tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67915969842747823802024-03-14T14:48:54.367-04:00Lorikate LandAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-22122074572573472992014-01-01T21:03:00.000-05:002014-01-01T21:03:15.750-05:00Coming Out Of My ClosetA little while ago I watched a video that I found in my facebook newsfeed. If you have a few minutes you should give it a watch, it's amazing.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://tedxtalks.ted.com/video/Coming-Out-of-Your-Closet-Ash-B">Coming Out of Your Closet</a></div>
<br />
So I watched this, and I realized that I had a closet. Now, my closet is probably not like your closet. My closet is made of religion and ignorance. I was raised in a very religious family, we went to church a few times a week, prayed at every meal and believed that every word of the Bible was a law to be followed. I was raised to believe that alcohol was wrong, premarital sex was a sin, and homosexuality was not only bad, but something to be feared.<br />
<br />
I held to these beliefs for years. I dabbled in being labeled a "liberal" by family members, thought about not caring if being gay was a sin or not, tried to be supportive of people I knew that were questioning their sexuality. But I kept running back to the blanket of guilt I was under, feeling like I was not allowed to believe anything other than what I had been taught. So, I wrote a religious blog, and ranted about the gay agenda. I preached fervently against homosexuality, quoted Bible verses, and taught my son the same.<br />
<br />
And then something happened to me. One of my very dear and close friends came out to me.<br />
<br />
Oh my. What was I going to do now? This was the first real personal experience as an adult that I had had with someone I knew being gay. This friend was, and is, very important to me. He helped get me through a divorce, he helped me move several times, he knew my son, had hung out with my family, and was there for me sometimes when no one else was. So what did I do? I very calmly informed him that it was his choice but I couldn't support him 100% because he knew of my religious beliefs, and he knew where I stood.<br />
<br />
And over the next few months, I questioned my friendship. Would I still allow him near my son? Did I want his "gayness" to be accepted by my family and seen as normal? But....could I really give up my friend? Could I turn my back on him and tell him he was wrong? As someone who grew up rejected for many things, sometimes by family, someone who was an outcast, who was overweight and told she couldn't be loved if she was fat....how could I tell my friend he was wrong? That I was rejecting him, and that his love for another was a bad sinful thing? I thought...<br />
<br />
How can love be wrong? What if my son came out to me? What would I do then?<br />
<br />
And I made the decision that I would support him a hundred and fifty.....no, a <b>thousand </b>percent. I would go to his wedding, have his boyfriend over for Thanksgiving, wish them a Happy Anniversary.<br />
<br />
So I emailed my friend and told him I supported him, that I wished he was truly happy, and that I hoped he felt free and that I was sorry for not saying these things immediately. And of course he graciously told me thank you and he was glad i felt that way. No judgment from him at all.<br />
<br />
But...I was still stuck in my closet. I was afraid to tell my very religious husband how I felt. I was afraid my mother and my family would be angry with me for thinking something different than what I had been taught. I was still stuck in my closet.<br />
<br />
About a year or so after all this, I almost had a heart attack, I had had an enlarged heart from stress. I also had severe anxiety problems, and my doctor put me on Prozac for it. And when the medication kicked in, I figured out that I was anxious because of what I assumed others thought of me...and that I needed to just speak up and be me...say what I was really thinking.<br />
<br />
So I came out of my closet. I informed my family that I believed in marriage equality. I believed in equal rights for everyone....gay or straight. I believed that love was good, and if a man loved another man..then who was I to judge?<br />
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It wasn't all that well received, I'm having marital problems because of my "new" views, I'm being told that my medication has made me crazy, that I've been lying to everyone all these years about who I was. I'm getting accused of a lot, I'm being judged and condemned, hated and feared for being as honest and loving as I know how.<br />
<br />
But I'm happier than I've ever been. I don't live under that guilt I used to have.<br />
<br />
I'm free.<br />
<span id="goog_318273682"></span><span id="goog_318273683"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-5618477910148125572013-08-13T14:27:00.002-04:002013-08-13T14:30:43.814-04:00Family Vacation #2, Part 1<div style="text-align: center;">
It's happened again. (cue Jaws theme....da <b>dum</b>, da <b>dum</b>.)</div>
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<br />
My family nightmare vacation was a complete train wreck. Oh sure, I had a few good times, a smattering of fun amongst the chaos. But the majority of the whole debacle was a flippin disastrous kerbobble of <i><span style="color: #660000;">"holy crap get me out of here!"</span></i> ness.<br />
<br />
Let me start out by saying that the very beginning of the thing was plagued by terror and and angst. Yes, I said plagued. We had planned to leave on Friday, July 19th. We were going to fit 7 people into my sister's Minivan and head to new jersey to pick up my son - who was at Ocean Grove with his father's side of the family. Then we were to head down to South Carolina for a family reunion. Sounds easy enough, right?<br />
<br />
Well, you would be <i>completely</i>, totally and<b> utterly</b> wrong. You see, the Minivan is my sister's van, and she had offered to take me, my mother, my son and my brother along with herself and her 3 <strike>tornadoes</strike> children, because her husband wasn't going to go, because he had college classes he couldn't get out of. (<span style="color: #660000;">You follow all that?</span>)<br />
<br />
So instead of renting a car with just the first 4 of us, we decide to depend on the stability of the plan to use the minivan. <b>Big mistake</b>. My sister's semi-psycho husband finds out about the plan and gets all ticked off because it turns out he can get those darned college teachers to give him the time off for something as <b>amazing </b>and <b>special</b> as a <b>family reunion</b> with his <b>precious </b>wife and <b>darling</b> children. Huh. Right. And before you <i>hummina wha?</i> me - this man is pretty much an asshat to his wife most of the time. Doing things which I will not mention here, because a lot of it is unmentionable. The few things I can mention are these: He spent that <b>entire week</b> yelling, threatening to slash the tires in the van, taking the license plates and trying to bend them up - all so we can't go, because my sister is going without him.<br />
<br />
Anyway, because of Nut Job, we come up with this cuckoo plan to sneak away a day earlier while he is at school. And then, to be <i>really clever</i> - we decide to double cross our double cross by leaving a whole 3 days earlier - just in case. We thought we were so awesome. I ask my exhausted and lethargic sister when Nut Job is in class this week, and she says Wednesday. So we plan to leave Wednesday. Then she tells me she was wrong and it's Tuesday. So we plan to leave Tuesday. My mother scrambles to find people to cover her shifts at <span style="color: #660000;">Pizza Hut</span>, I run around packing like a <span style="color: #660000;">Tasmanian devil in heat</span>, and my brother does what he does best and says <span style="color: #660000;">"eh, whatever"</span> to the whole thing. Then the sister calls back and says she's wrong, Nut Job has college on Wednesday. After a long moment - during which I seriously considered throwing my sister into oncoming traffic - we decide to leave on Tuesday anyway. Because what the hell, vacation is fun and you should make it a really long one when you're packed into a minivan like sardines with lots of small children and 2 semi invalids and one crazy mess of a woman. And my mother.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Family/970130_685637051453028_855239100_n_zpsd46084e3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Family/970130_685637051453028_855239100_n_zpsd46084e3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what it took to pack up that van. Every few days.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So, Monday, while Nut Job is at college, we super fast pack all the stuff we can and bring it to my house. The theory was that we would have all the stuff here, so that we could quickly pack the car on Tuesday morning. My sister says she'll show at about 10 am. So I spend the entire night worrying about if we are going to be able to leave or not. The next day, I text my sister at about 10:30,<b><i><span style="color: #660000;"> "???"</span></i></b>. She replies that she needs more time and she doesn't know how to get away from Nut Job. I tell her to figure it out, since she has a set of her own brains, because at this point I don't know what to say and if NJ will even believe any of it. She finally shows up at 2 pm, and says she told him that she was going to try and do a practice "pack up" of the van, since he spent all week whining about how 8 people would <b>never</b> fit in the van, and it was illegal. <i>(It wasn't - we called the police and checked)</i> I thought that was the most obvious lie in the history of lies, but hey - we finally got in the car and got it packed and on the road. We ninja pick up my mother, and I have to go 20 miles in the opposite direction to give my husband money for work and say goodbye. At 4 pm, we aren't even on the road and my sister wants to take this kids to say goodbye to their dad. Let me give you a small example of what the texts are like: (<span style="color: #0c343d;">S</span> is my sister,<span style="color: #660000;"> NJ</span> is the Nut Job husband)<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">NJ: Where the @&*! are you?</span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">NJ: If you come back here for anything I"m going to slash the #($^@)^ tires. </span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">NJ: I love you</span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">NJ: I just want to see the kids and say goodbye</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">S: leave me alone</span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">NJ: #($^ you. </span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">NJ: I love you</span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">NJ: I just miss you<br />NJ: It's my (*&@^$( van bring it back</span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">NJ: I'm calling the cops</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">S: we'll see you in a week, if you hadn't been such an *^& I would have brought the kids to say goodbye</span><br />
<span style="color: #660000;">NJ: $&@^ you</span><br />
<br />
And that would have been a 2 minute text-conversation. All that in <b style="text-decoration: underline;">2 </b><u>minutes</u>. It's rather sad. Anyhoo....we veto the saying goodbye thing, based on the aforementioned text/conversation and we hit the road. We find out Nut Job is on the road as well, looking for us. We get stuck in traffic right outside of our town, and we don't breathe a sigh of relief until about <i>50 miles later</i>, when we know he must have given up and stopped trying to find us.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Family/995108_686139601402773_1207691830_n_zps751a09b5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Family/995108_686139601402773_1207691830_n_zps751a09b5.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this is what we all felt like</td></tr>
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Officially on our way to Atlantic City.<br />
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End of part one. (<span style="color: #660000;">I'm serious - it was that stressful from the get go</span>.)<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-29310723698329580942013-07-06T17:17:00.001-04:002013-07-06T17:21:45.445-04:00How I Ended Up Promising To Go On Vacation With My Family. Again.I'm going on vacation with my family. I haven't decided yet how I got tangled up in this grand plan, but it's happened. I mean, I'm pretty sure my mother managed to guilt me into the whole thing, all I heard for 2 weeks was -<br />
<br />
"<i>Please?</i>"<br />
"I can't drive all that way by my little ol' bitty self, but I will if I <b>have</b> to"<br />
"Do you want me to die in fiery car crash because I was too tired to make it and couldn't keep my eyes open?"<br />
"<i>Pretty Please?</i>"<br />
"I'm so old and tired but all I want to do is see my family this year and I won't be able to enjoy it if I have to drive all the way to South Carolina by myself"<br />
"After everything I've done for <b>you</b>..."<br />
(insert big blinky blue puppy dog eyes here)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EhoEYnucWFKnfhUuwnCbk5IgQUirjcWmDwDy2mq9zT-bM2IHlyOEAjGgz_sri-qq4BFVmEkYkaLK8prIy9A_CJoM6bJbu_arAZwvlSAgv_6Jc6QdqPybgaqgqkb8zI3iwHyIkt_RMkAF/s1600/40581_153530461330359_100000202196753_471573_7215500_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EhoEYnucWFKnfhUuwnCbk5IgQUirjcWmDwDy2mq9zT-bM2IHlyOEAjGgz_sri-qq4BFVmEkYkaLK8prIy9A_CJoM6bJbu_arAZwvlSAgv_6Jc6QdqPybgaqgqkb8zI3iwHyIkt_RMkAF/s320/40581_153530461330359_100000202196753_471573_7215500_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can someone explain to me why I've signed on for another round of this?</td></tr>
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<br />
That's pretty much what it sounded like in my head anyway. So now I'm roped in and committed to a two day drive to from New York to South Carolina. At first it was all like - 'I'll pay for everything', and now it's - 'How much are you chipping in?' And somehow the "I'll rent a car" has changed into "We're going in a mini van with your sister and her 3 children", but I'm still going.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure I did this 2 years ago and it ended up disastrously. (<a href="http://lorikateland.blogspot.com/2010/08/fun-vaction-from-hell-part-1.html">Part 1</a> and <a href="http://lorikateland.blogspot.com/2010/08/fun-vacation-from-hell-part-2.html">Part 2</a> for your reading pleasure) And that was without the screaming children. I can see it all now -<br />
<br />
We'll get on the road 2 hours later then planned. Ten minutes into driving someone will have forgotten something <b>vitally important </b>so we will argue for another 5 minutes about whether we should turn back and go get it or maybe we should find a Wal Mart along the way, but by the time we figure it out we will be one hour into our journey and won't be able to turn around because no one wants to waste gas. Then the complaining person will complain about having to spend money on something they could have gone home and gotten. After another 25 minutes arguing about that, one of the kids will have to <span style="color: #990000;">go to the bathroom</span>, while the other two fight over the<span style="color: #0b5394;"> Nintendo DS </span>and the bag of chips. The chips will spill and the youngest will cry. As soon as that's over, one of the adults will be <span style="color: #0b5394;">too cold</span>. The other adult will be <span style="color: #990000;">too hot</span> and then I will yell at one of them to <b>put on a jacket </b>and the other one to <b>take off the dang sweater</b>. As soon as that's resolved the oldest kid will be hungry, and so will I, but we don't want the crappy food we brought - we want Burger King because it's<span style="color: #990000;"> fun and yummy</span>. So we will find one, commit to getting dollar menu items but then spend $30 on greasy french fries and soda when we have sandwiches and cans of coke in the cooler. After that two of the kids will fight about something else while the littlest one falls asleep and the adults whine about what music to listen to and one of us will have a headache so we shouldn't listen to music at all. My mom will stop us every 3 minutes and tell someone to pose for a picture, or make us stop the car so she can get a shot of that beautiful tree, or sunset, or blade of grass. And we will all alternately smile and yell at her for the duration of the trip while she snaps crappy pictures of us and posts them to facebook so all our friends can see pictures like this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3HI5MsseqzO941YIQP4sFa1v9kni5D5W3-g1ypkK5utK59SgVHUwnxy9o8n2a5OpyWKrsK2-YW3ox42qMZkeRlOYUhG8ctJ1Ujmdro4D_lgMg7yCQ_Kyt3LcL2R8zdwMG9jWHvvX2HCS2/s1600/1011311_672081982808535_88871533_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3HI5MsseqzO941YIQP4sFa1v9kni5D5W3-g1ypkK5utK59SgVHUwnxy9o8n2a5OpyWKrsK2-YW3ox42qMZkeRlOYUhG8ctJ1Ujmdro4D_lgMg7yCQ_Kyt3LcL2R8zdwMG9jWHvvX2HCS2/s320/1011311_672081982808535_88871533_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks for the triple chin angle, Mom.</td></tr>
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And this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimkJHySExYYw3svKKnG8MPLacnX_QgTGvu9GQz9IY4UYwme99Ish_tfcXB08kIMHreIYyHedRiXg_WsbSyxIQh2E5n9Q5SQVlFFLno0nkAxScmWADjZ_33N2hD1sBmQYcvyHsyi8TVQYX3/s1600/1014322_672077726142294_473728135_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimkJHySExYYw3svKKnG8MPLacnX_QgTGvu9GQz9IY4UYwme99Ish_tfcXB08kIMHreIYyHedRiXg_WsbSyxIQh2E5n9Q5SQVlFFLno0nkAxScmWADjZ_33N2hD1sBmQYcvyHsyi8TVQYX3/s320/1014322_672077726142294_473728135_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The inevitable "shoving food into face" shot.</td></tr>
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And this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRg2gQ7Lz-WBMDNh3P2_iVa5wiAQI7xj75-KsLWb2zuHb_veV1iYUG8BoCftoWLkIyL1fQ9zHf8dFR4CohkFS7LHg_ugjT8lAjy-2RLSVMjsiT49giJFNEiIIKPB5lFHfeSnN0kWaBohaE/s1600/1005071_672082719475128_1021950892_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRg2gQ7Lz-WBMDNh3P2_iVa5wiAQI7xj75-KsLWb2zuHb_veV1iYUG8BoCftoWLkIyL1fQ9zHf8dFR4CohkFS7LHg_ugjT8lAjy-2RLSVMjsiT49giJFNEiIIKPB5lFHfeSnN0kWaBohaE/s320/1005071_672082719475128_1021950892_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What the heck? You wasted film on this?</td></tr>
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I <b>swear</b> I am feeding the kids benadryl with breakfast that morning, and bringing lots of cheap vodka in a flask.<br />
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I'll let you know how it turns out.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-74273302525672953902012-10-03T12:14:00.003-04:002012-10-03T12:24:04.956-04:00You Know What I Hate?I used to watch Mad TV. A lot. And on one episode, there was this comedian that would stand up and yell "<b>You know what I hate?</b>" and then follow that with...well, a list of what he hated.<br />
<br />
I was making that a regular part of my blog, until I got all peaceful and content and ran out of things to hate.<br />
<br />
I'm finding lately that I still hate a lot of stuff, I just had to collect it for a while. So...<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE?</b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: large;">1.</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000;"> </span></b>People that, before your impending divorce, were friends with both you and your husband. Then, when they find out you're splitting up (<span style="color: #990000;">or that he beat your ass and made you and the kids live in a women's shelter while he stayed in your nice house and lived off of Burger King...</span>) they claim that they aren't "<b><span style="color: #134f5c;">taking sides</span></b>", but then they call you and pressure you to "see his <b><span style="color: #134f5c;">point of view</span></b>". Hmm...wonder whose side they're on? <i>(and nope - this actually isn't about me)</i></div>
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<b><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;">2.</span></b></div>
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Facebook walls that are just an excuse for everyone to see how great you are. Or how positive you are because your entire life is just kittens and fluffy rainbows when we all know you watch daytime TV while eating doughnuts by the dozen because Bubba left you for his new girl Bertha May and they ran off to <span style="color: #990000;">Toledo</span>. Or what a great mommy you are because you bake <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">yummy soy health special goody muffins</span> from scratch for your 3 year old who <span style="color: #134f5c;">really prefers to lick peanut butter off a spoon</span>. Or how humble you are because you're praying on your knees <i>47 times a day</i> because you feel a need to seek God so you can be a better you. I have an idea - stop the holier than thou updates and then you'll be a better you by <span style="color: #990000;">default</span>.</div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">3.</span></b> </div>
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When you're at an event....say...your kid tries out a <span style="color: #134f5c;">Tae Kwon Do</span> class, and he's never done things like that before, so he looks a little awkward while trying his damnedest. And then every time he does a spin kick you hear a giggle from the side of the room. And just when you realize you can't beat rotten snotty children to a pulp just for sheer joy of seeing them learn a lesson - you turn your head and see 2 <b><span style="color: #990000;">adult</span></b> <strike>ladies</strike> rotten excuses for humanity sitting there giggling behind their hands and looking at your son. The worst part is, as the moment of awareness hits you and you think you can drop kick an adult without looking like a complete asstard - you figure out that you'll end up in <b>jail</b> for protecting your own kid from morons. What a letdown.</div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">4.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"> </span>People you invite to see your blog, by every means possible, but they never bother to accept the facebook invite, or follow the link you personally emailed to them. And they never stop by or comment or give you a thumbs up. The worst of it is....most of those people are family. <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">Thanks a lot people who claim to care about me.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">5.</span></b></div>
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I guess I'll just narrow this down and say: <b>People</b>. They bug me all the time, from the lady who thinks she knows how to raise your kids better than you do, to the people who park grocery carts in the middle of the aisle while looking for Pop Tarts, to the moron who zooms past you only to pull in front of you and slow down to <span style="color: #990000;">2 miles under</span> your current speed limit. People are idiots. I think I'm going to go live in a cave now.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-85378029766591005292012-08-21T09:27:00.001-04:002012-08-21T09:27:45.089-04:00Nonsense!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am awake at 8 o'clock in the morning, after sleeping for only 4 hours. I have now become aware that sleep deprivation makes me feel high. I'm giggling and snorting at funny things I find on the internet (<span style="color: #990000;"><i>including myself...</i></span>) while sitting here in the dark with a Breathe Right strip on my nose that's pushing my glasses off my face, and my living room is dark - so I'm squinting to see the keyboard because I'm too tired to stand up and turn the lamp on. On the plus side, the squinting helps keep the glasses on my face.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this is what I look like right now</td></tr>
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I literally just sat and stared at my screen for 5 minutes because I forgot I was blogging. The sad thing is, I can't remember what I was blogging about. I think I had a point, or a purpose - but it's gotten lost somewhere in the haze that is my overly taxed brain. Either that or I took to long to edit that photo above and now I just plumb forgot why the hell I'm awake at 8 am and blogging. I don't remember.<br />
<br />
See what I mean about sleep deprivation making me high? And don't pretend you don't what it's like to be high. Or drunk. Or just plain coo coo. Is <b><span style="color: #073763;">coo coo</span></b> even a word?<br />
<br />
Well, it is now. I think I'm going to play something completely worthless on Facebook, fiddle fart around for a while, take a nap, wake up and actually try to compose a real post.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-10618846800591980142012-08-19T12:38:00.000-04:002012-08-19T12:38:44.560-04:00Random WhinesOh my gosh. I never blog anymore!!<br />
<br />
I wonder what's up. It's not like I don't have anything to say - cause I say a lot.<br />
<br />
At least according to my husband. I myself personally think I spend most of my day playing World of Warcraft and washing his underwear, but hey - that's just me.<br />
<br />
So what can I blog about.....hmmm....maybe a bunch of random opinions? Sounds good. Ok then -<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">Chick Fil A</span>. Don't know, don't care. All I know is that I am sooooo sick of seeing everyone whine about it. I'm also sick of seeing everyone protest - on both sides. I am tired of seeing crap on my facebook wall -<br />
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Like This:</div>
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And This:</div>
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I just don't care. Eat Moar Chikin, eat beef instead - whatever. Just shut up about it and find the next <strike>big</strike> little thing to argue and complain over.<br />
<br />
What next. Oh yeah -<br />
<br />
I lost about 30 pounds. You heard me. Guess that going to the gym thingy really works. Along with the whole eating right plan. Cookies and chocolate don't help you lose weight. Who knew?<br />
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My mouse to my computer doesn't work right. It has a short in it. Do you have any idea how <b>hard</b> it is to play Zombie Lane on facebook with a shorted out mouse?!?!?! GAH. And I'm too broke to buy a new one right now. In fact, my whole computer doesn't work right, it shorts out, my screen goes nutso, then I have to restart it, and then it won't restart. I think the world could come up with a perfect computer, that never went psycho on me, I mean - we're at the point where we are sending crap to Mars to take pictures, and you guys can't come up with computers that don't break down every three days?!?! Speaking of which -<br />
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Mars? Really? Who flipping cares?? How about we spend our money taking care of - oh, I don't know - world hunger or some other small insignificant problem here on earth. Where we live. Right now. Earth. Eh, forget it - where's my eleventy billion dollar souvenir picture of outer space - since that's where my tax dollars are going.<br />
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Well, I'm out of things to bitch about today. Tune in later for more.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-76934663430994905022012-08-06T20:17:00.000-04:002012-08-06T20:17:06.345-04:00Runnin' With ItSo I miss blogging.<br />
<br />
Trouble is, as usual - I get bored, busy, tired, sick *insert random lame excuse here*.<br />
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Then there's the whole "I like too many things to stick with one genre of blog." issue. I like - in no particular order - Zombies, My Husband, Video Games, The Gym (most days), my Kid, My Dog, Reading, Writing, Singing, Blogging, Facebook and post Apocalyptic genre anything.<br />
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That's a lot of crap. And that's only half of it.<br />
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So that plan is to blog about anything I like, whenever I like. However I like.<br />
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Because I can. So that's the idea, and I'm runnin' with it.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-74891814343797364592011-11-15T02:15:00.000-05:002012-08-20T12:12:52.551-04:00A Little Rant Will Do YaHoly Crap. Where does the time go? I swear, I have a little time stealing monster living in my pocket. He likes to come out, take up all my time, package it and mail it to god knows where.<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br />Long few weeks. Still working on the car thing, should be getting that back any day now. It really, really sucks to not have a car. If I were a smart person, I would use this as an opportunity to walk a bit more. You know, be healthy and all that crap.<br /><br />But I don't. And speaking of health...my mental health is taking another dive. I really prefer to sleep a lot right now. I am so much skinnier in my dreams. Much easier to deal with then having to lose so much freaking fat.<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Other/fa19ac3b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Other/fa19ac3b.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, bullshit.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Fat sucks. Seriously. I wish it was easy to get up, work out, eat less. Why does it have to be so hard? Ugh.<br /><br />Well, I don't have anything brilliant to write at the moment, so I figured a little rant would do.<br /><br />Signing off. Goodnight.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-17533921826786101152011-11-02T18:28:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:12:52.535-04:00At Times Like This, You Need Chocolate. Or Pizza.Ever have those weeks where you want to bury your head in the sand? Literally? Just to see what would happen? Knowing me I'd probably surface with some rare form of mold that eats all your hair. Anyway - I've just had one of those weeks.<br /><br />Since I'm addicted to lists and firmly believe list posts are easier to read, let me list you my crappy week.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: #073763;">1.</b> </span>I'm addicted to food. I know it, you know it, the world knows it. My taste buds just refuse to listen. I wish I could just numb my tongue for a month and be done with it. remember when people used to wire their jaws shut and drink liquid for x amount of time? Yeah, I'd do that. then I'd probably break all my teeth trying to get to the Halloween candy. Such is life.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Other/806ef93d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Other/806ef93d.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I really would do this to lose a few pounds...</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: #073763;">2.</b></span> Saturday morning at 1 am my neighbors were having a <strike>drunken idiot fest</strike> party across the street. I went to go get Wendy's (refer to item number one for <b>why in god's name I left my house at 1 am for FOOD</b>.) The rejects across the street saw me leave, saw me come back. Someone else (read: <i><b>not me</b>.</i>) called the police on their loudness. Twice. Then at 3am, one of the drunk diptards walks up to my house, opens my screen door, and tries to open my door. Twice. Without knocking or anything. I thought someone was ready to add a new ventilation system to my forehead by way of the gun - so I creep to the side of the door and watch the jackwad go back to party central. I had never been so scared in my entire life. I run upstairs, wake up my ex-marine husband (just saying that makes me feel better...) and call the cops. Not 5 minutes later they come screeching up my street and start hollering at all the party animals. Hollering. Loudly. Hooray for police brutality. I'm all for it at this point - I wanted one of them to beat someone up. I was pissed. Anyway, party breaks up, I can't do anything about the pseudo break in because I didn't know which moron to point the finger at. Shame. The police and the retards left and I was up till 5 am trying to not have a heart attack from fear.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/daee1b7c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/daee1b7c.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I felt like this was going to happen and I was going to die. Or be beat to a pulp.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;">3.</span> Sunday morning, at 6 am , I am taking my brother to the hospital. He has kidney stones. Lots of 'em. I woke up, after about a half hour of sleep (because my husband snores. loudly. In stereo.) and crawl in the passenger's side of my car because frost has frosted my door super shut. After about 20 minutes of thawing we're on our way, and I'm thinking - <span style="color: #073763;">"I hope I don't do anything stupid, because I'm really tired. My normal superhero-esque reactions are not up to par this </span><strike style="color: #073763;">evening</strike><span style="color: #073763;"> </span><strike style="color: #073763;">night</strike><span style="color: #073763;"> morning."</span> Five minutes later I run over a dead deer in the middle of the highway going 70 mph because I'm trying to get my poor brother to the hospital asap. A <b>big</b> dead deer. In my little 96 Honda Civic. I get to the ER, my engine is smoking, and I have a panic attack while trying to check my brother in and be there for him. My family is all sleeping, I have no one to call and I look like a moron in streaky left over mascara from the night before. To add to the fun and games, I hurt my shoulder and back muscles. Which I had to deal with for 6 hours while the moron doctors decided my brother had kidney stones. Um - to quote a favorite cartoon, <span style="color: #0c343d;">"you just earned your - Uh, <b>Der</b> - badge."</span><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Captioned%20Pictures/9f12cb92.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Captioned%20Pictures/9f12cb92.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ALL OF YOU.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />So life is.....<br /><br />I don't know. My car is in the shop, I'm broke, and I'm afraid of my neighbors. I'm not really complaining, mind you , I'm just in shock. Fortunately I have Xanax and Codene to cope for the week. And I ordered a pizza. Veggie Lovers from Pizza Hut. <br /><br />Don't judge me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-56210983720550684822011-10-26T15:57:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:12:52.543-04:00Slap A BitchDuring all this time that I haven't blogged <strike>because I'm lazy</strike> for personal reasons, I have learned a few things about myself that I'd like to share.<br /><br />1. "If there is food, I will eat it."<br /><br />I hear this in my head throughout the day, with a Field of Dreams whisper - "If you cook it, Flabby will come." Truly. So now I have this weird baseball/Kevin Costner/food connection in my mind that just won't go away. I am now associating food with dead baseball players and corn fields. Lovely.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/field.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/field.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>What I've learned, though, is <b>not to buy snacky food and keep it in the house</b>. Not for the husband, or the kid. They can all eat healthy right along with me - because if it's in the cupboard, I <b><u>will</u></b> eat it. Period.<br /><br /><br />2. Being fat colors every aspect of my life.<br /><br /> Usually it's the color black. Anyway, I took my son to the movies Sunday for some mommy time. (I'm awesome. I know. That and I really wanted to see Real Steel again.) The whole time we were watching the movies, these horrible, awful , rotten teenage girls kept kicking my seat. I'm pretty sure they were using it for a footrest. It was extremely annoying, but I never said anything. The only, and I mean <b>only</b> reason I said nothing was this: I didn't want to hear her yell "<span style="color: #073763;">fat bitch</span>" at me. Or say anything that included the word fat in it. That is my singular fear at the moment. Being called fat when I stick up for myself. It plays out in my mind like this:<br /><br />Me: <span style="color: #073763;">Excuse me, could you stop kicking my chair please?</span><br /><br />Stupid Teenage Girl: <span style="color: #660000;">Shut up you fat bitch.</span><br /><br />Then the scenario gets ugly because I punch her in the face and break her purty teeth. That part is fun to imagine.<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/De%20Motivational%20Posters/39593829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/De%20Motivational%20Posters/39593829.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know you want to...</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />But it's sad I won't say anything because I'm scared of being called fat in public. Like they didn't already notice, because I wore my skinny jeans that day.<br /><br />Whatever. The point is, I'm tired of being scared to live because of my weight. It's getting old, and the more I sit around at home, the fatter I'm gonna get.<br /><br />Lessons learned.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-7954532074228755962011-10-17T11:48:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:12:52.559-04:00I'm Really HereI'm here, I'm really still here. <br /><br />As most of you know - I've been a little broke. Ok, a little is not the correct term, but whatever. I'm broke. So on the grand list of things not so important - or more accurately, bills we don't exactly need to pay because we can live without it - was my Time Warner <strike>rip off </strike>bill. And so I had no Internet for a bit. Then my brother generously let me piggyback on his wireless connection, but it took a while to figure it out.<br /><br />And the homeschooling thing is really taking a lot out of me. In a good way. I homeschool for about 5 hours a day. I have to really be on top of this because:<br /><br />a. I can't let my son's education go down the drain. I had many reasons for homeschooling, and one of them was to help him catch up where the public school has failed me. So I homeschool a lot. A lot.<br /><br />b. Here in New York he has to have a standardized test. So if I suck at this - the universe will know. And he'll be forced to go back to school.<br /><br />Just to clarify - I don't have an issue with public schools. I have issues with a string of bad teachers combined with a string of overworked teachers. I also have issues with bullying, 8 years olds talking about having sex, and bus drivers that holler at my kid. Those things, along with the fact that my son's father (my ex-husband) committed suicide last May...well. Yeah.<br /><br />I am still here. Promise. But I have to cut back my posting time a little. Think I'll commit to 2 times a week, and one day a week for making blog rounds and commenting. That's a minimum, so if I'm up to doing more - I will.<br /><br />Thanks for stickin' around....see you later.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-83694456069253355152011-10-04T01:03:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:12:52.567-04:00Internet ProblemsHaving Internet issues, I'll be back posting asap.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-61894969542221379952011-09-29T16:03:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:12:57.713-04:00My MotivationI've been hearing a lot of talk lately about "What's your motivation?" So many people have all these great reasons like -<br /><br />I want to be healthy.<br />I want to play with my kids.<br />I want to live to see my grandkids.<br />I want to share my wealth of knowledge with the world.<br />I want to inspire others.<br /><br />Crap like that.<br /><br />I have those reasons too. But for some reason, in my head - they're these vague, distant aspirations that don't fully seem real. They're not tangible for me. Most of my reasons to lose weight it's, well, - shallow.<br /><br />1. I want to be the Pirate Slut at a Halloween party. And look good doing it.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/99d60f2a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/99d60f2a.jpg" width="92" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">oh yeah, baby.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />2. If I don't come up with a decent "after" picture pretty soon, I'm going to look like an Internet idiot.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/Captioned%20Photos%20of%20Me/9f5690da.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/Captioned%20Photos%20of%20Me/9f5690da.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wait, that can't be right....</td></tr></tbody></table><br />3. I want to wear my thigh high boots again.<br /><br />4. I want to wear <b>just</b> my thigh high boots again. <i style="color: #073763;">(wink wink)</i><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Other/d9c6b2ba.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Other/d9c6b2ba.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yup. Like that.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />5. I want to have some frickin' awesome 'how I did this" health advice that everyone comes to my blog to see.<br /><br />6. Because I don't want to end up on one of these:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/De%20Motivational%20Posters/5e83abef.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/De%20Motivational%20Posters/5e83abef.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br />6. I want to be the girl that did it. That actually lost all that weight, all 160 pounds of it.<br /><br />7. I want to be on the cover of magazines and on talk shows. I want even Oprah or Dr. Phil to be all like "Way to go, girl!".<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/c93b07a2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/c93b07a2.jpg" width="182" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's up to YOU.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Ok, maybe that last one is going a bit too far. But that's my motivation list. I want so badly to cram my homemade apple crisp into my mouth by the literal handful, but I can't because I want that after picture. I need that after picture.<br /><br />I want to be cool too.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-10844106160917481892011-09-23T07:35:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:12:57.702-04:00How Many Of You....1. Log into your blog/email/facebook accounts 35 times a day just to see if you have comments?<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(I do. It's sad, pathetic and a little stalker-ish. I'm literally stalking myself. Creepy.)</span></div><br />2. Actually say "LOL" or "WTF" in conversations?<br /><br />3. Have bought Spanx, loved them, hated them, thrown them away, and promptly ran out and spent 60 dollars on yet another pair?<br /><br />4. How many of you have done #3 twice in one week?<br /><br />5. Secretly wish you were a ninja assassin?<br /><br />6. Eat fudge brownie mix straight out of the bowl?<br /><br />7. Have had enough mix left to actually make the brownies?<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Food/ca62a792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Food/ca62a792.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whoops.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br />8. Weigh yourself <b>after</b> you go to the bathroom?<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> (I mean, hey - 3 ounces of pee is still 3 ounces. I can put it under the</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> "weight lost" category in my mental tally book.) </span> </div><br />9. Have actually picked all the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms?<br /><br />10. Cry while watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy?<br /><br />11. Think that walking to the fridge and back counts as exercise?<br /><br />12. Photoshopped pictures of your face onto someone else's body just to "see" what it would be like to be skinny?<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Me/ba11db8d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Me/ba11db8d.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See? I'd be an awesome Tomb Raider.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />13. Want to take a walk outside, stand at the door and then go sit on the couch, because - let's face it, whales don't walk?<br /><br />14. Have a love/hate relationship with America's Next Top Model?<br /><br />15. Realize that everyone in your family is skinny - Except for you?<br /><div style="color: #073763; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;">If you have said yes to 5 or more of the above - congratulations, you are a Flabby McGee too.</span><span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;">Just go with it.</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-31266067366972457112011-09-19T16:54:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:13:02.341-04:00Ode To My Spanx<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An Oldie but Goodie of mine: </span></span><br /><br /><br />Oh, my Spanx. This love of mine, </div><div style="text-align: center;">That keeps my belly flap in line. </div><div style="text-align: center;">A marvel of science, so true, so fair, </div><div style="text-align: center;">You have replaced my underwear.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In you my gut I cinch and stuff, </div><div style="text-align: center;">with you I can feel thin enough.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have 3 pairs, black, tan, and white, </div><div style="text-align: center;">that help me feel small and tight.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You give me wedgies, yes, it's true, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and pinch my flab and stomach too.</div><div style="text-align: center;">My camel toe, on you I blame, </div><div style="text-align: center;">I have to dig you out, with shame.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/wedgie.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/wedgie.png" width="153" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">My inner organs you rearrange, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and people seem to find it strange, </div><div style="text-align: center;">when I unroll and pull you up, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and tuck you under my large bra cup.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I'll take a shower and put you on, </div><div style="text-align: center;">though the struggle always goes so long.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Since if I put you on while I am wet,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I end up tired and out of breath.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Come to think of it, I see, </div><div style="text-align: center;">you really aren't that good for me. </div><div style="text-align: center;">So I'll say so long to you right here, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and go back to my underwear.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-42450652980216941092011-09-14T06:02:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:13:13.693-04:00The World On Your ShouldersI am so very frustrated.<br /><br />I'm trying not to be. I'm trying to be positive, and upbeat.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Me/smilecloseup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="85" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Me/smilecloseup.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />It's not working very well.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Me/2b6e97bc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="65" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Me/2b6e97bc.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><br /><br />You know that scene in a movie - where someone is standing on the edge of something very tall? Like a building, or a bridge, or a cliff. Then they close their eyes, spread their arms wide, and just sort of.....fall backward, into nothingness. All peaceful like, with a sad, strange smile on their face.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/97bfd379.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/97bfd379.jpg" /></a></div><br />No? Well, I'm sure it's in some movie somewhere, and if it's not - it ought to be.<br /><br />I feel like that person. Like I'm on the edge of nothing. I am nothing. I feel nothing. I accomplish nothing. And nothing is waiting for me at the bottom of the black hole. <br /><br />I could try and list everything, but it may depress you. It involves money, lack of willpower, money, lack of motivation and...money. Yeah. I think we've all been there. <br /><br />I need a plan. I'm just...lost. There's hundreds of little things swirling around in my brain but I just can't get a grip on any of them. Elusive little things - ideas. Where do I start? What do I do? Eat healthy - with a $200 a month grocery budget? Join a gym? When I can't even pay my rent? I feel weighted down with worries and cares, and I would like it to stop now. <br /><br />Please, make it stop.<br /><br /><br />PS - I kid you not. As I finished typing this - my mom called. My sister is in the ER and I have to watch her 3 (small) children at 6am. And I watch my 1 year old niece today. And I have to homeschool my son, deal with my landlord, catch up on all the laundry that was in my flooded basement - and God knows what else. The hits just keep on comin'.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-88864811047853076162011-09-12T22:10:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:13:13.699-04:00Friend Making Mondays<center><a href="http://www.alltheweigh.com/2011/09/friend-makin-mondays-all-about-me/" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" height="170" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/Badges%20and%20Buttons/bd73a1cb.jpg" width="230" /></a></center><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.alltheweigh.com/">All The Weigh</a> hosts <a href="http://www.alltheweigh.com/2011/09/friend-makin-mondays-all-about-me/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=friend-makin-mondays-all-about-me">Friend Making Mondays</a>. I need friends. I blogged avidly for the longest time, then quit for a while. Seems that, if you quit - people stop reading. Who knew? Anyway, here's my (last minute) attempt at making friends. On Monday. Friend Making Monday...see?<br /><br />1. <b style="color: #073763;">What are your talents?</b> I sing. Well. I do, it's a fact and one I'm rather proud of. when I sing I am beautiful and free of this fat sack that is my body. I also write - as you can see. I like to think I'm pretty good. (Please - don't burst my bubble.....)<br /><br />2. <b style="color: #073763;">What is your best habit?</b> I honestly cannot think of one good habit. Not one. How sad.<br /><br />3. <b style="color: #073763;">If you had to be stuck with someone in an elevator for 8 hours, who would you want it to be?</b> Gerard Butler. 8 hours with a blue eyed, Scottish accent speaking hunk of manhood that sings and once played the Phantom of the Opera? Be still, my heart. Where's the nearest elevator....? (Sorry dear Husband, but you know how it is...)<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/71ef6693.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/People/71ef6693.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yum.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />4. <span style="color: #073763;"><b>Share one odd fact about you that we’d never know to ask</b>.</span> Has anyone ever thought that maybe there's a reason no one thinks to ask...? I am obsessed with the symetrical. I have to line everything up symetrically, knick-knacks, food, fridge. It's wierd and drives my family insane.<br /><br />5. <b style="color: #073763;">What’s your latest project (work, home, whatever you care to share?)</b> My basement flooded this past week - so...laundry. All 25 loads of it. What, you think I'm kidding??<br /><br />6. <b style="color: #073763;">If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be?</b> Ha. Haha. Hahahaha. My fat. I'd have it removed in an instant. Other that my big fat butt, I love the way I look. <br /><br />7. <b><span style="color: #073763;">What do you do in your spare time?</span></b> Besides this - I play World of Warcraft. Seriously.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Worlf%20Of%20Warcraft/f8143d9c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Worlf%20Of%20Warcraft/f8143d9c.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My lvl 85 mage, Cyr - from Aggramar. Told ya.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />8. <b style="color: #073763;">What is your biggest pet peeve?</b> Not pronouncing words correctly, and pEoPle ThAt tYpe lIke tHis.<br /><br />9. <b style="color: #073763;">Why do you blog?</b> I like this question. the more I blog, the more conscious I am about what I eat. Blogging keeps food in the forefront of my brain. In a good way.<br /><br />10. <b><span style="color: #073763;">Are you tidy or messy?</span></b> There's tidy person inside of me, I swear. She just likes to sleep a lot.<br /><br />11. <b style="color: #073763;">What’s the last song that played on your iPod?</b> Sweet dreams, from the Sucker Punch soundtrack.<br /><br />12. <b style="color: #073763;">Do you cook?</b> When I must. I'm good at it - I'm just to lazy to do it often.<br /><br />13. <b><span style="color: #073763;">Do you like sports?</span></b> I like dance. And yes it is a sport. Try it and find out.<br /><br />14. <b style="color: #073763;">How often do you read and/or watch the news?</b> I check my Yahoo news daily. And my entertainment news. Ok, ok, so mostly my entertainment news. To see if they're saying anything about <strike>my</strike> Gerard Butler.<br /><br />15. <b><span style="color: #073763;">Did you stick to your new Year’s resolution this year? </span></b>What New Years resolution? I can't remember mine. Probably had something to do with my weight...so, no. I didn't.<br /><br />16. <b style="color: #073763;">What are you looking forward to most in the remainder of 2011?</b> YES. I love my holiday season, I'm so ready for some freaking Christmas cheer.<br /><br />17. <b style="color: #073763;">Shoes, sunglasses or handbags?</b> C'mon....thos are the only things that will always fit, no matter how fat you are!<br /><br />18. <b style="color: #073763;">How do you feel about sleeping on satin sheets?</b> Never have. Getting some mighty interesting thoughts I'll have to share with my husband. <strike>Or Gerard Butler.</strike><br /><br />19. <b style="color: #073763;">Do you sing in the shower?</b> Funnily enough - no. I sing everywhere else though!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/cartoon/f35730e8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/cartoon/f35730e8.jpg" width="193" /></a></div><br />20.<b><span style="color: #073763;"> Describe yourself in one word.</span></b> Vibrant. I asked this question of a boy I had a crush on in 10th grade. This was the answer, and I've always loved - and lived - it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-44561971988218567382011-09-12T10:34:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:13:13.695-04:00Chocolate And MeAll I want is chocolate. It's all I can think about. I'm like.....a chocolate zombie. Instead of "braaaiiinns..." I'm moaning "Chocolaaatttte..."<br /><br />It's sad.<br /><br />Even my cupboard contents are out to mock me. Every time I open the doors I see this:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Food/0ea1e24b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Food/0ea1e24b.jpg" width="203" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And this:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Food/46c81900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="159" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Food/46c81900.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And finally, this:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Food/c8566907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Food/c8566907.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's horrible for me. It makes me think about candy bars. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Despite the temptation though, I have not had one morsel of yummy, delicious, irresistable...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh, what was I saying? that's right, no chocolate. I've been a good girl. I almost broke last night - but I remained strong, and had a fruit grain bar thingy instead. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Told ya I could do this.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-16638889686901494262011-09-12T07:50:00.000-04:002011-09-12T07:50:15.586-04:00My Bro and MeI'm sitting here in the <span style="color: #073763;">wee early</span> hours of the morning, going through my usual banter with my brother.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Brother</span>: This sucks.<br />
<br />
Me: You suck.<br />
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<span style="color: #073763;">Brother</span>: I'd rather be poked in the eye with a stick.<br />
<br />
Me: <u><b>You</b></u> are a poke in the eye with a stick.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Brother</span>: You suck.<br />
<br />
Me: Look who's talking, loser.<br />
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<span style="color: #073763;">Brother</span>: I'm going to bed.<br />
<br />
Me: It's about time. Leave me alone.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Captioned%20Pictures/b9564598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Captioned%20Pictures/b9564598.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />
Of course you have to understand that all this is punctuated with laughter, including snorting because it's stoopid early. We love each other, really. <b>Promise</b>. We are two totally sarcastic idiots, and we spend most of our days trying to outwit one another. I think I won this morning.<br />
<br />
Just a slice of life, courtesy of Me. Capital M.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-47469551245294580572011-09-11T08:18:00.000-04:002011-09-11T08:18:21.092-04:00Petco Lets Animals Die In FloodI live in NY, near Binghamton. If you haven't heard by now - our area was <a href="http://www.wbng.com/news/gallery/Flood-Waters-Rise-In-Johnson-City-129445863.html">flooded</a> this past week. We had a lot of rain from tropical storm Lee - which caused historical flooding throughout Broome County.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/Flood%202011/38e6018a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/Flood%202011/38e6018a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
There is a Petco in Johnson City, NY. It's in a plaza that houses a few stores - Toys R' Us, Party City, Christmas Tree Shops - to name a few. This plaza has been flooded a few times, most memorably in the Flood of 2006. Keep that in mind as you read what I have to say.<br />
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We had had heavy rains that started the night of the 6th. By noon on the 7th of September, the schools were being dismissed and many areas of Broome County were bring evacuated. Highways were being shut down, some were losing power, and almost every store in the area was closing. Including Petco.<br />
<br />
The one difference here is that Petco shut their doors - and left the animals inside to drown. We have several pet stores around here, but Petco obviously takes the cake. Pet Depot was flooded too - and were out rescuing the animals, kayaking them out of the store if necessary.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pet Depot rescue, Vestal NY</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.petcoscoop.com/2011/09/johnson-city-petco-flooding/">Petco's response</a> includes so much spin - it's making me dizzy.<br />
<br />
They claim that: <br />
"<span style="color: #073763;">The flooding was not </span><span id="more-5957" style="color: #073763;"></span><span style="color: #073763;">from the Susquehanna River itself but from a back up in the town’s sewage/drainage system.</span>"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Petco is between the blue sign and the red brick </td></tr>
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Does it look like that to you? We had record flooding in areas that had never <b>seen</b> water. The places that <b>usually flood</b> saw much more water than normal. Anyone with half a brain could have figured out that Petco would flood. Businesses are required to have insurance, right? Then the insurance people would have surely told the company that the area was prone to flooding. And to place the burden of responsibility on the Johnson City?<b> Shameful</b>.<br />
<br />
In the second paragraph of the blog entry, Petco says:<br />
"<span style="color: #073763;">We want to stress that this was not carelessness on our associates’ behalf, but a communications lapse from the city to the store in evacuations orders.</span>"<br />
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Yet in the next paragraph they say:<br />
"<span style="color: #073763;">We have a hotline for associates to use if they ever feel an animal is in danger and no calls were made to the hotline suggesting that the associates feared flooding would impact the store and endanger the animals.</span>"<br />
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So...were the employees careless, or weren't they? Is it their fault they didn't call, or Petco's fault for not making the decision themselves? Surely someone from Petco was aware of the flooding.<br />
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The thing that makes me the most angry is this gem:<br />
"<span style="color: #073763;">An associate went by to check the store at 11:45 p.m. on Wednesday night and there were no signs of flooding or a flood warning in effect.</span>"<br />
<br />
Are you <b>kidding</b> me? We had flood warnings in effect from the night before. The <b>night before</b>, people. By 11pm Wednesday night, the place had to have been flooded - so how could an employee check on it? And there were most certainly flood warnings in effect by 11pm.<br />
<br />
I myself live in an area that never floods, yet I had 6 inches of water in my basement. So a flood-prone area.....you do the math.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road at the bottom of my street</td></tr>
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<b>Shame</b> on Petco for being so careless and irresponsible. <b>Shame</b> on them for not just issuing a simple apology. A nice heartfelt <b>"I'm sorry"</b> would have worked wonders. So now there is a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php#%21/pages/Boycott-Petco/247184285319556">Boycott Petco</a> page on facebook. I believe there's a demonstration/protest coming up, and I'll be there. The local news is all over this, and I'm hoping national news will pick it up.<br />
<br />
Articles can be found at <a href="http://www.wbng.com/news/local/Saturday--Petco-129586498.html">WBNG</a>, and <a href="http://www.pressconnects.com/article/20110910/NEWS01/109100392/PETCO-discovery-Close-100-animals-lost-flood">Press and Sun Bulletin</a>. <br />
<br />
Hey, Petco...did you get the cash out?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-64701474078308387162011-08-21T00:16:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:13:22.973-04:00Smoke And MirrorsIn case you haven't noticed, I hath completed my bloggy makeover. <span style="color: #0b5394;">You like</span>?<br /><br />Anyhoo - I was browsing my Yahoo news stories and came across a most excellent article. It's about a lady who has sworn off mirrors for a year. Yes, you heard me right. No mirrors for one year.<br /><br />Let me link her and her blog real quick like. The blog is called <a href="http://www.ayearwithoutmirrors.com/">Mirror, Mirror....OFF The Wall</a>, and her name is <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/15680948783296872113">Kjerstin Gruys</a>. Here is the <a href="http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/beauty/could-you-live-without-looking-at-yourself-one-woman-swears-off-mirrors-for-a-year-2528935/">Yahoo article</a> I read.<br /><br />Now before you double you tee eff me about all this, hear me out.<br /><br />I love to go out with my friends. I love to go on dates with my husband. I spend lots of time getting ready - makeup, hair, the works. I have just lost about 15 pounds total now, so I have found a whole new wardrobe lurking in the recesses of my basement. I have <b style="color: #b45f06;">fun</b> going out now - it's not torture anymore. So to sum up - I have fun going out. I get ready, and I am totally in love with myself. I dance, joke, smile - I live. I <b>live</b>.<br /><br />Then I look in a mirror. And somehow, always - <b><i>always!</i></b> - the image I saw in my head does <i>not</i> match up with what I see.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><br /> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/881f79e2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/881f79e2.jpg" width="125" /></a></td></tr><br /> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How I feel vs. what I see</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr><br /> </tbody></table><br />And it's all because I spent too much time reading beauty magazines as a child. Well, not only because - but you get it. The <span style="color: #0b5394;">world</span> does not think I am as beautiful as <span style="color: #0b5394;">I</span> think I am.<br /><br /><br />And to that I say - <b style="color: #b45f06;">screw you world</b>. I am beautiful. I am gorgeous. My husband adores me, my family loves me - and I need to learn how to do the same. Not because I want to stay overweight and unhealthy - but because I am <i>tired</i> of people I don't know telling me what to think about myself. I'm over it.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><br /> <tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/bb1f4c00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Blog%20Pictures/bb1f4c00.jpg" width="113" /></a></td></tr><br /> <tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">airbrushed - nobody looks like that!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr><br /> </tbody></table><br />So, I am seriously considering not using mirrors for a while. I need to reset how my brain works about myself. I am very curious to see what it does for me.I have a feeling I will learn to love myself - like I always should have. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-66257966890446754682011-07-11T22:46:00.000-04:002011-07-11T22:46:03.343-04:00Hey, Verizon...Can You Hear Me Now?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's official. I hate Verizon. Or maybe loathe is a better word. Detest? Hm.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you a story.<br />
<br />
About two weeks ago my Internet went out. It went out around 11 PM, right after a particularly loud and large thunderstorm. Kind of a normal thing to happen, right?<br />
<br />
For me, not so much.<br />
<br />
I call. I get told there's no problem with my Internet. I argue, I yell, I hang up, I call again, I yell some more, I get told there's no outage in my area, I yell a lot, I hang up again, I go to sleep, I wake up 2 hours later to put my son on the bus, and I call one more time. I finally get someone helpful and she tells me she'll call me back within the next 2 hours to let me know what's going on. She calls me back and guess what? I have an outage in my area. (Duh.) Wait, it gets better. The place that Verizon needs to go to fix this outage is contaminated by a chemical spill so the EPA has to come clean it up, and in about - oh say... 8 hours my Internet will be back up. I'm not even joking.<br />
<br />
That was only the first bit of the story. (and yes, my Internet came back up) There's more, read on....................<br />
<br />
So, about 5 days ago my Internet goes down. Again. And I was in the middle of playing World of Warcraft. Exactly. So...much to my (NOT) surprise - I call ye olde technical assistance department to see what the heck is going on and ask if there's a outage in my area.<br />
<br />
First call: I get transferred to a department that is no longer in service.<br />
<br />
Second call: After about 10 minutes on hold I finally get to speak to a human being. Well, i get to talk at a human being, I'm not so sure that he understands me all that well. Heck, I don't understand him all that well because I'm not well versed in that language of East Indian Accent. We go through all the usual measures - restart modem, reset modem, unplug cable, plug in cable, blah, blah, blah. Bear in mind I had to ask this guy to repeat everything at least twice.<br />
<br />
Let me take a moment to point out that I'm not being racist. If you disagree, i don't really care. The fact is, if you can't speak understandable English, do not, I repeat - do not, get a job as a technical assistance representative. Don't. Go work in Billing and Collections, because nobody actually needs to understand you when you're asking them to give you money.<br />
<br />
It got so bad, I hung up. I just....hung up on the guy. I couldn't take it anymore.<br />
<br />
Call Three: I call back again, to be told by an automated voice that I could be better assisted by such and such a department. I get automatically transferred to a department that's closed. You heard me - closed.<br />
<br />
Call Four: See Above.<br />
<br />
Call Five: Please refer to Call Three, rinse and repeat for the next 4 calls.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I'm just that stubborn.<br />
<br />
<br />
Call Nine: I finally get through to an actual person that speaks passable English.<br />
<br />
For a few blissfully ignorant moments I feel that my questions will be answered and I will resume the video game playing as soon as possible.<br />
<br />
Then my little bubble is burst by only a few words. I'll relay my conversation here for you:<br />
<br />
Verizon Guy : "I don't see any problem with your Internet connection, ma'am."<br />
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Me: " if there's no problem with the Internet then howcome I can't access the..uh...Internet."<br />
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VG: "Did you reset your modem?"<br />
<br />
Me: "Yup. And before you ask, I restarted it too. I also unplugged my cable, waited 30 seconds and plugged it back in. I've tried everything."<br />
<br />
VG: "Did you unplug your cable?"<br />
<br />
Me: "............yes."<br />
<br />
VG: "Ok, we're going to go to the start menu, and find the search bar and type in C....M....D."<br />
<br />
Me:"yeah, I already did that too."<br />
<br />
VG: "Excuse me?"<br />
<br />
Me: " I already tried to ping a website from the command prompt box. The response timed out."<br />
<br />
VG: "Ok, you need to go to the start menu, find the - '<br />
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Me: "Didn't you hear me? I just did that. I t doesn't work. My Internet is not working."<br />
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VG: "Ok, let me put you on hold and I will run a line test to see if anything is wrong."<br />
<br />
Me: "fine."<br />
<br />
<br />
It doesn't get any better from there. At this point I have been on the phone for another 2 hours, trying to figure out what the heck is wrong with my service. I'm mad. I'm seething. I believe there may have been smoke coming out of my ears. I do not want to have to hang up and call back. <br />
<br />
The guy finally gets back on the line and proceeds to tell me that his line test shows nothing wrong with my Internet connection. So, very slowly, in small words, I tell him that I can't connect to the Internet. Therefore, I do not have an Internet connection so his line test is obviously wrong. I proceed to tell him all about the incident a few weeks before, where I spent hours on the phone having everyone tell me my service was good - only to find out 8 hours later that their line tests were - in a nutshell - wrong. I may have been a little condescending, but at this point I just want someone to get their butts over to a computer and find out what the problem is. After a few minutes of this, he tells me he's going to send me to their "Expert Care Department."<br />
<br />
You can imagine my surprise. I have never heard of such a thing, but I figure - what the hey? - I might as well try and see if any Experts really Care. <br />
<br />
<br />
To Be Continued.......Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-5064313959096464072011-04-27T09:39:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:13:22.969-04:00Sunshine and HappinessI think I'm really a <span style="color: #38761d;">plant</span>. I seem to use photosynthesis to survive.<br /><br /><br />After a terribly <span style="color: #0b5394;">long, cold and frozen winter</span> - The sun has finally come out. Literally. Well - the rain has come with it, but it's still warm so that's ok.<br /><br />I find that the sunnier it is, the more I do. I know that's probably true for most people - but for me it's means the difference between 150 lbs. and 300 lbs. Some days I wish I lived in a land of perpetual summer.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Me/c4a8c77c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://i793.photobucket.com/albums/yy218/anonymousfatgirl/Me/c4a8c77c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br />Anyway - to get to the point - I stepped on the scale a few days ago and discovered (<i>against all logic</i>) that I had lost almost 10 pounds.<br /><br />Craziness. How in the heck? Not that I'm complaining, mind you. But 10 pounds - just from sitting on my tushy, eating Creme Eggs? I didn't realize that was possible. But then I got to thinking and figured out I have been slowly eating less and less. Either I'm watching my 10 month old niece, Rosie - or I'm playing World of Warcraft. Each of those activities require <b>both</b> hands, therefore, less time to <b>eat</b>.<br /><br />So when I saw that number I decided to bite the bullet and start exercising again too. I mean, heck - if I can lose 10 pounds lounging on the couch - I can lose more if I get up and <b style="color: #741b47;">move</b>. So I've been taking my niece for walks around our little cul-de-sac every day. Four times around the little circle - which I think is a bout a half a mile.<br /><br />I've also been watching what I eat. Not so much <b>what</b> - but how <b>much</b>. And it seems to be working.<br /><br />Guess I just wait and watch the scale go down now.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-32781105003910715312011-04-08T01:55:00.000-04:002012-08-20T12:13:22.966-04:00Where Did I Go?Is it possible to loathe yourself in such a horrific way - that all you want to do is rip your heart from your chest and step on it, so you no longer have to breathe through the pain?<br /><br />I believe it is.<br /><br />That's all I feel lately. I have no wit, no charm, no life. I sit here, day after day, a lump on the couch - dreaming of better things, longing for a better life and yet here I sit.<br /><br />Still.<br /><br />Every day.<br /><br />I feel like I'm in glue, I can't move, and I'm sick of wanting to. I'd like to be numb now, please God, so I can sit here without hating myself so much.<br /><br />I know I'm so much <b>more</b>. So much <i>more</i>. There's more in here than a couch, and the chocolate, and the vicious cycle of eating to fill the void and hating the need to fill it. <br /><br />I used to see and want and be so much. But I seem to have lost my muchness. <br /><br />Where did it go?<br /><br />And when can I stop hating myself? And how do I get off of the<b> FUCKING COUCH</b>?????Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6791596984274782380.post-87306080996209776212011-03-04T16:58:00.000-05:002012-08-20T12:13:22.981-04:00Longest WeekI meant to post this last Tuesday, but it's been a long, sad week.<br /><br />My cousin, Nicole passed away Thursday, Feb. 24th. She was only 29 years old, and leaves behind a husband and four young children, ages 5 to 12. She had had breast cancer, and had a double masectomy to get rid of it. She was in remission for a while, but the cancer came back - agressively and eventually spread to her whole body. She fell a few weeks ago and collapsed her lung. Because the cancer had spread so far, she was unable to recover. Although her death wasn't unexpected, the whole process happened rather fast and has left me and my family rather upset. She was her mothers only child, and I can't even begin to understand what my Aunt is going through right now. It's a hard situation to deal with all around. Her funeral was Tuesday morning, hence the no posting.<br /><br />On top of all that, my whole family has been sick for a week. We had strep and me and my son also got impetigo. How thrilling for us all. We spent a week in the house, doing the best we could for my cousin and her family.<br /><br />So, that's what's been going on. Needless to say, I have not been paying attention to what I eat. if anything, I've been indulging in comfort food. I'll see you all again soon, hopefully in a better mood.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276419481264847025noreply@blogger.com4