. on Food Network. My Sister D who took me to my office for a Thanksgiving meal. I would like to thank <a href="http://www.ford.com/">Ford Motor Company</a>. Had I not been in the F150 that evening, I would not be here. How weird am I that I though about writing a thank you note to Ford? I just wish I had been able to get a new truck. Man, I liked that truck.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">When I was wheeled into the family Thanksgiving, I just started bawling. I was so grateful I was there. I love my family. I don't know what I would do without them. I really don't know what I would have done if Marv's family hadn't been there to carry me, wheelchair and all, up the stairs. I know they were thankful at Christmas I was using a walker. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">And my Scootie and Sissy. They were the best. I hated that they had to see me in the ICU with all the wires and tubes but you never know what will happen. They took it all in stride and did the best they could. They have done so much for me and still do. They only get mad when I tell them I don't want them "running up</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">and down the roads." They've both had to wait to get their driver's permits. I just didn't feel they were ready. They don't agree. We battle. I usually win. I just want them to understand how hard it can be as a parent. I don't want one of my kids to cause something like this to happen. I know it's unreasonable. I know adults cause accidents, too. I'm just going to stay unreasonable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">If you've read through the whole thing, I thank you. I know I've left a lot out, but I could go on and on about all of the people who have helped me. You'd be here for days. In the end, I've made progress. I'll never be "as good as new." Not even close. But I'm lucky. I know that. Some days it just sucks though, especially when you can't wear cute shoes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I know you're sitting there thinking, "I thought you said there were graphic photo's?" Well, there are. Here are some before and after shots. Oh, and one more thing. If you haven't ever seen my scars, the first time you do, please don't say, "Oh, man, your foot IS a mess. I know you were in an accident, but I've never seen the scars." Thanks. If you don't want to see them, quit here.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglafSI6Y3zD9_mrdHXWjLGusiiEoY0d_OVIRGpPUlUTbKzxpMiRL4TWGfCwThCCfHPU_FQkbrfQFDKGUJ2yU5nJquD0NdPhPZIAy_3QK0QO8TTer_4uCkXBj6DLCZHju-8k4aHmQibZ-s/s1600-h/Injury1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglafSI6Y3zD9_mrdHXWjLGusiiEoY0d_OVIRGpPUlUTbKzxpMiRL4TWGfCwThCCfHPU_FQkbrfQFDKGUJ2yU5nJquD0NdPhPZIAy_3QK0QO8TTer_4uCkXBj6DLCZHju-8k4aHmQibZ-s/s320/Injury1.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The black part? The INSIDE of my foot. Compartment Syndrome. Drainage tubes. Yay!</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5HvY2i2XI1I-H8YVplqgUq9PznAtgAIEGnlMblUdl6_0PLxrc0uJpURlbOM9nFhmeaysh5IUdmIk0EMsPwRDJ0VtDbQqlNONt37cki-xFicFMXGF9QWhIFBHN5VvTw5TnxI8TVRfzRxM/s1600-h/Injury3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5HvY2i2XI1I-H8YVplqgUq9PznAtgAIEGnlMblUdl6_0PLxrc0uJpURlbOM9nFhmeaysh5IUdmIk0EMsPwRDJ0VtDbQqlNONt37cki-xFicFMXGF9QWhIFBHN5VvTw5TnxI8TVRfzRxM/s320/Injury3.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">My foot in Saran Wrap to keep out germs. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF-qnxXkCLEVd3ijv7n6znQVFXMpicrPVU8oxtW6yxgtyx7BDnlJGnr_MiihLSn4a_qmrw8lZoMizgSlABndm4nhJwaHWYnjXf4wh9hcTVDiQoHKLo7QF9je-Q_GCf_hENDrFn7XQVcP4/s1600-h/Injury6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF-qnxXkCLEVd3ijv7n6znQVFXMpicrPVU8oxtW6yxgtyx7BDnlJGnr_MiihLSn4a_qmrw8lZoMizgSlABndm4nhJwaHWYnjXf4wh9hcTVDiQoHKLo7QF9je-Q_GCf_hENDrFn7XQVcP4/s320/Injury6.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I DO NOT remember this. The bruise is from being slammed into the console. The tubes in the side of my neck, you ask? A "pick" line going directly to MY HEART. Let's keep the germs out of there, too.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWE3ZH8Bz_v3UEM-Da4SlkxV0PzH3D1-ZuCRNEMZqA-KMGmTpHVmr22tvOunRLlrKAvP0Kb1CFBtlk6C6jfh7hjE_AzXZCF7la-zih0T-21U7pAreUrcd90D9tP0B4KxOiu6qk8Awj2-c/s1600-h/Injury7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWE3ZH8Bz_v3UEM-Da4SlkxV0PzH3D1-ZuCRNEMZqA-KMGmTpHVmr22tvOunRLlrKAvP0Kb1CFBtlk6C6jfh7hjE_AzXZCF7la-zih0T-21U7pAreUrcd90D9tP0B4KxOiu6qk8Awj2-c/s320/Injury7.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The inside of my forearm. After the 2nd surgery, it was extended in both directions. Yay!</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIQonBD4gNa_lUwzsh-s_LH2XKgbBz8u9WH2IVu5be0bYQ9okKM3ZzxuQCf4GqIItJJQijwXjOk8s-9oofCyHDg7x9s_W8eD6Afpes6Ei6mu5XvxZjM_5xXfLD6JoRqpjIsz4ow1kyf_g/s1600-h/Injury8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIQonBD4gNa_lUwzsh-s_LH2XKgbBz8u9WH2IVu5be0bYQ9okKM3ZzxuQCf4GqIItJJQijwXjOk8s-9oofCyHDg7x9s_W8eD6Afpes6Ei6mu5XvxZjM_5xXfLD6JoRqpjIsz4ow1kyf_g/s320/Injury8.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">A matching set! The outside of my forearm.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH2iCZ2N91WaDOZkoWPmSGgB2vNLxBg36UCTxICzBgnPAjB4bJdDpcGoQ6UgB5OeB6mnUsejX-L3p99yKmHc-fkWlZMmasrZxaaJsG0GPSNJYKjg993xZFT77AgUPonS5sHrOYoloZdfM/s1600-h/Injury9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH2iCZ2N91WaDOZkoWPmSGgB2vNLxBg36UCTxICzBgnPAjB4bJdDpcGoQ6UgB5OeB6mnUsejX-L3p99yKmHc-fkWlZMmasrZxaaJsG0GPSNJYKjg993xZFT77AgUPonS5sHrOYoloZdfM/s320/Injury9.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">That lovely little device is what holds the middle of your foot together when it blows up...until it decides to sink into your foot.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0a-pLHaHNpcXauQ0U0WyHjyJFHlg01ieyjCAHrLelwITzEiPrRgX5qqBaKBu0E6-0MrwxTkt3CkbX2CatI6bPUQC2bN1Ge__rDVHS9-x0qZg98qnzFXRszj40vaLSCT45OQo9-i2b7A/s1600-h/Injury10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0a-pLHaHNpcXauQ0U0WyHjyJFHlg01ieyjCAHrLelwITzEiPrRgX5qqBaKBu0E6-0MrwxTkt3CkbX2CatI6bPUQC2bN1Ge__rDVHS9-x0qZg98qnzFXRszj40vaLSCT45OQo9-i2b7A/s320/Injury10.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Notice the pre-accident toenail polish</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQk5wEj9fXM39af_jVjlEKApP10HSvI8WKETuHhRnQMPSd5KemNG_QSJnR_9Es5R-CCzyeceeJ1YP5Um5XpbahIP1Ed4kYvyKmiU-IeJIrqRd4ZIJkXopBg2db2cERtE05lb2aXivdhTo/s1600-h/Injury14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQk5wEj9fXM39af_jVjlEKApP10HSvI8WKETuHhRnQMPSd5KemNG_QSJnR_9Es5R-CCzyeceeJ1YP5Um5XpbahIP1Ed4kYvyKmiU-IeJIrqRd4ZIJkXopBg2db2cERtE05lb2aXivdhTo/s320/Injury14.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">scars, scars for everyone!</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>*Turns out, my email server is down so I can't get to the photos of what my arm and foot look like today. Just imagine the scars above longer and more pronounced, especially on the foot. So lovely. The top of my foot looks like a map to nowhere when they had crappy equipment to make roads and no one cared if they were straight. Oh, and it looks like I'm smuggling two squares of a Hershey's bar under the skin on top of my foot. Nice image, huh?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">** Finally got the pictures off my server.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Forearm. And yes, after two years and multiple surgeries it IS that swollen.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XF3CXzsiqP-Ah4CoZznQva7lTHIQWFy_BdPDD82MPTdQ21B1yS3xUFAOmmigonGlE_MtFtxWs-J7SOpxuipos_lu_kiQtLdWnCDod-IybgVkq2RvJodteBZwBDqgT9XCdZl8mLzUKkk/s1600-h/final+foot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XF3CXzsiqP-Ah4CoZznQva7lTHIQWFy_BdPDD82MPTdQ21B1yS3xUFAOmmigonGlE_MtFtxWs-J7SOpxuipos_lu_kiQtLdWnCDod-IybgVkq2RvJodteBZwBDqgT9XCdZl8mLzUKkk/s320/final+foot.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Again, swollen. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8cXG2_G08ztcRK4uEnfE0BBr64yCBGDuWliXdjL-w1pNK7ItGnEXVqhFquwQIh_SXVMUASP0Q0konSZlSemPkglftx30WICRzjW9Ipz0y2lj6RyLwYvITIG9jX-oiwg_dKJEmbJi6zHw/s1600-h/side+foot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8cXG2_G08ztcRK4uEnfE0BBr64yCBGDuWliXdjL-w1pNK7ItGnEXVqhFquwQIh_SXVMUASP0Q0konSZlSemPkglftx30WICRzjW9Ipz0y2lj6RyLwYvITIG9jX-oiwg_dKJEmbJi6zHw/s320/side+foot.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">See the Hershey Bar hump? And THAT is an improvement.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One more quick note: I had received a roll of Christmas gift wrap THAT I BOUGHT FOR CHARITY earlier that day and it was in the back floorboard. When I asked about later, it was gone. MY CHARITY SANTA CLAUSE GIFT WRAP WAS STOLEN. I shall show you:</span><br />
</div><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWm9AuP1gEAQRyF5TOCiXEPBYPyrWNa5FDFxR6U7DM2WI2OkI7r9fi12Py4T2fhaSvVpnONyiwxrmw7eKVBKuFsPW8C9fai2L3LnqMNc5E1ruNw9TKbPbkAjr6yTxExwyTcvO7DsZXEs/s1600-h/giftwrap+caper+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWm9AuP1gEAQRyF5TOCiXEPBYPyrWNa5FDFxR6U7DM2WI2OkI7r9fi12Py4T2fhaSvVpnONyiwxrmw7eKVBKuFsPW8C9fai2L3LnqMNc5E1ruNw9TKbPbkAjr6yTxExwyTcvO7DsZXEs/s320/giftwrap+caper+1.JPG" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">See?</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPW2CvdvVo1Dw4ka0fBvXvTTAH5Ru5c8J93txk43P5BV1vDkwRNeLHbbZMk-M8qpbHueYFn4pyLi6FltziqP9UkN891CER7uDxTwgsURf83UA8uxlzsK1m7QmaboVbqXPAF78vfr3nsO0/s1600-h/giftwrap+caper+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPW2CvdvVo1Dw4ka0fBvXvTTAH5Ru5c8J93txk43P5BV1vDkwRNeLHbbZMk-M8qpbHueYFn4pyLi6FltziqP9UkN891CER7uDxTwgsURf83UA8uxlzsK1m7QmaboVbqXPAF78vfr3nsO0/s320/giftwrap+caper+2.JPG" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The next day? GONE. (Pay no attention to all the other crap)</span><br />
</div>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-6353987281311063842009-10-21T06:51:00.001-04:002009-10-21T13:17:16.185-04:00Things around the house ...I've noticed something odd lately. Things aren't going so smoothly at The Gardens. SOMEONE, who shall remain nameless MARV, has a problem. Some people might call this cantputitwhereitbelongs-itis. I just call it annoying. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHaSWxx6PqJtdVn0K28x4rdJW3R_p8nofCigdYReFQAKOOQT4jXGHfA4ByrFfrU2Sr6g-VscrcPK55oBEP0R1zthHkTvwbh0LhpHrfSH5TQvgo8NogFE-HgyJYMK9cQmtJmUX96ySW4JU/s1600-h/bathroom+phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHaSWxx6PqJtdVn0K28x4rdJW3R_p8nofCigdYReFQAKOOQT4jXGHfA4ByrFfrU2Sr6g-VscrcPK55oBEP0R1zthHkTvwbh0LhpHrfSH5TQvgo8NogFE-HgyJYMK9cQmtJmUX96ySW4JU/s320/bathroom+phone.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">People, we don't live at the Ritz where they're all fancy-schmancy and have phones in the bathroom next to the bidet. And while it is a cordless phone and you CAN take it in the bathroom, that doesn't mean you SHOULD. I won't even go into talking on the phone in the bathroom where the poor unfortunate soul on the other end of the call might hear your innermost (that just became your outermost) bodily functions. Unless it's a tele-marketer. But, if you do, can't you take it back to its home?<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This next one flummoxed me. I could not conceive the reasoning behind this one. maybe you can explain it to me. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4fpUiPaghnYt-Qi-smeAopOLejS8thKu4TntebuwppkVXtQrRvBI0CkUFIFZDQyJ0oHfcw5Qk6rEvYnSPvMqBD9AgYAQ4t6_FLNzYoGbHA-Dr5C_GyLkj5MTcYlZYan3tRNCkY580As/s1600-h/rolls+upon+rolls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4fpUiPaghnYt-Qi-smeAopOLejS8thKu4TntebuwppkVXtQrRvBI0CkUFIFZDQyJ0oHfcw5Qk6rEvYnSPvMqBD9AgYAQ4t6_FLNzYoGbHA-Dr5C_GyLkj5MTcYlZYan3tRNCkY580As/s320/rolls+upon+rolls.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Seriously? How much effort does it take to replace the toilet paper roll? I mean, honestly. This is the point where Marv will say something like, "I couldn't replace it. I was on the phone."<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In other news, it finally got below 50 degrees over the weekend, so we built a fire. SOMEONE in this house likes being warm and toasty. That's all I'm saying.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9Ytu9uJaUleo1SADK9U1sPPmGD4p1p6vKddFzz2ihz8txFLGsmah-aWpSz7RdQ1YT3nm1a5x0kj9HZqaMc2svzexTILaXnKe0_gzF_NyFMXK7XQI2J4zcr8VpvwrhTXpwd1xmfsjIB8/s1600-h/by+the+fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9Ytu9uJaUleo1SADK9U1sPPmGD4p1p6vKddFzz2ihz8txFLGsmah-aWpSz7RdQ1YT3nm1a5x0kj9HZqaMc2svzexTILaXnKe0_gzF_NyFMXK7XQI2J4zcr8VpvwrhTXpwd1xmfsjIB8/s320/by+the+fire.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I had to resort to buying bundles of firewood 'cause SOMEONE (Marv) didn't get a truckload before the cold snap *AHHH SNAP!</span><br />
</div>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-24472503410826443852009-10-16T06:30:00.001-04:002009-10-16T12:05:43.392-04:00Proof the zombies are after me ...How weird is it that I just noticed my post entitled "<a href="http://thirtyfourmilepizza.blogspot.com/2009/10/blood-buddies.html">Blood Buddies</a>" is right next to my post about <a href="http://thirtyfourmilepizza.blogspot.com/2009/10/more-zombie-stuff.html">zombies</a>? Weird, coincidence or zombidence? Hmmm?34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-77061760792810673462009-10-16T06:00:00.000-04:002009-10-16T11:58:38.980-04:00Phoofs Don't LieSo a co-worker (whose name sounds like a fruit) and I are currently engaged in an ongoing war. <br />
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It's not over office supplies, or who drank the last Pepsi ( killing offense) or even anything remotely office related. We are at war over a statement he made about one of our mutually favorite television shows. <br />
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Recap: At the end of last season on <a href="http://www.cbs.com/primetime/ncis/">NCIS</a> ( The original, not NCIS, Los Angeles. I'm a purist.) Ziva was left to stay behind with her father in her role as an agent for Mossad. In an aside, I don't blame Gibbs for one bit. I mean, what was she thinking hooking up with Rivkin? Especially when the sexual tension between her and Tony is so obvious. AND, Tony is funny. Rivkin? Not so much.<br />
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Anywho, when we were left in that uncomfortable cliff-hanger in the season finale, all the <a href="http://www.cbs.com/forum/posts/list/0/90990.page#">phoof</a> showed us was a captive in Somalia wearing a Star of David necklace like Ziva's.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWDkGtDgiqOTMAT85Dr_dDEQjEDfjjqR21dVJC-O_eyTLGO1CgkPWXtw1QBVpgA0Ok71xE59dAvcEMgTXl2XPKNn_t-GLfpBTVjNeFmOPSSeUu-LPLpk489TfIQX_bSl_esLPl_S0Lpjs/s1600-h/ziva+necklace.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWDkGtDgiqOTMAT85Dr_dDEQjEDfjjqR21dVJC-O_eyTLGO1CgkPWXtw1QBVpgA0Ok71xE59dAvcEMgTXl2XPKNn_t-GLfpBTVjNeFmOPSSeUu-LPLpk489TfIQX_bSl_esLPl_S0Lpjs/s320/ziva+necklace.JPG" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Original image borrowed from: <a href="http://ncis.wikia.com/wiki/Ziva_David">http://ncis.wikia.com/wiki/Ziva_David</a></span><br />
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</div>Of course, co-worker, who is OBSESSED with Ziva was distraught and went so far as to say "Ziva won't be back next season." To which I said, "pshaw." Co-worker proceeded to barrage me with internet scuttlebutt of nay-sayers who were ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN Ziva was not coming back and the show was replacing her. I, who am a TRUE FAN, responded with more intelligent come-backs like, "yeah, right" and "whatever." But, I did manage to get the last word in this first battle. Co-worker continued to spout off the "truths of the internets" and I continued to make my arguments that the producers of this show are not stupid and know what a gold-mine they have in the Ziva-Tony-Gibbs triangle (yes, I know most people think she has a Daddy complex for Gibbs, but sometimes ...). Co-worker then stated again, and I qoute, "Ziva won't be back. You watch." My winning response? "We'll see."<br />
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So, of course, after the season premiere, I was gloating. I have to admit, at first I was concerned. When the phoof came up, I thought I was going to be right. But then, BUT THEN, it was TONY in the chair, captive. And this Saleem guy starts giving Tony truth serum and Tony is all crazy thinking Ziva is dead and then ... IN WALKS ZIVA (oh, and McGee was on the floor the whole time acting all passed-out-y). HAH. ZIVA IS BACK! <br />
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This, dear readers, is when you say, okay, war over. 34milepizza wins. That's what I said! Well, co-worker comes into the office and I'm all HA! I was RIGHT! And he ... he ... TOTALLY DOES NOT GIVE IN GRACEFULLY. He starts back-pedaling, saying she's back but "she's not right." <br />
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Ladies and Gentlemen, we have been having these mini-battles for the last four weeks. Four weeks in which ZIVA was IN EVERY EPISODE and has now become a full-fledged "probie." I know her father has not given up and wants her back at Mossad, but the point is, I WAS RIGHT. Here is the mini-battle from this week as conducted through Facebook.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSxPMmqkCRfs-iaTVroHSh_Yt6J_gbm-dNH8HH98-3hbjToTttGH7WxtgKMi7j8bEMVZgYdBpup0lx6cnrYDQuLC7PTC4rEyrLHcl6NoXt0RxTbF676BsMDXijiiLO9MK8iwbG7xoh08/s1600-h/NCIS+battle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSxPMmqkCRfs-iaTVroHSh_Yt6J_gbm-dNH8HH98-3hbjToTttGH7WxtgKMi7j8bEMVZgYdBpup0lx6cnrYDQuLC7PTC4rEyrLHcl6NoXt0RxTbF676BsMDXijiiLO9MK8iwbG7xoh08/s320/NCIS+battle.JPG" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div>As you can see, he is still using the lame "but she's not right" argument. LAME-O INSANE-O (I know, how third grade is that?). Now, I shall wait in my office for said co-worker to come in today and bow down gracefully at my feet and GIVE IN. Because that's the only respectable thing to do. After all, I am the one who controls his access to his Ziva background and Ziva screensavers. MWAH HA HA HA.34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-59392951742094127142009-10-09T06:23:00.000-04:002009-10-09T09:25:24.128-04:00I think I'd have to kill this kid ... and give the dog a bone<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SXZjkW3TqTk&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SXZjkW3TqTk&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-16559385149706941442009-10-07T06:48:00.000-04:002009-10-07T13:33:28.984-04:00NieNie on Oprah!NieNie is on Oprah today. I'm kicking myself that I forgot to set my DVR, but I found the story <a href="http://www.oprah.com/article/oprahshow/20090924-tows-stephanie-plane-crash">here</a>. And the link to a video about Nie Nie's daily life <a href="http://www.oprah.com/media/20090924-tows-stephanie-struggle-crash">here</a>. Of course, you can always follow Nie Nie on her blog at the <a href="http://nieniedialogues.blogspot.com/">Nie Nie Dialogues</a>.34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-54705287534011585092009-10-07T06:47:00.000-04:002009-10-07T13:32:58.931-04:00I can't help it ...<div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">I have a confession ... I'm a</span></strong> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdE5MOPQ9IDxO2MiGEK6cv5UEu7jnSD7YYfPt_WC0Q2ilQu6Q5BkKGRnoZ_8LsoYlTGWOd5XZcYo7Z1zeK7UjnfNOji1j_zzSxZ5UMzhSLwKyQQ27sHAAU_OxMQ3ZMfgtYN6PogieizQ0/s1600-h/gleek.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdE5MOPQ9IDxO2MiGEK6cv5UEu7jnSD7YYfPt_WC0Q2ilQu6Q5BkKGRnoZ_8LsoYlTGWOd5XZcYo7Z1zeK7UjnfNOji1j_zzSxZ5UMzhSLwKyQQ27sHAAU_OxMQ3ZMfgtYN6PogieizQ0/s320/gleek.png" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you don't know what the big deal is ... go <a href="http://www.fox.com/glee/">here</a>. I LUV LUV LUV this show. Big thanks to Scootie for making my Glee flag fly.<br />
</div>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-13777388337572805512009-10-07T06:46:00.001-04:002009-10-07T09:52:49.515-04:00More Zombie StuffHere are some more photos from Scootie's weekend adventure ...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77S9QfX4ia7wIbWn1esBxcl2VrpJJG7I0Zbbg0qZCyR49oBRSIV3kn7sbP2oxaNCum8Nz9ONngQbs7RzclYyXTJ9MRVsKgVE5lFE7YiBcoKxsbB-9f06z6wl4FIlZ1k62N-EJtdMH6eE/s1600-h/l_ef176ba95aa1438596140f4ef0627f57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77S9QfX4ia7wIbWn1esBxcl2VrpJJG7I0Zbbg0qZCyR49oBRSIV3kn7sbP2oxaNCum8Nz9ONngQbs7RzclYyXTJ9MRVsKgVE5lFE7YiBcoKxsbB-9f06z6wl4FIlZ1k62N-EJtdMH6eE/s320/l_ef176ba95aa1438596140f4ef0627f57.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLX0-2Ly_NAE_zwyWpXvbs1D4RIfGqiIv8_s7fREgNABwjiM9GD4_ghB8fpVCWNWt4iDrPju_JwaShyhiG1aL-1Yo4uEm3qw1c2lIFT3jgG9j05Lr6henqXbxvEZIcrkqOPqibxiYVKg/s1600-h/091004_JDW_ZombieMarch_0046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLX0-2Ly_NAE_zwyWpXvbs1D4RIfGqiIv8_s7fREgNABwjiM9GD4_ghB8fpVCWNWt4iDrPju_JwaShyhiG1aL-1Yo4uEm3qw1c2lIFT3jgG9j05Lr6henqXbxvEZIcrkqOPqibxiYVKg/s320/091004_JDW_ZombieMarch_0046.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbpE9l-cV6NplgS4paRb1IUa65dgzgRDdWS87OHw1_DBjymfXY5SgkKiRADdk9XBrUHU5zPYMHXHV0IUcHXaFqAqY26swdKUdBYCjxDGq9REKbhYFvgLWuMWt-EnZ2hu2MXGbcrub6o0/s1600-h/l_7f8559e7ee5e4698ba5ff5780a47d16f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbpE9l-cV6NplgS4paRb1IUa65dgzgRDdWS87OHw1_DBjymfXY5SgkKiRADdk9XBrUHU5zPYMHXHV0IUcHXaFqAqY26swdKUdBYCjxDGq9REKbhYFvgLWuMWt-EnZ2hu2MXGbcrub6o0/s320/l_7f8559e7ee5e4698ba5ff5780a47d16f.jpg" /></a><br />
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</div>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-17905885049781447342009-10-05T16:49:00.001-04:002009-10-07T10:05:30.182-04:00Blood Buddies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUlDkDI6zmvGQGKVUs9iW0L9YE7zXiqEeUHXroL-viV5rtG3kSDt7d99lN92skSrpgZO3FdYp6j3lM5OZdPnqRo-DoysTW15Ph1xgsO0Efy0kPszZiSwyBPUkt0Gzxoz4rUOQ-mmC5Yw/s1600-h/BLOOD+DONATE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUlDkDI6zmvGQGKVUs9iW0L9YE7zXiqEeUHXroL-viV5rtG3kSDt7d99lN92skSrpgZO3FdYp6j3lM5OZdPnqRo-DoysTW15Ph1xgsO0Efy0kPszZiSwyBPUkt0Gzxoz4rUOQ-mmC5Yw/s320/BLOOD+DONATE.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Last week, I went to Atlanta Motor Speedway to donate some of my innards juice (nice, huh?) My dontation this time was in partnership with the <a href="http://www.redcross.org/">American Red Cross</a> and the Nascar Foundation. In return for someone getting a little something from me, I was able to get a ride around the track in a pacecar* and a bag o' swag. I encourage everyone to donate, and check out this <a href="http://www.nascar.com/2009/news/headlines/official/07/10/nascar.foundation.blood.drive/index.html">site</a> to see if Nascar is having a donation event in your area. I'm donating again in December. It's especially important to donate around the holidays because those are notorious shortage months. After the last two years, I have been incredibly lucky in not having to be a recipient. But, you never know. If I had needed it, someone else would have been there for me. So go out and donate, take your friends (tell 'em <a href="http://www.twilightthemovie.com/">Edward</a> needs them!), do some good for very little effort on your part and help save three lives every time you do!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">* I didn't partake in this little event. I think when I told them I would need to drive due to control issues, they rescinded my invite.</span>34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2681861631062008407.post-45982664206610665162009-10-05T16:30:00.000-04:002009-10-05T16:30:01.045-04:00Teddy Bears can kill you ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgGwhWLDK-xqcAzha4uq3q97Hbt4E_gIuE7rI_cUwlglycqJQ_lY4Ai2aQlZuYgM1yNBIAFg9kjj8hNPqbdruK_U0wA0xaij0ZJxCwZ-NCHcWifQFZ_iTZUKRTzJE_CM8lbrKM1iajsM/s1600-h/teddy-bears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgGwhWLDK-xqcAzha4uq3q97Hbt4E_gIuE7rI_cUwlglycqJQ_lY4Ai2aQlZuYgM1yNBIAFg9kjj8hNPqbdruK_U0wA0xaij0ZJxCwZ-NCHcWifQFZ_iTZUKRTzJE_CM8lbrKM1iajsM/s320/teddy-bears.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">CUTE LITTLE BEARS FOR HUGGING</span><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Didn't this lady know they make stuffed bears for a reason? When are people going to learn that animals meant to live in the wild should LIVE IN THE WILD?! <br />
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</div>You're probably saying "then why do we have animals in zoos?" Theoretically, zoos are supposed to be a learning environment for the public and most of the animals in the zoos are rescued either from bad health situations, fear of extinction or because someone decided a <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/10/05/bear.attack/index.html">BEAR</a> should be a PET. NO. NO. NO. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBvjo1PZ_xeaWdPzZtWfUbrewWDAdO9MdAG3j1noUu5lsyaTe_vYPepCiX2DfW6XHxMEgMuYC_10XQzLxWc9nxmTW3YRLbUNE-NQIUMmeJscrlMB__3vd9EXHZG_uvwlZazMpxmouDa8/s1600-h/black-bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBvjo1PZ_xeaWdPzZtWfUbrewWDAdO9MdAG3j1noUu5lsyaTe_vYPepCiX2DfW6XHxMEgMuYC_10XQzLxWc9nxmTW3YRLbUNE-NQIUMmeJscrlMB__3vd9EXHZG_uvwlZazMpxmouDa8/s320/black-bear.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">BIG HUGE BEAR <span style="color: red;"><em><strong>NOT</strong></em></span> FOR HUGGING</span><br />
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... and don't even get me started on what happened <a href="http://www.ajc.com/news/nation-world/pack-of-raccoons-mauls-154718.html">here</a>.34milepizzahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631129459043507496noreply@blogger.com0