tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52911992601603020122024-03-21T22:11:50.728-07:00A Girl Like MeA Sneak-Peek into the Life of a Small Town Girl in the Big City...Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-26942635128026720682009-11-28T17:56:00.000-08:002009-11-28T20:19:04.325-08:00I Like to Make Things With My Hands...So, I have a new roommate. Her name is Katelyn, and she is a peach. We get along great and both have a penchant for handbags and shoes. Expensive, but truly enjoyable.<br /><br />She loves to watch <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">HGTV</span>. I also like to watch this channel, but I usually get stuck on the Seinfeld re-runs or The Food Network before I venture far enough down the cable guide listings to find out what is on. Since she's moved in, I've been taking in a lot more of programs like "Design On A Dime," "Divine Design," "Color Splash" etc etc etc. The point of most of these shows is they take a space and remodel or redecorate based on the owners' budget and design preferences.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMAq0VcOB6cWtySgIVglE4vtzJ7mEwap68FMpkpG7b23VAVCFNLPgpIHZBQ0XF3499FMys8x-EzzuM8X3w9MvdAPHrgERtancZJOD3qY0zsOd3XFQNO_Dc0awZa6wcVfSUHWSBLLgn-y-/s1600/david-bromstad-48973.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMAq0VcOB6cWtySgIVglE4vtzJ7mEwap68FMpkpG7b23VAVCFNLPgpIHZBQ0XF3499FMys8x-EzzuM8X3w9MvdAPHrgERtancZJOD3qY0zsOd3XFQNO_Dc0awZa6wcVfSUHWSBLLgn-y-/s320/david-bromstad-48973.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409342804471551266" border="0" /></a><br />I have two favorite shows on this channel. The first one is "Design on a Dime." The owner <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">allots</span> a budget (usually $1000 or so) and then the designers have to design the entire space under their budget. The second one is called "Color Splash" I like this one because the host, David <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Bromstad</span>, was the winner of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">HGTV's</span> Design Star Challenge....I shamelessly watched every episode and routed for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Bromstad</span>. He always uses lots of color and has a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">distinctly</span> contemporary style that was always clean and concise, which I love. Please avoid the temptation to make attractive male with large muscle and tattoo jokes...surely you can do better than that.<br /><br />Anyway. Like I said, we've been watching a lot of this stuff lately. The cool thing about the two shows I mentioned is that in the case of "Design on a Dime" the design team often has to cut corners in order to come in under budget and they make a lot of original art pieces and refurbish a lot of furniture they find at second hand markets. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Bromstad</span> has an art background and often creates his own original art for the spaces, and always comes up with interesting and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">original</span> ideas. It's a good time all around.<br /><br />So, Katelyn and I were watching the other night and watched the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">DoaD</span> team make over a huge room with really big long walls. They built a simple frame and nailed grosgrain ribbon strips to the back of the frame horizontally and then did the same thing vertically and then wove the strips together to make a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">basketweave</span> pattern. Then they used it as a big simple, textural art piece.<br /><br />The other project that caught my eye was a "cord cozy" that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Bromstad</span> made. He took simple muslin fabric and sewed it into a long tube to cover the cord on a hanging light fixture.<br /><br />Something you should know is I love color. My couch is pear green, I have two armless chairs in a tangerine print, and my dining room chairs are covered in a jewel-tone turquoise. I have resisted the urge to put a ruby colored rug under said turquoise colored chairs on MULTIPLE occasions. <br /><br />The problem with my apartment is that it is just that, an apartment. Which means I can't paint. So, there is a LOT of white. White walls, white cabinets, white appliances, white ceilings, white <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">counter tops</span>...white white white. White can be great...very chic, simple, elegant. This, however, is suburban sprawl white. Cheap drywall white. We-<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">don't</span>-want-to-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">overthink</span>-this white. I hate it. So, I've been looking for ways to spice things up without paint (see above references to somewhat <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">irreverent</span> furniture choices). However, the walls are continuously problematic. So, unless I want to paint and then REPAINT the white (uh, I think not) before I move out, I have to find another solution.<br /><br />In addition to the whiteness, I have been extremely frustrated by two things. Strike that. Three things. The first thing is I have this big, long, white wall in my apartment that is driving me crazy. Right now I have three tiny, badly styled shadow boxes that I put up about a year ago. They are way too small and have nothing to do with the rest of the decor in the room, and they don't cover up enough of the WHITE. I am totally obsessive compulsive. This means the above situation makes me crazy. Problem two: CORDS! Cords are the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">bane</span> of my existence. TV, DVD, Cable, Stereo, Lamp, WHEN DOES THE MADNESS END?!? They are an eyesore, and no matter how I push, pull, wrap, and tuck, they always end up in the same mangled mess behind my awkwardly open entertainment center. Did I mention I'm obsessive compulsive? Problem three: I'm broke. Well, sort of, in that mid-level government job kind of way...You get the idea. Interior Design is Expensive.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">AHHHHH!!!!!<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAewMTm0gkCqqrzvMzYw7KZoRWeNaETT5DA-tIjL0YEdyUFLaRtNYelzWRylVIpcO8DEeplpLxEKbF_bb3yphDtVX-GWFQ7HZMn51E97bxD4UXRquMvSD9AqlKm-SZXzdvoCHpgJG-poOO/s1600/images-3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 112px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAewMTm0gkCqqrzvMzYw7KZoRWeNaETT5DA-tIjL0YEdyUFLaRtNYelzWRylVIpcO8DEeplpLxEKbF_bb3yphDtVX-GWFQ7HZMn51E97bxD4UXRquMvSD9AqlKm-SZXzdvoCHpgJG-poOO/s200/images-3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409364437374801554" border="0" /></a>So, today, I decided to take matters into my own hands (most of my friends are out of town, and the rest are recovering from Thanksgiving, Katelyn is out of town, and I have been spending too much time alone). I got in the car and headed to Seven Corners where there is a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Michaels</span> Crafts, a Joann Fabric, and a Home Depot all in the same complex. Essentially, a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">DIY</span> Mecca.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO67fCGc8CoeR0m7Sj4Z6xlVrt_PY-fODOCflKyp1svNrZvA8kBaAJ0zFZuIsXOu7K9-Xb4NFoWeAR3G16xadZaO5G7R_4goyaGlAyCBWtUeZzdNJsF25xXlBRuVbgPb8hYUSi5M9oMnXn/s1600/Stores_GrandOpening.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO67fCGc8CoeR0m7Sj4Z6xlVrt_PY-fODOCflKyp1svNrZvA8kBaAJ0zFZuIsXOu7K9-Xb4NFoWeAR3G16xadZaO5G7R_4goyaGlAyCBWtUeZzdNJsF25xXlBRuVbgPb8hYUSi5M9oMnXn/s200/Stores_GrandOpening.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409349313056349826" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Apm5QIVUlPR8bPUilSRa8omTxWfYE3K1e-MDj6AWCNkFJZ2Z_gFDFA1mH-ppMhsyMZzpoWCNebexezEDTIrJmGqf6WBEfR7PlkBuQZmEAuNU9n9YhuKOakIoleNjh_gl1dSjmMn27tyK/s1600/onmidway24.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Apm5QIVUlPR8bPUilSRa8omTxWfYE3K1e-MDj6AWCNkFJZ2Z_gFDFA1mH-ppMhsyMZzpoWCNebexezEDTIrJmGqf6WBEfR7PlkBuQZmEAuNU9n9YhuKOakIoleNjh_gl1dSjmMn27tyK/s200/onmidway24.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409349395604221922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1kDSM1fJTI7vnY8CbA3d-pB290av4y2XG5fhDpDkgtmhlbmYZEes_UJ78v3gSXdlDtcq7wdX0MQqGH7ZURiOgAVmIMxJFDLkskD58zIVzvcMb1sLOAFtzZxBUo5WhoGz_zZbDhRI1s65i/s1600/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 101px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1kDSM1fJTI7vnY8CbA3d-pB290av4y2XG5fhDpDkgtmhlbmYZEes_UJ78v3gSXdlDtcq7wdX0MQqGH7ZURiOgAVmIMxJFDLkskD58zIVzvcMb1sLOAFtzZxBUo5WhoGz_zZbDhRI1s65i/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409349527292645106" border="0" /></a>After a few hours, I left the Holy City of home craftiness with over 80 yards of "Olive Drab" grosgrain ribbon, acrylic paint in robins egg blue, a full range of paint brushes, 3 yards of Muslin, two types of nails, and 4 planks of custom measured and cut kiln-dried pine (hardware store guys are SERIOUSLY so helpful!).<br /><br />I spent the rest of the evening building my frame and stringing ribbon back and forth across it to make a huge <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">basketwoven</span> canvas of softly shimmering olive green. On the show, the team had a nail gun. While I am the proud owner of a brand new power drill (thanks Mom & Dad), I didn't think that would work very well on the fabric ribbon, and I don't own a nail gun...which is probably a good thing since hospital visits are expensive. So I pounded every single nail. Three to secure each corner of the frame, and two per ribbon strip. My rough estimates are about 188 nails. I think my neighbors are probably planning a full mutiny. I don't blame them. Oh well. So now I have a 6' x 3' custom art piece (MUCH better than the 10"x 10" shadow boxes full of curly <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">raffia</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">potpourri</span> flowers). I am hoping to finish it with some stenciled birds in robins egg blue on opposing corners. I promise to post pics of the finished product. Paint, brushes, ribbon, and lumber all cost me less than $60. Did I mention it's 6'x3'? Seriously. 18 square feet of custom <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">basketwoven</span> glory. Seriously.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Color.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXKUxo5-ZjyR7ZroyCx6rKb0n3aDRyxc_J0krxs4re694ZReUfFiQDDOpwwL_aVny1Ffo4_icVaG9xz9GZ_PyVO1GHY71VCBmHO3Vx9Bf7x-IL1hGJYQqmHvvH1V9uAkjGbKXKhNOnZ9Q/s1600/olivedrab.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 48px; height: 72px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXKUxo5-ZjyR7ZroyCx6rKb0n3aDRyxc_J0krxs4re694ZReUfFiQDDOpwwL_aVny1Ffo4_icVaG9xz9GZ_PyVO1GHY71VCBmHO3Vx9Bf7x-IL1hGJYQqmHvvH1V9uAkjGbKXKhNOnZ9Q/s320/olivedrab.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409365637545068226" border="0" /></a>It's cool. Trust me.<br /><br /></div>I started project number two by cutting and pinning the muslin. I'll just run a long seam up the edge and finish both ends and then I'll have my own "cord cozy" to hide the cord <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">cacophony</span> happening behind my shelves and chair. Hallelujah. I can hardly wait to finish it. Glorious Day.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Think this scrunchy cord cover, only hiding all of my ugly TV and cable cords.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRNv3giN6sDZvc2rXW8tNFv4PJRWYyg79hsVZPVbd-8BLZcOu-en7-1lOAgfrbljfUuXWHAoEIWW_APttVR2I2uu955J_UvlLWxLVdR7a1dj89xVmUMAwtPR2WDK4UkIB-Vy1N5JdakmLb/s1600/5587.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRNv3giN6sDZvc2rXW8tNFv4PJRWYyg79hsVZPVbd-8BLZcOu-en7-1lOAgfrbljfUuXWHAoEIWW_APttVR2I2uu955J_UvlLWxLVdR7a1dj89xVmUMAwtPR2WDK4UkIB-Vy1N5JdakmLb/s200/5587.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409361905680849538" border="0" /></a>Joy. I feel so much joy.<br /></div><br />Project number three, although not started, is in the final conceptual phases, and should be pretty easy to complete, all I have to do is find a lumber yard... The plan is to get a big stump from the lumber yard that has been sawed off flat on top, cover it in several coats of paint (again, robins egg blue) and finish it with a high gloss <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">lacquer</span> to make a side table.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Think This Shape<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ht3XMrGaL7RCH8wkeER0HChk0TznON3XDx4VYc_2P7Ef8Lxi426Cqf53ycEggDc7Bq2Vn1cS73YKTmYYy4rP1MnuqnGpu-qKkCD-5CC37mbDwNGhr-Vbl8IPTSa2EKv6bkw95J59mNnr/s1600/images-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 126px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ht3XMrGaL7RCH8wkeER0HChk0TznON3XDx4VYc_2P7Ef8Lxi426Cqf53ycEggDc7Bq2Vn1cS73YKTmYYy4rP1MnuqnGpu-qKkCD-5CC37mbDwNGhr-Vbl8IPTSa2EKv6bkw95J59mNnr/s200/images-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409356753637249026" border="0" /></a><br />With This Color<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZtmvYWEFmm2ZOCWKei05n4ZdkaLy-zLtmstpaWYGffZnd0A9RobsNgl8PX4AKAp5PIFYBc0kNp3tYDkw0-tNiyP-OiVQ24vy0-jwBW0WDT2NvQSjmLIa_0iwiutJmY7_u-XqyZugp8qE/s1600/images-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 123px; height: 97px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZtmvYWEFmm2ZOCWKei05n4ZdkaLy-zLtmstpaWYGffZnd0A9RobsNgl8PX4AKAp5PIFYBc0kNp3tYDkw0-tNiyP-OiVQ24vy0-jwBW0WDT2NvQSjmLIa_0iwiutJmY7_u-XqyZugp8qE/s200/images-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409357502028156082" border="0" /></a>Magic.<br /></div>Seriously Can't Wait.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Yes, it's possible I'm having <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">DIY</span> visions of grandeur, but it's fun. I always forget how much I love making things myself. It's incredibly rewarding (when it all goes as planned, that is) to go out, collect different bits and pieces and then work with your own two hands to create something that is uniquely your own. Sometimes I wonder if the Reality TV craze has encouraged us to sit in our homes and watch other people cook, decorate, build, bake, design, sew, and create things. However, based on today's flurry of creative activity, I am happy to say that this is one case where TV actually inspired me to get of the couch and make something new and interesting...Hopefully it will all go as planned, and my apartment won't end up looking like an abandoned amusement park.<br /><br />My thanks to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">HGTV</span> for a couple of good ideas, and the assurance that color is your friend.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">GO CREATE SOMETHING!!!!<br /></div></div><br /></div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-28201897752376816992009-07-10T04:49:00.000-07:002009-07-10T05:29:02.486-07:00...And A Diet Coke<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2w8Ty3xviGRrLJVlWgH8Y9z5TGFLGqJlrk3tCgnrnIGbOqP39l1VyBbSpSyT_SH6dtTE5uQdbnwxUTbx1avr4gq3EizRytzka2pzHGeJupAWwE5et9D6qvTI4QUWFO646NE_jFxWqEyBT/s1600-h/popsicle.jpg"></a> I hate starting these things out with apologies, but given the <strong>dearth</strong> of entries lately, I feel like I should.<br /><br /><div><div><div><div>So I'm sorry. <strong>There</strong>. I said it. I'm sorry I haven't been <strong>blogging</strong> and I'm sorry my life just hasn't been that <strong>interesting</strong> lately. I've also been <strong>"hanging out"</strong> with Facebook a lot, which has been, therefore, getting more play with my photos, etc. I'll try and be better. </div><br /><div><strong>Apology Over.</strong> </div><br /><div>Time for the real reason for this post. </div><br /><div>I went to the grocery store <strong>twice </strong>this week. <strong><em>Note*</em> This. Never. Happens.</strong> Twice in a month...much more likely. I'm a fickle grocery store goer. </div><div> </div><div>My attendance at the market, however, has been a good deal more regular as of late because of Safeway's sweet <strong>gas discount</strong> and the fact that they just put in a gorgeous new store that just happens to be on my way home from work. <strong>Fab.</strong></div><br /><div>So, I've started doing my grocery shopping on Mondays. I make my list towards the end of the work day, and then on my way home I stop in, get the week's supplies, and don't worry about it for the rest of the week. It's a <strong>pretty good system</strong>, if I do say so myself.</div><br /><div>So, with my renewed commitment to regular grocery runs, I've also been making a concerted effort to only buy and make really good <strong>healthy food</strong>. I love this, and it makes me feel like a <strong>real human being</strong>, instead of a college student eating ramen on my couch for the third time in a week...not that I would still ever do that at <strong>26</strong>...ahem....</div><br /><div><strong>Anyway</strong></div><br /><div>So I made my weekly grocery run on Monday. Things I bought included fresh spinach, strawberries, tomatoes, bell peppers, snap peas, whole grain pasta, fresh fish and hummus. I felt so proud as I pushed my little cart full of actual <strong>adult human food</strong> through the store. Lovely.</div><br /><div>On Wednesday, I had to make a grocery run to prep for a party that I am helping to throw for one of my best friends. She is turning 25 and so we decided to have a "Young At Heart" party. We themed it around all those great 80's and 90's morning cartoons, are setting up a Slip n' Slide, and there may or may not be a shaving cream fight. </div><br /><div>For food, we decided to have kid stuff. Popsicles, watermelon, cake, etc. Since I was in charge of food, and was looking at a full schedule for the rest of the week I decided to get it done a few days early. Also, I needed to fill up my tank and was just a few dollars shy of my $.20 gas discount. <strong>Bless you, Safeway.</strong></div><br /><div>So, I went to the grocery store. This time I was much less proud of what ended up in my cart. Popsicles of 3 or 4 different varieties, chocolate pudding, <strong>Oreos</strong>, Cool Whip, gummy worms, a huge bag of mixed candy, <strong>chips</strong>, salsa, cream cheese, sour cream, and a <strong>frozen pizza</strong> <em>(okay, that last one wasn't for the party, but a girl has to be prepared for the unexpected).</em> I felt fatter just <strong>looking</strong> at the stuff, and prayed I wouldn't run into any really attractive looking <strong>fit people</strong>...they would judge me, I just knew it.</div><br /><div>On my way out of the store, I realized that on Monday I had forgotten bread. My <strong>FAVORITE</strong> kind of bread is called <strong>Health Nut</strong>. It is called this because it is chock full of yummy grains and things. It is tasty. I buy it even though it is in that snobby double wrapped packaging. I don't care. It tastes good.</div><br /><div>I ran to the back of the store, grabbed my Health Nut bread, and tossed it in my cart next to the Cool Whip and Oreos. I snagged a spot in line and started to check out. </div><br /><div>I put my items on the belt. I am very conscious of the fact that people who bag groceries <strong>Just. Don't. Care. </strong>I don't blame them. Because of this, I make sure and put squishy things or things I don't want broken on the belt last. This means the grocery baggers don't actually have to think, and I don't end up with <strong>one huge lump</strong> of mashed bread.</div><br /><div>So, of course, the last thing to go on the belt was my beloved Health Nut bread. The girl scanning my groceries was apparently paying more attention than I usually give credit to grocery store employees for paying, and when she picked up the bread and read the label she looked at it, then looked at my bags full of <strong>sugar and saturated fat laden foods</strong>, then looked at me with a face that said <em>"Seriously? Nice Try."</em></div><br /><div>The only thing I can compare it to is when you're standing behind that <strong>300+</strong> pound individual at any given fast food joint and you hear them say: </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em>"I'll have a double bacon cheeseburger, a large fry, and an apple pie...Oh, and a <strong>Diet </strong>Coke."</em></div><br /><div><strong>Nice Try.</strong></div><br /><div>I thought about explaining myself. I thought about telling her that I am a <strong>devotee </strong>of fresh spinach and anything involving <strong>citrus</strong>. I thought about telling her how much fun the party was going to be because we were all going to act like <strong>little kids</strong>. Instead, I just smiled sheepishly and shrugged my shoulders.</div><br /><div>I'm pretty sure there's no <strong>Safeway Inner Circle Club</strong> that I'll be denied membership from for trying to pose as a healthy eater when I'm a closet sugar addict. Even if there is...</div><br /><div>Oh well.</div><br /><div>Happy Friday to You and Yours!</div></div></div></div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-52365942851337392322009-07-01T05:01:00.000-07:002009-07-01T05:14:33.535-07:00Good Karma...Karma Whitaker...<br /><br />That was the name of the woman I met in the temple last night. She was little, and stooped and smiley. Her name was printed clearly on her white nametag.<br /><br />Karma Whitaker.<br /><br />It made me wish my name was Karma. Maybe it would remind me to be nicer to people at the grocery store, and to not yell when I drive, and to not leave my dirty dishes in the sink, or mutter things about my boss in my head that may or may not pass the PG-13 rating cut.<br /><br />I doubt that Karma Whitaker is in charge of doling out much actual Karma. But I think, just in case, I will start trying to rack up more of the good kind of Karma. The Karma Whitaker kind of Karma. The soft, smiling, stooped kind of Karma that leaves you quite pleased with yourself at the end of a long, productive and happy life.<br /><br />That's the kind of Karma I'm after.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3HhDJOij794O3Nkao86W2g84mQQjjDuSfSopncr0NzgTFOjCEqqz70dq4gKgJpy0QSopnRq2yYNWCyXNjf88xstVCdUHzrF52y3OSq96McCt7RR8yjSBsfEPR3vf656SuDTYmCcuH7O5d/s1600-h/karma%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353463582341999426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 276px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3HhDJOij794O3Nkao86W2g84mQQjjDuSfSopncr0NzgTFOjCEqqz70dq4gKgJpy0QSopnRq2yYNWCyXNjf88xstVCdUHzrF52y3OSq96McCt7RR8yjSBsfEPR3vf656SuDTYmCcuH7O5d/s320/karma%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3op_yBVTZQboUjpMX_AAWZZ63y4CbcgfSMBgSPkTJxr-xGAnwXQlgE9vSlvrWmHsSC08-EQIPrIVvoLASU4wH4sspgqGjH9daq7ZGHAQIaO5P_HOO_NzuPHQ9pMrjfllcRCpLuN3ZDZ1A/s1600-h/karma%5B1%5D.jpg"></a><br /><div> </div></div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-62839019710072643482009-05-11T16:43:00.000-07:002009-05-12T19:12:15.232-07:00Derby Girls...<div style="text-align: center;">Last weekend three of my favorite friends and I got in my Honda and drove to Louisville <span style="font-style: italic;">(pronounced <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lo-ah-ville</span> for those of you not in the know) </span>for the <span style="font-weight: bold;">135th Kentucky Derby</span>.We packed up the car and left Virginia at about 3:00pm. We had all-girls road trip mixes in the <span style="font-weight: bold;">stereo</span>, goodies in the<span style="font-weight: bold;"> cooler</span>, and large, flamboyant <span style="font-weight: bold;">hats</span> proudly displayed in the rear window. We were on our way.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYDcRo_DyI7QQ6EBck65z3E6W1CCkqLwHH-JrL3fkrypF5q2We-xZiBORELFudulEXZFAQjP1KV2s-xW2DnTK6zRiVMIFSgBTwVsd6So7MTNY-s8uDHHpRGbSyNcAVbkZvlDzVZFNqIc9e/s1600-h/DSC01882.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 296px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYDcRo_DyI7QQ6EBck65z3E6W1CCkqLwHH-JrL3fkrypF5q2We-xZiBORELFudulEXZFAQjP1KV2s-xW2DnTK6zRiVMIFSgBTwVsd6So7MTNY-s8uDHHpRGbSyNcAVbkZvlDzVZFNqIc9e/s400/DSC01882.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334727361863334290" border="0" /></a>About 15 minutes later the traffic had slowed to a crawl, and we were nervous that it was going to be a <span style="font-weight: bold;">very long trip</span>--almost <span style="font-weight: bold;">1500 miles</span> in 3 days. It was a bad sign seeing as how rush hour hadn't even hit yet. Suddenly we saw to our right a black bump that looked like part of a tire. On closer inspection we saw that it was a large black <span style="font-weight: bold;">snake </span>that looked like a cobra, but had no hood. We watched it as we passed by and wondered where it had come from and how it had managed to survive its journey thus far. In India, it is an omen of success to see a snake crawling about in the road before you. Little did we know that the snake we saw within the first 30 minutes of our trip would portend a <span style="font-weight: bold;">huge</span> road trip success.<br /><br />The traffic cleared shortly after we saw the snake and we drove straight through--with the exception of a very abbreviated stop at the <span style="font-weight: bold;">shadiest</span> Arby's I have ever seen--and stopped for the night in Lexington, about an hour away from Louisville. The next morning we woke up and got<span style="font-weight: bold;"> dolled up</span> for the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Derby</span>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6anpoF3ugVkiqi8LgOlOt7roCimq9dgOE4CiIwpVxcmkrQvKohreiDG6csDp2Q36RcdF-Tux78EJhOncFue3hBB0sCldSTSbkwyotDNd9EgBPywn63yXdPDM1hXjjgb9IHyr_zYQXcuZE/s1600-h/DSC01860.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 296px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6anpoF3ugVkiqi8LgOlOt7roCimq9dgOE4CiIwpVxcmkrQvKohreiDG6csDp2Q36RcdF-Tux78EJhOncFue3hBB0sCldSTSbkwyotDNd9EgBPywn63yXdPDM1hXjjgb9IHyr_zYQXcuZE/s400/DSC01860.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334717418935663570" border="0" /></a>We really didn't know what to expect. It was our first time at the Derby. We had tickets for the infield, the large grassy area in the center of the track. We managed to stake out a spot amongst several large groups of men. They found us <span style="font-weight: bold;">delightful</span>. Incidentally, the <span style="font-weight: bold;">more</span> mint juleps they consumed, the <span style="font-weight: bold;">more delightful</span> we became. I don't know what I was expecting, but it was less <span style="font-weight: bold;">"My Fair Lady" and the Ascot Races</span> and more <span style="font-weight: bold;">"Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby."</span> Think NASCAR...only with less, um, horsepower.<br /><br />So, the following is a little documentation of our derby experience.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVLptpD3HtGg4JgehkGl3pmBABsfJnb5iQyY8x-7PwiYgdFg2xNQLOvOua5yKkv4UKEZTcWfFjUuNtg4myzafZSAxhN8dzXWqe7H-LKK8KC6JnEk4K4938Dy0XWq7JyF49_ZZj4s6TtX5m/s1600-h/DSC01861.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVLptpD3HtGg4JgehkGl3pmBABsfJnb5iQyY8x-7PwiYgdFg2xNQLOvOua5yKkv4UKEZTcWfFjUuNtg4myzafZSAxhN8dzXWqe7H-LKK8KC6JnEk4K4938Dy0XWq7JyF49_ZZj4s6TtX5m/s400/DSC01861.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334725315058187634" border="0" /></a>Jen and Michelle were so happy to be at the derby!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIld7jcGU_5b-H9UXTaaiidaNDO0k5Qmd1OoRbMHLGJiJOA2jp05a_ILUlBFBi7NBbTZhQE-jF1-O_gLSUMQJMg_utmtheBcST3JSdKIjoxa3j_eOx3WDiIHGnRirXDHA-f6JqhwH8w9_e/s1600-h/DSC01866.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIld7jcGU_5b-H9UXTaaiidaNDO0k5Qmd1OoRbMHLGJiJOA2jp05a_ILUlBFBi7NBbTZhQE-jF1-O_gLSUMQJMg_utmtheBcST3JSdKIjoxa3j_eOx3WDiIHGnRirXDHA-f6JqhwH8w9_e/s400/DSC01866.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334725406531401506" border="0" /></a>As it turns out, hugging while wearing large hats is hard...It's okay, we worked it out<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDN2-EElzzc7JgtfHMAUzbX8tklq5ObQcN3uvDSiONP6rkpzW979lRqEKIAiUqwEbEadx2Joh-E-RdADMhMS2elnmmUONyGLMMb40iAAlvjkXt00v6wjojv8NczyV2dRcgcG9CYQADO6iz/s1600-h/DSC01875.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDN2-EElzzc7JgtfHMAUzbX8tklq5ObQcN3uvDSiONP6rkpzW979lRqEKIAiUqwEbEadx2Joh-E-RdADMhMS2elnmmUONyGLMMb40iAAlvjkXt00v6wjojv8NczyV2dRcgcG9CYQADO6iz/s400/DSC01875.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334725767374225698" border="0" /></a>Someone placed this lovely sticker on Michelle's <span style="font-weight: bold;">bum</span>. It says <span style="font-style: italic;">"I Got Lucky With Someone From Kentucky" </span> Looks like someone was hoping they'd be <span style="font-weight: bold;">lucky</span> enough to get that close to Michelle!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpbf9HUTPOqrMN-eAKb9wgac9g0tzR2x7HhNUX5Gxf2U0YLKxUKGu98hoKmMxA621EaeCxoJmCKCAKfYjwU_3IhgBRhEjP2sVztTdZrpH1GM7BD4Kk4KQJyyUiPea0X_1Lx62nLaoboBy/s1600-h/DSC01878.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpbf9HUTPOqrMN-eAKb9wgac9g0tzR2x7HhNUX5Gxf2U0YLKxUKGu98hoKmMxA621EaeCxoJmCKCAKfYjwU_3IhgBRhEjP2sVztTdZrpH1GM7BD4Kk4KQJyyUiPea0X_1Lx62nLaoboBy/s400/DSC01878.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334725888229050114" border="0" /></a>I don't think we will be shocked by <span style="font-weight: bold;">anything</span> after the Derby<br /><br />Other stickers we saw that day included one that said <span style="font-style: italic;">"Talk Derby to Me." </span> While the Derby was full of <span style="font-weight: bold;">new</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">interesting</span> sights and adventures, we were constantly amazed at the sheer number of <span style="font-weight: bold;">MEN</span> that we saw. They were <span style="font-weight: bold;">everywhere</span>. Huge groups of them. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Hunting Buddies. Frat Boys. Office Associates. Family Groups. Biker Gangs. </span>The odd thing was that these groups were lacking one thing that usually goes hand in hand with groups of men...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Women</span>. Not one. Even stranger was that these groups of men were <span style="font-weight: bold;">HOT</span>. I'm not trying to be shallow, <span style="font-weight: bold;">but seriously</span>. I know where all the attractive men have been hiding...<span style="font-weight: bold;">KENTUCKY!</span> Unfortunately, sorting them into <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"sober"</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">"not sober"</span> categories would have taken <span style="font-weight: bold;">days</span>. So we were forced to just enjoy the eye candy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCPp_rq3FkWcphilM6FUo_OK8NmxkohelDbQE9A9q8Sf5vavB0j178KujL1lH5F9dpZuJbiQdthrKsZqQ0uOaWbtge2HYnsBg-u7wysgEhcSmteeljHVQpob7LAG70DkTT4Zl9BQhjHRf/s1600-h/DSC01873.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 375px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCPp_rq3FkWcphilM6FUo_OK8NmxkohelDbQE9A9q8Sf5vavB0j178KujL1lH5F9dpZuJbiQdthrKsZqQ0uOaWbtge2HYnsBg-u7wysgEhcSmteeljHVQpob7LAG70DkTT4Zl9BQhjHRf/s400/DSC01873.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334725664794310178" border="0" /></a>The Twin Spires of Churchill Downs<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7tC1N91gKB5IceDHlFPiLzgpKhOPbgliHO0kcgS_OM-WENorKpdrK65ekh9gKyMEkIBScu11YzCgekwHACzs3cNTLNQHwlaNyWAu-m1VuD-4nqcovUffbi5n4MyE0U5oz4mIOIu0paW9/s1600-h/DSC01869.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7tC1N91gKB5IceDHlFPiLzgpKhOPbgliHO0kcgS_OM-WENorKpdrK65ekh9gKyMEkIBScu11YzCgekwHACzs3cNTLNQHwlaNyWAu-m1VuD-4nqcovUffbi5n4MyE0U5oz4mIOIu0paW9/s400/DSC01869.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334725514402454178" border="0" /></a>Jen and I bet on the ponies. We know we <span style="font-weight: bold;">shouldn't have</span>, but we <span style="font-weight: bold;">did it anyway</span>. Too bad we didn't put any money on "Mine That Bird"...<span style="font-weight: bold;">50:1 odds</span>...Wow.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9aycHckjujVXAz2tyzmLC9uPLCWI0WJEP4Ub-Jm_hyphenhyphenM8jmDv0r0rX9Fjh8NnptUQo1BU6kUxzdsarduwqtMd-V6-m9dxADPCU1vV4aNU9p90llzu5uM74eRU6mcU_wTNhp1MmWbH9OenJ/s1600-h/DSC01879.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9aycHckjujVXAz2tyzmLC9uPLCWI0WJEP4Ub-Jm_hyphenhyphenM8jmDv0r0rX9Fjh8NnptUQo1BU6kUxzdsarduwqtMd-V6-m9dxADPCU1vV4aNU9p90llzu5uM74eRU6mcU_wTNhp1MmWbH9OenJ/s400/DSC01879.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334726027064450450" border="0" /></a>Anne made fresh chicken salad sandwiches. What is more Derby than fresh chicken salad and coke?<br /><br />The men next to us tried to by us drinks. <span style="font-weight: bold;">All three groups of them</span>. On <span style="font-weight: bold;">a couple</span> of different occasions. This led to an interesting opportunity to discuss <span style="font-weight: bold;">why</span> we didn't drink, <span style="font-weight: bold;">where</span> we went to school, and <span style="font-weight: bold;">how</span> we really were just there to have a good time,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> yes,</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">without alcohol.</span> They were <span style="font-weight: bold;">fascinated</span>. One of them wanted to marry Anne. Right then and there. She was <span style="font-style: italic;">"the <span style="font-weight: bold;">most beautiful </span>woman [he] had ever seen." </span>By the time we left he <span style="font-style: italic;">"Didn't think he didn't want to never see [her] again."</span> That was probably<span style="font-weight: bold;"> 4 or 5 </span>mint juleps later. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Go figure.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6rWRUUqYjfQdfXbigSLiCoIU3DgEtH3bSgFN9wWg3shyphenhyphenFG9wX7ikxxXoN6FBwpricZ5PQrVrTKO8f4wGtBo3kUGJMmKVQCg3lxHP1RASC000QgxwxSXhXkuMSIAAf5Kvuo5nJ3Lem2Yjv/s1600-h/DSC01881.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6rWRUUqYjfQdfXbigSLiCoIU3DgEtH3bSgFN9wWg3shyphenhyphenFG9wX7ikxxXoN6FBwpricZ5PQrVrTKO8f4wGtBo3kUGJMmKVQCg3lxHP1RASC000QgxwxSXhXkuMSIAAf5Kvuo5nJ3Lem2Yjv/s400/DSC01881.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334726126123933426" border="0" /></a>It's all about the<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Hats.</span><br /><br />After the Derby we drove to Charleston, West Virginia and spent the night. Charleston is a cute little mining town with a beautiful capitol building and adorable historic district. We <span style="font-weight: bold;">slept in</span>, ate <span style="font-weight: bold;">waffles</span> at the hotel and then wandered around taking pictures at the capitol.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRC7-v0TXPpOrqATL42fRyR9V6VySaKEsqjvT4twTiAmEmP3SPHlAohU02qx-dlCl63YPnctH3UNLzde20Z_PEqK5Irxy7mpO7H7sTQBfJS4nSE9DA0gDdYq0Mo6rT7cPmV2dUz2FDJfvX/s1600-h/DSC01896.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRC7-v0TXPpOrqATL42fRyR9V6VySaKEsqjvT4twTiAmEmP3SPHlAohU02qx-dlCl63YPnctH3UNLzde20Z_PEqK5Irxy7mpO7H7sTQBfJS4nSE9DA0gDdYq0Mo6rT7cPmV2dUz2FDJfvX/s400/DSC01896.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334726505423864530" border="0" /></a>Anne, Michelle and Jen in front of the Capitol.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUSE67lTlT9NPg_-4minRaunJI1SpCSDG6w6lUYce6K98UtFKo9lkrKIIPKAwkwH0BtncQHgWGUlTw0kQ5SBhK7Mopnp7WWFVCoWW_4HuWxCwrroMxKuGK4MBuEjddkimIhkIrL4-JKOG/s1600-h/DSC01898.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUSE67lTlT9NPg_-4minRaunJI1SpCSDG6w6lUYce6K98UtFKo9lkrKIIPKAwkwH0BtncQHgWGUlTw0kQ5SBhK7Mopnp7WWFVCoWW_4HuWxCwrroMxKuGK4MBuEjddkimIhkIrL4-JKOG/s400/DSC01898.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334726606083700482" border="0" /></a>One of my Besties!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIRqpZWmxCYKkB33FR3QHVaoBJ959GcA9GobXVqsURbtk9ExBNfuvcuK5XwYxo0Fa_KLwtcCu979aDYN5vUJBi6Un-VYhKPjV41p0rrFCi26LpeE8mQJb-g7-sjLlfp2n6jVDYuvBhRU6/s1600-h/DSC01904.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIRqpZWmxCYKkB33FR3QHVaoBJ959GcA9GobXVqsURbtk9ExBNfuvcuK5XwYxo0Fa_KLwtcCu979aDYN5vUJBi6Un-VYhKPjV41p0rrFCi26LpeE8mQJb-g7-sjLlfp2n6jVDYuvBhRU6/s400/DSC01904.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334726723239169074" border="0" /></a>Midge and Jen fooling around at the capitol.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYCj6ywehqL14717l3FGLIt12Mr9dLCVznkdbAcJReyNIMTjr4EnVxRhYfEELGg_mf6WF87bS9jB42Lfxf44JtJmovKG3-sMQ-9SOqg-YwweyVtBY0W34oa3ihvrUl3OJQPjOYeDCBXXx0/s1600-h/DSC01910.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 308px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYCj6ywehqL14717l3FGLIt12Mr9dLCVznkdbAcJReyNIMTjr4EnVxRhYfEELGg_mf6WF87bS9jB42Lfxf44JtJmovKG3-sMQ-9SOqg-YwweyVtBY0W34oa3ihvrUl3OJQPjOYeDCBXXx0/s400/DSC01910.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334726906816385858" border="0" /></a>One of my all time favorite pics of Michelle.<br /><br />After enjoying the scenery in Charleston, we drove to Jen's home...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Miller Farm,</span> nestled in a little valley just over the Virginia/West Virginia state line. There we had one of the most <span style="font-weight: bold;">amazing </span>lunches on record with Mama and Papa Miller and the crew. Farm fresh pork roast, mashed potatoes, hot biscuits, and <span style="font-weight: bold;">fresh-picked morels</span>. We were in heaven. After dinner we helped feed the bum-calf, saw the pigs, and enjoyed the fresh mountain air. Made me miss home. After a long and sad goodbye to Miller Farm and all its charms, we drove the rest of the way home and back into the <span style="font-weight: bold;">real world</span>. A safe end to a very successful and memorable trip.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj174V8Zex37w7eKGlLyN5gxMlsi1HKJXMlJMqrkGhQEH_hpZAOFwm-FKZdwtNis9XoGpMYAMv04ar7vKYbkz_j7JH4cwFMHxaVFTvU5l2wmEXY3QGCTI469qtV-8xqn9F-V1WWfhS-gLnS/s1600-h/DSC01913.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 392px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj174V8Zex37w7eKGlLyN5gxMlsi1HKJXMlJMqrkGhQEH_hpZAOFwm-FKZdwtNis9XoGpMYAMv04ar7vKYbkz_j7JH4cwFMHxaVFTvU5l2wmEXY3QGCTI469qtV-8xqn9F-V1WWfhS-gLnS/s400/DSC01913.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334727017503692946" border="0" /></a>I <span style="font-weight: bold;">love</span> these girls. They are a<span style="font-weight: bold;"> priceless</span> part of what makes my life so wonderful. Thanks for an <span style="font-weight: bold;">amazing </span>weekend, ladies.<br /><br /></div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-53292786512573688052009-05-07T05:49:00.001-07:002009-05-07T06:10:53.290-07:00A Memo on Noisy Avian Lovemaking...Dear Birds,<br /><br />In the interest of our future relationship and my personal sanity I feel it is important to address the following issue outright.<br /><br />I appreciate the difficulty of finding love in this day and age. It is not easy. I cannot imagine it being any easier if you are a Swallow, or a Thrush, or a Dove. Finding a mate is no easy task. Trust me, I know.<br /><br />I can only imagine the ecstasy one must feel at finally having found "The One." A truly miraculous occurence, no doubt.<br /><br />However, this does not negate the fact that whilst the better part of your kind are in the throes of springtime joy, there are others of us who are trying to carry on with the general day-to-day of it all.<br /><br />In short, what I'm trying to say is if we could keep the pre-5am amorous chirping to a minimum (and by minimum I am implying total and complete elimination) that would be fantastic. It's not that I don't appreciate the springtime miracle unfolding outside my window, it's just that I would rather not have to wake up to it before the sun has even considered rousting itself out of its bed.<br /><br />In conclusion, I think we can make this relationship work. You keep the announcement of early morning lovemaking quiet, and I, in turn, will keep an eye on my neighbor's cat. I also believe such an arrangement will prevent sleep deprivation on my part. This is good for you in that it will prevent me from having a psychotic break from reality which may or may not cause me to throw rocks at your nest come summer. It's your call.<br /><br />Very Respectfully,<br /><br />Amanda<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333067821390679218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 244px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 183px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKcRQv20qZSRWjMSvmC-1Q4Xwf7bBkOXt8H4srPggybxlTDmBPEOrISiKYMSFABPH9rIgs0svG5BlvXfGi5qJQ76ikAnLwF1ohhWt1x1VH3j6aXXOZcrob4iEYapqL67eRSwxnQT5c8FxK/s320/Shhh.bmp" border="0" />Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-3057056114340056722009-05-04T07:00:00.000-07:002009-05-04T07:05:11.074-07:00Go, Humans, Go!<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Saw THIS on the side of a bus this morning as I was walking to work in the rain...again.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331968980425695042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcQoeUX0-1WNoz-up3t7Fq4S8CiC_Z64IgAYMmzT3oc_BPHduvdhW6EcKf4IR6ZhV3nrfwLyGPszw-8BZAtXg77yNnf4ehYDxoSInYI6xhHo60y1fCqbEtbtDgKMppT7b7ry1mb1Y6yiE/s400/3370771029_e24f0e3c81%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></div><p>I can't tell if I should be encouraged by the Quaker man, or if he is taunting me as he rushes by, splashing dirty street water on my shoes. </p><p>Maybe I should just take the subliminal message for what it is and start eating more Oatmeal. </p><p>I still think that mostly I dislike being told what to do...particularly by a smirking Quaker man plastered to the side of a Mass Transit vehicle.</p>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-17267991905602327552009-04-07T09:31:00.001-07:002009-04-07T09:37:15.007-07:00The Universe Hates Me: Part Duh...I like to take care of my body. <br /><br />I work out, I eat right, and I get enough sleep if that is humanly possible.<br /><br />But, SOMETIMES you just get a craving. And I, personally, think it's okay to give in to those cravings every once in a while. <br /><br />So today, when I was REALLY craving a nice, juicy burger I decided to forego my usual lunch- time salad and hit the grill. I figured I was justified...I ran 10 miles on Sunday, and had to skip lunch on Monday...so I've got a few calories to spare.<br /><br />So, I went to the grill. Grabbed my burger and fries and headed back to the desk, probably more excited than I should have been about a burger...especially one from the cafeteria. <br /><br />When I unwrapped said burger, what I got was not the warm, juicy piece of American beef I had been hoping for...but something that looked a good deal more like a hocky puck, or a charcoal briquette, than something for actual consumption.<br /><br />Sigh...<br /><br />Fine Universe. You Win. Lesson Learned.<br /><br />Dang, I hate it when you're right.Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-13147796342031650622009-04-01T20:16:00.000-07:002009-04-03T07:39:23.403-07:00SURPRISE...<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center">Well, after an <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">overwhelming</span> response on the hair question....<br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">I Did It.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNYBPx87zYNn32xBywiF0FY4QGFTPV1NuNurOPGnDpCxvQwv7hu-ssv6Uw4PgxFsGeJP1lK6AzX2089tvXkNGMsnkVlFxR4pUwU1hxMV7iRYi6iqsUZPnNk0aP4c9HqCnCYk5tcKrxhpas/s1600-h/DSC01738.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319928303685691906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 265px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNYBPx87zYNn32xBywiF0FY4QGFTPV1NuNurOPGnDpCxvQwv7hu-ssv6Uw4PgxFsGeJP1lK6AzX2089tvXkNGMsnkVlFxR4pUwU1hxMV7iRYi6iqsUZPnNk0aP4c9HqCnCYk5tcKrxhpas/s320/DSC01738.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />My hairdresser was <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">thrilled </span>that I was finally letting him cut it off. He skipped around the chair like a <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">school boy</span>...detailing every part of the cut...Kind of like when the <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">pilot </span>tells you how he's gonna get you where it says on your ticket on a commercial plane flight...In my head I was thinking <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">"okay, sure...just make it look like the photo..."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdLyJcWSjKafjtQN9nMfpm4t2jTegnpvcEtgPKWc_uCDipcRvaPl3POGmNL5ukX6w8ruV-F3s4I_BZeYqrLdJf4vlByxEZ8FMeioGE30gVlFLk8Ra_MouB8W6dqrgLBuVAnTP3Cwcq_3R9/s1600-h/DSC01735.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319928209792204098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 252px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdLyJcWSjKafjtQN9nMfpm4t2jTegnpvcEtgPKWc_uCDipcRvaPl3POGmNL5ukX6w8ruV-F3s4I_BZeYqrLdJf4vlByxEZ8FMeioGE30gVlFLk8Ra_MouB8W6dqrgLBuVAnTP3Cwcq_3R9/s320/DSC01735.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Close Enough.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwMcqq-TWXPeYzrrN5OWOndt83ZcLgTyGVv6HwW9n2nL63mW7TJei9ySNEDDUhKT8TN20tko8o1Jo789wFdcpldZnjJcv4Y53Gp5hFJXRl1y0v6OZBdKdhiyjC-mVmsqfdjjEOHwVJGTO/s1600-h/DSC01734.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319928115958112514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 277px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwMcqq-TWXPeYzrrN5OWOndt83ZcLgTyGVv6HwW9n2nL63mW7TJei9ySNEDDUhKT8TN20tko8o1Jo789wFdcpldZnjJcv4Y53Gp5hFJXRl1y0v6OZBdKdhiyjC-mVmsqfdjjEOHwVJGTO/s320/DSC01734.JPG" border="0" /></a>So, you asked for it...You got it! Here are a few pics. Don't ask my <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">why </span>I'm not smiling in any of them. Probably because I had to take them myself <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">narcissistic</span>, I know...but no one else was around and I had been <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">threatened </span>with pain of death if I didn't post these <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">ASAP</span>) </span>and when I smile in self-photos I look <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">weird. So Deal.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKcmqVqrd_Rl0FK56-IlM4F4w9lVIllDgscWml91qw-c3s2D1cVXaTEfyzZRPBg7qg_CrgmtUkjAK3AnlmnXntWYKKEm1X3KgVNG_3e26HysTz9Bi9C07LSPTokHiIsagAizSL66hmNVg/s1600-h/0401092028.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319928037137533618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 283px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKcmqVqrd_Rl0FK56-IlM4F4w9lVIllDgscWml91qw-c3s2D1cVXaTEfyzZRPBg7qg_CrgmtUkjAK3AnlmnXntWYKKEm1X3KgVNG_3e26HysTz9Bi9C07LSPTokHiIsagAizSL66hmNVg/s320/0401092028.jpg" border="0" /></a>So the question is...Does the <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">New</span> 'Do mean I'll be getting in<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"> New Trouble</span><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span>...?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizjOKbjPC4vCsoufGsWse6lOJl10-T5TE3_dnNGZchiCo6nnkweXZepYAqkAVfo9FiejWEnh2a9tJ4K1VhySNqRpH2wqyZWuUdyGJj4RGM47Imv5Cbp2WzyK_gnXqFQvXpa00HthxBZzZ6/s1600-h/DSC01789.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319930745450736754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 281px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizjOKbjPC4vCsoufGsWse6lOJl10-T5TE3_dnNGZchiCo6nnkweXZepYAqkAVfo9FiejWEnh2a9tJ4K1VhySNqRpH2wqyZWuUdyGJj4RGM47Imv5Cbp2WzyK_gnXqFQvXpa00HthxBZzZ6/s320/DSC01789.JPG" border="0" /></a>I <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Certainly</span> Hope So!<br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4S9Fxp8nhC6lrq41qC9KExvUQbF1G6L6mLsb4B7bXx6MdOOJkrAh_t2OMIHrsEtSynwZFHihQaBNyh9QrpY18PIStIuBBtlE8nV4TQvTgB_vwhXbUYI86DQNeP8b7BhY_dGVTAv8em9h/s1600-h/DSC01789.JPG"><br /></a></div></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center">Stay Tuned! </div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-26109967317811884262009-03-29T06:37:00.001-07:002009-03-29T06:56:43.716-07:00A Little Advice, Please...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Calling All Friends, Family, and Random Readers Who May Have Happened on This Blog Accidentally...</span><br /><br />I need some<span style="font-weight: bold;"> advice</span>. <br /><br />Don't freak out , it's <span style="font-weight: bold;">silly</span> advice. But I'm seeking opinions none-the-less. <br /><br />It's<span style="font-weight: bold;"> haircut</span> time again...and I've had the same one for about <span style="font-weight: bold;">2 years</span>...Feeling like it might be time for a<span style="font-weight: bold;"> change</span>. <br /><br />I've had my hair all the way from middle-of-my-back long to a barely-jaw-length bob in high school. I've been really happy with the style, lately. It's pretty <span style="font-weight: bold;">easy</span> to maintain...Handles the DC <span style="font-weight: bold;">humidity</span>...and I can always fall back on a <span style="font-weight: bold;">pony tail</span> or a <span style="font-weight: bold;">cap</span> over it on really <span style="font-weight: bold;">unruly </span>days. <br /><br />However, when I saw <span style="font-weight: bold;">Taraji Henson</span> at the Oscars this year I totally fell in love with her bob and bangs. The guy who cuts my hair has been wanting to cut it short for a while, but I won't let him. <br /><br />Summer is coming up and I'm wondering if it's time to take the <span style="font-weight: bold;">plunge</span> and change it up. <br /><br />So...I'm seeking the opinions of<span style="font-weight: bold;"> YOU</span>! Not hard... see the photos below and leave me a comment to let me know what you think. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Current State of Affairs...</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaSSk5u_y-bub0b1fi39DEV-wk6JeEs4EI8zO8x7RIdjEQXzTVjwuu8UgFuhhMNmiffkxKFTxl50SUIHUzpxIxD5xtjK_IiCVlX_cMD_Djotf0FTPtxxdnQGNGC0Xqgabvxuw9P591dtJ/s1600-h/DSC01348.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaSSk5u_y-bub0b1fi39DEV-wk6JeEs4EI8zO8x7RIdjEQXzTVjwuu8UgFuhhMNmiffkxKFTxl50SUIHUzpxIxD5xtjK_IiCVlX_cMD_Djotf0FTPtxxdnQGNGC0Xqgabvxuw9P591dtJ/s320/DSC01348.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318603873164993458" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxd-ggqduOB5_-6_FgzsKGyaay4kW-pUazBS8NfIYGSx5dyHYZ-NfJOuiPQGUu_K81UuOWKA5HAPCyaP-UNwGHe9PNBZJb-MkIYVPSJi-hRxZsoGYrsg41JJtFSdmLpqgBpmJESLvaOvW9/s1600-h/DSC00349_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxd-ggqduOB5_-6_FgzsKGyaay4kW-pUazBS8NfIYGSx5dyHYZ-NfJOuiPQGUu_K81UuOWKA5HAPCyaP-UNwGHe9PNBZJb-MkIYVPSJi-hRxZsoGYrsg41JJtFSdmLpqgBpmJESLvaOvW9/s320/DSC00349_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318603787552610546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiP7wYs2DvvF0nkMmqgv1umVD1uGqLvLYv9fpDuSnM5sR5ex-tml6qP8WXi-vkE5s5rMPMZe-HhBIqaornW_yxD9NSCdDWLuYOvwVbetjc0uB8kLYr7Qijr82npgk-jJNGIeYVXlBM0hJ3/s1600-h/DSC00340_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiP7wYs2DvvF0nkMmqgv1umVD1uGqLvLYv9fpDuSnM5sR5ex-tml6qP8WXi-vkE5s5rMPMZe-HhBIqaornW_yxD9NSCdDWLuYOvwVbetjc0uB8kLYr7Qijr82npgk-jJNGIeYVXlBM0hJ3/s320/DSC00340_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318603705747562834" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">What I'm Thinking About...</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgHgAdOg_jyWGYk1H_hM6Hk4jE_hKEp1myXlvxwB0QmIflht_nNlDckxAunW4NjDbNs3BppEq1M3qbx9RvhDwQW1OwK5I7O3xgKU4ASiwRbmnagNR8GI-PjmYZHxEXKT4cjMBdUMnL60BV/s1600-h/81st+Annual+Academy+Awards+Arrivals+-7R8ibj4DoXl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgHgAdOg_jyWGYk1H_hM6Hk4jE_hKEp1myXlvxwB0QmIflht_nNlDckxAunW4NjDbNs3BppEq1M3qbx9RvhDwQW1OwK5I7O3xgKU4ASiwRbmnagNR8GI-PjmYZHxEXKT4cjMBdUMnL60BV/s320/81st+Annual+Academy+Awards+Arrivals+-7R8ibj4DoXl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318604013180032642" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkuO0IB1bkpP7TBtovloVNO0nweV45lpCf0JsD7QRPZ1F-LcFxN94IC3q0i06_nWRZo08a8OiNxjJ0kCx0C3iqiDOVhRPDxEp57Hck0DX2CQcse8oZT6eZdO6ZWR9iVj3jvltG7REqJBe5/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 100px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkuO0IB1bkpP7TBtovloVNO0nweV45lpCf0JsD7QRPZ1F-LcFxN94IC3q0i06_nWRZo08a8OiNxjJ0kCx0C3iqiDOVhRPDxEp57Hck0DX2CQcse8oZT6eZdO6ZWR9iVj3jvltG7REqJBe5/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318604151600866658" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZLozVS0CF8mlSdGnAxVCaa5uKz64Ew8laAmMdhJgKIlCv0FM8m5CKurCJaOsVO-kjujvHjcU8YRswcgXjM8tVsRkwJ7fEwhIrPvKv2ac0vGrSrQ1ETmhinS-ry-R3qp5am50NA1E1AC3G/s1600-h/d8a07cdd2d099312_taraji2009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZLozVS0CF8mlSdGnAxVCaa5uKz64Ew8laAmMdhJgKIlCv0FM8m5CKurCJaOsVO-kjujvHjcU8YRswcgXjM8tVsRkwJ7fEwhIrPvKv2ac0vGrSrQ1ETmhinS-ry-R3qp5am50NA1E1AC3G/s320/d8a07cdd2d099312_taraji2009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318604074102282562" border="0" /></a><br />So...What do you think? Can I pull this off without a team of <span style="font-weight: bold;">expert stylists </span>and a shut-your-mouth-don't-even-mention-how-much-it-costs <span style="font-weight: bold;">antique diamond choker</span>? <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">THIS</span> is what I need to know!<br /><br />So <span style="font-weight: bold;">please</span>, leave a comment and let me know what you think<span style="font-style: italic;"> (yes you may post them anonymously...no I will not be offended, regardless...my skin...er...hair <span style="font-weight: bold;">(?)</span> is thicker than that)</span>. Appointment is on Wednesday. Time is ticking!Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-15699899004888051222009-03-27T06:13:00.000-07:002009-03-27T06:34:28.307-07:00My Blog: FAILNo, I'm not dead. Just lazy...or busy...or at my wits end. All of the above, perhaps? Who knows. Regardles, this is me apologizing.<br /><br />Last month I wrote 6 posts. SIX! In February, the shortest month of the year, no less. This month, do you know how many I've written? NONE. Yep. That's right. Not a single one. And this little miniature attempt at redemption is a pretty pathetic excuse for an actual post.<br /><br />So, since I seem to be no good at keeping up my blog...I will direct you to a much better one. FAILblog.org. Trust me...if you have time to waste (and even if you don't) this is the place for you. Check it: <a href="http://failblog.org/">http://failblog.org/</a> ps: there is a G-rated version...I recommend that one.<br /><br />When you get done failblogging, should you care to know, here is a mini update on the things coming up in my life...<br /><br />1.) Cherry Blossom 10 Mile Race...should be an adventure, seeing as how I have done ONE six mile run in the last two weeks...and that's about it. I'll keep you posted. The good news is the blossoms are right on schedule, so at least I'll be surrounded by the beauties of spring while I limp along...if it's not raining that is.<br /><br />2.) Rehearsing for my upcoming role as "Anna Christensen" a Danish saint who comes to America to join with the church in their exodus to Utah in our Institute choir's upcoming performance of "Witnesses," a musical production relating the tales of the early saints. I not only have to perfect a Danish accent, but also sing a song called "I'll Love Whatever's Left of You" in said accent. I may or may not have to wear a bonnet. More on that later. Embarrassing photos will, no doubt, be provided by Josh D.<br /><br />3.) Throwing an engagement party for two dear friends who will be getting married in Utah. Beginning to wonder if my calling in life is not in-depth political research and writing, but instead planning and hosting lavish affairs involving tiny food and large floral arrangements.<br /><br />4.) KATHERINE GETS HOME FROM JAPAN! WOOT!<br /><br />5.) MUDDY RUN! April 25. So stoked. A 5K race through obstacles including a "river" crossing (we'll see what kind of a river it is...i doubt we'll be fording the Potomac) and two, count them TWO huge mud pits. Ask me how excited I am for this?!? An excuse to get filthy dirty with five of my closest friends, and a bunch of people I don't know! Can't wait (Come on, I grew up on a farm...It's been WAY too long since I got to play in the mud!)<br /><br />6.) Renting a Winnebago and driving to Kentucky for the Kentucky Derby with some of my best friends. There will also be the purchasing of large, flamboyant hats and coordinating spring attire. Totally worth it for the shopping trip alone!<br /><br />So, there you have it. That's the short list. And I will leave you with a promise to be a better blogger. Things will slow down here sooner or later...right?<br /><br />One can only hope.Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-6148859953294036172009-02-25T08:03:00.000-08:002009-02-28T06:17:03.812-08:00The Good, The Bad, The Ugly...Well, after two days I am <span style="font-weight: bold;">still sick</span>. Not sick enough to be passed out in bed, but just sick enough to not be able to go in to work and be stuck in the house <span style="font-weight: bold;">bored</span>.<br /><br />So, after two days of watching Entertainment TV, I decided to do my own <span style="font-weight: bold;">best</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">worst dressed</span> lists for the Oscars. I have to say, I think the bulk of this year's major lists were right on the money, but I had a couple of quibbles and some of my own ideas about who <span style="font-weight: bold;">hit</span> and<span style="font-weight: bold;"> missed</span> on the Red Carpet.<br /><br />Oh, and did I mention I've been getting pestered about doing one of these by multiple faithful readers? That too...<br /><br />So, here we go<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stanfill's Sartorial Samplings: 2009 Oscars Best and Worst Dressed</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Top 5 Best Dressed Females</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Penelope Cruz in vintage Balmain:</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghW9rFyze1FYsKKkrO9EcuoqmvrFJxCVmH6DWCT1iOiXTg0F-MZXSZau25fmjfco6co6HynqkfRLUnes7sIqtDmLiwvaYs8bog_ztouoxMMIWoMdKytTtRxKuAr_dHe2J6FnITIG0eUANN/s1600-h/1dc18bd0-b2ff-4c5a-acb9-31e7cf162147_Main_PenelopeCruz_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghW9rFyze1FYsKKkrO9EcuoqmvrFJxCVmH6DWCT1iOiXTg0F-MZXSZau25fmjfco6co6HynqkfRLUnes7sIqtDmLiwvaYs8bog_ztouoxMMIWoMdKytTtRxKuAr_dHe2J6FnITIG0eUANN/s320/1dc18bd0-b2ff-4c5a-acb9-31e7cf162147_Main_PenelopeCruz_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306768151382492418" border="0" /></a><br />Okay, let it be known that I am a <span style="font-weight: bold;">HUGE</span> Penelope fan. Her US films, her foreign films, you name it, I probably<span style="font-weight: bold;"> loved</span> it. And I think that, for the most part, she always looks like a <span style="font-weight: bold;">class act</span>. Pair that with her <span style="font-weight: bold;">60+ year old vintage gown</span> that she has been hanging on to for eight years to wear to something "special" <span style="font-style: italic;">(getting an Oscar, check, I think it counts)</span>. Toss in the <span style="font-weight: bold;">$3M </span>worth of diamonds she wore for the evening and her <span style="font-weight: bold;">to-die-for </span>sweetheart bangs and you've got the complete look. She <span style="font-weight: bold;">floated</span> down the Red Carpet and I have to say I find the overall effect of a silhouette like this far more pleasing than some of the uber-tight gowns we saw this year. I don't care what kind of body you have, as my daddy says <span style="font-weight: bold;">"Every step looks like two pigs fighting under a blanket."</span> Okay, maybe not <span style="font-weight: bold;">SO</span> much on the red carpet, but still...she <span style="font-weight: bold;">FLOATED</span>. Some argued that the dress looked a little too bridal...I disagree...and I would also submit that if I can look anywhere <span style="font-weight: bold;">NEAR </span>this good on my wedding day, <span style="font-weight: bold;">I'll take it</span>. Well done, Pen.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Vannessa Hudgens in Marchessa:</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKE6EVisbFwuz9UKEmcAqgkuXNcwv7vgwNc0xIiPYBmt5fapl8krk0U9L02ZqkXJtbGkTKB4B2upUB7wZftyJ0KH8t4vxMvjFGD-oA6-GH_dU1DpHdbqJK53vj7H7Cd5qI4-Fr_cqnILFl/s1600-h/3f1b148f-d04a-4fb0-bd9d-67f37110db99_Main_OscarsArrSB220008_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKE6EVisbFwuz9UKEmcAqgkuXNcwv7vgwNc0xIiPYBmt5fapl8krk0U9L02ZqkXJtbGkTKB4B2upUB7wZftyJ0KH8t4vxMvjFGD-oA6-GH_dU1DpHdbqJK53vj7H7Cd5qI4-Fr_cqnILFl/s320/3f1b148f-d04a-4fb0-bd9d-67f37110db99_Main_OscarsArrSB220008_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306768296017306562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">This pains me</span>. It truly, truly does. To ever have to tip my hat to anyone remotely involved with the <span style="font-weight: bold;">bane</span> that is the High School Musical Series is almost more than I can bear. And yet, I feel I owe it to this girl. I have to say, <span style="font-weight: bold;">for her age</span>, she <span style="font-weight: bold;">rocked </span>the Red Carpet. Her dress was completely <span style="font-weight: bold;">AGE APPROPRIATE</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(SHARON STONE AND MILEY CYRUS ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!?!)</span>. Fun and unstuffy while still sophisticated. The dress was originally knee length and she had the extra bottom layer added to make it more appropriate for the red carpet. While I am usually anti-mermaid, the addition took her from <span style="font-weight: bold;">Jessica McClintock Prom Queen </span>to <span style="font-weight: bold;">Red Carpet Diva</span>. The earrings and the hair were also right on point. <span style="font-weight: bold;">*HOWEVER</span>, I did hear that she compared herself to a young<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Audrey Hepburn</span>...Girfriend...all I am going to say is <span style="font-weight: bold;">DON'T EVER</span> compare yourself to <span style="font-weight: bold;">Audrey</span>. Particularly when your body of work includes countless films under the title <span style="font-weight: bold;">"High School Musical..."</span> You're talking about the Funny Girl, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Roman Holiday <span style="font-weight: bold;">ICON </span>here. Just do yourself a favor and stand in wonder at the force that is and was Audrey Hepburn and <span style="font-weight: bold;">DON'T EVER</span> let a reporter catch you saying you think you look like her. <span style="font-weight: bold;"> Good Grief Girl...Show a little respect.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tiraji</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> P. </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hensen</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> in Roberto </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cavalli</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">:</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY87AlDvJl8GlsFZFN9yNNUFUhyphenhyphenHuywxqbZb8e6Iwv9L_flR-ouw0yGZtJvE7Tf169GQ7lNfpUEoS0QMlTZjG1XtQll5-sP5wX-0h6NFeHCExp3K8yTalMTOc7vh12RAIToO2EDQ6C_8l_/s1600-h/9a87396b-d331-4394-8aa8-9031b475e357_Main_OscarsArrSB220064_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY87AlDvJl8GlsFZFN9yNNUFUhyphenhyphenHuywxqbZb8e6Iwv9L_flR-ouw0yGZtJvE7Tf169GQ7lNfpUEoS0QMlTZjG1XtQll5-sP5wX-0h6NFeHCExp3K8yTalMTOc7vh12RAIToO2EDQ6C_8l_/s320/9a87396b-d331-4394-8aa8-9031b475e357_Main_OscarsArrSB220064_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306768585961152386" border="0" /></a>Two words: <span style="font-weight: bold;">Rocked It.</span> This gown was tricky and could have gone very quickly from edgy-sophisticated to straight- up Mummy Chic. How many poor actresses have we seen get <span style="font-weight: bold;">slammed </span>for trying to rock this look only to be criticized for looking like the dog, the lawnmower,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Enron's accounting department </span><span style="font-style: italic;">(oh, was that out loud?)</span>, etc got hold of their dress the night before the ceremony. However, Tiraji's amazing body and expertly coiffed 'do tied it all together. Oh yes, and did I mention the bling<span style="font-weight: bold;">?</span> An antique diamond choker that could put the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Milky Way</span> to shame. It can be tricky pairing something as fashion forward as this shredded tiered column with something vintage, but this was seriously perfect. She may have even inspired me to go with <span style="font-weight: bold;">short hair</span> for summer. I love the A-line bob with the dramatic bangs. Add in her satiny skin and amazing eyes and it's a 10! Much love for Tiraji.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Anne Hathaway in Armani </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Prive</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">':</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQN0b3CXMeJDYRRixyXexwS0bQyBF0ZCi7XC8ZNWL30QBE2uspgkWzCHElyu4z50OjC3taCvGih1oLLpRKuZ-o1jPWkBOLwUL8-zvlbmMIZ5mR_qqmDDgCH7N7HSWjlf4_gylSwt9N5eKF/s1600-h/994a4f8d-baac-4780-9a20-16b039477218_Main_AnneHathaway_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQN0b3CXMeJDYRRixyXexwS0bQyBF0ZCi7XC8ZNWL30QBE2uspgkWzCHElyu4z50OjC3taCvGih1oLLpRKuZ-o1jPWkBOLwUL8-zvlbmMIZ5mR_qqmDDgCH7N7HSWjlf4_gylSwt9N5eKF/s320/994a4f8d-baac-4780-9a20-16b039477218_Main_AnneHathaway_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306768693497999330" border="0" /></a>Again, this is a little <span style="font-weight: bold;">painful</span>, because I have tried for a very long time to hate on this girl <span style="font-style: italic;">(mostly out of loyalty to dear cousin Emily; Hathaway dated one of Em's ex-boyfriends, and we had sworn a pact to loathe her all our days...it's just what you do) </span>but I can do it no longer. She <span style="font-weight: bold;">rocks my socks</span> as far as fashion is concerned. She looks like a million bucks <span style="font-weight: bold;">ALL THE TIME.</span> Now, given, it's hard to look bad in Armani, this dress still had it's little tricks. For starters, I, as a general rule, have a paillete<span style="font-weight: bold;"> problem</span>...and this dress was <span style="font-weight: bold;">COVERED</span> in 'em. However, it worked. She worked. <span style="font-weight: bold;">IT ALL JUST WORKED</span>. She was like her own flashbulb. Skin: Flawless. Hair: Classic. Makeup: Perfection. Pair it with her Megawatt personality and humble, yet confident persona and she's a winner in my book. My only <span style="font-weight: bold;">quibble</span> is she is still looking a <span style="font-weight: bold;">little skinny</span>, which pains me. However, given the trauma she's been through lately with her <span style="font-weight: bold;">ex-hubby in the clink</span> and all, I'd say she looks pretty dang fabulous. In my humble opinion, if <span style="font-weight: bold;">anyone</span> in Hollywood today can come anywhere <span style="font-weight: bold;">NEAR</span> touching Ms. Hepburn, it would be Anne, although she still has a ways to go. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Take a note V</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Natalie </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Portman</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> in </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rodarte</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">:</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoY5WQJlKlk9WDAvhDrhj8nQSl4XO4cUeQildwGPgGhjUDQbPbMf6VdjjxZOjGgZTXnLup-27XMaonXv9OIlmUWyQQxR8wTlqqbX-DvScAwGOZVb2eXV7wLCnDDdh-xCZuslKqS_VVI9jB/s1600-h/07895035-0c9d-4a57-b42d-8420cdff0f37_Main_115752_3054005667_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoY5WQJlKlk9WDAvhDrhj8nQSl4XO4cUeQildwGPgGhjUDQbPbMf6VdjjxZOjGgZTXnLup-27XMaonXv9OIlmUWyQQxR8wTlqqbX-DvScAwGOZVb2eXV7wLCnDDdh-xCZuslKqS_VVI9jB/s320/07895035-0c9d-4a57-b42d-8420cdff0f37_Main_115752_3054005667_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306768905770319634" border="0" /></a>Portman was a total darkhorse for me this year. I had gotten so used to seeing her in these<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>trippy Star Wars Princess Amidala inspired get-ups that I had sort of given up on her doing anything noteworthy. And honestly, when would I ever pick a pept<span style="font-weight: bold;">o-pink</span> gown for a best dressed award? Granted, this is still a little <span style="font-weight: bold;">Grecian Goddess,</span> which is a staple in Natalie's Red Carpet attire, but the overall look is fantastic. Not many people can wear "Hubba-Bubba" pink and make it look this good, but with her skin tone, it's a fantastic choice and a few of this year's <span style="font-weight: bold;">white/beige sporting starlets </span>could have taken a cue from her daring-do. The hair, also fantastic and the diamond studs were superb. I would have liked to see a little more bling around her neck <span style="font-style: italic;">(something simple a' la Penelope Cruz's sparkler) </span>but when you've got skin like hers, who really needs it? Now if only we could melt the <span style="font-weight: bold;">ice</span> off that <span style="font-weight: bold;">stare </span>of hers...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Top 5 Best Dressed Males</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Brad Pitt in Tom Ford:</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMuxgm9Zj74FLtMok8hVIt2xkrGfdkP5MoRRaoXxxWHc22Ld54qtDCTYVnY49RQdD-dUXo-pWh5j1gmbfgrmwkhg23K9LWdXo_qmgyJ45UQRNPHcwC2FDpOYq32t3o0Vv9wRibc-qmIqg-/s1600-h/1bd760dc-0529-484e-840b-752939e56cff_Main_Brangelina_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMuxgm9Zj74FLtMok8hVIt2xkrGfdkP5MoRRaoXxxWHc22Ld54qtDCTYVnY49RQdD-dUXo-pWh5j1gmbfgrmwkhg23K9LWdXo_qmgyJ45UQRNPHcwC2FDpOYq32t3o0Vv9wRibc-qmIqg-/s320/1bd760dc-0529-484e-840b-752939e56cff_Main_Brangelina_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306770236223896194" border="0" /></a>What can I say <span style="font-weight: bold;">Tom Ford</span> makes a nice suit, and when you put <span style="font-weight: bold;">Brad Pitt</span> in it, what else could it be but magic? Also, a small note, The caps on the buttons on his shirt are actually 24K-gold rimmed <span style="font-weight: bold;">black diamonds</span>. Nicely Done. Can we also get some quick love for Angie's crush-worthy emerald earrings and knuckle crushing emerald ring? <span style="font-weight: bold;"> Wow.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sean Penn in Armani:</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgs7o_ukp9d2X_Uk0mTjvn1h6lmevLGvwqROVLm9fJ-_ESjuiPkhfLU5WTZ0_FMjzwU4YB7djVzYnSVPpQrJq7tUdWhORfZvD4fEJhjhk4O3fJcH4Av4mDJopTLvYTKxj-tTCSomr4yS6/s1600-h/sean-penn-2009-oscars-022209-lg-24089209.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgs7o_ukp9d2X_Uk0mTjvn1h6lmevLGvwqROVLm9fJ-_ESjuiPkhfLU5WTZ0_FMjzwU4YB7djVzYnSVPpQrJq7tUdWhORfZvD4fEJhjhk4O3fJcH4Av4mDJopTLvYTKxj-tTCSomr4yS6/s320/sean-penn-2009-oscars-022209-lg-24089209.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306794942877230178" border="0" /></a>Not gonna lie...the <span style="font-weight: bold;">black on black on black </span>is a gamble. But Penn pulls it off with incredible style. For starters, the cut and tailoring of this suit is nothing short of <span style="font-weight: bold;">impeccable</span>. In general, a suit is a suit is a suit, but when it fits like this it is <span style="font-weight: bold;">magic</span>. Also, the woven texture of the long tie against the other blacks and the sheen of the satin lapels and buttons on his tux give a lot interest and sophistication to something that could have otherwise turned very <span style="font-weight: bold;">dark and brooding</span> very quickly. A quick shout out to his serious <span style="font-weight: bold;">arm-candy</span> of a wife too...She looked flawless.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Robert </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Downey</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Jr. in Someone Who Should be Getting Paid More:</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimaI-0bVVLV5QpgSGhBREoPC-hmiX2FIk2hJ-dVNNUF33uyR2R0MqLaxllW_DYJrgTUKxMmzBu9w_8qtX7wc2gsZxpJk0UzsPhojDCHJONiIIGpIWHz0i6hMQ2Xu2r9Wwa2KLrmkXKc4hF/s1600-h/robert-downey-2009-oscars-022209-lg-11123499.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimaI-0bVVLV5QpgSGhBREoPC-hmiX2FIk2hJ-dVNNUF33uyR2R0MqLaxllW_DYJrgTUKxMmzBu9w_8qtX7wc2gsZxpJk0UzsPhojDCHJONiIIGpIWHz0i6hMQ2Xu2r9Wwa2KLrmkXKc4hF/s320/robert-downey-2009-oscars-022209-lg-11123499.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306797634912588066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Someone please</span> tell me when was the last time we saw RDJ looking this good? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Wow</span>. I didn't even RECOGNIZE him in the first few photos I saw. <span style="font-weight: bold;"> Wow</span>. The suit is perfect, his hair looks amazing, and who knew he had such chiseled features under all that scruff we've been putting up with for so long. Have I said <span style="font-weight: bold;">Wow</span> yet? Chalk one up to a <span style="font-weight: bold;">hot shower</span> and a well-timed trip to the <span style="font-weight: bold;">barber.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hugh </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jackman</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> in </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Burberry</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">, Shoes by Salvatore </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ferragamo</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">:</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLSqC-75Tvzg8ckT60GlINNQbLthwH4DBQfFtibUFZPf55rNO2wmP2DQ5AiiJFYNeZRoOXeHHghdmDWjC_iM4V1csiwl6vKKPHCPxaPp4KTvXkiSwN3PlQ4U_86GSPGz5XtVRSEHdjprT/s1600-h/hugh-jackman-2009-oscars-12.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLSqC-75Tvzg8ckT60GlINNQbLthwH4DBQfFtibUFZPf55rNO2wmP2DQ5AiiJFYNeZRoOXeHHghdmDWjC_iM4V1csiwl6vKKPHCPxaPp4KTvXkiSwN3PlQ4U_86GSPGz5XtVRSEHdjprT/s320/hugh-jackman-2009-oscars-12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306800963133555330" border="0" /></a>Okay, can't lie...Jackman could wear a <span style="font-weight: bold;">potato sack</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(which I might prefer) </span>and still look amazing. His rogue-ish good looks translated perfectly on stage and he was probably one of the best Oscar Hosts I've seen. Not too mention he looked <span style="font-weight: bold;">amazing</span>. He chucked the traditional cummerbund for a vest that made this look perfect. The deep V jacket and scooped vest only served to emphasize his <span style="font-weight: bold;">incredible physique</span>. The charmingly off-kilter bow-tie and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Aussie accent</span> didn't hurt either.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Robert </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pattinson</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> in </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dolce</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> & </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gabbana</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">:</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitu604PdOvMRCw2mhZmCLL6Yanxv3qFmygcZzKkHQdNNJoQAHUSgZVt03HdMV2QXodLEzLL8-F-YEeP4YJ2X0NwI7mXdU3agxMsp9FVPdS36554CLqs_DmUNoyiPvqvbp2cT7_N9WhdwBu/s1600-h/Rob-Pattinson-Oscars-def.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitu604PdOvMRCw2mhZmCLL6Yanxv3qFmygcZzKkHQdNNJoQAHUSgZVt03HdMV2QXodLEzLL8-F-YEeP4YJ2X0NwI7mXdU3agxMsp9FVPdS36554CLqs_DmUNoyiPvqvbp2cT7_N9WhdwBu/s320/Rob-Pattinson-Oscars-def.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306805929923915314" border="0" /></a>This also <span style="font-weight: bold;">pains </span>me. What is it about <span style="font-weight: bold;">young Hollywood</span> that I find so obnoxious as of late...oh wait, maybe the fact that they are no longer in my own personal <span style="font-weight: bold;">age bracket</span> and I am a little <span style="font-weight: bold;">bitter</span>...tear. Anyway...I have to hand it to Robert, seeing as how he has 3/4 of the female population of <span style="font-weight: bold;">THE WORLD</span> eating out of his hand <span style="font-style: italic;">(yes I saw the movie, yes it made a little short of breath, yes I am <span style="font-weight: bold;">exorbitantly</span> embarrassed by both of these facts)</span> it would have been easy for him to show up in pretty much whatever he wanted...you know, flex his<span style="font-weight: bold;"> "I'm young and hot and who's gonna tell me I can't wear ripped jeans and a feather boa with aviators to the Oscars?"</span> muscles <span style="font-style: italic;">(past offenders, you know who you are)</span>. Instead, he showed up in head to toe classic Dolce & Gabbana and maintained his youth and rakish charm with unkempt hair and just a wee bit of scruff.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Well played, you too-young-for-me </span>hottie<span style="font-weight: bold;">, you.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Top 5 Worst Dressed Females</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sophia Loren in I Can't Even Think About It Too Hard:</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58zxH6TZMxa4wEliVwBoF3LqphSZSeDRGQNW1y1ntfWI_BgCeqGkUcQgDHWi82aIXkFuFJpwWWguvg_qM7aLcTI7HBlbca7KR5u90PZLeNOc7mv8UNDHDZiPpSHJtWFHuRMX3M4U8223K/s1600-h/06c91563-301b-40ce-a819-f67d6b538c76_Main_Sophia_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 201px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58zxH6TZMxa4wEliVwBoF3LqphSZSeDRGQNW1y1ntfWI_BgCeqGkUcQgDHWi82aIXkFuFJpwWWguvg_qM7aLcTI7HBlbca7KR5u90PZLeNOc7mv8UNDHDZiPpSHJtWFHuRMX3M4U8223K/s320/06c91563-301b-40ce-a819-f67d6b538c76_Main_Sophia_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306839128937582770" border="0" /></a><br />Sophia...Seriously. Three things.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> 1.)</span> You are <span style="font-weight: bold;">ITALIAN</span>, darling! I shudder to think at the endless numbers of your well-heeled patriarchy rolling over in their collective graves as we speak! <span style="font-weight: bold;">2.)</span> You are a <span style="font-weight: bold;">FASHION ICON</span>...I don't care how old you're getting, we <span style="font-weight: bold;">REALLY</span> don't need another <span style="font-weight: bold;">Elizabeth Taylor</span> situation on our hands here<span style="font-weight: bold;"> 3.)</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">No one</span> with Olive skin <span style="font-style: italic;">(okay, or black, white, brown, red, yellow, blue, green I DON'T CARE WHAT COLOR YOUR SKIN IS) </span>looks good in a hue inspired by <span style="font-weight: bold;">Egg Drop Soup</span>. Fortune Cookie Say: You Lose, Sophie. Better Luck Next Year, Bella.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mylie</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Cyrus in </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Zuhair</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Murad</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaHttGm8It4zP9qqqbElY5ZyZ5ofGXt-AiIbQLpH1NNJQhvz8AWO6zB1LzTFjMWJng5OgW1vPPnf0h87l53dZQBwbymw9DCYV_F7SUT_kh-EgYyxrCPSB6w-7bHGfEQhns7qX_KfgbxfKu/s1600-h/c8c5b086-9f9e-4752-ba2c-368e9a9334ea_Main_1aoscarr19104821_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 219px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaHttGm8It4zP9qqqbElY5ZyZ5ofGXt-AiIbQLpH1NNJQhvz8AWO6zB1LzTFjMWJng5OgW1vPPnf0h87l53dZQBwbymw9DCYV_F7SUT_kh-EgYyxrCPSB6w-7bHGfEQhns7qX_KfgbxfKu/s320/c8c5b086-9f9e-4752-ba2c-368e9a9334ea_Main_1aoscarr19104821_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306770813591174866" border="0" /></a>Miley<span style="font-weight: bold;">, </span>Miley<span style="font-weight: bold;">, </span>Miley...Give it a few more years, okay, hunny? Seriously. This dress is truly stunning <span style="font-style: italic;">(despite a sort of overwhelming seashell/scallop theme that is enough to send anyone with a severe enough shellfish allergy into </span><span style="font-style: italic;">anaphylactic</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> shock)</span>...stunning, that is, if you're a <span style="font-weight: bold;">7 foot </span>glamazon<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>on the runway in <span style="font-weight: bold;">Milan</span>...not so much the cute and perky Tween star with an alter-ego. Poor Miley, at her age, to already have <span style="font-weight: bold;">two identities</span> and now be bucking for a third as a mature, sophisticated Red Carpet fashion staple is just too much. What Miley needs to do is take a note from Vannessa Hudgens and stick to something more <span style="font-weight: bold;">her age</span>. She's got the goods, cute smile, great little body...she needs to live it up while she can still wear the <span style="font-weight: bold;">edgy youthful</span> fashion. Plenty of time for mature sophistication...just look at <span style="font-weight: bold;">Helen </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Miren</span>. Although, somehow <span style="font-weight: bold;">I have my doubts</span> that Miss Cyrus' career will be quite so long and illustrious as Dame Miren's. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Just a Hunch.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Beyonce</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">' in House of </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dereon</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> <span style="font-style: italic;">(shocker)</span>:</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQjg2jsyNazfRqMyXtengAxqyextInwJCZGpa1rKar-32y4BrjjuURulaUqmlgc-po9qXEmxZQsO0-HmL3jinrbl6sp6HZwSdZXuynM4tTLvRrIHEYh_t-y5DhdLrAFEJEkXU9_UZoriJG/s1600-h/32a5cb0b-981c-4425-8c62-9095739b5cd8_Main_AP090222025299_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQjg2jsyNazfRqMyXtengAxqyextInwJCZGpa1rKar-32y4BrjjuURulaUqmlgc-po9qXEmxZQsO0-HmL3jinrbl6sp6HZwSdZXuynM4tTLvRrIHEYh_t-y5DhdLrAFEJEkXU9_UZoriJG/s320/32a5cb0b-981c-4425-8c62-9095739b5cd8_Main_AP090222025299_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306770534991579394" border="0" /></a>This is also<span style="font-weight: bold;"> painful</span>. I like Beyonce', really, I do. But <span style="font-weight: bold;">every awards season</span> we have to watch her walk the Red Carpet in one of her mother's monstrosities and then get slammed from all sides about it the next day. If I were Beyonce', I think I would just have to pull mom aside before awards season started and have a<span style="font-weight: bold;"> little chat</span> about <span style="font-weight: bold;">"branching out." </span> Seriously. It's a <span style="font-weight: bold;">disaster</span>. This dress is like something you would find on <span style="font-weight: bold;">Bram Stoker's</span> mantle. Her cleavage is cramped, the mermaid fishtail is almost unforgivable, and the restricted range of motion is going to insure that she does not outrun <span style="font-weight: bold;">ANY</span> of the paparazzi taking her "Worst Dressed" photo. Poor Girl. Beyonce' would be a <span style="font-weight: bold;">dream</span> to dress...she's got one of the most amazing bodies in Hollywood, amazing skin, flawless features, the hair, you name it...but she <span style="font-weight: bold;">insists</span> on sticking with her mom's <span style="font-weight: bold;">disaster-destined</span> label. I don't know what kind of mother <span style="font-weight: bold;">does this</span> to their daughter, but seriously...Beyonce' needs to start taking it personally.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jessica Biel in Prada</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyHpw6RgOjZoG_UZOLEuYdqJ6Rx2e2J1afHMivVK1-RjEVXeQHgD2k3_gpk0TWAkIJS2NEjxLd2pDcBRWikplh0EuCzvULZGwVQMKfHXbHadDM9Vw5MndZmZ1oFwFzksDk83ElwTaQuqC0/s1600-h/8d2fe47b-e30b-41ed-b498-c449c0ed5274_Main_AP090222034796_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyHpw6RgOjZoG_UZOLEuYdqJ6Rx2e2J1afHMivVK1-RjEVXeQHgD2k3_gpk0TWAkIJS2NEjxLd2pDcBRWikplh0EuCzvULZGwVQMKfHXbHadDM9Vw5MndZmZ1oFwFzksDk83ElwTaQuqC0/s320/8d2fe47b-e30b-41ed-b498-c449c0ed5274_Main_AP090222034796_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306770452904990610" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Small Sartorial Note: </span> When in Doubt <span style="font-weight: bold;">DO NOT ATTACH A DEFLATED DERIGIBLE TO YOUR DECOLLATAGE! </span> Yikes. Seriously, Justin Timberlake has had <span style="font-weight: bold;">hangovers</span> that were less sloppy than this ensemble. It's just really unfortunate all the way around. Jessica Biel is gorgeous and has, arguably, on of the <span style="font-weight: bold;">best bodies in Hollywood</span>. I also happen to love Prada, so the fact that the two of these <span style="font-weight: bold;">generally beautiful entities </span>have come together to form such a total and utter<span style="font-weight: bold;"> disaster</span> is really a shame. First off, this dress plus her skin tone = <span style="font-weight: bold;">no good.</span> She could have taken a hint and gone for something in a more vibrant hue a la Natalie Portman <span style="font-style: italic;">(anybody remember her gorgeous grape colored number from a year or two back?). </span>Secondly...speaking of Enron's accounting department <span style="font-style: italic;">(oh dangit, I did it again)</span> they seem to have gotten a hold of her hair. Either curl it or straighten it...or get up earlier before the show...<span style="font-weight: bold;">or somethin'</span>. Also, while you can't see them in this photo, she was wearing closed-toe black satin librarian-esque pumps. Heaven Help Us. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Where was Prada on that one, I ask you? </span>On an upnote, her jewels were flawless and whoever styled her makeup did a knockout job. Not a <span style="font-weight: bold;">total</span> loss.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kate Winslet in Yves Saint Laurent:</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtv8BLyNirVdLaMVAqNZ9Pk6iEOmgA6rPAsrJ-it5TlH-zpLpev6AoEpHD2KRvdTOf8L-L0yEIPp_WFdnjge7dw6E7C8ypj0aPwME866PDVqppFC1uNJfizMhSUEb1zGHa0VKCKdE7W30/s1600-h/38d388c8-8fbe-4876-8b69-8e183c28ee4c_Main_115752_3566005685_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtv8BLyNirVdLaMVAqNZ9Pk6iEOmgA6rPAsrJ-it5TlH-zpLpev6AoEpHD2KRvdTOf8L-L0yEIPp_WFdnjge7dw6E7C8ypj0aPwME866PDVqppFC1uNJfizMhSUEb1zGHa0VKCKdE7W30/s320/38d388c8-8fbe-4876-8b69-8e183c28ee4c_Main_115752_3566005685_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306770612737438306" border="0" /></a>Just <span style="font-weight: bold;">stick with me </span>for a second here. You have to know that I am a<span style="font-weight: bold;"> huge </span>KW fan. I kept liking her even <span style="font-weight: bold;">after</span> she did Titanic. I think she picks stellar roles and I think she is a strong and admirable person. I also am aware that the things I am about to say might qualify as a <span style="font-weight: bold;">capital offense</span> in the UK <span style="font-style: italic;">(pretty sure they have a guillotine still operating in the Tower of London for just such purposes)</span>. However, I have to say I think this was <span style="font-weight: bold;">a miss</span> for Miss Winslett. The colors, for starters, were not great for her. Her alabaster skin and blonde hair are complemented so beautifully by, well, by pretty much<span style="font-weight: bold;"> anything other than gun-metal grey and black</span>. In addition to that, Kate is classic old Hollywood. She <span style="font-weight: bold;">screams</span> old Hollywood and always looks amazing when she is styled that way. This dress, however, is decidedly forward leaning fashion and it clashes with her still classically sculpted coif. It's like two ends of the spectrum fighting over who will win and it just ends up in a big jumble, with pretty Kate in the middle of it. I have to say No, despite the aclaim it received from other fashion gurus. I'm sticking to my guns on this one. One other note...this dress ballparks for around <span style="font-weight: bold;">$50K</span>...if you're going to wear a dress that costs <span style="font-weight: bold;">$50,000</span>, you better look<span style="font-weight: bold;"> fabulous.</span> I don't care if it's borrowed or not!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Top 5 Worst Dressed Males</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Phillip Seymore Hoffman in Someone Who's Getting Paid Too Much</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBdWkRsOIZ6qF9CnHh3lAb3Ez8NQtzexPeqxcVz4vZuPyG756XAZJVYgkYnLXVljI4XmkAAlkPct56z0r4mzcyIJtZVIxOzhYMpnlJCAxUggbOinyeqU5IUOmfp9rR3rCoNgGOAhZMmXl/s1600-h/4f6bbb35-4c62-40b0-a48f-b48aa2676b81_Main_1aoscarr26104828_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBdWkRsOIZ6qF9CnHh3lAb3Ez8NQtzexPeqxcVz4vZuPyG756XAZJVYgkYnLXVljI4XmkAAlkPct56z0r4mzcyIJtZVIxOzhYMpnlJCAxUggbOinyeqU5IUOmfp9rR3rCoNgGOAhZMmXl/s320/4f6bbb35-4c62-40b0-a48f-b48aa2676b81_Main_1aoscarr26104828_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306770303868248722" border="0" /></a>Actually, we aren't even going to <span style="font-weight: bold;">dignify</span> this with 5 entire entries because Phillip Seymore Hoffman looked <span style="font-weight: bold;">SO BAD</span> that is made up for all the rest of the potential winners. Good grief, he even managed to trump <span style="font-weight: bold;">Mickey Rourke</span>, who looked like a disaster, by the way. Rumor has it, however, that he just lost his <span style="font-weight: bold;">much-loved pooch</span>, so we'll give him a pass for grieving purposes...<span style="font-weight: bold;">RIP Loki</span>. ANWAY, back to PSH. A <span style="font-weight: bold;">Beanie</span>? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Really?</span> You're going to come to the biggest awards show of the year in a black woolen beanie? I know haircare takes time and effort, but seriously...you're PSH for crying out loud...pay someone to <span style="font-weight: bold;">shlack </span>a ponytail on there for you and call it good. In addition to that, he also chose to wear a vest, however, in contrast to <span style="font-weight: bold;">Hugh Jackman's</span> impecabbly fitting vest and jacket, Hoffman's just looks kind of like a <span style="font-weight: bold;">shiny </span>sausage casing. Probably not such a smart move. Forgive him Father, for this Doubt star has sinned...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Big Time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Honorable Mentions:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tina Fey in Zac Posen</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LbWyrGiYMw0XEWtQSiiwDGq_vnmMPbtlJarCgOtlfJVH16gFRfoCn5cN40AP9NAkrBtsytFpjDUMsz3y1ioUs4jJBUUNWGWr99NKbH5-Baapx8OEUh1DHD2Oc_qH3399qTgAf9Wdwn-s/s1600-h/82858056-4d2a-40b6-9bc2-f5d4cdd35be5_Main_AP090222027584_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LbWyrGiYMw0XEWtQSiiwDGq_vnmMPbtlJarCgOtlfJVH16gFRfoCn5cN40AP9NAkrBtsytFpjDUMsz3y1ioUs4jJBUUNWGWr99NKbH5-Baapx8OEUh1DHD2Oc_qH3399qTgAf9Wdwn-s/s320/82858056-4d2a-40b6-9bc2-f5d4cdd35be5_Main_AP090222027584_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306770723260600930" border="0" /></a>Love Tina Fey, and I think she's beautiful...it's also rare that you see her looking so elegant. Bu she looks a little too much like <span style="font-weight: bold;">King Tut's sarcophogus</span> in this dress. Big time props on the hair though...she looked gorgeous no doubt about it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jennifer Anniston in Valentino</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCyv4OZVHEHnApv7-OsE5dY7w3OxNBy2sYaQin6Fo-rnLhztBSRqgEf_rU82Ifmd9gjibcwqZb0jLd3h_9k2a_LkmYZ6KrPzrTDyaQKiQ-z_Qxz8hXur3HZ7yoX0OeOFp_nM96GsW5o8oO/s1600-h/52af09c9-4243-4f14-8ac5-bc394eb205d2_Main_PROscarsSB1220155_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 184px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCyv4OZVHEHnApv7-OsE5dY7w3OxNBy2sYaQin6Fo-rnLhztBSRqgEf_rU82Ifmd9gjibcwqZb0jLd3h_9k2a_LkmYZ6KrPzrTDyaQKiQ-z_Qxz8hXur3HZ7yoX0OeOFp_nM96GsW5o8oO/s320/52af09c9-4243-4f14-8ac5-bc394eb205d2_Main_PROscarsSB1220155_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306825047450637154" border="0" /></a>One of the best looks I've seen Jennifer wear. Props to her, as well, on being totally cool headed while presenting like <span style="font-weight: bold;">5 feet</span> away from <span style="font-weight: bold;">Brangelina.</span> If the goal was to look as gorgeous as possible, she definitely did the job. Also, quick shout out to her <span style="font-weight: bold;">arm candy</span> for the evening, <span style="font-weight: bold;">John Mayer</span>...he looked fab as well.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sarah Jessica Parker in Dior Haute Couture</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazeOTv26haa18NXgcHbUOcD6MBqZegN-ESMSHifY0q63KDEi6BblpfAPuP-9h9QdsY0KYkuv8rdWe7s2MjjB3CG9Sm9awege8-nRYW_stvDo8mG9Rw9XEjMOTsNXmYukSmiM4-EJtj3d1/s1600-h/sarah-jessica-parker-2009-oscars-09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazeOTv26haa18NXgcHbUOcD6MBqZegN-ESMSHifY0q63KDEi6BblpfAPuP-9h9QdsY0KYkuv8rdWe7s2MjjB3CG9Sm9awege8-nRYW_stvDo8mG9Rw9XEjMOTsNXmYukSmiM4-EJtj3d1/s320/sarah-jessica-parker-2009-oscars-09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306826759544623106" border="0" /></a>A lot of people loved this dress, but the boobs were just a <span style="font-weight: bold;">leeeeetle much</span> for me. I love SJP's style, she's got it in spades, but this dress made the cliff houses at Cuenca look like <span style="font-weight: bold;">Erector Set Jr. </span>stuff compared to the<span style="font-weight: bold;"> architectural feat</span> that is holding up her <span style="font-weight: bold;">decollatage</span>. Who knew Dior did seismically sound couture?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Amy Adams in Carolina Herrera, Necklace by Fred Leighton</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-_WIJ0EKXY7pGhmRY8C0Fy2y_19rDBnloO04VFy19ua6wSVGN1b9tI41IlBC6rJ54CsGSN1I_rLCDvEEKUMtuCNh-GRrlncbigHvTZA9D4z5CxQ1IS2FE4UA0CDnyft3kebUfz_PRz5l/s1600-h/gallery_main-amyadams-2009-oscars-academy-awards-red-carpet-photos-02232009-05.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-_WIJ0EKXY7pGhmRY8C0Fy2y_19rDBnloO04VFy19ua6wSVGN1b9tI41IlBC6rJ54CsGSN1I_rLCDvEEKUMtuCNh-GRrlncbigHvTZA9D4z5CxQ1IS2FE4UA0CDnyft3kebUfz_PRz5l/s320/gallery_main-amyadams-2009-oscars-academy-awards-red-carpet-photos-02232009-05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306825339488314834" border="0" /></a>Truth be told, I loved this look, but I know it was a little much. The dress was<span style="font-weight: bold;"> knockout</span>, the collar was <span style="font-weight: bold;">to die for</span>, but together they were just a little over powering. Next year Amy,darling, you're gonna get 'em next year!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tilda Swinton in Lanvin</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gt8vy_7cgIX_yCv89ldw3ikXHz16XAzEdRObHkXkgzUMtuFOMf1MWWdwdMIo7IctgLYKN1D51TdbAHQEdzMM4XR5eRH_OOuEA9kCDJdtDsxSNrp49hjc3xQuvQF6Ut3Sbsd7BGnKMe7M/s1600-h/22034d13-1b2b-4b03-bdd6-03f8cdc25d0d_Main_115752_3670005694_502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gt8vy_7cgIX_yCv89ldw3ikXHz16XAzEdRObHkXkgzUMtuFOMf1MWWdwdMIo7IctgLYKN1D51TdbAHQEdzMM4XR5eRH_OOuEA9kCDJdtDsxSNrp49hjc3xQuvQF6Ut3Sbsd7BGnKMe7M/s320/22034d13-1b2b-4b03-bdd6-03f8cdc25d0d_Main_115752_3670005694_502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306825170831453042" border="0" /></a>I know, you're scratching your head abou this one. I love this women and I think she is a <span style="font-weight: bold;">theatrical force</span> in and of herself. Her style, however is decidedly <span style="font-weight: bold;">avant garde</span>, which makes it tough to wear on the red carpet. This, quite frankly is a great choice for her. I was impressed. If you're having trouble believing me just check out some of her past selections and you might get my point.<br /><br /><br />Well, that's it. My <span style="font-weight: bold;">Oscar's 2009 fashion wrap</span>. It's just too much work to try and cover the after parties and everything too, so if you have faves that you thought were left out leave me a note and I'll check them out. Disagree with me? Let me know. I want to hear your faves as well as the ones that maybe you didn't think were so great. Maybe there will even be a "Gems We Missed" post to recap some of the diamonds in the rough. Hope you Enjoyed. Until Next Year!Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-11411822901080873302009-02-23T19:01:00.000-08:002009-02-23T20:04:19.630-08:00The Universe Hates Me...I had the <span style="font-weight: bold;">best</span> of intentions.<br /><br />Monday's are great days for starting fresh, and after a <span style="font-weight: bold;">very fun</span> weekend with my <span style="font-weight: bold;">fabulous </span>grandparents in NYC I was feeling <span style="font-weight: bold;">refreshed</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">invigorated</span> and ready to take the world by storm.<br /><br />At work I was going to be <span style="font-weight: bold;">newly focused</span>, more productive...Spend less time running from <span style="font-weight: bold;">point A </span>to <span style="font-weight: bold;">point B</span> and more time producing desired <span style="font-weight: bold;">product C</span>. I was going to <span style="font-weight: bold;">charm</span> my new boss with my wit and intellect and propose some stunning new project <span style="font-weight: bold;">so innovative</span> he couldn't help but be impressed.<br /><br />In the gym I was going to...okay, fine, I was going to get <span style="font-weight: bold;">IN</span> the gym. Period. The new work/commute has thrown a wrench in my<span style="font-weight: bold;"> gym schedule </span>and it's been <span style="font-weight: bold;">WAY</span> to cold to run outside. Yes I have a <span style="font-weight: bold;">10 miler </span>coming up in a little over a month. No I have not <span style="font-weight: bold;">really</span> been <span style="font-weight: bold;">training</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> (by really, I mean <span style="font-weight: bold;">at all</span>).</span><br /><br />I was going to go to <span style="font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">FHE</span>. Not gonna lie, my attendance as of late has been <span style="font-weight: bold;">spotty</span> at best. Sometimes one just gets a little <span style="font-weight: bold;">overwhelmed </span>with it all, and I've sort of been on church detox. Still attending the 3 hour block <span style="font-style: italic;">(of course, that goes without saying)</span> but I had sort of declared a short <span style="font-weight: bold;">moratorium</span> on extraneous meetings/activities. However, I was feeling ready to jump back in the fray, and we were going to be at one of the bishopric members' houses, so it promised to be a good time.<br /><br />This all would have happened, if the <span style="font-weight: bold;">universe</span> didn't <span style="font-weight: bold;">hate</span> me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiiMWpNRdX9dJhs1AkOdfTqT5WeECE5ouRVHypADoswh9NwPLK2NGotBOvsiYYlDEPNgsAVRqk3MPNaAzWHKvHoZ7vE_mymWEIT3Rw0VLL35Vuv1HrFt2JzQSybOH2Mq3Cd_DCah_Y28_/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiiMWpNRdX9dJhs1AkOdfTqT5WeECE5ouRVHypADoswh9NwPLK2NGotBOvsiYYlDEPNgsAVRqk3MPNaAzWHKvHoZ7vE_mymWEIT3Rw0VLL35Vuv1HrFt2JzQSybOH2Mq3Cd_DCah_Y28_/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306203179169666978" border="0" /></a><br />For starters, work was, well, let's just say it didn't go <span style="font-weight: bold;">quite</span> as planned and the morning was spent, well, the morning was spent <span style="font-weight: bold;">not quite </span>as I had planned.<br /><br />Then, around three o'clock <span style="font-weight: bold;">I felt it</span>. That <span style="font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">achy</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">-neck</span> feeling. Then came the <span style="font-weight: bold;">chills</span>. When your hands are so cold there's no possible way for you to tell if you actually have a fever, or if everything feels hot because they are like ice.<br /><br />The aches kept getting worse and turned into that spine twisting <span style="font-weight: bold;">"yep, you're as sick as you think"</span> feeling and then my <span style="font-weight: bold;">insides</span> started feeling like they wanted to be on my <span style="font-weight: bold;">outsides</span>.<br /><br />So I may be stubborn, but I know when I'm a danger to those around me, so I took off early and headed home. The metro ride was <span style="font-weight: bold;">miserable</span>, and there was more than one moment where I had to think to myself<span style="font-style: italic;"> "am I willing to ruin this <span style="font-weight: bold;">BRAND NEW</span> purse to save the people around me from a <span style="font-weight: bold;">VERY</span> unpleasant experience?" </span> Thankfully, I never had to answer the question in earnest.<br /><br />By the time I got home I was a<span style="font-weight: bold;"> shivering, quivering mess.</span> So, I piled on the flannel and sweat shirts and got in bed. And here I am...<span style="font-weight: bold;">5 hours lat</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">er</span>...still sick, still with that spine twisting<span style="font-weight: bold;"> "your body hates you"</span> feeling, still with the chills, and still with the, yeah...everything else...but hoping against hope that it's just a <span style="font-weight: bold;">24 hour</span> thing and not a repeat of the <span style="font-weight: bold;">crab cake </span><span style="font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">debacle</span> of three weeks ago.<br /><br />On the upside...I did lose roughly<span style="font-weight: bold;"> 6 lbs</span> in approximately <span style="font-weight: bold;">4 days</span> during said <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">debacle</span>.<br /><br />There's always a silver lining.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOWNgEas_weUbtF68ZUrqcyu2khjqTqLZ3n4IGfIBN8enmdLqV5dAjPsvnUJCbryDCAa41RhaXSJS_16pHW4ZEI3U4ADPzSR3Um6CLrWCaq_B4gRp-Ai7kkgr3Y2yU5Mk1O1c839S9v1P/s1600-h/images-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 142px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOWNgEas_weUbtF68ZUrqcyu2khjqTqLZ3n4IGfIBN8enmdLqV5dAjPsvnUJCbryDCAa41RhaXSJS_16pHW4ZEI3U4ADPzSR3Um6CLrWCaq_B4gRp-Ai7kkgr3Y2yU5Mk1O1c839S9v1P/s320/images-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306203835452298434" border="0" /></a>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-39459255965825640542009-02-18T16:04:00.000-08:002009-02-18T17:59:26.394-08:00YUPdates -OR- Is It Friday Yet? ...<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">YUPdates</span> (Young Urban Professional updates) <span style="font-weight: bold;">may or may not </span>become a series...but <span style="font-weight: bold;">don't get your hopes up</span>. Mostly I just was a little at loose ends at work today so I actually wrote down some of the odd thoughts that I had...Nothing special, so don't get too excited.<br /><div><br />For Starters...<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold;"> Why</span> do people expect me to<span style="font-weight: bold;"> love</span> the cold just because I'm from MT? <span style="font-weight: bold;"> Why</span> would I love something that makes it difficult and unpleasant to get around in any more just because I grew up with it. If <span style="font-weight: bold;">anything</span> this means I've been putting up with it for the last<span style="font-weight: bold;"> 26 years</span> and could use a <span style="font-weight: bold;">break</span>. When I told my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">officemate</span> I didn't like the cold (while we were both shaking the <span style="font-weight: bold;">snow</span> out of our hair and changing out of our <span style="font-weight: bold;">boot</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">s</span> after a long, cold, wet walk from the metro, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">btw</span>) she looked at me like I had told her I didn't think I needed my<span style="font-weight: bold;"> kidneys</span>. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Either </span>of them.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytSK2J7BXfnnM6x8vbCBazVZoLO5NkMyr_fY3y2QYG3OPmGL-SDqpc1nUmhzA1h8z-BOAP9tGo3T0Tka1JNKQl7W16WOjtYgSZmnz6qEfRhYUjibABP91MWfQwNStilU_ti3xF-dmK97B/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 129px; height: 71px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytSK2J7BXfnnM6x8vbCBazVZoLO5NkMyr_fY3y2QYG3OPmGL-SDqpc1nUmhzA1h8z-BOAP9tGo3T0Tka1JNKQl7W16WOjtYgSZmnz6qEfRhYUjibABP91MWfQwNStilU_ti3xF-dmK97B/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304297432202035506" border="0" /></a></div> <div> </div> <div><br />2. I have been filling out a lot of paperwork lately for a temporary assignment in a new office. A <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0uWBzwnTVYyNnDykBEmjd6VdA5HDz4ncomdqWjqgXLEl0gTp1fHu0opmlKAZNj_Ef4_vscl5xAyA5eaB3n0CMyVqKCz6Uy7H8mUXutdGCwvfqoOht5CPKM6xlhwBZl_A7OMgx3WsbHNWV/s1600-h/images-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 80px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0uWBzwnTVYyNnDykBEmjd6VdA5HDz4ncomdqWjqgXLEl0gTp1fHu0opmlKAZNj_Ef4_vscl5xAyA5eaB3n0CMyVqKCz6Uy7H8mUXutdGCwvfqoOht5CPKM6xlhwBZl_A7OMgx3WsbHNWV/s320/images-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304299081634290338" border="0" /></a>lot of this paperwork involves my <span style="font-weight: bold;">personal information</span>, including my <span style="font-weight: bold;">birthday</span>. When the people in charge of filling out the paperwork ask me my birthday I tell them "10-13-1982." <span style="font-weight: bold;">Inevitably</span> they look up at me from under their eyebrows and say "1982?" To which I say "Yes." <span style="font-weight: bold;">Inevitably</span> they shake their heads and sigh and mutter about "kids running the world these days" or something equally as ridiculous. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Does my heart good.</span></div> <div><br />In Addi(c)tion to That...<br /><br /></div> <div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Uce3Yd3UZNFACGQWBahyT8EW8C6uUNj1RxMng1F_51866rXCpLDjc7vQaBnEA1GiZawUEq8ST6vULqS5H2FUHInYdjb0ie_Q-QocqM4vGhKqOygycQr3ZBpNVcnShCmi-tXr-x9lAsPQ/s1600-h/images-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 97px; height: 145px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Uce3Yd3UZNFACGQWBahyT8EW8C6uUNj1RxMng1F_51866rXCpLDjc7vQaBnEA1GiZawUEq8ST6vULqS5H2FUHInYdjb0ie_Q-QocqM4vGhKqOygycQr3ZBpNVcnShCmi-tXr-x9lAsPQ/s320/images-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304299662318513826" border="0" /></a>3. Every morning when my new boss takes his B-12 supplement he <span style="font-weight: bold;">insists</span> that I take a B-12 supplement. It is becoming something of a ritual. He suspects I am deficient. I had <span style="font-weight: bold;">no idea </span>there was a <span style="font-weight: bold;">sigh</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">t test</span> for B-12 deficiency. I also have <span style="font-weight: bold;">no idea </span>what the symptoms or detriments of being B-12 deficient are. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Actually</span>, I have <span style="font-weight: bold;">no idea </span>what one needs B-12 for anyway. I also have <span style="font-weight: bold;">no way</span> of confirming that what he is giving me is <span style="font-weight: bold;">actually B-12</span>. Thus far, however, I have not lost control of any of my <span style="font-weight: bold;">motor skills</span> or <span style="font-weight: bold;">major bodily functions </span>and have had no <span style="font-weight: bold;">hallucinatory*</span> experiences, so I guess I'm safe. Also, I think I am slowly <span style="font-weight: bold;">winning him over</span>. You <span style="font-weight: bold;">gotta do</span> what you <span style="font-weight: bold;">gotta do</span>. <span style="font-weight: bold;">*Note: </span>I<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> may</span> have made up this word...<br /><br />4. On the trash cans in the cafeteria at my office there are signs that say<span style="font-weight: bold;"> "Did you <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">remember</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> to Recycle?"</span> The only disposable materials available at the cafeteria are made of <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Styrofoam</span></span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">bleached white plastic</span>. There are also<span style="font-weight: bold;"> no recycling bins</span>. I find this <span style="font-weight: bold;">ironic.</span> And <span style="font-weight: bold;">disheartening</span>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_gE_HPdh-iw57u9TJ7Tu1kjKIg4jmzZc3QFZugYfW9XJQEBalTyEnII14Zlh1dWXBgv9UjF3U0POydqFlvaQVxr6xDiJS9pQlwmZhVVl8ug_fnGyy_QsL1TMjQslLL0JelEOnzmjsDOwa/s1600-h/images-3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_gE_HPdh-iw57u9TJ7Tu1kjKIg4jmzZc3QFZugYfW9XJQEBalTyEnII14Zlh1dWXBgv9UjF3U0POydqFlvaQVxr6xDiJS9pQlwmZhVVl8ug_fnGyy_QsL1TMjQslLL0JelEOnzmjsDOwa/s320/images-3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304300430881798178" border="0" /></a><br />Oh Yes, And Also This...<br /><br />5. Some people get mid-afternoon <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">munchy</span></span> cravings. I get mid-afternoon <span style="font-weight: bold;">music</span> cravings. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOc36XSbua8ROfSRypUQsbVqeykLU99bK_zGmminQTR3j398D3hcr1WH61mIOFnSppZQ27OwciX4Zhqn4vv1FdCW7P1m7DMYoDZCG3yYN8ElUEk-Zk2PerUbFQgWKpyn29OdYRqnconMS/s1600-h/images-5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 109px; height: 103px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOc36XSbua8ROfSRypUQsbVqeykLU99bK_zGmminQTR3j398D3hcr1WH61mIOFnSppZQ27OwciX4Zhqn4vv1FdCW7P1m7DMYoDZCG3yYN8ElUEk-Zk2PerUbFQgWKpyn29OdYRqnconMS/s320/images-5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304301843555495042" border="0" /></a>Working in a sanitized environment, I cannot bring in my media devices, and thus get pretty <span style="font-weight: bold;">desperate </span>for my favorite tunes. Today at about 3:00pm I got the <span style="font-weight: bold;">craziest</span> urge to listen to The Killers. I <span style="font-weight: bold;">needed</span> it. Like a <span style="font-weight: bold;">drug</span>. I could hear my favorite songs from the latest album running through my head<span style="font-weight: bold;"> over and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ov</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">er</span>. Needless to say you know what I rocked on the metro ride home. <span style="font-weight: bold;">*Note:</span> I should clarify that I <span style="font-weight: bold;">DO</span> get mid-afternoon <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">munchy</span></span> cravings in addition to my mid-afternoon <span style="font-weight: bold;">music</span> cravings. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lately</span> it's been <span style="font-weight: bold;">sweet potato fries</span>...with a <span style="font-weight: bold;">vengeance.</span><br /><br />On A More Serious Note...<br /><br />6. The effects of a <span style="font-weight: bold;">lagging economy</span> are becoming more visible in DC. One of the escalators at the metro station I use for my morning commute (at one of the <span style="font-weight: bold;">busier stations</span> in the city, by my calculations) has been broken for nearly <span style="font-weight: bold;">2 weeks</span>, causing massive backups on the working <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh741EbXoz7wAQjpvbzWiD1M0iyrE8b1chptFvp7QPNvyFBB7cTLRI1_POyfnG5UKAhW_5ZI8yVCfHrGZHRCBViRF9Ewo_f95nVNeSKiXNNM8zvxXXjOXqhXwbKeppnFSnxXeyX96g7i_JC/s1600-h/images-6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 97px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh741EbXoz7wAQjpvbzWiD1M0iyrE8b1chptFvp7QPNvyFBB7cTLRI1_POyfnG5UKAhW_5ZI8yVCfHrGZHRCBViRF9Ewo_f95nVNeSKiXNNM8zvxXXjOXqhXwbKeppnFSnxXeyX96g7i_JC/s320/images-6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304302479704147954" border="0" /></a>escalators and contributing to general congestion of the station. Let's just say if there was a <span style="font-weight: bold;">fire</span> it would be <span style="font-weight: bold;">heap big problems</span>. Not only has the escalator been out of commission for nearly 2 weeks, but during those 2 weeks I have yet to see<span style="font-weight: bold;"> anyone actually working on fixing the thing</span>. In the past, such a breakdown would have had maintenance crews working round the clock to fix the problem within one or two days. I<span style="font-weight: bold;"> suspect</span> the city has had to lay off metro maintenance employees to deal with budget crunches. I say <span style="font-weight: bold;">'suspect'</span> because I am <span style="font-weight: bold;">too lazy</span> to do the <span style="font-weight: bold;">actual research</span>. This is why I am an <span style="font-weight: bold;">armchair expert</span> of <span style="font-weight: bold;">many</span> things.<br /><br />That is All.<br /></div> <div> </div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-1840153989989679742009-02-16T07:30:00.000-08:002009-02-16T09:09:25.443-08:0025 Things...Okay, I can't count how many times I have been <span style="font-weight: bold;">"tagged"</span> with this thing, and I have resisted. Truly, I would say I have made a valiant effort to get out of doing it...but due to a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">dearth</span> in creativity and worthy blogging material, I've caved.<br /><br />So here's the deal, I put down <span style="font-weight: bold;">25 things</span> about myself and then "tag" my friends to do the same. If you're reading, <span style="font-weight: bold;">consider yourself tagged</span>. Given this is <span style="font-weight: bold;">my blog</span> those are going to be <span style="font-weight: bold;">my rules</span>...so if you're reading <span style="font-style: italic;">(and yes, up to this point counts, so quit trying to squirm out of it by closing that tab...too late, buddy)</span> you'd better start making your list.<br /><br />So, here goes...25 <span style="font-weight: bold;">mild to moderately</span> useless things about yours truly...should anyone care to know.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">1. I went to <span style="font-weight: bold;">two </span>high schools. I was not popular at <span style="font-weight: bold;">either</span> of them.<br /><br />2. I got my tongue stuck to our satellite dish when I was 4 or 5 years old. I scooped up a pile of snow and was going to lick it off. I missed. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Not pretty.</span><br /><br />3. I am <span style="font-weight: bold;">embarrassed</span> by a fair amount of the music on my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ipod</span>. That doesn't mean I don't listen to it on occasion.<br /><br />4. Sleeping Beauty is my <span style="font-weight: bold;">all-time favorite</span> Disney Classic.<br /><br />5. I have a strange fascination and affinity for religious iconography. I like to collect objects related to religious practices of the world. My friends think I'm an <span style="font-weight: bold;">idol worshiper.</span><br /><br />6. If money were not an object and I could reinvent myself through a new career I would go to culinary school and eventually open my own restaurant. Probably specializing in Mediterranean Cuisine.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Personal fantasy: </span>Walking the catwalk in a huge runway show. Alas, I am 5'4" and my face is a little crooked...I still think I could rock it, though.<br /><br />8. My preferred reading genre is historical fiction.<br /><br />9. I need music in my life to survive. I think one of the worst possible things that could happen to me would be to go deaf. I almost always have music playing, and when I can't play it I hear it in my head. Beautiful music <span style="font-weight: bold;">fills me up</span> in a way that I cannot describe.<br /><br />10. Sometimes I'm <span style="font-weight: bold;">too honest</span>. I don't like to hold things back. I don't think it's fair to you or to me. If I feel something I will probably say it. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sorry.</span><br /><br />11. I like green things.<br /><br />12. Sometimes I get in <span style="font-weight: bold;">strange moods</span>. These usually involve me listening to a lot of Regina Specter, wearing clothes that only <span style="font-weight: bold;">sort of match</span>, and me doing something <span style="font-weight: bold;">less than flattering</span> with my hair. Luckily, these do not last for very long.<br /><br />13. <span style="font-weight: bold;">My parents rock.</span><br /><br />14. I love to cook. However, I am <span style="font-weight: bold;">chronically lazy</span>, which means I rarely cook for myself. If I invite you over for dinner, please say yes because it gives me an excuse to cook good food, and I will eat well, too. Otherwise, I will probably have <span style="font-weight: bold;">toast</span> for dinner. It's mutually beneficial, so just go with it.<br /><br />15. I had <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">LASIK</span> surgery on 4 December. My vision is now <span style="font-weight: bold;">20/15</span>. I have no idea why I waited until I was 26.<br /><br />16. My current favorite day-dream is coming home after a tough day at work to a man who just wants to sit on the sofa and hold me for a while. He doesn't have to make dinner or clean the apartment or even want to talk about why the day was hard or try to fix it. Just hold me for a while. It's a good one.<br /><br />17. I'm a dog person.<br /><br />18. Someday I would like to have a garden. Nothing big or ambitious...just somewhere I can grow herbs and tomatoes and tulips. For now I will just have to make-do with the pots on my deck.<br /><br />19. I get super<span style="font-weight: bold;"> jealous</span>. It's one of the things about my personality/character that I <span style="font-weight: bold;">HATE</span>. I hate being jealous and I think it's a direct symptom of insecurity. I've tried to cure it, but thus far not much luck. On the flip side I am also <span style="font-weight: bold;">viciously loyal,</span> a characteristic that I am sort of proud of. Do not cross my friends...<span style="font-weight: bold;">I will hunt you.</span><br /><br />20. I was 1st runner-up in my high school's Jr. Miss pageant. It's a <span style="font-weight: bold;">SCHOLARSHIP PROGRAM</span>. I won the "Poise and Composure" portion of the competition. Sometimes I think I'm regressing in the "poise and composure" portion of my life. <span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Aish</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span><br /><br />21. I have always wanted to take one year of my life and spend the entire winter working as a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">liftie</span> at a ski resort and the entire summer working on a scuba boat in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Caribbean</span>. An entire year of <span style="font-weight: bold;">skiing and diving</span>...I can imagine nothing better.<br /><br />22. <span style="font-weight: bold;">I love to dance</span>. It's on my genetic code. If there is music with any kind of beat I cannot hold still. It doesn't matter how exhausted I am or how uncomfortable my shoes are, <span style="font-weight: bold;">I have to move </span>my body.<br /><br />23. Each of my younger sisters is a <span style="font-weight: bold;">role model</span> for me. Each one has characteristics that I admire and want to emulate. They are <span style="font-weight: bold;">truly amazing women.</span><br /><br />24. I went through a <span style="font-weight: bold;">REALLY</span> long awkward stage...Like from age <span style="font-weight: bold;">11 </span>to...oh, I dunno...roughly <span style="font-weight: bold;">22</span> or so. Sometimes I still feel like I am recovering.<br /><br />25. I'm an <span style="font-weight: bold;">art </span><span style="font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">junky</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span> I think this is directly related to the fact that I have <span style="font-weight: bold;">NO</span> artistic ability whatsoever...but have always wished that I had. When I lived in Spain my friends stopped going to the Prado with me. I can sit and stare for hours. I love feeling like I have made a <span style="font-weight: bold;">personal connection</span> with a painting.<br /><br />So, there you have it. <span style="font-weight: bold;"> 25 random things about me. </span> Probably more than some of you EVER wanted to know. I will be expecting your lists<span style="font-weight: bold;"> shortly.</span><br /></div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-36081245671205678532009-02-07T06:49:00.001-08:002009-02-07T07:07:13.972-08:00I'm A Sell Out...I did it. I admit it.<br /><br />I went against every <span style="font-weight: bold;">sartorial principle</span> that is dear to me, and I bought them. A pair of Uggs.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhesuPCw4Zulkndir6fdzRZj6xoz3AQy5xAAvgoehVWGtC56VyWl89CLpKZrOTVluesbpzaVrVx_TUh15CLeSm31QxEASCTg4UI4ujE1gN8KAUrEANCShERhGMZUlwSw-R4uKYqDIGc2WZ0/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 116px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhesuPCw4Zulkndir6fdzRZj6xoz3AQy5xAAvgoehVWGtC56VyWl89CLpKZrOTVluesbpzaVrVx_TUh15CLeSm31QxEASCTg4UI4ujE1gN8KAUrEANCShERhGMZUlwSw-R4uKYqDIGc2WZ0/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300068672611029826" border="0" /></a><br />They are<span style="font-weight: bold;"> grey</span>. They are <span style="font-weight: bold;">ugly</span>. They are <span style="font-weight: bold;">obnoxiously trendy</span>. I bought them <span style="font-weight: bold;">anyway</span>.<br /><br />I have always maintained, and still feel rather strongly, that these are quite possibly the <span style="font-weight: bold;">ugliest</span> form of footwear known to man. And if not that, at least the<span style="font-weight: bold;"> worst thing</span> to happen to fashion since the Burkenstock. But I couldn't help myself.<br /><br />I've started a new work assignment that requires me to take the metro during the early morning hours and then walk another 10-15 mins from the station to my office. This doesn't sound like much, I know, but it's been <span style="font-weight: bold;">FREEZING</span> and I finally decided I needed to something to protect me from the cold.<br /><br />So I did it. I caved. Completely. I sold my soul to the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ugly-As-Sin-But-Inexplicably-Popular </span>Footwear Gods. For full price. I make myself sick.<br /><br />So after a heinously cold week of waiting they finally arrived yesterday.<br /><br />The creepy thing is, <span style="font-weight: bold;">I can't take them off</span>. I have no desire to take them off. I want to wear them <span style="font-weight: bold;">EVERYWHERE</span>...with <span style="font-weight: bold;">EVERYTHING. </span><br /><br />I think these boots have powers. Mystical, dark powers that have made them a fashion staple despite a design that breaks every rule of fashion known to man.<br /><br />I hang my head in shame...but that doesn't mean I'm taking off my boots.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi61GscJwvPigYKhDQ4czz05bkfyuagNF8oZGeJuLYbbNxRkDsJf9PLJeQ4NqPvB3u_JXk4tURx3gwIyNtlsqWIeEIVkn-oL5IJEk3JZXhbHdgshFMWH2eYprCesEmLN1pqBgqsDHnxRxH/s1600-h/images-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 120px; height: 131px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi61GscJwvPigYKhDQ4czz05bkfyuagNF8oZGeJuLYbbNxRkDsJf9PLJeQ4NqPvB3u_JXk4tURx3gwIyNtlsqWIeEIVkn-oL5IJEk3JZXhbHdgshFMWH2eYprCesEmLN1pqBgqsDHnxRxH/s320/images-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300071447475776482" border="0" /></a><br />Should I happen to purchase a pair of <span style="font-weight: bold;">leggings </span>or <span style="font-weight: bold;">skinny jeans </span>at any point in the future please perform an intervention. I may not be strong enough to save me from myself.Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-39118578384128432842009-02-02T18:07:00.001-08:002009-02-02T18:19:33.816-08:00Groundhog's Day...As promised, a quickie...<br /><br />Today is Groundhog's Day. <br /><br />I hate that $%&# groundhog*. I hate him because he never tells me what I want to hear.<br /><br />I want him to tell me spring is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">a'comin</span>'...like tomorrow. But no. All I ever get is "6 more weeks of winter." I hate that hog.<br /><br />I spent 20 minutes of my meeting today not focused on how Democratization in Korea affects the Economy...but wondering to myself which side of my apartment <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">complex's</span> pool deck gets the best sun, and thinking I should scope that out soon so I can be sure to maximize my time this summer... When I snapped back to I looked around the room and saw that at least 10 others were glazed over from the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">tryptophan</span> in their turkey sandwiches...so I checked back out and had a lovely day dream involving me, the sun, and the latest installment of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Bon</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Apetit</span> Magazine...<br /><br />Sigh...<br /><br />What is it about the word "February" that just gets a girl depressed?<br /><br />*Note: Blame Grandpa.Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-23756326536930789972009-01-26T16:52:00.000-08:002009-01-26T18:54:55.535-08:00Blogiversary: 1 Year of Bliss...So, maybe this is an indication of how I will be when I get married <span style="font-style: italic;">(</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Inshallah</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> it happens one of these days) </span>but my <span style="font-weight: bold;">Blogiversary</span> was <span style="font-weight: bold;">over a week ago</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(January 17th, to be exact)</span> and I haven't said a <span style="font-weight: bold;">single</span> word about it. So I'm celebrating...late, but still celebrating.<br /><br />I blame this, first and foremost, on the fact that I was in <span style="font-weight: bold;">Mexico City </span>that weekend and wasn't about to spend <span style="font-weight: bold;">precious</span> vacay time behind a computer. Not that I don't love my bloggie...but, well, yeah, I shouldn't have to defend myself in this particular case. More on the <span style="font-weight: bold;">idyllic</span> 5 days in sunny Mexico to come...photos,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> overdone</span> literary descriptions of countless vistas, and <span style="font-weight: bold;">third-circle worthy</span> accounts of the copious amounts of <span style="font-weight: bold;">REAL</span> Mexican food that we consumed...<span style="font-weight: bold;">the whole deal.</span><br /><br />Anyway...back to the <span style="font-weight: bold;">blog</span>. So, I have to say I have been really glad that I started the blog. It's been a great way for me to keep in touch with my friends and family, as well as catalogue some of the<span style="font-weight: bold;"> truly amazing</span> experiences I've had in the last year, as well as tell some of my favorite stories. <br /><br />So, in light of the one year blogiversary, I thought I would put down a few <span style="font-weight: bold;">New Year's Blogolutions</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(that one doesn't work quite as well as <span style="font-weight: bold;">Blogiversary</span>, does it?) </span>as well as open up the forum to comments, questions, requests and suggestions.<br /><br />So, I thought of a few things I wanted to try to do this year to<span style="font-weight: bold;"> maximize </span>my blogging <span style="font-style: italic;">(and in turn the reading of my <span style="font-weight: bold;">faithful followers</span>)</span>. Here are a few ideas:<br /><ul><li>Start a <span style="font-weight: bold;">series</span> of some sort <span style="font-style: italic;">(I am open to suggestions)</span></li><li>Fewer <span style="font-weight: bold;">monster posts</span> and more <span style="font-weight: bold;">smaller snippets and random commentary</span> on things I've seen/heard/thought about...<span style="font-weight: bold;">lucky you</span></li><li>Complete at least one full <span style="font-weight: bold;">photo essay</span></li><li>Recount more of my<span style="font-weight: bold;"> childhood experiences</span></li><li>Insert more <span style="font-weight: bold;">links</span>...everyone deserves a little <span style="font-weight: bold;">YouTube</span><br /></li><li>Write more <span style="font-weight: bold;">interactive posts</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(ie posts that solicit responses from readers)</span></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tweak my HTML</span> to use the space more efficiently <span style="font-style: italic;">(don't count on this happening any time in the too near future...me + technology = big problems)</span></li><li>Write more about the things I've<span style="font-weight: bold;"> learned</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(life, faith, love, friends, politics, language, culture, you name it...sometimes it's good to talk about the <span style="font-weight: bold;">lessons</span> we l<span style="font-weight: bold;">earn</span>)</span></li></ul>So there are a few changes I've been wanting to implement to make the bloggie better. I turn, I am soliciting input from my faithful readers. Let me know what you think:<br /><ul><li>Suggestions</li><li>Requests for posts/stories</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Constructive</span> Criticism</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Superfluous</span> Praise</li><li>General Comments</li></ul>I've opened up my comments section to allow for anonymous comments so you don't even have to sign up for a google account to leave your thoughts! I do it<span style="font-weight: bold;"> all </span>for the fans! Okay, just kidding...I'm over myself. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Seriously though</span>, you're comments are what keep me going.<br /><br />To start the year out right, here's a little activity for your <span style="font-weight: bold;">Tuesday 2:00pm post-lunch food coma </span><span style="font-style: italic;">(come on, I know that's when you're reading this...I promise I won't tell your boss)</span>...Peruse the bloggie and shoot me a note...let me know what your <span style="font-weight: bold;">favorite post </span>of last year was, and, if you feel so inclined, the one you liked the least. This will give me a good idea of what people might like to see...And like I said, it's all for you!<br /><br />So, here's to all those who talked me into starting this thing in the first place, and to those of you who encourage <span style="font-style: italic;">(read <span style="font-weight: bold;">harrass</span>)</span> me to keep up regular <span style="font-style: italic;">(okay, okay, <span style="font-weight: bold;">semi-regular</span>)</span> posts. You know who you are! <br /><br />Here's lookin' at you, Bloggie! And to the year full of <span style="font-weight: bold;">blissful blogging</span> yet to come!Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-2241876179789039252009-01-13T23:07:00.000-08:002009-01-13T20:07:44.543-08:00Waking Up in Assateague...For those of you who don't know, I don't like to be<span style="font-weight: bold;"> cold</span>. I know, I grew up in Montana, went to school in Utah, and I should be <span style="font-weight: bold;">used to it </span>by now. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Wrong</span>. I love to ski, love the snow, but if I can't be slaloming down the slopes than <span style="font-weight: bold;">I don't want to deal with it</span>.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />That said, the last thing I could possibly think of being classified as a <span style="font-weight: bold;">"good time"</span> is going to the <span style="font-weight: bold;">ocean</span> in northern Virginia in <span style="font-weight: bold;">JANUARY</span> and sleeping <span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >OUTSIDE</span> in a <span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >TENT</span>. You can see how I'm feeling about this.<br /><br />So when my friend Ben emailed me and suggested New Year's Camping I told him he was <span style="font-weight: bold;">crazy.</span> Then he told me the plan was to go to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Assateague</span> Island, a state wildlife sanctuary on the coast and one of the only places in the United States where you can see herds or wild horses.<br /><br />*NOTE: <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sucker </span>for animals...particularly horses<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Soooo</span> I told Ben to talk me into it...and then he hit me with this <span style="font-style: italic;">"When have I ever taken you on an adventure that wasn't fun?"</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> Dang.</span> He had a good point. Ben has taken me on some good adventures and they are always fun. Shoot. Okay, fine...why not. <span style="font-weight: bold;">How bad</span> can one night of mild to moderate hypothermia be, <span style="font-weight: bold;">right?</span><br /><br />All I have to say was, I am incredibly glad I went. It turned out to be one of the <span style="font-weight: bold;">coolest </span>experiences that I have had out here.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Assateague</span> is beautiful. The sand of the island is white and sparkly and looks like sugar scattered in the grass and covering the beaches. The sugar sand paired with the thin layer of frost covering the scrubby ground and reedy trees made everything <span style="font-weight: bold;">sparkle</span> in the moonlight while we drove around the island looking for a campsite and set up our tent.<br /><br />It was a clear night and the moon illuminated the bay lapping the edge of our campsite and the lights of the nearest town sparkled far off on the opposite shore. The clump of trees behind our campsite was silhouetted against the moon creating a perfect semblance of a giant and somewhat friendly looking <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Tyrannosaurus</span> Rex.<br /><br />So, the night <span style="font-weight: bold;">was</span> cold and long. Okay, fine to be honest and fair the night was not <span style="font-weight: bold;">that</span> cold. I guess that is what happens when you put three <span style="font-weight: bold;">not tiny </span>people in a <span style="font-weight: bold;">tiny</span> two man tent. <span style="font-style: italic;">(*Note: Two man tent <span style="font-weight: bold;">does not</span> mean two men and <span style="font-weight: bold;">whoever else</span> you can shove in there. In case you were ever tempted. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Whatever</span>, we were warm.) </span> The biggest problem for me was I have a bit of a problem with <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">claustrophobia</span></span> and after 6 hours of feeling like I was sleeping in a <span style="font-weight: bold;">coffin </span>I woke up on the verge of a panic attack.<br /><br />This actually worked out well for me. I got up just before 6. <span style="font-style: italic;">(*Another Note: This doesn't happen voluntarily...<span style="font-weight: bold;">EVER</span>) </span> Neither of the guys were ready to get up yet, but I guessed they problem didn't want to see me go postal, so I quickly vacated the tent and started the fire going.<br /><br />The sun hadn't come up yet, and I watched the leeward side of the island be washed in deep blues and violets, then pinks, golds, and oranges. It was like everything sparkled. The complete absence of pollution and heat left the air totally void of anything that might impair viewing the scene with perfect clarity. I honestly have never seen anything quite like it.<br /><br />We got up, made breakfast and enjoyed the crystal cold of the morning. As we were packing camp, a stallion and his small group of mares wandered into our campsite. The horses of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Assateague</span> are short and scrubby like the trees that grows near the shore. Although these tough little ponies are not necessarily much to look, it was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">beautiful</span> to see them and know that this was one of the last places we could see a sight like this.<br /><br />We packed camp, spent a few minutes at the Visitor's Center learning some more about the other wildlife of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Assateague</span> and went for a short walk along the windward shore. We drove to Annapolis, taking turns passing out/driving along the way. Let it be known that <span style="font-weight: bold;">I DO NOT SNORE!</span> Just wanted to put that out there. We gorged ourselves on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">crabcake</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">gelato</span> and then returned to Arlington to end our adventure. It was definitely one for the books, despite my initial trepidation over the sub-freezing temperatures.<br /><br />Point Team Ben.<br /><br />Below are some of the photos I took on the trip. There's no possible way that these can capture the beauty of the whole trip, but it's a start. Enjoy.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59ycUSQ6AEkKnXIB5WvPvr2EXKicdaasZ1NxGZmrM50RWfr9CgnGAB9UsoDutPky8hiU0JbWfUytO_gVsYXFk-_4ltwa79J4g6iJ-3EjsegDuOaIFp0ovGFRxT5lT0Ftxqzhoh2Jmta0-/s1600-h/DSC01540.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59ycUSQ6AEkKnXIB5WvPvr2EXKicdaasZ1NxGZmrM50RWfr9CgnGAB9UsoDutPky8hiU0JbWfUytO_gVsYXFk-_4ltwa79J4g6iJ-3EjsegDuOaIFp0ovGFRxT5lT0Ftxqzhoh2Jmta0-/s320/DSC01540.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290233124388944834" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Before the sun really started coming up<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-X6d_ZL7eUYv1MX3jM-TJwS9CySo-FpCqS_W0tJy_O17dDRARykATlGoOsdT-S-wW_tqXwypNnwvHwZYbi-MmC36Zmvn7vvxkraVedGKz6BfDFjEyndD7jGXYJdOSSZwlcfMl1OtQ4ly/s1600-h/DSC01532.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-X6d_ZL7eUYv1MX3jM-TJwS9CySo-FpCqS_W0tJy_O17dDRARykATlGoOsdT-S-wW_tqXwypNnwvHwZYbi-MmC36Zmvn7vvxkraVedGKz6BfDFjEyndD7jGXYJdOSSZwlcfMl1OtQ4ly/s320/DSC01532.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290232725261170818" border="0" /></a>More Pink<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRleDmYhOebMPivSYVplKKh96lkhV77PM7Scey1X7sddIj38pdeUluE_mFq1rb-bCBcRdvK9A4u-6QbW2J9OlRXPkXLCYODPbcNZf37xQqbqYOF0edopJYlyUyo5hBxVsjQKTb-6NoM3rj/s1600-h/DSC01546.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRleDmYhOebMPivSYVplKKh96lkhV77PM7Scey1X7sddIj38pdeUluE_mFq1rb-bCBcRdvK9A4u-6QbW2J9OlRXPkXLCYODPbcNZf37xQqbqYOF0edopJYlyUyo5hBxVsjQKTb-6NoM3rj/s320/DSC01546.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290233389723496834" border="0" /></a>On the Bay<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPnrIS5pXUzVyJAL2kl2u9blU8Zw3Hb6pi5esJdmaWgNxChmBEAoBSMx7iP2OdJ2w-wjBKY8rllQLgdERA6BerJjsYtZbi7VBjQaEHKPG4ZjjCOtZbBM5iRZE-qMICzTzJisY-NgkDQ0Dp/s1600-h/DSC01535.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPnrIS5pXUzVyJAL2kl2u9blU8Zw3Hb6pi5esJdmaWgNxChmBEAoBSMx7iP2OdJ2w-wjBKY8rllQLgdERA6BerJjsYtZbi7VBjQaEHKPG4ZjjCOtZbBM5iRZE-qMICzTzJisY-NgkDQ0Dp/s320/DSC01535.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290232822123633490" border="0" /></a>Ice and Bushes<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaSwS0c2sjZIF3doM5BWgnvakGeWQuEPdRx4coqBnYh0H58UN0B5wT8OOn5BYr0UtStxWAxPSBI9okump4lFrNMCGl9DblWGHVXPCnDr0_hLPCQ1_KaVe6PqG1acRXJbUK6GPiSXmfyJgj/s1600-h/DSC01545.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaSwS0c2sjZIF3doM5BWgnvakGeWQuEPdRx4coqBnYh0H58UN0B5wT8OOn5BYr0UtStxWAxPSBI9okump4lFrNMCGl9DblWGHVXPCnDr0_hLPCQ1_KaVe6PqG1acRXJbUK6GPiSXmfyJgj/s320/DSC01545.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290233313996411778" border="0" /></a><br />A Little Bit of Man Over Nature<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin5h3S9IvyqMPwcc-DRBM4S7FGfIPaUTVwltDR1f-GFUZVtPjZnJNW1aSZtCDmnunk43LCDix5iqqg_92u0c_PX61t-_klgyJQILdwl-YjPR1hyVj88mvI3oHDHxKV0IhWaZIkSY32TAqV/s1600-h/DSC01541.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin5h3S9IvyqMPwcc-DRBM4S7FGfIPaUTVwltDR1f-GFUZVtPjZnJNW1aSZtCDmnunk43LCDix5iqqg_92u0c_PX61t-_klgyJQILdwl-YjPR1hyVj88mvI3oHDHxKV0IhWaZIkSY32TAqV/s320/DSC01541.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290233231807496194" border="0" /></a>Bare Branches<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuh1CQ9yrgMPdL6gU03LLRDPxsSaObChzSjboPbQQibg779PvtnGcaCjYVNic14uJlGsl3D2sUQvQhslgP9RRZ9rNQD4PJLQxKqhtJC16vgIBRwfzuhW3eBX9EnnftCjK-ISLqCcmfPu_S/s1600-h/DSC01538.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuh1CQ9yrgMPdL6gU03LLRDPxsSaObChzSjboPbQQibg779PvtnGcaCjYVNic14uJlGsl3D2sUQvQhslgP9RRZ9rNQD4PJLQxKqhtJC16vgIBRwfzuhW3eBX9EnnftCjK-ISLqCcmfPu_S/s320/DSC01538.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290233040525596050" border="0" /></a>Our VERY Little Tent<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1bL0WISk52Xh1RYuMn7eql7dCcmdz6z7ZhapfOD4A7Hxb77Cf_lBhm2EvMob6wwF6cBt4ghkcO3o73xU2Pjo1fMdUccwva4mS4Ko5CZ5q8l3pHJrcRKIACRIVVKwXKMxbIWm4r9g7Prh/s1600-h/DSC01549.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1bL0WISk52Xh1RYuMn7eql7dCcmdz6z7ZhapfOD4A7Hxb77Cf_lBhm2EvMob6wwF6cBt4ghkcO3o73xU2Pjo1fMdUccwva4mS4Ko5CZ5q8l3pHJrcRKIACRIVVKwXKMxbIWm4r9g7Prh/s320/DSC01549.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290233556903246306" border="0" /></a><br />The Car...Yes, Ben did bring the surfboard...Just In Case... You can kind of see the T-Rex in the trees behind the car...<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKOhurN2I80QSdqMZgHaWDMj5-8BuZ8LOfKLVHHUjDcUzDL1GBOBVL7B3czPN9fkYKi1FatJ3uLvK-oXxWfDi4kkr_m3AFU0zXOz3NxCajGJRcyiFsn4ts6QDSOVDFmEpHddZNQO3-nwcv/s1600-h/DSC01551.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKOhurN2I80QSdqMZgHaWDMj5-8BuZ8LOfKLVHHUjDcUzDL1GBOBVL7B3czPN9fkYKi1FatJ3uLvK-oXxWfDi4kkr_m3AFU0zXOz3NxCajGJRcyiFsn4ts6QDSOVDFmEpHddZNQO3-nwcv/s320/DSC01551.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290993687126271762" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Then the Ponies Showed Up...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoZ6fJpLCJ2z-80PHvOi2IRe-ven15WuIQVui6LYjw2_D2DeDOm_6R8cJRYt9eOn_SIE1z5yrANaWi_bYT7srP6vf_nlgg8Ood1sm8p6IN5LbLieJOD47LcBNse47jj0BQ7t8482VMyoH/s1600-h/DSC01550.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 167px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoZ6fJpLCJ2z-80PHvOi2IRe-ven15WuIQVui6LYjw2_D2DeDOm_6R8cJRYt9eOn_SIE1z5yrANaWi_bYT7srP6vf_nlgg8Ood1sm8p6IN5LbLieJOD47LcBNse47jj0BQ7t8482VMyoH/s320/DSC01550.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290233660546216386" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ponies on the Beach<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzU_Zy5um3iLOw0c7SO0Qva2-jb337ME-nQhdKOvApRCH-sPrzsxMfysYxRJ0c9ZJoeC-hjWonzQiXJjH9fNlHyFx8vcO9sNSnhasmTreVjflYbWsH733KM1092tPC7XJT38rMb4yr8R9/s1600-h/DSC01559.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzU_Zy5um3iLOw0c7SO0Qva2-jb337ME-nQhdKOvApRCH-sPrzsxMfysYxRJ0c9ZJoeC-hjWonzQiXJjH9fNlHyFx8vcO9sNSnhasmTreVjflYbWsH733KM1092tPC7XJT38rMb4yr8R9/s320/DSC01559.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290233882686640786" border="0" /></a>Misty on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Assateague</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVg5t7vKfsKEKJmpT5cIdOC-jI6Ol6Ffk_itaz4MxiqBs05BBGEONR199p78rZGy4Riapdux1eyM3UnaL427TM9Px9aBlq2UexpJznxojWvJZnZK0zKiR-hU6czxE7TXlY83gzeh91qJJ/s1600-h/DSC01547.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVg5t7vKfsKEKJmpT5cIdOC-jI6Ol6Ffk_itaz4MxiqBs05BBGEONR199p78rZGy4Riapdux1eyM3UnaL427TM9Px9aBlq2UexpJznxojWvJZnZK0zKiR-hU6czxE7TXlY83gzeh91qJJ/s320/DSC01547.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290233470113500002" border="0" /></a>I'm Artsy, No?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3LFZtTvmMh3NSGBdLhjVLZnNPri-ZdP9tlwCDSFJdYZSrgf1Rr5GHRrZMrSzlpvM8-LnhfPpOQmD-0rm3AnakgAhlmIEb4lKnQloHpuPxbmlGFDTxo7HvBGsteJbFudx6XAuu5LZx0s5g/s1600-h/DSC01565.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3LFZtTvmMh3NSGBdLhjVLZnNPri-ZdP9tlwCDSFJdYZSrgf1Rr5GHRrZMrSzlpvM8-LnhfPpOQmD-0rm3AnakgAhlmIEb4lKnQloHpuPxbmlGFDTxo7HvBGsteJbFudx6XAuu5LZx0s5g/s320/DSC01565.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290234012933964002" border="0" /></a>Ben and Brian on the Beach<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAKhbcx3op-G-QB2qT_aYttSoXVN2W5b9avO1CRVCs0bHPkA1RRAU2hGMofphCZD62eK6oHRc0-QmB-XLD41FnlOthRj_99WxaRs0wt2c7jfj_aakLFVnsyjRWQ4qVFmrGpreeqpriYOP/s1600-h/DSC01566.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAKhbcx3op-G-QB2qT_aYttSoXVN2W5b9avO1CRVCs0bHPkA1RRAU2hGMofphCZD62eK6oHRc0-QmB-XLD41FnlOthRj_99WxaRs0wt2c7jfj_aakLFVnsyjRWQ4qVFmrGpreeqpriYOP/s320/DSC01566.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290234104185882786" border="0" /></a>Happy 2009!<br /></div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-30935735750950160222008-12-22T10:52:00.000-08:002009-07-24T10:05:15.254-07:00Yes, Virginia, There IS A Problem With America Today...Okay, I admit it, this is a <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">rant</span>, which I don't usually do, and I <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">KNOW</span> it's close to the holidays, a fact that should <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">dissuade me</span> from ranting, but I felt <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">morally obligated</span> to pull up the soap box for this one...<br /><br />The bottom line is<br /><br />I have a <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">problem</span> with <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">this.</span>..<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yROXUzrsfcE&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yROXUzrsfcE&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />The text quoted by the stars featured in the commercial is the response to a letter written to the <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">New York Sun</span> newspaper in 1897. In the letter 8 year old Virginia <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">O'Hanlon</span> asks if there is <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">really</span> a Santa Claus. Here is the original letter written by Virginia, and the full response of <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Sun</span> newsman Francis <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Pharcellus</span>. *Full text courtesy of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Newseum</span>.org **emphasis added<br /><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, 'If you see it in the Sun, it's so.' Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?"</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Virginia <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">O'Hanlon</span>.</span><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">115 West Ninety-Fifth Street</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">"VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">love and generosity and devotion</span> exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Virginias</span>. There would be no <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">childlike faith </span>then, <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">no poetry</span>, <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">no romance</span> to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.</span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Not believe in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Santa</span> Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Nobody</span> sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. </span>Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">unseeable</span> in the world.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. </span>Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."</span><br /><br /><table style="WIDTH: 730px; HEIGHT: 1px" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" border="0"><tbody><tr><td valign="top" width="510"><table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="510" border="0"><tbody><tr></tr><tr></tr><tr></tr></tbody></table></td><td width="10"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>So, is it <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">just me</span>, or does <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">anyone else</span> have a <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">problem</span> with one of the nation's largest and most successful department stores using <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(read <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">exploiting</span>) </span>this heartfelt composition that defends <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">love, faith and the beauty of things unseen</span> for their own corporate gain? Yes, I understand that Macy's will donate to the "Make A Wish" foundation, and that is what they are supposed to be promoting here, but I find it <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">ironic</span> that the people chosen to promote this campaign and quote this truly beautiful text from which we might all learn a lesson about selflessness, faith, and a belief in the beauty of the unseen are the <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">symbols</span> of a <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">moral <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">bankruptcy</span></span> that appears to be sweeping our nation.<br /><br />A few examples...<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Jessica Simpson</span>...you've seen the music videos, the<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"> tiny</span> costumes...you may have even <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(unfortunately)</span> seen some of her attempts at acting. <span style="font-size:+0;">I <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">cannot</span> get behind a girl who renewed a <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">furor</span> for</span><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"> hot pants. Not impressed</span>.<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Donald Trump</span>...in my mind one of the <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">sleaziest</span> men alive and an irrefutable example of corporate America's tendency to<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"> vaunt itself </span>above the principles of kindness, selflessness and decency<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Tommy Hilfiger</span>...One of the brands that has become a symbol of <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">American consumerism</span>...at least all of us know a "Hilfiger Guy/Girl" no comment on the guy as an individual, but still...<br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Martha</span> Stewart</span>...<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">REALLY?!? MARTHA STEWART? </span>The woman went to <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">PRISON</span> for stock manipulation and <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">LYING</span> to the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission to save her own<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"> (already very <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">VERY</span> rich, may I add)</span> butt...and <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">THIS</span> is the woman Macy's has chosen as a spokesperson for spreading the spirit of Christmas? <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Aish</span>...<br /><br /></span>Yes, I know all of these people design for Macy's and have extensive clothing, perfume, furnishing lines in their store, but <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">REALLY</span>? They had to take the <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">heartfelt response</span> of a true believer and put it in the mouths of some of the people who are responsible <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(in my humble opinion)</span> for propagating some of the <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">greatest ills</span> in our country <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(okay, they're not selling drugs or porn, exactly, but still...<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Donald Trump?!?</span> Come On...) </span>They might as well have put the <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Enron</span> guy in there, just for <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">good measure</span>.<br /><br />So, I'm interested to know what other people's reaction was when they saw this commercial...Am I being too <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">sensitive</span>? <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Overreacting</span></span><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">? <span style="font-size:180%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Overdramatic</span>?</span></span> Surely not, since I never do any of those things...Right? What are other people's thoughts on this? Anybody have any other <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">"great travesties against the American public"</span> they would be willing to share?<br /><br />Serve it up...Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-81497940197051278522008-12-16T22:02:00.000-08:002008-12-17T05:43:35.739-08:00In Gratitude...Yes, I know Thanksgiving was almost a month ago...<br /><br />Better Late than Never.<br /><br />SO I am counting this as a general post of gratitude precipitated by the Thanksgiving holiday but carrying over into the very blessed Christmas season.<br /><br />Don't judge me, I've been busy...<br /><br />Also,<br /><br />I hope this does not come across as trite...it is not meant to be...<br /><br />I didn't get to go home for Thanksgiving this year, about which I was truly bummed. To be honest, Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. I think it is because when I truly take the time to make an honest reflection on the blessings that I have received in my life, I cannot help but be overcome with the most incredible feeling of peace and love. When I look at my life, there is no question in my mind that I have a loving Father in Heaven who knows me personally and is aware of my needs, joys, and sorrows and who sends me blessings and trials alike to deepen my faith and strengthen my character.<br /><br />I was sad that I didn't get to go home this year to be with my family, unquestionably the greatest blessing in my life. However, I was lucky enough to be able to spend the day with a large group of old and new friends alike who, in the absence of nearby family, have truly come together to form a group that is as close to family as one can come without the bloodline to account for it.<br /><br />It was a day spent full of joy found in preparing each others' meal, laughter at the concurrent bliss and discomfort that comes with eating oneself into oblivion, and a general feeling of peace and comfort in enjoying each others company. It was a day that made me so grateful to have not only a family who loves and cares about me deeply, but friends who feel like family.<br /><br />One of our activities for the day was gathering all present into the living room and going around the circle with each person saying one thing they were thankful for. Consistently, each person had a difficult time choosing just one thing. It was truly a testament to the blessings in our lives. The exercise made me, once again, acutely aware of the numberless reasons I have to be thankful. So, in honor of the holiday season in which we find ourselves, I have compiled a list of things I am thankful for. Not a general list like family, a warm place to sleep, a job that provides for my needs, <span style="font-style: italic;">(although I am deeply grateful for all these things) </span>but a more specific list of moments and memories tied to the people who are dearest to me. Many of you may recognize yourelves in this list, and there is a reason for that...it is because you have been part of my life and have changed and blessed me in some way, for which I am truly grateful.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I am Thankful That:<br /><br /></span><ul><li>You are my <span style="font-weight: bold;">biggest fan</span>, even when it's hard.<br /></li><li>You let me wear your irrigating boots, even though they were 10 sizes too big, and <span style="font-weight: bold;">everything else</span> that went along with it.<br /></li><li>You have a neverending <span style="font-weight: bold;">positive attitude</span>, even when it's all falling apart.<br /></li><li>You have a <span style="font-weight: bold;">level head</span>, even in the pursuit of <span style="font-weight: bold;">perfection.</span></li><li>You have a <span style="font-weight: bold;">kind and unjudging heart</span> that I seek to emulate.</li><li>You have<span style="font-weight: bold;"> uncon</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">ditional love</span> for someone I care about deeply.</li><li>You taught me the value of <span style="font-weight: bold;">etiquette</span> and a <span style="font-weight: bold;">good picnic table.</span></li><li>You came home with <span style="font-weight: bold;">M&M's</span> in your pockets...always.</li><li>You taught me the value of a <span style="font-weight: bold;">good meal</span>, the <span style="font-weight: bold;">scriptures</span>, and a <span style="font-weight: bold;">good crochet hook</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(despite my terminal failure at the craft).</span><br /></li><li>You are always <span style="font-weight: bold;">willing to dance a jig</span>, particularly when your joints are cooperating.</li><li>You were the <span style="font-weight: bold;">best penpal</span> a girl could have.</li><li>You are <span style="font-weight: bold;">strong and kind</span> and never speak ill of those around you.</li><li>You will always call me <span style="font-weight: bold;">'Dude'.</span><br /></li><li>You are smart and witty and one of the <span style="font-weight: bold;">hippest </span>moms I know.</li><li>You are both the first to <span style="font-weight: bold;">gather around the piano.</span></li><li>Your home is always <span style="font-weight: bold;">open.</span></li><li>I know<span style="font-weight: bold;"> you love me</span>, even when I give you a hard time about being <span style="font-weight: bold;">cranky.</span></li><li>You are truly <span style="font-weight: bold;">my sister</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">my friend</span>, and will always be the <span style="font-weight: bold;">better half</span> of the 'SSS' should a good <span style="font-weight: bold;">windstorm </span>ever present itself.</li><li>You made her <span style="font-weight: bold;">happier</span> than I've ever seen her, and have become a <span style="font-weight: bold;">true and trusted friend.</span></li><li>You are <span style="font-weight: bold;">always there</span> for your friends and <span style="font-weight: bold;">family </span>is always <span style="font-weight: bold;">first.</span></li><li>You are <span style="font-weight: bold;">fun and accomplished</span>, and his perfect match.</li><li>You are always up for a road trip and you love to <span style="font-weight: bold;">move it move it</span>.</li><li>You were not afraid of one of my more <span style="font-weight: bold;">unsightly breakdowns</span> and we've shared some of the <span style="font-weight: bold;">worst </span>moments in <span style="font-weight: bold;">cinematic history</span> together.<br /></li><li>Getting ready for a dance together is sure to make the evening a <span style="font-weight: bold;">winner</span>, and are half of the <span style="font-weight: bold;">classiest duo</span> I know.<br /></li><li>We are always up for a <span style="font-weight: bold;">coffee break</span>, even though we don't drink coffee, and everything that goes with it.<br /></li><li>You are always up for a <span style="font-weight: bold;">trip to the beach</span> and a good <span style="font-weight: bold;">girls only </span>cuddle session.</li><li>You will never turn down a chance to get your <span style="font-weight: bold;">Boot Scoot</span> on.<br /></li><li>You have <span style="font-weight: bold;">convinced me</span> to love you despite your crazy facial hair.</li><li>You are the most impeccable combination of <span style="font-weight: bold;">eloquence, quirkiness, witt, joy,</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">sincerity</span> that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting in human form.</li><li>You are a <span style="font-weight: bold;">dancer</span>. Period.</li><li>You, my dear, have <span style="font-weight: bold;">a way with words</span>, and are the most accomplished <span style="font-weight: bold;">bargain shopper</span> I know.</li><li>You are <span style="font-weight: bold;">motivation personified</span>, and know how to make data entry at <span style="font-weight: bold;">2AM</span> a reasonably enjoyable experience.</li><li>You make <span style="font-weight: bold;">communism</span> look good. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Real good</span>.</li><li>We met one night over <span style="font-weight: bold;">virgin daqueris</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">free chips and salsa</span> and a <span style="font-weight: bold;">slightly awkward bet</span>, but now I wouldn't trade ya.</li><li>You introduced me to the joy of eating <span style="font-weight: bold;">pudding cups</span> while listening to <span style="font-weight: bold;">banjo music</span>, and are <span style="font-weight: bold;">truly, truly loyal</span>.</li><li>You made me<span style="font-weight: bold;"> feel worth it</span>, even when I didn't think I was.</li><li>You see the value in an evening of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Thai food and shoe shopping</span> and you feel your music with soul.</li><li>You ran with me...the first<span style="font-weight: bold;"> 5 blocks</span> anyway :)</li><li>You are patient with me even when I forget how to tie the knot you've taught me <span style="font-weight: bold;">at least</span> 5 times.</li><li>You were my <span style="font-weight: bold;">first friend </span>in a new place, even though I was sure I <span style="font-weight: bold;">wasn't cool enough</span> for you.</li><li>You love <span style="font-weight: bold;">foreign film, fine food,</span> and a good round of <span style="font-weight: bold;">tennis</span>, even though you beat me <span style="font-weight: bold;">every</span> time.</li><li>You get so overcome by the things you <span style="font-weight: bold;">love </span>that you can't express yourself.</li><li>We met on the mission...because we both know we <span style="font-weight: bold;">never </span>would have made it out if we had met before.</li><li>You <span style="font-weight: bold;">healed me </span>when I was broken.</li><li>You will <span style="font-weight: bold;">always</span> be my best friend and no matter how long we go without talking, it always feels like no time has passed when we do.</li><li>You never let me forget that I have <span style="font-weight: bold;">great assets</span>.</li><li>You are the most refreshing combination of <span style="font-weight: bold;">enthusiasm, realism and hope</span> a girl could ever have the pleasure of meeting.</li><li>You tell me how you <span style="font-weight: bold;">feel.</span></li><li>You are <span style="font-weight: bold;">classy</span> and never pass up a chance to convert your hair stylist :)<br /></li><li>You are a <span style="font-weight: bold;">class act</span> running buddy.</li><li>You made the time, the tears, and all the failed attempts <span style="font-weight: bold;">worth it.</span></li><li>You are <span style="font-weight: bold;">not afraid</span> of <span style="font-weight: bold;">awkward</span>.</li><li>You <span style="font-weight: bold;">call 'em</span> like you <span style="font-weight: bold;">see 'em</span>.</li><li>Your voice makes me<span style="font-weight: bold;"> swoon</span> and you cook like a <span style="font-weight: bold;">champ.</span><br /></li><li>You like to talk <span style="font-weight: bold;">politics.</span></li><li>You are always up for a <span style="font-weight: bold;">midnight swim </span>and you do what you <span style="font-weight: bold;">love</span>.</li><li>You <span style="font-weight: bold;">still </span>keep in touch.</li><li>You are my <span style="font-weight: bold;">friend.</span></li><li>You are my <span style="font-weight: bold;">family</span>.</li><li>I could never do it <span style="font-weight: bold;">without you.</span><br /></li></ul>This list is long, but it does not begin to describe my feelings and the things I love and admire about so many of you. I am truly so blessed by each and every person in my life. My heart is so fully gratitude for the love that I feel from the people in my life and I hope that in some small way this serves as an expression of the gratitude that I feel to those who touch my life in so many ways both small and significant. To those of you who find yourselves in the things above, please know that there is so much more that I want to say thank you for, but sometimes cannot find the words. I am truly blessed, and it is because of you. Thank you.Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-69505696616203857002008-11-17T18:44:00.000-08:002008-11-17T20:29:41.155-08:00Bragging Rights...<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Pre</span>-reading caveat...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I AM NOT AN ATHLETE...</span><br /><br />See, here's the thing, though, I have always <span style="font-weight: bold;">wanted</span> to be...and in particular, I have always wanted to be a runner. I don't know what it is about the sport of running that I find so compelling. Maybe it's that you can run anywhere, anytime...it is the quintessential individualist sport <span style="font-style: italic;">(as one who <span style="font-weight: bold;">doesn't play nice with others</span>...and by that I mean I'm <span style="font-weight: bold;">not any good at anything</span>...I don't like being subjected other people's </span><span style="font-style: italic;">ridicule</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> an</span><span style="font-style: italic;">d competitive nature...might I also add I blame a lot of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">jr</span>. high <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">scarr</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ing</span> on this particular fact...)</span>, maybe it's that my grandfather ran the Boston Marathon, oh, you know, a couple of times, <span style="font-weight: bold;">no big deal</span>...maybe it's the fact that I look really great in spandex <span style="font-style: italic;">(okay, <span style="font-weight: bold;">fine</span>, maybe not so much that one)</span> maybe it's the fact that runners <span style="font-style: italic;">(distance runners in particular)</span> have copious amounts of <span style="font-weight: bold;">self-control</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">discipline</span>...of which I have <span style="font-weight: bold;">none</span>...could be any number of things.<br /><br />But, the honest truth is I am just not genetically disposed to athletics...running in particular. I'm 5'4" I have a stride of approximately 6 inches and I have to buy running shoes with soles made of tempered steel to correct the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">pronation</span> in my gate because my arches are so high you could drive a <span style="font-weight: bold;">train</span> through them...See, if <span style="font-weight: bold;">Botticelli</span> was convening a team of some sort I would have been his <span style="font-weight: bold;">first round draft pick</span>, but I'm pretty sure <span style="font-weight: bold;">Bill</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Bowerman</span> </span>wouldn't have let me carry his team's towels for fear I might infect his runners with <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">curvaceous</span> slow</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">n</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ess</span></span>, or at least bad knees or something...by all accounts me and running are just not meant to be...<br /><br />For the visual learners in the group...<br /><br />This<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYiV-0QfIEXaTFmp8LVv4ylvl-5n_mbXE_uK-qwYB4QcI9BGts1vfB7Si0l4grsx7pIT4JFHYCoRF-ZTiEwSlVvNDx4zt9OLPCYpS2OwegRaONHqE4TE1KYAKTn4euxKbYUbQKWAmrhJg6/s1600-h/images-6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 97px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYiV-0QfIEXaTFmp8LVv4ylvl-5n_mbXE_uK-qwYB4QcI9BGts1vfB7Si0l4grsx7pIT4JFHYCoRF-ZTiEwSlVvNDx4zt9OLPCYpS2OwegRaONHqE4TE1KYAKTn4euxKbYUbQKWAmrhJg6/s200/images-6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269829877338682946" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYiV-0QfIEXaTFmp8LVv4ylvl-5n_mbXE_uK-qwYB4QcI9BGts1vfB7Si0l4grsx7pIT4JFHYCoRF-ZTiEwSlVvNDx4zt9OLPCYpS2OwegRaONHqE4TE1KYAKTn4euxKbYUbQKWAmrhJg6/s1600-h/images-6.jpg">Not This</a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbw576-3hteemyTCDL-FssNYUkj44I0ign8sX8DpOWKU9CNctrzYvqZaZYSnlHQP_QSXnuIcDPxK2aS4XOi_4yYsERFc7cZFZeLFy5rkDpMJDFzsxE6bscxjwKoDo-FNxhJrY7weKzWKT/s1600-h/images-5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 107px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbw576-3hteemyTCDL-FssNYUkj44I0ign8sX8DpOWKU9CNctrzYvqZaZYSnlHQP_QSXnuIcDPxK2aS4XOi_4yYsERFc7cZFZeLFy5rkDpMJDFzsxE6bscxjwKoDo-FNxhJrY7weKzWKT/s200/images-5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269830163097461074" border="0" /></a>Everybody still with me? A seriously sad plight indeed. I never thought I would be able to run any sort of distance...and of course sprinting was just out. Some people have <span style="font-weight: bold;">fast twitch</span> muscles, some people have <span style="font-weight: bold;">slow twitch</span> muscles...I'm just lucky if I can get mine to <span style="font-weight: bold;">twitch.</span> Now, don't get me wrong, I take good care of myself <span style="font-style: italic;">(with the one unfortunate exception of a</span> <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">particularly depressing</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> year of college fueled by a lot of </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Law & Order</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> and </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">toast</span><span style="font-style: italic;">)</span>...I go to the gym, I lift weights, I do aerobics, kickboxing, yoga, <span style="font-weight: bold;">and </span>did dance and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">cheerleading</span> in high school...I'm not a total lot cause, I just always believed running was not my calling because let's face it, I'm shaped like classic glassware, and I just always figured my joints couldn't handle it, because...well...I guess 'cause my mom told me they couldn't, and <span style="font-weight: bold;">why question momma?</span><br /><br />Anyway...the bottom line is, this weekend I did something to prove myself wrong. This weekend, on Saturday, the 15<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">th</span> of November, <span style="font-weight: bold;">I RAN A HALF MARATHON</span>. That's right folks...<span style="font-weight: bold;">13.1 miles</span>...and I ran the whole way.<br /><br />Remember...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQn3c9P1p07ezYqMCFnvmzPYdQ2V6bnK4f7zNKasio7T-V8VyjuGkgf_wH7j4J-oUg0erBs64IJyTIkGcYHVS1QtlXJElEXxET3r5haWqyhnSEt77ZbBty2PqU-QXqakLzVyIlXLa5c3N/s1600-h/images-4.jpg">This</a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdT6Ujgr0zFPumWBzImwSJyVn0-FYtJmG3AVWKvTOdHVEoXT57jpgcKh_1UdX1Ah-PTI1xwY5gIc33S1WpjnIWf4-Hs-NvlkWknJ7UKaBPdvgN3hZn1ZGoCDc_M41zOj00AsQXjnZUggf/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 67px; height: 142px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdT6Ujgr0zFPumWBzImwSJyVn0-FYtJmG3AVWKvTOdHVEoXT57jpgcKh_1UdX1Ah-PTI1xwY5gIc33S1WpjnIWf4-Hs-NvlkWknJ7UKaBPdvgN3hZn1ZGoCDc_M41zOj00AsQXjnZUggf/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269827308848920098" border="0" /></a><br />Not This<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHvpwjc5VnuqdEpITSmdkpY2IJ0MGfSnG9_Y3iEW0M-mSU2XTAnSnZvDowxO-cst2pcgSpo01iku08HdVVnRbJjv258_Bpvau5TMup235unFdLaXnD87L3Na9az-YjLke6L0PuYewEkxX/s1600-h/images-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 53px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHvpwjc5VnuqdEpITSmdkpY2IJ0MGfSnG9_Y3iEW0M-mSU2XTAnSnZvDowxO-cst2pcgSpo01iku08HdVVnRbJjv258_Bpvau5TMup235unFdLaXnD87L3Na9az-YjLke6L0PuYewEkxX/s200/images-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269838062553144018" border="0" /></a>Now, I know for some of you this is not a big deal...10 miles is like a leisure run for you. Again, a little more context...after we ran the mile for gym class I had to excuse myself, and went and laid down on the cold cement floor in the locker room<span style="font-style: italic;"> (I know, you're asking me "isn't the floor in the locker room <span style="font-weight: bold;">disgusting</span>? to which I will answer you..."<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">ummm</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">yeah</span>") </span>because I nearly blacked out. Again...running, not my calling.<br /><br />Still With Me...?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbw576-3hteemyTCDL-FssNYUkj44I0ign8sX8DpOWKU9CNctrzYvqZaZYSnlHQP_QSXnuIcDPxK2aS4XOi_4yYsERFc7cZFZeLFy5rkDpMJDFzsxE6bscxjwKoDo-FNxhJrY7weKzWKT/s1600-h/images-5.jpg">This</a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBoqNErDCk6o0TSOQvR-Vg5MoThc1fVXe2_al-0nJCEwo5ZwWvBbXeNwtSkcG7eTHHrr0E9zU1wHAg8iDlnWFjc8HG74hzMlK7EobNSE462XG0wzL6VUGza0_aUQvJVndY9ce4kf0fdPSi/s1600-h/images-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 91px; height: 127px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBoqNErDCk6o0TSOQvR-Vg5MoThc1fVXe2_al-0nJCEwo5ZwWvBbXeNwtSkcG7eTHHrr0E9zU1wHAg8iDlnWFjc8HG74hzMlK7EobNSE462XG0wzL6VUGza0_aUQvJVndY9ce4kf0fdPSi/s200/images-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269827858076151794" border="0" /></a>Not This<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQn3c9P1p07ezYqMCFnvmzPYdQ2V6bnK4f7zNKasio7T-V8VyjuGkgf_wH7j4J-oUg0erBs64IJyTIkGcYHVS1QtlXJElEXxET3r5haWqyhnSEt77ZbBty2PqU-QXqakLzVyIlXLa5c3N/s1600-h/images-4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 68px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQn3c9P1p07ezYqMCFnvmzPYdQ2V6bnK4f7zNKasio7T-V8VyjuGkgf_wH7j4J-oUg0erBs64IJyTIkGcYHVS1QtlXJElEXxET3r5haWqyhnSEt77ZbBty2PqU-QXqakLzVyIlXLa5c3N/s200/images-4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269828072511865410" border="0" /></a><br />Since moving out to DC I've just decided that it's time I do a few things I always told myself I could never do. One of those <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">things</span> included running a road race of some significant length. Now, to this point the closest I've come was my <span style="font-weight: bold;">office 5K</span>...not that 3.1 miles is something to scoff at...but it just wasn't enough. Why I felt the <span style="font-weight: bold;">compulsion</span> to jump to a half-marathon rather than a <span style="font-weight: bold;">10K </span>or even a <span style="font-weight: bold;">10 miler</span> I have no idea...but I did...and the craziest part is...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I liked it</span>.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(okay, fine...I liked <span style="font-weight: bold;">most</span> of it..miles 9-12 I could have <span style="font-weight: bold;">done without</span>...but you get the idea)</span><br /><br />No kidding. I had a blast. The race was so fun, and I actually found myself smiling as I chugged along mile marker after mile marker. Maybe I was <span style="font-weight: bold;">smiling</span> because I knew I was about to accomplish something I thought was impossible...maybe it was because the inhabitants of Richmond had come out in full force and were camped out on their lawns waving flags and blowing noisemakers cheering on perfect strangers towards the finish line...maybe it was the satisfaction of passing that really fit looking African guy <span style="font-style: italic;">(don't worry, I'm pretty sure he was <span style="font-weight: bold;">injured </span>as there is <span style="font-weight: bold;">no way </span>I would have passed him otherwise..and yes, I know I'm <span style="font-weight: bold;">profiling</span> here...forgive me)</span>...regardless of what it was...I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">thoroughly</span> enjoyed myself. Particularly the finishing part...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgHeU8tBA0PRnuDRBidHGzlH1rqm7oa05uNeNyEd5Nc15phug8wKOjKrS-7Q3m3BR2mOGF4lRTAhmUtCO4W8jU8WZG0AFPSn2q_97MfEV8K3Mm0Mz12noflfxHlOOpLSnY2xkR4-9UdwQ/s1600-h/DSC01429.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikgHeU8tBA0PRnuDRBidHGzlH1rqm7oa05uNeNyEd5Nc15phug8wKOjKrS-7Q3m3BR2mOGF4lRTAhmUtCO4W8jU8WZG0AFPSn2q_97MfEV8K3Mm0Mz12noflfxHlOOpLSnY2xkR4-9UdwQ/s320/DSC01429.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269834238064651650" border="0" /></a><br />The Richmond Half Marathon winds its way through downtown Richmond, VA as well as through some of the surrounding neighborhoods. The bulk of the course is quite flat with some barely intelligible changes in incline as you go along. My <span style="font-weight: bold;">personal opinion</span> on hills is that while they are a beast to get up, the pay off of getting to run with gravity on the other side is totally worth it...and by about mile 11 I was really ready to see some downhill. As I came around the final bend in the course and I could actually see the finish line and realized I was standing atop a fairly decent sized hill <span style="font-style: italic;">(possibly the only one in Richmond) </span>but wasn't quite sure how I got there because you don't remember running up <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">anything</span> that significant...at that point, however, I didn't much care because I'd just run <span style="font-weight: bold;">12.6 miles</span> and could see the goal at the bottom of that hill. It felt like I was flying.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2kSZHcKjE_IlMPcvFYMxcu3ly-rHPVcqWZq-teaKgRktJYaMQXalzF44aMO6ZXMupRcERiFn1NnQ4zqRqbW3M0pkPR6N9En0vHKXPLjmGJsTX_TN3g7YufiS9kqBExuzLQT3QsajDwefE/s1600-h/images-7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 120px; height: 77px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2kSZHcKjE_IlMPcvFYMxcu3ly-rHPVcqWZq-teaKgRktJYaMQXalzF44aMO6ZXMupRcERiFn1NnQ4zqRqbW3M0pkPR6N9En0vHKXPLjmGJsTX_TN3g7YufiS9kqBExuzLQT3QsajDwefE/s320/images-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269840084620016178" border="0" /></a><br />I was only conscious enough of my feet to try and keep myself from completely eating it on the downhill <span style="font-style: italic;">(does it still count as a <span style="font-weight: bold;">"strong finish"</span> if you roll across the finish line?)</span> but I ran as fast as I could<span style="font-style: italic;"> (yes, I think I even managed what would qualify as a sprint)</span>. When I crossed the finish line I was completely out of breath, but so overjoyed to have finished strong that I was nearly in tears. As I gasped for breath one of the men handing out medals asked "Are you okay?" and all I could get out between gasps was <span style="font-weight: bold;">"No, I'm great!"</span><br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Cheezy</span>?<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Totally</span>. But it's true. I don't know what felt better...knowing that I didn't have to run anymore or knowing that I had just proved myself wrong. In the end all the training, all the blisters, and all the sweat, tears, and pain that went into preparation were worth it. I didn't set any records,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> that's for sure</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(as in, the guy who won the <span style="font-weight: bold;">marathon</span> ran it <span style="font-weight: bold;">22 minutes</span> faster than I ran the half) </span>but I did something I had always told myself I could never do. <span style="font-weight: bold;">I ran 13.1 miles</span>. On top of that, I <span style="font-weight: bold;">enjoyed</span> running 13.1 miles. I'm really not too worried about what all the <span style="font-weight: bold;">pounding</span> is doing to <span style="font-weight: bold;">my knees</span>...<span style="font-weight: bold;">my brain</span> on the other hand is a completely different story...<br /><br />Many kudos to all those who pushed me through, encouraged me, and expressed their admiration at my <span style="font-weight: bold;">apparent insanity</span>. I couldn't have done it without you. Big time props to Josh M for signing up for the dang thing with me and training despite some serious aches, pains, and scheduling issues...you were a champ and our weekend in Richmond will forever live in <span style="font-weight: bold;">infamy</span>...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_1I7nRLj53OFWq7Psz-iG636741BvHzaheItoSSNqcLqJBkU6sy6c9-Yks1Cxh0TPTIWpK6xIBPkxqJkqOrKBamhEJYIaNOO5iSA9F5qxjG071VzFsJKK9l5Fm9Em5MjL2BGviFR-W4q/s1600-h/DSC01430.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_1I7nRLj53OFWq7Psz-iG636741BvHzaheItoSSNqcLqJBkU6sy6c9-Yks1Cxh0TPTIWpK6xIBPkxqJkqOrKBamhEJYIaNOO5iSA9F5qxjG071VzFsJKK9l5Fm9Em5MjL2BGviFR-W4q/s320/DSC01430.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269836389716866018" border="0" /></a>So, the bottom line is, <span style="font-weight: bold;">never write yourself off</span>. You may find you actually enjoy doing something you never thought you were capable of, and that it teaches you a lot about yourself while you're doing it. You may even cultivate a little <span style="font-weight: bold;">self control</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">discipline</span> along the way <span style="font-style: italic;">(not saying <span style="font-weight: bold;">I did</span>...I definitely had a <span style="font-weight: bold;">milkshake </span>to celebrate...I'm just saying some people <span style="font-weight: bold;">might</span>...)<br /><br /></span>So, as it turns out I'm kind of hooked and am looking forward to the next one. Should be ready to go as soon as all the <span style="font-weight: bold;">scabs</span> heal over...<br /><br />Oh, and by the way...<br /><br />This<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJXwLyNwJAKpymo6vmuFLyuCqM6vGgH3lDrM4xuss51qA4l7v9pjfBSqssx1UlKbcjqrjqvz3wMiJeAV3AgpjHQFvwuaJ4LQYHvifz2iJCxeFwa-LTch8jxis2fdBo3_-PWKhCNgAggK1/s1600-h/images-8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 120px; height: 104px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJXwLyNwJAKpymo6vmuFLyuCqM6vGgH3lDrM4xuss51qA4l7v9pjfBSqssx1UlKbcjqrjqvz3wMiJeAV3AgpjHQFvwuaJ4LQYHvifz2iJCxeFwa-LTch8jxis2fdBo3_-PWKhCNgAggK1/s320/images-8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269842299478132786" border="0" /></a>Not This<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0NRzI2GBhH0I6wmkatUKA6f5shgBpbEUFEfWo9b_DwSL6atRgkuxRkdOVZKD5NWWkDum95BbMCxOPg97WStvbJaP4mbb0w_mPITAaRh_w8YOmOM_GTvpjSb034tZ_wXKh4JuIHyU9-VH/s1600-h/images-9.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 127px; height: 66px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0NRzI2GBhH0I6wmkatUKA6f5shgBpbEUFEfWo9b_DwSL6atRgkuxRkdOVZKD5NWWkDum95BbMCxOPg97WStvbJaP4mbb0w_mPITAaRh_w8YOmOM_GTvpjSb034tZ_wXKh4JuIHyU9-VH/s320/images-9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269843240848509474" border="0" /></a>There's <span style="font-weight: bold;">crazy</span>, and then there's <span style="font-weight: bold;">suicidal</span>...I'll stick with just plain crazy, <span style="font-weight: bold;">thanks very much.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-6172753228284675452008-11-04T18:43:00.000-08:002008-11-09T07:17:26.120-08:00Fire In The Hole...This one you have to <span style="font-weight: bold;">see</span> to <span style="font-weight: bold;">believe</span>...<br /><br />So, I love living in DC because there is the <span style="font-weight: bold;">craziest</span> variety of stuff to do around here. One night you can go watch b-boys battle in a <span style="font-weight: bold;">breakdancing competit</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">ion</span> held in a church in a neighborhood in northeast and the next night you can go to <span style="font-weight: bold;">La Boheme </span>at the Kennedy Center and enjoy the rest of the evening strolling along the Potomac waterfront. There is no end to the things you can do in this area.<br /><br />Not only is DC full of totally varied activities, but you have the entire East Coast within just a few hours...from <span style="font-weight: bold;">the Hamptons</span> to the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Hills of West Virginny</span>...you can do and see it all and don't have to go that far out of your way.<br /><br />This past weekend, however, may have topped my list of craziest and most fun things I have done while living out here. Last Saturday's activity definitely takes the cake...or pie, rather...<span style="font-weight: bold;">punkin' pie</span>.<br /><br />Last Saturday, several of my friends and I got up at the crack of dawn...okay, pre-dawn, let's be honest, there is no semblance of sunlight at 5:30 in the morning...which seems particularly cruel on a Saturday...anyway...tanget...<span style="font-weight: bold;">sorry</span>...<br /><br />We got up early and headed to Bridgeville, Delaware. What's that? You've never heard of it? Well there's a reason...There's <span style="font-weight: bold;">NOTHING</span> there...Except of course for the annual <span style="font-weight: bold;">World Championship Punkin Chunkin!</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCfupZpWGnul8tursAWbChSnc9b8YEUIiLvCPnvPf9NfM_lkuwQ2ai6B5lvcAN3CYkdyeYmZUiFzzfyBmreS-k5AV82HZOZZQLpSTBIHP_2qCyOV3kRGTr2pbjSvOyOB019-t5xauAnHp/s1600-h/2008chunklogo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCfupZpWGnul8tursAWbChSnc9b8YEUIiLvCPnvPf9NfM_lkuwQ2ai6B5lvcAN3CYkdyeYmZUiFzzfyBmreS-k5AV82HZOZZQLpSTBIHP_2qCyOV3kRGTr2pbjSvOyOB019-t5xauAnHp/s320/2008chunklogo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265001211753993394" border="0" /></a> The <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.punkinchunkin.com/main.htm">Punkin Chunkin</a> (heretofor referred to as "the Chunkin" or "PC") takes place annually in Bridgeville, and is, by all accounts, the <span style="font-weight: bold;">biggest </span>deal of the year. The point of said Chunkin is basically to build a contraption for the sole purpose of flinging, rocketing, or basically propelling a pumpkin as far as you possibly can. The competition is broken into three categories...Catapaults, Trebuchets, and Pneumatic Guns. Let me tell you, if you've never seen a pumpkin come <span style="font-weight: bold;">rocketing</span> out of a steel pipe at <span style="font-weight: bold;">200 mph</span> and subsequently fly over <span style="font-weight: bold;">3,000</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> feet</span>, you are <span style="font-weight: bold;">missing out</span>.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3kHhbFPMR0TJUMb9sGrA9kr8dly8AWOeLV3rRJ2cQD8rGVBaIncuLSrDQQ_dvensSgI8Hr2ABu3Ad_R2s48Wc0kCEcWJVAtb_5iLKefVR9UzCkpfKxEs03qM0IAiXDojDUntOSXqpw2JZ/s1600-h/DSC01401.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 153px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3kHhbFPMR0TJUMb9sGrA9kr8dly8AWOeLV3rRJ2cQD8rGVBaIncuLSrDQQ_dvensSgI8Hr2ABu3Ad_R2s48Wc0kCEcWJVAtb_5iLKefVR9UzCkpfKxEs03qM0IAiXDojDUntOSXqpw2JZ/s320/DSC01401.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266669427173017698" border="0" /></a><br />Now, don't get me wrong, I grew up in a small town...The rodeo every year was a big deal and there was an inordinate amount of drunken beligerence and debauchery that went along with that whole scene <span style="font-style: italic;">(my parents, being the <span style="font-weight: bold;">responsib</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">le</span> folks they were felt it wasn't the place for a little girl, and thus I was never allowed to compete in any of the rodeo events like my other <span style="font-weight: bold;">little tyke farmhand friends</span>...I still feel this is why</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> I never claimed my title in <span style="font-weight: bold;">mutton bu</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">sting</span>...but I'm not bitter). </span>Anyway, the point is, I've been around rough crowds and seen my fair share of tailgating and associated activites, but this brought things to a <span style="font-weight: bold;">whole</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> new l</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">evel..</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIo_s4QmIgwBosNiOr9xFvo0BinSDBk0otNz_jx7Mg_JkKQ82yzfCJduqOhpfXQBwAZBnhjq3kTYmgEtC32WPlcrNNukpAXXuSpFuBCGIaGzmPNiiFwka3_XA4X_JlR7n9WBgwf07Fcnhw/s1600-h/DSC01403.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIo_s4QmIgwBosNiOr9xFvo0BinSDBk0otNz_jx7Mg_JkKQ82yzfCJduqOhpfXQBwAZBnhjq3kTYmgEtC32WPlcrNNukpAXXuSpFuBCGIaGzmPNiiFwka3_XA4X_JlR7n9WBgwf07Fcnhw/s320/DSC01403.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266668995505009698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmspFXqwGjgDh9aBA7TxD6n2-R2rnit7t-OUvPQXjnUqAHhL2_Jsk1yuE7fW0gR5W-zPYFJrMunWgL9syHVLCcP_J_-BcfUqniPl_3J9V2unrC5BDHhnhY86cqbhF2Bdg9oIPvHs3IjkD/s1600-h/DSC01404.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 103px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmspFXqwGjgDh9aBA7TxD6n2-R2rnit7t-OUvPQXjnUqAHhL2_Jsk1yuE7fW0gR5W-zPYFJrMunWgL9syHVLCcP_J_-BcfUqniPl_3J9V2unrC5BDHhnhY86cqbhF2Bdg9oIPvHs3IjkD/s320/DSC01404.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266669738986680850" border="0" /></a>On entrance to the Chunkin, we were greeted by what appeared to be the entire student body of Bridgeville Jr. High School, along with a few booster club moms sprinkled in for good measure and supervision<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> (?) </span>directing traffic. By all appearances they had been there since about 6 am.<br /><br />Not only had the traffic directors been there since about 6am, it seems that so had the tailgaters. There were people in RV's, pickup trucks, vans, you name it, they brought it. It looked like some of these people had been camped out for <span style="font-weight: bold;">days </span>just waiting for the PC events to begin. Not only had these folks been camped out since whenever, but that's about the time they started drinking (beer of choice, Natural Ice or<span style="font-weight: bold;"> "Natty Ice" </span>to anyone who's ever been to college party where the point was not to enjoy the finer bouquets of an alcoholic beverage, but to get <span style="font-weight: bold;">wasted</span> as <span style="font-weight: bold;">quickly</span> and as <span style="font-weight: bold;">cheaply</span> as possible...so I've been told anyway).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7NcXiget6Y_76b_ii5gnshfrlo9Txiy5BWFowqiWmi8hGbhdY1NfD-4EgzQZPZ8-mC8Jq5enzyenOuDobsBzeKhrJTWaL9kMOWosUa49pB7Pdm_najRwEGZx1kw6Z-KXAUBb7VFUilqI/s1600-h/DSC01422.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7NcXiget6Y_76b_ii5gnshfrlo9Txiy5BWFowqiWmi8hGbhdY1NfD-4EgzQZPZ8-mC8Jq5enzyenOuDobsBzeKhrJTWaL9kMOWosUa49pB7Pdm_najRwEGZx1kw6Z-KXAUBb7VFUilqI/s200/DSC01422.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266672708603641586" border="0" /></a>In addition to the beer of choice, there were definitely some popular clothing options...camouflage, overalls, hunters orange, cut off denim, and hard hats.<br /><br />So, the first few seem obvious...tailgating, <span style="font-weight: bold;">public in</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">toxication</span>, mass gatherings in fallow soy bean fields in Delaware...but "why the hard hats?" you ask. Well, I'll tell you why...Because on the off occasion these <span style="font-weight: bold;">pumpkin-flinging contraptions</span> will have a misfire. What this usually results in is the <span style="font-weight: bold;">gourd </span>in question being flung backwards<span style="font-weight: bold;"> into</span> or <span style="font-weight: bold;">over</span> the crowd of onlookers..."isn't that <span style="font-weight: bold;">dangerous</span>?" you ask...to which I say, "ummm, yeah,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> it is</span>. " I was pretty much afraid for my life during the <span style="font-weight: bold;">entire</span> Trebuchet competition after watching one of the machines completely <span style="font-weight: bold;">self destruct</span> in a flurry of snapping cables and cracking timbers <span style="font-style: italic;">(no one</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> was hurt, thank goodness)</span> and then seeing yet another of these modified war machines fling its payload <span style="font-weight: bold;">backwards</span> over the crowd of onlookers and into the fairgrounds area where normal carnival type activities were taking place...good thing there were no <span style="font-weight: bold;">innocent</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">unsuspecting</span> children in that area...oh wait...<br /><br />Luckily we all made it out unscathed, and managed to escape falling victim to even one stray seed.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXFl3RF5-KOOC17-z9k89E1yeiBiglZWCr3HaNk_80-0ybSaVlTa2Oh3gJqtNVfMdmvk9oglQqznsQ7RcXNUB-Qwj-TjFi3Y8Fijwwek5pxmGsBAzlRNDZdxzS_60ADxRy2_zIveLH41h/s1600-h/DSC01418.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXFl3RF5-KOOC17-z9k89E1yeiBiglZWCr3HaNk_80-0ybSaVlTa2Oh3gJqtNVfMdmvk9oglQqznsQ7RcXNUB-Qwj-TjFi3Y8Fijwwek5pxmGsBAzlRNDZdxzS_60ADxRy2_zIveLH41h/s320/DSC01418.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266673441949700082" border="0" /></a><br />Some highlights from the day included BBQ for lunch <span style="font-style: italic;">(they just do it better in places w</span><span style="font-style: italic;">here</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> people have <span style="font-weight: bold;">fewer teeth</span>, I really don't understand it, but I'm working on a theory)</span>,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsS4DM_lRKn2qUv8o7r2rRc7TvIbnxCJKVZNuvIrHOA19xhd1oMd0IWDKdFU-7j596jKv_aVmDUInOWt7G1hSpk0v5EmjH9T2epQKVaFH16lqzk8JG8rGyZYy3tJnMtsrQqy1szsE1cTas/s1600-h/DSC01417.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsS4DM_lRKn2qUv8o7r2rRc7TvIbnxCJKVZNuvIrHOA19xhd1oMd0IWDKdFU-7j596jKv_aVmDUInOWt7G1hSpk0v5EmjH9T2epQKVaFH16lqzk8JG8rGyZYy3tJnMtsrQqy1szsE1cTas/s200/DSC01417.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266676494870049122" border="0" /></a> watchingwhat appeard to be the <span style="font-weight: bold;">entire population</span> of Bridgeville High School act as the <span style="font-weight: bold;">pumpkin chasers</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(basically </span><span style="font-style: italic;">a fleet of them out on 4-wheelers sitting in the field waiting for the pumpkins to drop out of the sky so they can measure the distance of the chunk...again you may ask "isn't that <span style="font-weight: bold;">dangerous</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">?" and again I will answer you..."ummm, <span style="font-weight: bold;">yeah</span>."), </span>playing <span style="font-weight: bold;">"spot the minority"</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(not a lot of them out in Bridgeville, and yes I was among Asian friends so it was okay...geez, so sensitive)</span>, and, of course, seeing what was basically <span style="font-weight: bold;">a huge airsoft gun</span> shoot a pumpkin <span style="font-weight: bold;">4,482 feet</span>...yeah, that's right almost <span style="font-weight: bold;">A MILE</span>...a pumpkin...like I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtozE_V-lG-L1zCWn8dosD2g2nv7E0k7tr_4zCqH5eizfe1B7NdYWVGTzUGr5jiKtU-ZSu959_LCK_GH_rQqz1gax_EBT-tjJ6-ORXyCpAP5kGLa697Yqutc6HcmXfA13pljiRcQmSbfz/s1600-h/DSC01407.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtozE_V-lG-L1zCWn8dosD2g2nv7E0k7tr_4zCqH5eizfe1B7NdYWVGTzUGr5jiKtU-ZSu959_LCK_GH_rQqz1gax_EBT-tjJ6-ORXyCpAP5kGLa697Yqutc6HcmXfA13pljiRcQmSbfz/s200/DSC01407.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266674060516243042" border="0" /></a>said...<span style="font-weight: bold;">you haven't lived</span> until you've seen that.<br /><br />By the end of the day we were completely exhausted and had watched about all the Chunkin we could handle...despite the enticing invitation to stay and watch that night's fireworks display <span style="font-style: italic;">(billed as second to none in the <span style="font-weight: bold;">world</span>...imagine that...move over Paris...back off New Yo</span><span style="font-style: italic;">rk, Tokyo, DC...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Bridgeville </span>is about to show you <span style="font-weight: bold;">what's up</span>)</span> we decided it would probably be a good idea to get on the road before all the drunken tailgaters, so we headed back to what appeared a <span style="font-weight: bold;">much tamer</span> DC.<br /><br />All in all, it was a very fun and unique day, and I think I have definitely gained a greater appreciation for all the <span style="font-weight: bold;">types of personalities</span> that make this world a <span style="font-weight: bold;">much more interesting</span> place.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbItOrkH_7LmzS1kKjlm4D-5xtCh1IYRQ3GJ5XcBpeQS1GaxtuKLs7kCzxla3T86naniHO1bZ72RHJzbRVGtoWetUgUzcUl2B1iFe17oS1tPbdbE_5c4m8UaBSA6Q3AZbapEz6DNoD3o9/s1600-h/DSC01421.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbItOrkH_7LmzS1kKjlm4D-5xtCh1IYRQ3GJ5XcBpeQS1GaxtuKLs7kCzxla3T86naniHO1bZ72RHJzbRVGtoWetUgUzcUl2B1iFe17oS1tPbdbE_5c4m8UaBSA6Q3AZbapEz6DNoD3o9/s320/DSC01421.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266671929145491970" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-26711326883330735162008-10-11T11:35:00.000-07:002008-10-12T02:24:09.583-07:00A Rather Good Day...<div style="text-align: center;">Shorty...I <span style="font-weight: bold;">promise</span>.<br /><br />The thing is, today I had a <span style="font-weight: bold;">pretty great day</span> filled with some things and people that make me smile. I also, <span style="font-weight: bold;">wonder</span> of wonder, <span style="font-weight: bold;">miracle</span> of miracles, managed to tote my camera around with me all day long...and was able to document said smile-worthy activities and individuals...so, here goes...<br /><br />Started out the day by <span style="font-weight: bold;">NOT</span> getting out of bed earlier than absolutely necessary...delightful...<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Got out of bed just in time to get dressed and have lunch with these two lovely ladies. Marne' and Laura took me out for an early birthday lunch <span style="font-style: italic;">(yes, I know I only have two days left... but seeing as how this birthday will mark being <span style="font-weight: bold;">more 30 than 20</span>, I'm holding on to every last second of my 25<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> year...<span style="font-weight: bold;">thanks very much</span>).<br /><br /></span>Anyway, we talked about everything and nothing...made plans to visit each other in states and cities all over the country, and laughed about funny memories that we've re-hashed at least a hundred times, but still manage to find infinite humor in. After paying our check, another 30 or 40 minutes of chatting and laughing, and probably a third or fourth pass by the waitress giving us the <span style="font-weight: bold;">evil eye</span>, we finally left the restaurant...it's easy to see why these girls are two of my favorites.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbDmQSNIsfSQ84ptycmdVKFuEF3K3Q3ZsJipv3HILzsyFjkgr0w1sMoGixH_odAn-YcNtvb0k54VRcDR1YsI_jn8I_myOBYYttOQuOfGh0ubXxNILxWClMEFQZMvjg8Ga-2BmKeYvgE_k/s1600-h/DSC01379.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbDmQSNIsfSQ84ptycmdVKFuEF3K3Q3ZsJipv3HILzsyFjkgr0w1sMoGixH_odAn-YcNtvb0k54VRcDR1YsI_jn8I_myOBYYttOQuOfGh0ubXxNILxWClMEFQZMvjg8Ga-2BmKeYvgE_k/s320/DSC01379.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256177299661974530" border="0" /></a><br />Next it was off to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">BYU's</span> Homecoming football game with Claire and Joel. It was <span style="font-weight: bold;">FREEZING,</span> but we had a great time and it was so fun to be back in the stadium wearing cougar blue and cheering my heart out. All in all it was a good game, we won, it <span style="font-weight: bold;">didn't snow</span>...and did I mention we got free beanies? <span style="font-weight: bold;">CANNOT</span> beat that. Nope... You can't.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVupcj2nWDEC1UgiIqFIUO_el0w-UKj4ARB08FsTc8EvxM7j92wsDLweApQC4xzDmpcOrIx0JZUe7bAirjICRZ5Tv8NQziUmEqsVFpVqDSQuArhQklLQAragNnR3zLpOciDW9O3nprSe-/s1600-h/DSC01384.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVupcj2nWDEC1UgiIqFIUO_el0w-UKj4ARB08FsTc8EvxM7j92wsDLweApQC4xzDmpcOrIx0JZUe7bAirjICRZ5Tv8NQziUmEqsVFpVqDSQuArhQklLQAragNnR3zLpOciDW9O3nprSe-/s320/DSC01384.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256178287678849730" border="0" /></a><br />Have I mentioned I love this one, too?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAZe_p_Ggia5fl0d7qI_mpzJNqMVXdUB-8kunNOvGV6J3OZa7FNbLuxgpP3fHm8EVWw3AIvNQ2yRF3VAex-LEqZ9nyZ-7qG-FUs5R-VBAgMhTiyna3uj2PK3r0E098AZ6QR7Wt_2PWFGp/s1600-h/DSC01385_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAZe_p_Ggia5fl0d7qI_mpzJNqMVXdUB-8kunNOvGV6J3OZa7FNbLuxgpP3fHm8EVWw3AIvNQ2yRF3VAex-LEqZ9nyZ-7qG-FUs5R-VBAgMhTiyna3uj2PK3r0E098AZ6QR7Wt_2PWFGp/s320/DSC01385_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256179032609629650" border="0" /></a><br />After the game we went back to Claire and Joel's with Joel's family for brownies and ice cream as Claire's belated birthday celebration. Sadly, I did not have my camera at this point. Not documented. <span style="font-weight: bold;">My bad</span>. Suffice it to say it was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">lots</span> of fun and way to go Mother <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Wagstaff</span> on the brownies. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Yum</span>.<br /><br />So, to end the night I went back to the hotel, changed and cleaned up and headed to a birthday party of a friend. Looking for trouble <span style="font-weight: bold;">obviously</span>...<span style="font-style: italic;">(okay, not really, just got bored waiting for my friend to pick me up...and since I had been taking pictures all day anyway...<span style="font-weight: bold;">please</span>, like I would actually look for trouble...<span style="font-weight: bold;">honestly</span>)</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6X92juRR_dlvtcaSVa2H9RXvmwBua097RJpr-yNFHiSvUGoAQibJFLpZFHr4fW4gHCgj97pJ-bbSIz9zhnmwQ0rzQ_o8AKpi07TFqe6sB4csA9K4pNVWSLsFtx-7ZA7J3rlrisTLGv0nu/s1600-h/DSC01348.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6X92juRR_dlvtcaSVa2H9RXvmwBua097RJpr-yNFHiSvUGoAQibJFLpZFHr4fW4gHCgj97pJ-bbSIz9zhnmwQ0rzQ_o8AKpi07TFqe6sB4csA9K4pNVWSLsFtx-7ZA7J3rlrisTLGv0nu/s320/DSC01348.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256168856832714562" border="0" /></a><br />So, the party was a total <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">anomaly</span>, and there were like 25 guys there and about 9 girls...weird <span style="font-style: italic;">(not quite as noteworthy as the MTV <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">snowglobe</span> balloon party...but still)</span>. So, I chatted, flirted, giggled, asked enticing questions, <span style="font-weight: bold;">etc, etc, etc</span>...the sad truth...it's just still a little <span style="font-weight: bold;">awkward</span>, and I'm not really good at it...<span style="font-weight: bold;">curses</span>. Oh well...it's never too late to get a puppy, right?<br /><br />All in all, it was still a rather good day.<br /></div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-23865907226606256482008-10-01T23:01:00.000-07:002008-10-05T23:56:10.497-07:00Okay, Okay, I Give...<div style="text-align: left;">I know I haven't been very good about posting the past few...<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">*gulp*</span>...months. I apologize. The truth is, I've just been feeling a little <span style="font-weight: bold;">uninspired</span> lately...and I suddenly have developed a severe case of fickle memory and keep forgetting my camera, so, not only do I not have any witty, sentimental, strange, or even mildly interesting anecdotes to relate...I also have <span style="font-weight: bold;">no</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> photos</span>. Sorry. <span style="font-weight: bold;">I fail. </span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjllytas7Oyb82CBHYYIbEIV0ldfKKPKReOf4dGBHKnv9D6yg4sdUB18aOXNYJ3_i2N1lSma5DCK4APx8Hx-l2JP1GESFFfgPAvQYzRIKdf2UcYTJNs_IbEJociJPlXSo8CJVOGfU7ISCXF/s1600-h/images-4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjllytas7Oyb82CBHYYIbEIV0ldfKKPKReOf4dGBHKnv9D6yg4sdUB18aOXNYJ3_i2N1lSma5DCK4APx8Hx-l2JP1GESFFfgPAvQYzRIKdf2UcYTJNs_IbEJociJPlXSo8CJVOGfU7ISCXF/s320/images-4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253925911854568882" border="0" /></a><br />So, at the behest of a several of you, I've decided to expound on a rather terrifying topic...taking on Provo...no, not just Provo...Brigham Young University--the under 25 dating capital of <span style="font-weight: bold;">THE</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> WORLD</span>--at the ripe old age of <span style="font-weight: bold;">twenty fix</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">(</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ie</span> when you're more twenty six than you are</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> twenty five...but</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> not quite willing to give up that <span style="font-weight: bold;">coveted</span> slot in the early to mid-twenties bracket when <span style="font-weight: bold;">registering</span> for things like marathons, magazines, <span style="font-weight: bold;">beauty coupons</span>, etc...you know...twenty-fix)</span>.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a strange thing, coming back to your <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">alma</span> mater, it's such a flood of memories...the spots where you studied, slept, hid-out, ate lunch, had the odd breakdown, kissed that one guy, or was it the other one? <span style="font-style: italic;">(<span style="font-weight: bold;">KIDDING</span>, I'm totally kidding, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">geez</span>, give me a little credit) </span>Buildings where you lived and studied are now just fields of grass or have been paved over to make way for newer, shinier facilities and, strangely (<span style="font-style: italic;">read <span style="font-weight: bold;">annoyingly</span></span>), even though you've <span style="font-weight: bold;">only</span> been gone <span style="font-weight: bold;">2 years</span>, all the other students seem to have gotten <span style="font-weight: bold;">significantly</span> younger <span style="font-style: italic;">(since when are they letting <span style="font-weight: bold;">18 year-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">olds</span></span> into college? <span style="font-weight: bold;">rude!</span>). </span><span>All in all, it's kind of a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">surreal</span> experience.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqddT-8kDhZWXijlCccfmGzbiqAkSIVVhj7xcU_ne4yKvBDxPK7itpq9cS6vJmeQVmMbe8CaJkFuzHqsGJZ3P15ZIZjDPk9pJtSObfCLe10PCRspTT9BDJvGRsVT7W0UvH6D9UBcHRRyb/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqddT-8kDhZWXijlCccfmGzbiqAkSIVVhj7xcU_ne4yKvBDxPK7itpq9cS6vJmeQVmMbe8CaJkFuzHqsGJZ3P15ZIZjDPk9pJtSObfCLe10PCRspTT9BDJvGRsVT7W0UvH6D9UBcHRRyb/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253900655989345602" border="0" /></a><span>So, as I pondered on coming back and reverting back to student life <span style="font-style: italic;">(sort of...I don't know if living in a hotel and having your life paid for really counts...) </span>I</span><span> tried to figure out how exactly I was going to approach the whole situation. Was I going to try to <span style="font-weight: bold;">integrate</span> myself fully back into the collegiate culture, or was I going to stay on the <span style="font-weight: bold;">fringes</span> and be like those white-haired professors' wives that end up in lower level language classes and humanities courses as they</span><span> deal <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">with</span> empty nest syndrome and try to further their own personal enrichment...coming to class and paying just dues, but not really being considered a part of the student body...</span><br /><br />Tough choice...but as visions of ladies in <span style="font-weight: bold;">elastic waistband jeans</span> with <span style="font-weight: bold;">rolling backpacks</span> flashed through my head I realized I was just going to have to bite the bullet and try my best to fit in...<span style="font-weight: bold;">again.</span><br /><br />I'm not going to lie...first week was tough. Despite my best efforts, I just felt like I stuck out. It also didn't help that I wasn't listed on any of the class roles so with every new class and professor I had to give an explanation of <span style="font-weight: bold;">who</span> I was, <span style="font-weight: bold;">why</span> I was there, why I wouldn't <span style="font-weight: bold;">actually</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3nLZpBlc1aEQ9DHqVL_Idxk_MmJ940RHHrP8qL7pOqaOyug6epCgyEo3x3bxQV8xLvZx2A3mHU_ot5AzUpruiVQ0ckTGyJYOg9NEygw45-trhzIpL4bNtMO2zjbXCZ0yPx37xFkIYDc3/s1600-h/images-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3nLZpBlc1aEQ9DHqVL_Idxk_MmJ940RHHrP8qL7pOqaOyug6epCgyEo3x3bxQV8xLvZx2A3mHU_ot5AzUpruiVQ0ckTGyJYOg9NEygw45-trhzIpL4bNtMO2zjbXCZ0yPx37xFkIYDc3/s320/images-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253901730534722194" border="0" /></a> be getting <span style="font-weight: bold;">grades</span>, etc, etc, etc...subtle 'Manda...way to blend in...anybody have a <span style="font-weight: bold;">rolling</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> backpack</span> I can borrow?!?<br /><br />Anyway, don't worry, I'm not going to torment you with a week-by-week log of my awkwardness in trying to re-integrate myself into the student population. Suffice it to say that things got better, and I even got invited to a few crazy parties <span style="font-style: italic;">(one involved a <span style="font-weight: bold;">very small</span> apartment filled with <span style="font-weight: bold;">lots of people</span> and even more <span style="font-weight: bold;">balloons</span>...as in, if a guy of average height was standing still in the room the balloons would have been up to his <span style="font-weight: bold;">chest</span>...meaning for those of us on the <span style="font-weight: bold;">shorter end</span> of the spectrum, they hit just above the <span style="font-weight: bold;">neck</span>...add in about <span style="font-weight: bold;">50 dancing college students</span> and lots of <span style="font-weight: bold;">hip hop music.</span>..it was kind of like being</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> stuck in the <span style="font-weight: bold;">MTV Snow Globe from Hell</span>...in sort of a fun, crazy, "oh, my friends are not</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> gonna <span style="font-weight: bold;">believe this</span>" kind of way)</span>. Like I said, things got better...it's a sliding scale...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCtNdCjOIqz1Ph5bZSetB6jD0DwV4z49pYiojMUEYSGiDL17EfLQwnaWE5KGoJVLXDehUxuU90jI2gWqAQ_X-XDn639Kr9mispeKPbs3EEKdZlwVFEeN3ifiz27zX2lp2uoq8E8DsXKdh/s1600-h/n17809569_36107794_5655.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCtNdCjOIqz1Ph5bZSetB6jD0DwV4z49pYiojMUEYSGiDL17EfLQwnaWE5KGoJVLXDehUxuU90jI2gWqAQ_X-XDn639Kr9mispeKPbs3EEKdZlwVFEeN3ifiz27zX2lp2uoq8E8DsXKdh/s320/n17809569_36107794_5655.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253900105481207522" border="0" /></a><br /><br />While there have definitely been some awkward moments, there are also some things that are pretty sweet about coming back under my current circumstances. Among them are:<br /><br /><ul><li>Not being poor <span style="font-style: italic;">(I find this to be pretty much a plus as compared to my 24 previous years of existence).</span></li><li>People in my classes think I am a <span style="font-weight: bold;">genius</span>...*Note* <span style="font-weight: bold;">THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE</span>...it helps to be able to rattle off <span style="font-weight: bold;">random facts</span> about <span style="font-weight: bold;">Korean politics</span> on command...especially in a room full of recently returned missionaries who are <span style="font-weight: bold;">obsessed</span> with the country, but know next to nothing about the way it <span style="font-weight: bold;">actually</span> functions...totally money...<br /></li><li>Getting to spend <span style="font-weight: bold;">tons</span> of time with friends and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">fam</span>...what more could I want?</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Eye candy</span>. Okay, I know, most of them are young enough that I could have been babysitting them at some point, but can you blame me?</li><li>Renewed appreciation for my own <span style="font-weight: bold;">individual sense of style</span>. I have to say I love coming to church and being one of about seven women in the entire congregation with her <span style="font-weight: bold;">natural hair color</span> and definitely the <span style="font-weight: bold;">only one</span> sporting togs picked up at a flea market <span style="font-style: italic;">(and not looking bad while doing it, thanks)</span>. I think the root of this is really just realizing how much I've <span style="font-weight: bold;">grown</span> into myself since moving to DC and how comfortable it's made me with my own <span style="font-weight: bold;">individuality</span>. Bless it.</li><li>Running at altitude. Not gonna lie, the first week was <span style="font-weight: bold;">miserable</span>..I thought my lungs were going to <span style="font-weight: bold;">explode</span> every time I hit the pavement...However, after two months of training at <span style="font-weight: bold;">4500 feet</span>, running the Richmond Half Marathon at <span style="font-weight: bold;">150 feet</span> is going to be pretty much great.</li><li>Thai Ruby...'<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">nuf</span> said</li><li>Having someone else make my bed <span style="font-weight: bold;">EVERY DAY</span></li><li>The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">unprecedented</span> opportunity to spend at least 8 hours a day studying nothing but Korean and working with some <span style="font-weight: bold;">remarkable </span>people who have been unnecessarily dedicated to my success. I consider myself very fortunate to be able to work with these great <span style="font-weight: bold;">tutors, teachers, and friends</span> on a daily basis.</li><li><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Ummm</span>, in-house hot tub...<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Yee</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">aaah</span>!</li><li>Meeting the <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">occasional</span> guy who happened to hear that I had an <span style="font-weight: bold;">actual</span> job and was over the age of 23 and is <span style="font-weight: bold;">actually</span> interested. Did I mention said occasional guy happens to be an attorney? Again, Bless it.</li><li>Riding a bike. I never biked when I was in school. I always walked...but there is something about racing down University Parkway in the cool fall air that does wonders for the <span style="font-weight: bold;">soul</span>...there are days when I get to my hotel and I feel like I just want to keep riding around for hours <span style="font-weight: bold;">listening to the wind rush past my ears</span>...<br /></li><li>Football. #8. Again, 'nuf said.<br /></li></ul>In all seriousness, this list could go on, and on, and on. There have been a lot of great things about being back, some of them silly and some of them a little more on the serious side. Really, one of the greatest benefits of this trip has been the <span style="font-weight: bold;">confirmation</span> that moving to DC, taking my job, and doing what I've been doing for the last year and a half were truly the right choice for me, and I wouldn't have my life be any other way. This experience has been so rewarding, not just from a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">linguistical</span> improvement point of view, but has made me value so much my <span style="font-weight: bold;">every day life</span> in DC. So, while I probably won't come home with (m)any cougar-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">ing</span> successes <span style="font-style: italic;">(sorry guys...I just couldn't fully get behind it) </span>I will definitely come back with a<span style="font-weight: bold;"> renewed sense of appreciation </span>for what can often feel like <span style="font-weight: bold;">the daily grind</span>.<br /><br />And hey...I've still got three whole weeks left, so who <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">knows</span> what else could happen...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBvDSwIQbKB-qI6fA9RrVhgf1L2CgywjuERNiMRE_TV8hQsJ8gJdgG9g85frGWULp7SP7jHf02SJ2ppEv8Tcds61Tr7nTyCD3NR5OYyIJ7xn1dpXvrA0AK2Rh1w4sCchGHMNChbI6ckuY/s1600-h/images-3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBvDSwIQbKB-qI6fA9RrVhgf1L2CgywjuERNiMRE_TV8hQsJ8gJdgG9g85frGWULp7SP7jHf02SJ2ppEv8Tcds61Tr7nTyCD3NR5OYyIJ7xn1dpXvrA0AK2Rh1w4sCchGHMNChbI6ckuY/s320/images-3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253917903891273618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5291199260160302012.post-46766326412777578112008-09-16T17:03:00.000-07:002008-09-16T19:34:09.441-07:00Waiting So Long To Say Goodbye So Soon...Okay, relax...this post is not as dramatic as the title would suggest...mostly it's about <span style="font-weight: bold;">me</span> and my <span style="font-weight: bold;">obsession</span> with summer...<br /><br />So, as some of you might know I am back in Utah <span style="font-style: italic;">(taking Provo by storm...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Again</span>)</span> doing a work-study program to improve my Korean courtesy of my office. Truth be told, it's a <span style="font-weight: bold;">pretty sweet gig</span>...more on life in the Big P after 25 to come in a later post...<br /><br />Being in Provo has not been so bad, and I am lucky to have the chance to spend some quality time with excellent family and some close friends. Last Saturday I went with my cousin Emily, her husband Mike and Mike's brother's family to Deer Creek reservoir in Provo Canyon for a day of wakeboarding and enjoying what could be the <span style="font-weight: bold;">last throws</span> of summer.<br /><br />It always seems so unfair that something I wait so long for every year <span style="font-style: italic;">(<span style="font-weight: bold;">umm, yes</span> we're talking about <span style="font-weight: bold;">summer</span>)</span> seems to go so quickly. It feels like I waited an eternity for Memorial Day weekend to mark the beginning of this most blessed of seasons <span style="font-style: italic;">(I don't think I've formally</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> dealt with my <span style="font-weight: bold;">sun worshipping</span> on the blog yet...but I know there are those of you who are intimately acquainted with my affinity for the <span style="font-weight: bold;">beach</span> and other activities involving <span style="font-weight: bold;">me</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"> getting <span style="font-weight: bold;">tan</span>...for the rest of you...I'm sure it will come), </span>and then have it snatched away before it has even begun. Saturday's activities were a great way to feel closure on my favorite season and offer up what may be my final homage to the Sun Gods of summer 2008.<br /><br />We had an amazing time and, <span style="font-weight: bold;">blessed day</span>, I was still able to get up on the wakeboard, actually stay up, and even do something that somewhat resembled carving... I am proud to say that we all made it through the day without <span style="font-weight: bold;">breaking, spraining, or otherwise maming</span> ourselves...however, based on the accounts I collected from fellow boaters, we were all definitely feeling our age <span style="font-style: italic;">(figuratively speaking, <span style="font-weight: bold;">of course</span>)</span> the next day. All in all it was great times with great company and it was a wonderful reminder of how blessed we are to live in such a beautiful place and enjoy the blessings of family, friends, and free time.<br /><br />Here are a few photos from the day's activities:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Mike braved the cold morning water to show us how it was done...good thing we all had to follow his lead...</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5Wn6PQk2NmXOqPZLLW88ROE8IqaS2ujZvxpk38iPPQFHrQkj8HuMnzB6QgLXqo6b5LObbo-OhLeDgS9griBTnAi38qRGlov5g2pzjNANlobYppS8sziUM6bvzeFCw6ph3dvnOvavgisC/s1600-h/DSC01306.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5Wn6PQk2NmXOqPZLLW88ROE8IqaS2ujZvxpk38iPPQFHrQkj8HuMnzB6QgLXqo6b5LObbo-OhLeDgS9griBTnAi38qRGlov5g2pzjNANlobYppS8sziUM6bvzeFCw6ph3dvnOvavgisC/s320/DSC01306.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246797914802200690" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Yes, that's me...actually upright and not being dragged behind the boat...shocking, I know<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwT8OP7ExebcXwpRS8Ai-KwfFXectANCN6rjP_8tM454YEp-uy6ZCGRkCvQR6u_405j1gpLc82UjRXPSKCULAUUQhvPC7k-TMrfz3kshIr_i7qb4Y2zHzbvdFhurruvGs5_5x9QiRCO9cA/s1600-h/DSC01343.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwT8OP7ExebcXwpRS8Ai-KwfFXectANCN6rjP_8tM454YEp-uy6ZCGRkCvQR6u_405j1gpLc82UjRXPSKCULAUUQhvPC7k-TMrfz3kshIr_i7qb4Y2zHzbvdFhurruvGs5_5x9QiRCO9cA/s320/DSC01343.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246800499024655602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Emily took a turn too...she got up on the first try and hung on like a champ</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib0m-9S4KBCPRFt72ZUbAnhWqrq0pJ6MreW4Hiip4EQ3xSwKwksxK-dX3aIqIMpDeMy_CNnoxs3bSqqllt_0ymUO2qq-FW9SuDytBCjpH-kY07IzQc-C8hocKCHp-6irl1QXRHzhut0G7P/s1600-h/DSC01344.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib0m-9S4KBCPRFt72ZUbAnhWqrq0pJ6MreW4Hiip4EQ3xSwKwksxK-dX3aIqIMpDeMy_CNnoxs3bSqqllt_0ymUO2qq-FW9SuDytBCjpH-kY07IzQc-C8hocKCHp-6irl1QXRHzhut0G7P/s320/DSC01344.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246800651229713234" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The kids wanted to go on the tube...one broken air pump and three winded and dizzy adults</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> later they were having a blast...Emily had a pretty good time too...</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcN1ZIEyQVgBS0hLLYrnwZF_SIjmWcy37seHf7kNek2CTvU87PcXWA99ui4DvblRaDY5F_w4P1TNAxn26S325LB4eMzBpyoQlwkbDCzGNe8yl8GC41d7r8CxxG4Mcslzm7YwgC8_YIBE9D/s1600-h/DSC01317.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcN1ZIEyQVgBS0hLLYrnwZF_SIjmWcy37seHf7kNek2CTvU87PcXWA99ui4DvblRaDY5F_w4P1TNAxn26S325LB4eMzBpyoQlwkbDCzGNe8yl8GC41d7r8CxxG4Mcslzm7YwgC8_YIBE9D/s320/DSC01317.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246798508928832114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I can't remember if this was before or after Mike drove the boat through its own wake, causing a monstrous wave to flood the boat...and I do mean flood...the bilge pumps had to kick in to get it all out and we pretty much said goodbye to dry towels for the rest of the day :)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyw3g_gEBID-WVjChWvm3grDYRRzeTANz7BaVXjT8gSZVZFTslLeFTmYFA7CfhXrUHCMGuZIJru_a7XXoz0aNFrbbqHjZ_-NBIwLAnQ1DLxXN-KM9OckHOf5eP-jpnPNgzmxvjHIjRrX1s/s1600-h/DSC01338.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyw3g_gEBID-WVjChWvm3grDYRRzeTANz7BaVXjT8gSZVZFTslLeFTmYFA7CfhXrUHCMGuZIJru_a7XXoz0aNFrbbqHjZ_-NBIwLAnQ1DLxXN-KM9OckHOf5eP-jpnPNgzmxvjHIjRrX1s/s320/DSC01338.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246799845307744386" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">We had so much fun with Mike's brother's kids...they were a blast...</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1TdlmjSYUgx2ZpRKoPOthVQgo5ReMX1IAFI263JVPt6SGpAUTpf8i8e_QE80g98kiHbXt8seRlQJIrbrDRRkYvwS-YohIhqYygrRDdimFRgmzKztqAtwbQdsHuuq0Q6iSeSmSY7epXJL/s1600-h/DSC01329.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1TdlmjSYUgx2ZpRKoPOthVQgo5ReMX1IAFI263JVPt6SGpAUTpf8i8e_QE80g98kiHbXt8seRlQJIrbrDRRkYvwS-YohIhqYygrRDdimFRgmzKztqAtwbQdsHuuq0Q6iSeSmSY7epXJL/s320/DSC01329.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246799174645794482" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">We managed to wear them out by about 11:00 am</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhak-aFQNSGlMtTgVjyVNLfZA3pXvpxqgYlZfMSHz31Y_MYAN05WaboL2YxV-OkoN3gqHg4yVM0TegLAwQyqvRKiLNds9Prz1Inr5BNLuh-wEDe46zEUe-79NkSCdJdZdIBcqVvp7i4vORh/s1600-h/DSC01335.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhak-aFQNSGlMtTgVjyVNLfZA3pXvpxqgYlZfMSHz31Y_MYAN05WaboL2YxV-OkoN3gqHg4yVM0TegLAwQyqvRKiLNds9Prz1Inr5BNLuh-wEDe46zEUe-79NkSCdJdZdIBcqVvp7i4vORh/s320/DSC01335.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246799487037468738" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The following are a few photos just in case any of those cool wakeboarding/skating companies are looking for fresh new faces to represent their product...one should never rule out the possibility of a hot modeling career popping up at any minute...<br /><br />Product Placement...Anyone?</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPNKAVL6Ba1CR0iRblRuFXCxF_VhC33sOiEDLNSYco_ypcAZC9OjohgjxvrpUOewnjiYv4zjzBf8csB9itWDat0k-zw0Ay8dakeGqLfbGCykhAHKUF3nkRTxs02ebtz4W5elyxIMwY2P90/s1600-h/DSC01347.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPNKAVL6Ba1CR0iRblRuFXCxF_VhC33sOiEDLNSYco_ypcAZC9OjohgjxvrpUOewnjiYv4zjzBf8csB9itWDat0k-zw0Ay8dakeGqLfbGCykhAHKUF3nkRTxs02ebtz4W5elyxIMwY2P90/s320/DSC01347.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246792250385988690" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Just Two California Boys Doing Their Thing</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUod4BbVR2XJU0_AYpf2AGJZR7XtRbcWw7M-nlecWAZcHPxTRvd1VTijI_ET3ooKBsBz17ZzxncPi_QbMpqgRkMk0ojtlhoB8mhiSxhhi7oXGcPAdKsZFc2Xzay4bTZ45e2mgv_nSiZFg/s1600-h/DSC01322.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUod4BbVR2XJU0_AYpf2AGJZR7XtRbcWw7M-nlecWAZcHPxTRvd1VTijI_ET3ooKBsBz17ZzxncPi_QbMpqgRkMk0ojtlhoB8mhiSxhhi7oXGcPAdKsZFc2Xzay4bTZ45e2mgv_nSiZFg/s320/DSC01322.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246800124768054658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">She's Always Been the Hot One...</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJtmxulfYTOKKhelaLLNdMbgWE2lSpdf43XkmRW9iVJ38LNmXtm642j-r__wLxyZBbgG2DxQAOsnPVhLdKzF9E8QtHwXLZjRAesm5vK2uJc9SYoepRQUww_zHpjRNn_Mwh0UMpCg8sZrp/s1600-h/DSC01340_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJtmxulfYTOKKhelaLLNdMbgWE2lSpdf43XkmRW9iVJ38LNmXtm642j-r__wLxyZBbgG2DxQAOsnPVhLdKzF9E8QtHwXLZjRAesm5vK2uJc9SYoepRQUww_zHpjRNn_Mwh0UMpCg8sZrp/s320/DSC01340_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246800303981116210" border="0" /></a>Viva el Verano! Until Next Year!<br /></div>Amanda Lynn, to be exacthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14720865100533802065noreply@blogger.com4