tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28842558013583604772024-03-13T11:41:11.748-04:00Stupid Is As Sister DoesJustinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.comBlogger354125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-50000644030348505742012-04-12T21:38:00.000-04:002012-04-12T21:38:09.332-04:00Come Visit Me!It's been a long damn time since I posted anything here, but I've just started a new blog about vaping. What it is, how it saved me from a life of smoking cigarettes, and ways vaping can help you!<br />
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Come on by at <a href="http://justvape.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Just Vape</a>!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-71372188195567473472011-01-23T15:20:00.000-05:002011-01-23T15:20:44.266-05:00A Bronx TaleFor those of you who have been with me from the beginning, you know that in my family there are no shortages of bizarre stories to be heard, and always, it seems, from my dad. All along I've peppered you with <i>Jillisms</i> and <i>things that can only happen to Jill.</i> I don't know why it never occurred to me that this was an inherited disorder! Holy crap, she inherited it from Dad and I never put two and two together. Maybe I'm not the smart sister after all.<br />
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A couple of days ago my parents came over for a visit and Dad got into one of his storytelling modes. I told him I was whipping out my camera so I could get this online for posterity and that's exactly what I did. I'm not quite sure Dad heard the <i>getting this online</i> part though, because when Jimmy mentioned to him later that he'd now be <strike>famous </strike>smeared across the internet, he kinda- sorta threatened to<b> kill me. </b> But that can't be right. I mean, he's my <i><b>Dad</b></i>. He'll be happy that I revere him enough to share him with my <strike>hundreds</strike> six readers. Right?<br />
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The story I have for you today is one of my favorites. I've been hearing it on and off since childhood and my mother swears it's the truth, so it must be. Also, each story that my father tells never deviates from the original, so they must all be true. Right?<br />
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I guess he feels it's time to share these stories with his grandchildren. Check out Mikayla as she stuffs her face with salad while listening with rapt interest. <br />
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I give to you, A Bronx Tale.<br />
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<center></center><center></center><center><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/snxcjH1DlUE?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="480"></iframe></center>Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-3484122941661666892011-01-18T21:32:00.002-05:002011-01-26T19:46:24.756-05:00Darling NikkiWhat's that saying? When God closes a door He opens a window? Who thought of that? Because whoever it was, I'd like to personally slap them upside the head, 'cause in my humble opinion, it's pure crap.<br />
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I did, in fact have a door close on me last week, but it wasn't just a regular old door. It was more the type you see in bank vaults. Ya know, those super heavy steel doors with that huge spinny thing that locks it? Yep, one of those slammed shut on me, but not before hitting me square in the face. I think it broke my face too, 'cause it's not doing the things it normally does, like smile, laugh, crinkle with joy, etc., etc. It does however, still leak tears, so all is not lost, I suppose.<br />
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Anyway, a couple of days after the<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: large;"> big fucking door</span> broke my face, a window opened. Well, not quite a window... more like a porthole, and it wasn't even opened all the way, just enough to let a refreshing breeze in.<br />
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This metaphorical open window was actually in the form of a phone call from someone I haven't spoken to in nearly 20 years. When I heard this person's voice it shocked me so bad that I was probably heard from blocks away screaming, "Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? I can't believe this!" In fact, Mikayla banged on the window (I was out in the bitch cave) to tell me to crank it down a few notches. My bad.<br />
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So who was it on the phone, you ask?<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Well no, of course it wasn't Prince, or The Artist, or Symbol Man, or whatever the hell he goes by these days, but Prince and this person go hand in hand in my memories.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It was Darling Nikki on the phone. No, not Darling Nikki of the song from the <span style="color: #351c75;">Purple Rain</span> album, but <i><span style="font-size: large;">my </span></i>Darling Nikki. My very best friend from high school.<br />
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We met in Mr. Greek's 9th grade Earth Science class and there was instant chemistry (Ooh, that just made me giggle... another science word) between us. No one before or since has ever made me laugh as much as Nikki did. From this point on we were inseparable and annoyingly loud. All. The. Time. We passed notes, talked about which teachers had the best bulges and had secret code words for things we didn't want other people to know about. For example. IF. That means, "I farted." Then there was SWAIN, but I can't for the life of me remember what that stood for. "So what... something." I'll have to ask Nikki.<br />
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We spent a lot of time in this room. This was my house in NY, the basement that was turned into a den. A dark, dank, damp, horribly decorated (even for 1984) room, but we loved spending time down there. <br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Nikki would walk home from school with me often and we'd immediately hit the fridge or pantry. Nikki loved spending time at my house because of the over-abundance of food. I'd blame it on us being Italian, but I think it had more to do with my mom thinking we'd have a nuclear attack, and if there wasn't enough pre-packaged food in the house, we'd have to resort to eating each other. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">After a snack... I remember eating lots of toast and cream cheese sandwiches... the two of us would lay on the damp, smelly, extremely ugly carpet to take a nap in front of the wood burning stove we had down there. It was just to the left of that ultra groovy example of Early American Crap furniture we were sitting on. Sometimes, if there wasn't a fire lit, we'd use the propane heater to keep warm.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Nikki dated Jimmy's best friend, Dave, for a while. That didn't go so well.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TTZE83qGhBI/AAAAAAAAEmo/Wll60OMzIw0/s1600/Scan-4.BMP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TTZE83qGhBI/AAAAAAAAEmo/Wll60OMzIw0/s400/Scan-4.BMP" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Did I mention that we laughed a lot? There was one night when Nikki slept over that we laughed so much, I wet my pants at least 7 times. It may have been more. I'll have to ask Nikki. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Okay, I know Nikki is reading this, so I have to ask, Nikki, do you remember working on our time line for Earth Science while sprawled out on my kitchen floor? Do you remember that while you were drawing a fish (Nikki is a fantastic artist btw) all you did was say "bony fishies" and we cracked up so bad that my mom thought we were losing our minds? Do you then remember that Mom started laughing so hard she fell off the kitchen chair? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Senior prom, 1988</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TTZIGX1sdzI/AAAAAAAAEm4/WzWVrWBG7eA/s1600/Scan-3.BMP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TTZIGX1sdzI/AAAAAAAAEm4/WzWVrWBG7eA/s400/Scan-3.BMP" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Jimmy, Nikki and me, graduation day, 1988</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TTZGle7BIbI/AAAAAAAAEmw/BC3BUWakn4k/s1600/Scan-2.BMP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TTZGle7BIbI/AAAAAAAAEmw/BC3BUWakn4k/s400/Scan-2.BMP" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Over the next couple of years our friendship deteriorated and I can't even remember exactly how it happened. I do have one regret when it comes to Nikki... not something that I'll share with all of you, but she'll know what I'm talking about when she reads this. It was the trip she took down to Florida, not long after I moved here with my parents. Her visit turned into a total disaster, and again, I don't remember exactly why. Nikki, I don't think I ever apologized to you for what happened that week. No, not what happened... what I <i><b>did</b></i>. From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. It's one of my life's biggest regrets and embarrassments.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Here's a picture of me from that visit. Nikki took this of me while we were on the Magic Kingdom ferry. Don't say it. I know. <i><span style="font-size: large;">I was frickin' hot.</span></i> And imagine, I thought I was fat at the time. If only I could have seen 20 years into my future, maybe I would have enjoyed the body I was in at the time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">As Bob Hope used to say, "Thanks for the memories", Nikki. Falling asleep to Prince's Purple Rain or Pat Benetar (yes, I still despise her), going to the duck pond, Sunday dinners at my house, laughing endlessly, and so much more.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">These days Darling Nikki has <i>five kids</i>, is an EMT and a caterer. I can't wait to speak to her again and find out if she's ever done anything with her artistic talent. (Btw Nik, that naked portrait you sketched of me? It was lost due to a leak years ago and I still miss it. Wanna do another one? Just kidding!)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Nikki, if you don't leave a comment here, I'll kick your ass, and I need you to email me (justwaaaa@aol.com) so that I'll have your email addy!<br />
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Btw... did I mention<i><span style="font-size: large;"> my face is broken</span></i>? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh, one more thing...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">IF!</span></b></div></div>Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-61311556825236938572011-01-14T17:29:00.000-05:002011-01-14T17:29:01.143-05:00Leave In Silence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TTDL8lNVyBI/AAAAAAAAEmY/F1KVGgFG4KA/s1600/preview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TTDL8lNVyBI/AAAAAAAAEmY/F1KVGgFG4KA/s320/preview.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>Leave In Silence</u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">On angels' wings, through crystal skies</div><div style="text-align: center;">On unseen currents with silent cries</div><div style="text-align: center;">Gliding with purpose from goodness and light</div><div style="text-align: center;">Searching for answers under cover of night</div><div style="text-align: center;">A star like a beacon promises all pain will cease</div><div style="text-align: center;">Pulling you closer with a false sense of peace</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> But the light that has drawn you no longer feels pure</div><div style="text-align: center;">Its tainted aura surrounds you with a sinister allure</div><div style="text-align: center;">Too late you realize you have to turn back</div><div style="text-align: center;">For the light of your star has gone suddenly black</div><div style="text-align: center;">Its beckoning beams were all but a ruse</div><div style="text-align: center;">Darkness presses in, constricting like a noose</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">The wings that had carried you furl in on themselves</div><div style="text-align: center;">For it's the place you'd just left where your happiness dwells.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Justine, 1-14-11</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-35240050082371196922011-01-07T21:26:00.000-05:002011-01-07T21:26:02.428-05:00Constant ReadersWow. It's been so long since the last time I put up a real post that I'm not sure I know how to do it anymore. I feel like I've let so much time go by that now all of the thoughts I've had over these past 8 months or so have flown right out of my head. Or maybe they're all in there, but so jumbled up that I'll never be able to make sense of them again.<br />
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No matter really, as I've lost my .com and no one knows I've gone back to blogspot. No matter really, because I've probably lost all of my followers by now as well. I know that when I was actively blogging, if someone went months on end without posting, I removed them from my blog roll. So, fair's fair and all that crap.<br />
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I've missed all of you... my Constant Readers (stealing that one from the great Stephen King), and I've missed the sense of community and extended family that blogging brought to me. Most of all, I miss SHARING with all of you.<br />
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Something happened to me all those months ago, something that took away my ability to share, to write, to express myself. I have no earthly idea what that something was, but it happened just the same. One day I could tell a story and get a few giggles out of you, the next day... gone.<br />
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I'm sure that a whole lot has happened in my life in the past 8 months, but unfortunately, it's all a fog for me right now. I'm still here, sitting in the bitch cave like always. Jill is still my very best friend. My family still makes me laugh and cry. My girls are still wonderful and growing fast. But I'M different. I wish I could explain how, but I don't know myself.<br />
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I want to be a blogger again... I just don't know if I can. It's a fairly sucky thing when you lose one of the only things you were halfway good at.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I shit you not.</span></b>Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-85797110246649667702010-07-06T10:04:00.001-04:002010-07-08T11:30:42.396-04:00On The Road To Womanhood... Wearing Roller Blades???I went to bed Friday night the mother of a tween, but awoke the next morning the mother of a teen. How scary is that? Yes, Mikayla is a true teenager now, having turned 13 at 12:57 a.m. Friday night/Saturday morning. Oh the horror! I'm OLD now!<br />
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It's hard to believe that the tiny, 6 pound, 13 ounce baby that I delivered is now nearing womanhood. I say <i><b>nearing</b></i>... she's still got plenty of growing to do!<br />
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Thinking back on that labor and delivery I can both laugh and cringe. The pain! Oh, the pain! Why did I not get an epidural? Having Mom and Jill in the room should have been so comforting to me, but the blasted pain was so bad that I was delirious for most of the labor. Speaking unintelligibly, moaning and groaning as if that creature from Alien was in my belly, not a sweet, innocent baby.<br />
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And let us not forget the most profound thing uttered from my lips during labor.<br />
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"Doc! <i><b><span style="font-size: large;">My hoo-hoo HURTSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"</span></b></i><br />
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But now look at her, my beautiful fiesty girl.<br />
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Always with the mismatched socks that match not her outfit, or even each other.<br />
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The child looks nothing like me. She's all Oko.<br />
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She's a short little thing, but with legs that go for miles.<br />
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She's a playful thing when the mood strikes, but if she's not in a happy mood? Watch out world!<br />
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Twice that day she made me sing Happy Birthday to her in my "funny" voice. I do believe she recorded it and posted it on Facebook. Little stinker still doesn't get it that it takes a lot more than that to embarrass her mama!<br />
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Here she is decked out for July 4th... on July 3rd. Ermmm? Huh?<br />
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One of the neighbors organizes a kids parade to celebrate Independence Day and for some reason, this year it was held the day before. It was totally adorable, the kids, adults and dogs being led by two motorcycles and one quad driven by a retired Marine. Yeah baby, yeah!<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">That's my little Jordyn, my favorite kid in the neighborhood, aside from my own. And that's her proud daddy, Tom, who has fought for our country with bravery and pride. Thank you, Tom!!!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">They're at the ready! Can you spot Strudel's ass?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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And they're off!!!<br />
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<center><embed allowfullscreen="true" allownetworking="all" flashvars="file=http%3A%2F%2Fvid14.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fa303%2Fjustwaaaa%2FSummer%25202010%2FDSCN1248.mp4" height="361" src="http://static.photobucket.com/player.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="600" wmode="transparent"></embed></center><br />
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Hope all of you had a fabulous holiday weekend. Mine was spent in the house by my lonesome, feeling horrendously weak and tired. I just found out that I'm anemic, so hopefully after a bunch of iron pills are consumed I'll start feeling my <i>normal crappy </i>again.<br />
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Muah!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-88651521316611376802010-07-02T23:08:00.000-04:002010-07-02T23:08:14.544-04:00I Smell A Rat!!!Sniff sniff. Do you smell it? Smells like rodent to me! <br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">But not that rodent. He's just too weird looking.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm talking about this rodent...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TC6mjVwvXLI/AAAAAAAAEYE/1PcFgVsyz6o/s1600/DSCN1221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TC6mjVwvXLI/AAAAAAAAEYE/1PcFgVsyz6o/s400/DSCN1221.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">And she doesn't smell <b><i>at all</i></b>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Try to tell me that's not a face you could love? I'll tell ya what,<b><span style="font-size: large;"> I</span></b> love that face. I love this <b><span style="font-size: x-large;">rat!</span></b> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Unfortunately, she's not mine<strike> until I kill her owners and steal her</strike>. Her name is Cheesy and she is Madison's friend's beloved pet. But for the next week, while Cheesy's family is away on vacation, I get to rat-sit!!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Ya know, while the<strike> rats</strike> mice are away...</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">I know you're all thinking I'm some kind of<i><b><span style="font-size: large;"> ratshit crazy</span></b></i>, but... I adore her. I adore almost all critters, but I especially love ones that will snuggle and cuddle, wrap their tail around you and lick you senseless.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">And that's exactly what Cheesy does. She's kind of like a dog, but with a disgustingly scaly tail and little beady eyes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">I think Strudel wants to eat her but we can't have that, no no! So Cheesy is spending time between Mikayla's and Madison's rooms upstairs, with playtime downstairs while Strudel is confined to the bitch cave.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm in rat heaven!!!!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Did I mention that I <i><b><span style="font-size: large;">lurvs</span></b></i> her?</div>Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-55735578108195204342010-06-30T10:34:00.000-04:002010-06-30T10:34:01.083-04:00Cloudy With a Chance of ElectrocutionThere are very few things that I enjoy about summer in Florida. I could count them on one hand.<br />
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I love all of the lizards and tree frogs that come out to play at this time of year. Any day now the tree frogs will sing their mighty songs each night, especially after a good soaking of rain. I can't tell you how much I love that sound.<br />
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I love love love the powerful storms we get at this time of year. Lightning strikes hitting the ground, great claps of thunder that will scare you right out of your seat... love it!!!<br />
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Except, the thunder usually doesn't scare me right out of my seat and there are times when maybe it should.<br />
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Several weeks ago, I was sitting out here in the bitch cave, playing on my laptop and enjoying the raging storm around me. Any normal person would be enjoying said storm from the safety of the inside of the house, but not me. Oh no, I'm much too stoopid for that.<br />
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So, I sat here enjoying myself until a huge fork of lightning came down in the woods directly behind my backyard. At the very moment it struck, the sky let out a crack not unlike a sonic boom, but before I had a chance to jump out of reflex I felt a jolt that went from my thumb resting on the space bar, up my forearm, way past my shoulder, and up to my right ear.<br />
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I had been zapped. Not badly mind you. If it had been bad I wouldn't be here to type the tale.<br />
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But it did stun me enough to get my hiney indoors immediately.<br />
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Okay yeah, I grabbed my computer first. But<i> then</i> I ran inside immediately.<br />
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My forearm was actually aching for quite a while, but this was my first zapping and I had to let someone know! I quickly called Jimmy to excitedly tell him I'd just been electrocuted. The conversation went something like this:<br />
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Jimmy: Hello, this is Jim.<br />
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Me: It's me! Guess what just happened?<br />
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Jimmy: You iced somebody in Mafia Wars.<br />
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Me: Well yes, but not that. I was zapped by lightning!<br />
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Jimmy: Well, you're obviously not dead, so can we talk about this later? I'm late for a meeting.<br />
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Hmph. Thanks for sucking the excitement out of my victorious battle with Mother Nature. Next time I'm calling Jill. At least<i> she</i> would show some appreciation for my near-death experience.<br />
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This is not the storm that nearly killed me (pause for drama) but it sure was a beauty!<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Jill was here that day and once the storm broke loose, we stood on my front porch to capture some of it. Listening to this makes me cringe because I thought my NY accent was basically gone. Not so apparently! Blech!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<center><embed allowfullscreen="true" allownetworking="all" flashvars="file=http%3A%2F%2Fvid14.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fa303%2Fjustwaaaa%2FSummer%25202010%2FDSCN1164.mp4" height="361" src="http://static.photobucket.com/player.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="600" wmode="transparent"></embed></center><br />
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And then a little more video for your viewing pleasure.<br />
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I bet you're feeling mighty jealous of my beautiful storms, aren't you? Well, don't be because along with the lizards and the frogs and the storms, comes the devastating heat and humidity. The other day it was 100 degrees with a heat index of 123.<br />
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Melts the skin right off your face.Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-28980913036382740962010-06-27T11:28:00.000-04:002010-06-27T11:28:21.043-04:00The World According To JillIt has not escaped my notice that I've had very little to say about Jill, her Jillisms and her wacky life experiences lately. Of course, I've had little to say about anything as of late, but I know you'll forgive me, right?<br />
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I wish I had tons of stories to tell you, but Jill has once again fallen off the stupid wagon a bit.<br />
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Did I ever tell you the story about her flying cell phone?<br />
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One day, while doing yard work, Jill placed her phone on top of her friend's car and said, "Friend, whatever you do, don't drive away with my phone on your car!" So what did her friend do?<br />
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She drove away with Jill's phone on her car.<br />
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Now by this time it was nighttime and black as pitch. When Jill finally realized that both her friend's car and her cell phone atop it where gone, she despaired of ever finding it.<br />
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But then Jill had a brilliant idea, and you know how infrequently that happens to my sister. She thought, <i>I'll jump in my car and repeatedly call my phone. Maybe I'll be able to see it lighting up when the call goes through.</i><br />
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Would you believe she found that damn phone, about a mile from her house, sitting in the middle of a busy road, flashing for all it was worth?<br />
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And now that I've written this out, I do believe I've already shared this story. Well crap, sucks for you!<br />
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Jill always seems to find herself witness to things that the rest of us would never see in a lifetime. For her, they're common occurrences. <br />
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A couple of months ago while driving home, she rang me on her cell and said, "Justine, you're not gonna believe this! I just saw a car<b><span style="font-size: large;"> EXPLODE!</span></b>"<br />
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Now in Jill-speak that could mean that a car backfired... you just never know. So, I had to be very specific while questioning her.<br />
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Me: You literally saw a car explode?<br />
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Jill: Yes! Right on the exit ramp! It <b><span style="font-size: large;">EXPLODED!</span></b><br />
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Me: But did you actually see it happen, or did you just <i>hear</i> it?<br />
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Jill: Well, I can't remember now if I actually saw it happen at that very moment, but I heard a huge BOOM and then flames shot up in the air!<br />
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Me: Flames in the air, huh? Or was it maybe just a smoking, overheated engine?<br />
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Jill: Justine! I'm telling you, the frickin' car exploded! It's on fire right now, right in front of me! That's it. I'm hanging up to take a picture to PROVE it to you. Sheesh, you never believe me!<br />
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Case closed. Jill indeed saw a car<span style="font-size: large;"><b> explode.</b></span> My bad!<br />
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Co-cooking with Jill can sometimes be fun, especially when it means I don't have to do all the work. Last month she and the girls were here and I decided to make her a nice meal of chicken cutlet parmesan, and left her in charge of making spaghetti with garlic and oil. I wish I could spell out the Italian way of saying that but I have no clue how. I'll just tell you that it sounds like "Spaghetti ahoyeeoh"<br />
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Once the spaghetti was done, Jill was on the hunt for a colander to drain it, but instead she asked me, "Do you have a restrainer?"<br />
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Me: Excuse me? A what? You want to put a restraining order against your pasta? What? Is it not al'dente enough?<br />
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Jill: A restrainer? A retainer? Shit! What am I trying to say?<br />
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Me: A strainer?<br />
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Jill: Yes! That's what I need! A strainer!<br />
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Me: No you don't you moron, you need a colander. This is a strainer (grabbing one from the cabinet to show the dummy)<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Fast forward (or maybe it's rewind... I can't keep up with this stuff!) to a day when Jill was having our parents to her house for dinner. She was making meat loaf, or so I thought.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Jill called me from Publix.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Jill: "Hey, how much pot do you think I need for my roast?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Me: Erm... what?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Jill: <i> How much pot do you think I need for my roast?</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Me: Well, that depends on how<i><b> stoned you want to get our parents</b></i>, you idiot! What the hell are you talking about? You're making meatloaf, right?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Jill: Oh shit, what did I say now?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Me: Oh never mind! Two pounds! Two pounds should do it! </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then another relaxing day with Jill and the girls here for a visit. We were sitting outside in the bitch cave when Strudel ran up to Jill excitedly, shoving her snout at her for some loving. Jill squirms away saying, "Ewww.... Oh how I love having a wet ass up my nose!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Now the last time I checked Strudel's ass was not plastered to her face, nor have I ever seen it wet, so I have no clue where this Jillism came from. All I could do was laugh and grab my notebook to write down her words verbatim. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't know what to tell you, I don't even know what to think about my dear sister. There must be a really wild party going on with the relays in her brain. Maybe her neurotransmitters are dancing the <span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">flamingo</span>. Did I ever mention that she honestly thought the Latin dance, the <i>flemenco</i> was in fact called the <i>flamingo</i>?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">I shit you not, people. I shit you not.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-82076237612895488002010-06-22T13:06:00.000-04:002010-06-22T13:06:14.668-04:00Stay Tuned Right Here For Another Great CSN Stores Review!!!If you're like me, you love shopping online... no crowds, no rude employees to deal with, and hey, you get to sit on your butt while shopping. What could be better than that? What's better than being able to shop for anything from clothing to furniture, to even a new<a href="http://justvanities.com/"> vanity</a> for your bathroom? That, my friends, is pure luxury and what better place to shop than <a href="http://csnstores.com/">CSN Stores</a> with over 200 sites to choose from?<br />
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I want you to be on the look-out in the next few weeks for a personal review from me on a product I'll be purchasing from <a href="http://csnstores.com/">CSN</a>. And you<i><b> know</b></i> I'm always honest!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-89137178938353609362010-06-13T20:52:00.001-04:002010-06-17T17:54:01.803-04:00An Eventful WeekIt's been quite an eventful week around here, what with the last day of school on Wednesday, and Mikayla's 13th birthday party that same afternoon. She's not officially 13 until July 3rd but she wanted her party at a time when kids would be less likely to be away on summer vacations, so the last day of school it was!<br />
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This was, by far, the largest party Mikayla has ever had, 13 being a pretty monumental birthday. So, when she requested an inflatable water slide I was only too happy to make it happen.<br />
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Little did I realize the damn thing would be this enormous!<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">You'll notice the dead queen palm tree. Just more evidence of the exceptionally cold winter we had up here in North Florida.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Becau$e a water $slide tend$ to be quite expen$ive I kept the cost of the party down by not serving actual food.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Wait. That made it sound like I served them crap on crackers or something, but no, I just kept it to light munchies. Chips, pigs in a blanket(s) and a fresh fruit cocktail I made and put into a hollowed-out watermelon. Please, if I ever get the idea to try and be creative with a knife again, implore me to drop the idea. I suck at it. My "basket" looks like it's lined with jack-o-lantern teeth.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Jagged fruit aside, the party was a smashing success. About 16 bikini-clad teens in my back yard, squealing constantly while flying down the slide. What impressed me so much about these girls is that none of them seemed put- out by 4-year-old Gianna and 3-year-old Jasmine, that wanted to be escorted down the slide. Many of them pitched in with nary a complaint.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Look at my Poopy Pants in her 'kini!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TBVfsW5T0JI/AAAAAAAAES4/7Pw5LXHyES8/s1600/DSCN1040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TBVfsW5T0JI/AAAAAAAAES4/7Pw5LXHyES8/s640/DSCN1040.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Mikayla's biffle, Katy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TBV06xOkObI/AAAAAAAAETI/hmXCd3za3NY/s1600/DSCN1051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TBV06xOkObI/AAAAAAAAETI/hmXCd3za3NY/s400/DSCN1051.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">There goes Alexa, catching some air!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TBV1GMnNV5I/AAAAAAAAETQ/h585eFLO-jg/s1600/DSCN1075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TBV1GMnNV5I/AAAAAAAAETQ/h585eFLO-jg/s400/DSCN1075.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Jessica on the left, Mikayla holding baby Jasmine on the right.</div><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TBV1iU9r8xI/AAAAAAAAETg/CxcDJzDDkO0/s640/DSCN1101.JPG" width="480" /><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">At one point Jimmy started filling bowls with ice water and threw it on the girls as they came down the slide. I got some pretty cool shots of flying water.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course there was cake.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">And presents! Mikayla made out like a bandit with tons and tons of gift cards. Yay! Shopping!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div></div>Some slide video...<br />
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<center><embed allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="361" src="http://static.photobucket.com/player.swf?file=http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a303/justwaaaa/Summer%202010/DSCN1111.mp4" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="600" wmode="transparent"></embed></center><br />
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That night, Mikayla went home with Jill to spend a few nights and met up with us yesterday at my brother's house for my nephew, Jonny's graduation party. I don't think I ever showed you any of the pictures from the play of his I went to months ago, so I'll throw some in here now.<br />
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</div>Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-35326006270008379572010-06-01T17:36:00.000-04:002010-06-01T17:36:18.564-04:00She Ate ItI'm here, yet I'm not here and it's driving me bonkers. I don't know why I suddenly stopped wanting to read blogs or write my own, but it has surely happened. I tell you what, it had better be temporary because this blog of mine has been such a creative and emotional outlet for so long that it's become a part of me.<br />
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I guess I'm just a flake, eh?<br />
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Anyhoodle, it's been a long time since you all have gotten a Strudel the Destructo Dog update. If you remember back quite a few months ago I told you I had a box in the closet where I was throwing all of the things Strudel was eating so I could prove to you that yes, she eats everything.<br />
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But like so many other things, after a week or so I kind of forgot the box was there, so what I do have now is nothing compared to the real thing.<br />
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I give to you, the contents of <i><b>The Strudel Box, Dum Dum Dum!!</b></i><br />
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</a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV2eIbW1II/AAAAAAAAERQ/CSSAhyf8kTA/s1600/DSCN0988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV2eIbW1II/AAAAAAAAERQ/CSSAhyf8kTA/s400/DSCN0988.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV2eIbW1II/AAAAAAAAERQ/CSSAhyf8kTA/s1600/DSCN0988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A mish-mosh of many different mangled household and even doggie items.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Remotes...<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV3VuZD_aI/AAAAAAAAERY/LgRsiMbPaIU/s1600/DSCN0981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV3VuZD_aI/AAAAAAAAERY/LgRsiMbPaIU/s640/DSCN0981.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A $400 cell phone...<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV3fce5_bI/AAAAAAAAERg/gm5Q_d8_Fsk/s1600/DSCN0983.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV3fce5_bI/AAAAAAAAERg/gm5Q_d8_Fsk/s400/DSCN0983.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV2eIbW1II/AAAAAAAAERQ/CSSAhyf8kTA/s1600/DSCN0988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This used to be Madison's friend, Jordan's, flip-flop.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Note to self: Buy Jordan new flip-flops.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">All that is left of my Crocs... just a chewed-up strap. Oh and a pencil. Strudel loves pencils!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV3-3n8pkI/AAAAAAAAERw/MwJHQJbiaNo/s1600/DSCN0987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV3-3n8pkI/AAAAAAAAERw/MwJHQJbiaNo/s400/DSCN0987.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">She also loves paper of any kind. Paper plates, magazines, textbooks, etc.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV8sR1_BVI/AAAAAAAAESg/6pLqaffsfEE/s1600/DSCN0982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV8sR1_BVI/AAAAAAAAESg/6pLqaffsfEE/s640/DSCN0982.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Most dogs love to play with tennis balls. Strudel prefers to eat them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">A dog toy isn't really worth her time unless she can rip it apart.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/TAV4uagvyrI/AAAAAAAAESI/1BC0kBl_GYY/s640/DSCN0985.JPG" width="480" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So yeah, anyone want a golden retriever?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wish I had a picture of what she did to me last night. She was upset that I took a paper towel roll away from her... I mean come on, she was having a great time shredding it, right? So, as soon as I turned my back <span style="font-size: large;">she bit my ass!!! </span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ten minutes later I went to feel the spot because it was stinging. Blood. I was bleeding all over my nightgown from an ass bite!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I then had to stick my tail between my legs and ask Jimmy to apply a bandage.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><b>To my ass.</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm wondering when, nay,<i> if</i>, Strudel is going to grow out of this biting thing. I mean I know I'm quite hairy, but not so much that she'd mistake my hair for dog fur. Why must she "play" with all of us as if we're part of her pack?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stru, get the message... <span style="font-size: large;"><i>I</i> am the alpha bitch in this house. </span> Get it?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Don't fool yourself into thinking this redeems your less than stellar behavior.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-82652621026277599082010-05-19T21:58:00.001-04:002010-05-19T22:04:46.429-04:00My Burning Desire Wound Up Burning Like The Fiery Pits of HellIn my youth I was an avid sunbather. From the time I was a tween I have memories of laying on a lounge chair in my back yard with baby oil smeared from top to bottom. I don't ever remember burning in my younger days, but instead turning this beautiful Italian-like nut-brown.<br />
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But for some reason, as soon as I hit the teenage years my skin changed, going from my old Italian olive- tone to sickly looking sallow. I don't know how or why this happened, but it's the God's honest truth.<br />
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This, of course, did not change my desire for nutty-toned skin, so each summer I would lay myself out like a lizard to soak up the rays.<br />
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Who the hell thought of wrinkles and skin cancer back then? Certainly not I!<br />
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In May of 1985 my boyfriend, Matt, and I went to the beach, even though the temperature was only in the mid 70s. It was our first taste of summer that year and we were grasping it wholeheartedly. So what if he was a redhead and could burn on a stormy day? I was ready for some rays and off we went on his moped, me with a Stephen King book in hand.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Me and Matt, 1986, his Junior Prom</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S_SU6o0Gk9I/AAAAAAAAERA/ZSRxJRqm944/s1600/Picture+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S_SU6o0Gk9I/AAAAAAAAERA/ZSRxJRqm944/s400/Picture+008.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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Damn that book was good.<br />
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And geez, the weather was so cool and delicious. No need to go in the water.<br />
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In fact, no need to ever flip over to my other side because hey, it was only May, it was cool out, no way was I going to burn.<br />
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Matt told me many times that he thought I was turning a little pink and should turn over.<br />
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But my book was so good, I didn't want to put it down. And hey, it's only May. I won't burn!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Four hours later</b></i></span>, Matt got very insistent with me, that I either needed to turn over or we'd have to go. I was no longer pink, but a mean, <span style="color: #990000;">dark red</span>.<br />
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So I flipped over.<br />
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Big mistake.<br />
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BIG.<br />
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It immediately felt like I had laid my body down on a bed of hot coals. I stood up quickly but holy shit, my skin now felt like Matt was holding a blow torch to my legs and back.<br />
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And back then, even my one-piece was quite skimpy so quite a bit of hiney was showing. Previously very white hiney.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S_SYuC_uPlI/AAAAAAAAERI/tZF8k0XNCsU/s1600/lobster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S_SYuC_uPlI/AAAAAAAAERI/tZF8k0XNCsU/s400/lobster.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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All I could think was, "Get me the hell out of this evil sunlight, NOW."<br />
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Let me tell you, sitting on a hot moped seat in this condition was not a good thing. I've basically blanked out the entire drive to Matt's house, which is probably a good thing.<br />
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The next thing I remember is laying on my stomach on his bed, screaming and crying that my legs were on <span style="color: #cc0000;">fire</span>. His mom standing over me not knowing what to do. Finally, one of them had the idea to blow a fan directly on my legs. Ahhhhhhh... that felt so damn good, but if someone even so much as stepped in front of the fan, blocking the air flow to my sizzling skin, I would once again scream and whimper.<br />
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Matt somehow got me home that day, where I proceeded to lay upon my bed, barely able to move for the next 3 days straight. My mom had fans blowing on me constantly, and several times a day she would crack open an aloe leaf and spread that cool goodness all over me. The pain of her touch was intense, but at least I got some temporary relief once she was done.<br />
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At one point, when Mom came in to spread the aloe, she said something like, "Justine, this isn't looking too good. Your skin is turning purple and bubbling.<br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;">Purple???</span> Bubbling? Like, little tiny bubbles?<br />
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Oh no, <span style="font-size: x-large;">big</span>, quarter-size bubbles. That were<span style="color: #674ea7;"> purple.</span><br />
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It would be at this point that most parents would take their kid to the ER or something, but not my mom! Nope, she'd just keep that aloe coming and I could just keep duck-walking to the bathroom because my skin was so tight I couldn't bend my legs. I would eat laying down on my belly and just lay there being miserable.<br />
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After 3 days I would be forced to go to school for a few hours to take a final.<br />
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Standing up the entire time.<br />
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With gigantic, oozing bubbles on the back of my legs.<br />
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I won't even go into detail about what it was like when those bubbles started popping open. I'll just tell you that there was wet skin flapping everywhere.<br />
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It was the worst burn I've ever seen a human being get from sunbathing, and if I sit here and really think about it, I can remember the pain like it was yesterday.<br />
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That was not my last bad burn, although, thank God, it was the last <i><b>super </b><b>bad </b></i>burn.<br />
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I still rarely use sunscreen, but I also rarely lay out in the sun these days.<br />
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The best medicine for a major burn? Definitely fresh <span style="color: #38761d;">aloe</span>.<br />
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My best advice? Don't lay out in the sun. Or if you do, use sunscreen!<br />
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This post was inspired by <a href="http://mamakatslosinit.com/">Mama Kat's</a> Writer's Workshop, and the prompt: "What was your medicine? Write about a time you remember being ill." <br />
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**Note to self: Call dermatologist tomorrow and make appointment for a baseline examination.**Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-8798897364514618252010-05-11T08:05:00.000-04:002010-05-11T08:05:24.638-04:00Some Kind of WonderfulMy girls have always given me a special morning on Mother's Day, but this year they went beyond any expectations I could have had.<br />
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Jimmy has been in Germany, so they were on their own this year and I have to say they out-did themselves! Maybe <i><b>because</b></i> Jimmy is in Germany?<br />
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They know I don't like to eat until I've been up a couple of hours, so no breakfast in bed this year. Instead, I got to have my computer time outside and made a reservation for brunch at 11:00.<br />
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When I went inside, there was a hostess stand (folding table) set up where Mikayla handed me my buzzer (her cell phone) that I was to take into the lounge (family room) to wait until my table was ready.<br />
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When my buzzer went off I was led to the table where I was handed a menu that the girls had made together. Madison did the table/graph part because Mikayla forgot how, and Mikayla did most of the decorating of it.<br />
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I opened my menu to find this.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Check out beverages. Water: If tap, free. If not, one hug per pet. Heeheehee.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lBp0FWw1I/AAAAAAAAEP4/c18GzhUmx9A/s1600/DSCN0960.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lBp0FWw1I/AAAAAAAAEP4/c18GzhUmx9A/s640/DSCN0960.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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I made it super easy for them by ordering a whole wheat bagel with cream cheese, a side of cottage cheese, a cup of coffee and some ice water. (Not tap).<br />
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Those fuzzy pipe cleaners are flower-shaped rings they made me. Awwwww.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">One of my personal chefs toiling in the kitchen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lCs9k-XvI/AAAAAAAAEQI/3TveiI7zMiw/s1600/DSCN0961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lCs9k-XvI/AAAAAAAAEQI/3TveiI7zMiw/s400/DSCN0961.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Wow, the kitchen was a mess, wasn't it?<br />
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Before I began eating, I was instructed to look under my plate.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Weeeeeee!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lC_woGS-I/AAAAAAAAEQQ/-SLg46yvQAU/s1600/DSCN0963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lC_woGS-I/AAAAAAAAEQQ/-SLg46yvQAU/s400/DSCN0963.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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One of my favorite gifts was this poem written by Madison at school. I sense Jimmy's influence in some of these lines but the purity and innocence of this poem had me giggling and beaming with pride at the same time. My girl so gets me!<br />
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Now tell me that's not the best poem ever!<br />
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My girls gave me the best Mother's Day morning <i>EVER</i>, so I just had to bring them out shopping as a thank you. New bathing suits, shorts, Silly Bandz and lots of (in Mikayla's words) lollygagging around, made for an exhausted but very happy me.<br />
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After our dinner of grilled NY strips, I finally got out the cordless drill so the girls could stick straws in the coconut we'd bought and drink the coconut water.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Aw, look at sweet Strudel!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lENhw-nqI/AAAAAAAAEQg/2dSgQmLiuJQ/s1600/DSCN0966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lENhw-nqI/AAAAAAAAEQg/2dSgQmLiuJQ/s400/DSCN0966.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">It was fairly easy to do... when the drill wasn't in<i><span style="font-size: large;"> reverse</span></i>. Ahem. Thank you, Mikayla, for pointing that out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lEke_pv5I/AAAAAAAAEQo/kcCYJo7RH3w/s1600/DSCN0970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lEke_pv5I/AAAAAAAAEQo/kcCYJo7RH3w/s400/DSCN0970.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">And then it was time to take a taste.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Madison looks on with anticipation.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lE5tQKcHI/AAAAAAAAEQw/F1_jv-D8q5A/s1600/DSCN0975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lE5tQKcHI/AAAAAAAAEQw/F1_jv-D8q5A/s400/DSCN0975.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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Well? How is it Mikayla? Is it good? Did we pick a perfect coconut, or what?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lFI2i-VOI/AAAAAAAAEQ4/88gJXDxEkrM/s1600/DSCN0976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-lFI2i-VOI/AAAAAAAAEQ4/88gJXDxEkrM/s400/DSCN0976.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div>Oops.<br />
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How was I supposed to know it was rotten on the inside?<br />
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Mikayla said it tasted like...<br />
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I can't even say it, so instead I'll use Madison's term...<br />
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It tasted like...<br />
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#3!!!!<br />
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I'm still feeling guilty about the mouthful of rotten coconut water Mikayla swallowed.<br />
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Next time? Smell first, sip second!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-27400870673641307522010-05-08T23:03:00.000-04:002010-05-08T23:03:53.119-04:00This Mother's Day, I Celebrate You, My Children.<div style="text-align: center;">How to put in words the changes the two of you have brought to my life?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Once, long ago, I thought my heart could not expand enough to give you all the love you both deserved.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I was wrong. It did expand. First for you, Mikayla, my Sweet Pea. It wasn't immediate as I always thought it would be, as I thought it <i><b>should</b></i> be. Was it fear of the unknown and a sense of being overwhelmed that kept my heart from recognizing my love for you?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Then one day I awoke and put you to my breast like so many times before. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And there it was.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">My heart calling out to yours, filling so completely I knew I would never be the same.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">How could I love you this much, yet have room in my heart for Madison? My sweet Princess?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">This time the fear of motherhood was less and I knew I would feel that overwhelming love at first sight.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I could not have known that the first time I saw you, you wouldn't be pink and healthy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I could not have anticipated what I would feel when I heard the words, "Blue, seizures, NICU".</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I could never have imagined the pain of them taking you away from me before I was even able to feel you against my skin.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">At that moment, it felt like a part of me had died, my heart feeling as if it had collapsed in on itself.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But your persevered. You overcame whatever it was that caused you such stress during your birth.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">My love for you, Madison, and for you, Mikayla, has only grown stronger each and every day since you entered this world.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I never did need to worry about having enough love in my heart for the two of you. </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">You both <i><b>are</b></i> my heart.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">All My Love,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mommy</div>Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-26496626619850309742010-05-05T14:23:00.002-04:002010-05-05T15:46:28.459-04:00Where The F*** Is The House??!!??When Jill moved last year she left behind a childrens' playhouse.<br />
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Something kind of like this.<br />
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Gianna had been asking after her playhouse recently, so yesterday, Jill called her two friends that own a pickup truck and asked if they could take it from the old house to the new.<br />
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No problem! The two girls lifted it up, loaded it on and took off for Jill's, which is probably a 10-15 minute drive on Interstate 4.<br />
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Jill heard them pull up and was making her way through her garage to meet them out front when she heard:<br />
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"Where the F*** is the house? Where the F*** is the house? How can it not be here?"<br />
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Jill met their bewildered faces with a look of shock of her own.<br />
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They <b><i>said</i></b> they'd loaded it on the truck.<br />
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But where is it?<br />
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Apparently it pulled one of these while doing 65 mph.<br />
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At this point Jill didn't know whether to laugh or cry. How that heavy house could have blown from the back of that truck is a mystery to me.<br />
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What's even more of a mystery is how two women could be so freakin' oblivious that they didn't<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> notice </b></i></span>a huge plastic house had blown out of their truck!<br />
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*Oh look behind us! A 50 car pile-up! I wonder what they hit? Ooh, what is that? Holy shit, it's a big plastic house in the middle of the highway! How'd that get there? Wait. Didn't <i><b>we</b></i> have a big plastic house in our truck? Nah, can't be ours.*<br />
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You know what I did when Jill told me this story, right?<br />
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Oh yeah, I laughed my damn ass off.<br />
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Because really. Who else does this kind of crap happen to other than Jill?<br />
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No one!<br />
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Jill later called to tell me that the house had been located, and in various pieces along the side of I-4, but seemed to be unbroken. She wanted to know what I thought the girls should do.<br />
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Should they pick up all the pieces and bring them back to Jill?<br />
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Again, guess what my answer was.<br />
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No, you damn idiot!<br />
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Addendum*** Just got off the phone with Jill. The girls did in fact go back and pick up the pieces. On the side of the interstate!<br />
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Idiots, all of em!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-43885725654671312332010-05-04T21:28:00.000-04:002010-05-04T21:28:11.673-04:00Is This Thing On? Can You Hear Me Now? How 'Bout Now?Come on now, I know I took a self-imposed bloggy break for a month or so, but where the hell are all my peeps? <br />
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Twelve comments in 3 days? I'm crying!<br />
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I'm sobbing!<br />
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Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-DJijygARI/AAAAAAAAEOw/VW2lnRDu6bw/s1600/3312-3328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S-DJijygARI/AAAAAAAAEOw/VW2lnRDu6bw/s400/3312-3328.jpg" width="386" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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Pssst! If you love me, you might love my <strike>stupid</strike> sister more. Go visit her at <a href="http://jillsbelieveitornot.blogspot.com/">Jill's Believe it or Not</a>, and tell her I sent you!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-1349656096308609092010-05-02T11:52:00.001-04:002010-05-02T11:54:52.900-04:00So, A Bunch of Italians and a Polack Went To the Zoo...It is no secret that I love being surrounded by my family, but it's especially wonderful when I get to see my favorite aunt and uncle for the first time in nearly 5-1/2 years! <br />
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Twenty or more years ago the key family groups of Ferraras all moved from Long Island, seemingly at the same time. Life was never the same after my paternal grandfather died, followed four years later by my beloved grandmother. The ties that held us close together were broken and everyone was ready to start fresh somewhere new. My brother and his family took off for Florida, then soon after, my parents, Jill and I joined them in the Sunshine State. Aunt Barbara and Uncle David took off for to Utah, where Uncle David re-established his business in chemical sales (cleaning stuff? Not even sure) in Salt Lake.<br />
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The last time we saw them was at my cousin David's wedding in Utah in 2004. Way too much time was allowed to pass!<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">So imagine my glee when they announced they were coming down for a visit!! So yep, a couple of weeks ago Aunt Barbara and Uncle David (yes, the annoying one from Facebook) flew down to visit and stayed with us for four wonderful nights. It was so amazing how within 30 seconds of being with them it was like time had stood still. We went right back to our old rapport. Even the kids latched on to them as if they'd only seen them last week.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I think I've mentioned before that Uncle David is a bit mental, just like the rest of us Ferraras. We all have "conditions", "syndromes", "maladies", "disorders", "quirks" "phobias", "afflictions", and/or "dementia".<br />
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Are we not the coolest?<br />
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Anyhoodle, Uncle David is a bit of a freak about anything that goes into his mouth, moreso after losing a kidney and a 17 pound encapsulated cancerous tumor last year.<br />
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While he was here I learned the benefits of:<br />
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<ul><li>Everything organic. Gotta stay away from those horrible pesticides.</li>
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<li>Not only brushing the dirt off the mushrooms, but washing them thoroughly because they're grown in flats of pure poop.</li>
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<li>Washing all fruits with soap and water, even the ones where the skin or peel is not eaten, as in an orange. Come on... those pesticides and such are now on your hands from peeling it and then you're going to eat the juicy insides with that crap on your digits.</li>
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<li>Nitrite and nitrate-free hot dogs. Sure, that funky chemical isn't in your food, but you have to cook all the hot dogs, and either eat them or throw them away because they don't have enough preservatives to even keep them frozen.</li>
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<li>Fructose and cane juice is your friend.</li>
</ul></div><div style="text-align: center;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Whole milk is much better to use in my coffee, rather than the fat-free 1/2 and 1/2 that I love. Look at the label! They add corn syrup to that crap!</li>
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">I tell ya what, while they were here my colon was in overdrive from all the organic granola and nuts I was snacking on.</span></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">Jill came over the second day of their visit and we had a great time just hanging out doing nothing. I made a fairly fabulous dinner of chicken marsala that everyone devoured.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Upon Jill's arrival, she was promptly dispatched to bring Uncle David to Starbucks for his required afternoon latte. Did I mention that one of Uncle David's afflictions is that he is unable to make his own cup of coffee, even after being shown exactly how to use the Keurig machine? Uh huh, it's true. He's actually too dumb<strike> frickin' lazy</strike> to make his own coffee, so I spent much of my time as an unpaid barista.</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">The next day they wanted to go to the zoo. Since I'd never been to the Jacksonville zoo and the weather was very warm, but not hot, I was excited to go. We let the girls take a day off from school, and off we went with lunch and drinks packed in a cooler.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The zoo was beautiful but I was a little disturbed by how small some of the habitats are. But, I still got some great shots of the fuzzbutts.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Okay, so these guys aren't fuzzy, but they sure are cute!</div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S9140ASqUdI/AAAAAAAAELw/TZvrjQIIX7U/s1600/DSCN0862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S9140ASqUdI/AAAAAAAAELw/TZvrjQIIX7U/s400/DSCN0862.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">The animals were all so active because of the mild weather!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S915KqJa50I/AAAAAAAAEL4/dWeiybB3PPs/s1600/DSCN0867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S915KqJa50I/AAAAAAAAEL4/dWeiybB3PPs/s400/DSCN0867.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Awwww... Madison found a baby bunny hiding in the mulch!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S915XUOrVJI/AAAAAAAAEMA/w5iZ5TMIxgk/s1600/DSCN0871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S915XUOrVJI/AAAAAAAAEMA/w5iZ5TMIxgk/s400/DSCN0871.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Look at how gorgeous this pair is! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S915jXOak5I/AAAAAAAAEMI/z85z4xU3J_A/s1600/DSCN0873.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S915jXOak5I/AAAAAAAAEMI/z85z4xU3J_A/s400/DSCN0873.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Girlfriend needed a drink...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S915wYxvmCI/AAAAAAAAEMQ/BBnkwH5ZXvQ/s1600/DSCN0875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S915wYxvmCI/AAAAAAAAEMQ/BBnkwH5ZXvQ/s400/DSCN0875.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Check out this look she gave me!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S9158saal7I/AAAAAAAAEMY/D75mm5tqdh8/s1600/DSCN0874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S9158saal7I/AAAAAAAAEMY/D75mm5tqdh8/s400/DSCN0874.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> The giraffes were so beautiful.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S916LQJsN_I/AAAAAAAAEMg/HQtbhHmeefU/s1600/DSCN0877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S916LQJsN_I/AAAAAAAAEMg/HQtbhHmeefU/s640/DSCN0877.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> And the girls got to feed them!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S916W1N3nmI/AAAAAAAAEMo/qUTOshTlnpQ/s1600/DSCN0879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S916W1N3nmI/AAAAAAAAEMo/qUTOshTlnpQ/s640/DSCN0879.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S916iOta1bI/AAAAAAAAEMw/TF2Gg7a08GY/s1600/DSCN0881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S916iOta1bI/AAAAAAAAEMw/TF2Gg7a08GY/s640/DSCN0881.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S916sHJhrxI/AAAAAAAAEM4/NkXUL_-wfeY/s1600/DSCN0882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S916sHJhrxI/AAAAAAAAEM4/NkXUL_-wfeY/s400/DSCN0882.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">This bird was so cool. She led us down a path to the otter exhibit and then stood right next to me. Aunt Barbara, having a fear of birds ever since their parrot, Rusty, bit her, kept scuffling away from my friend.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92Ds-ZGUHI/AAAAAAAAENA/sAyXde2Xhds/s1600/DSCN0887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92Ds-ZGUHI/AAAAAAAAENA/sAyXde2Xhds/s400/DSCN0887.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> "Barbara, does this carousel display make me look fat?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92EHJr-9sI/AAAAAAAAENQ/YTkrTJ8xXro/s1600/DSCN0891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92EHJr-9sI/AAAAAAAAENQ/YTkrTJ8xXro/s640/DSCN0891.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Madison brushed a cute little goat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92EfDkp_eI/AAAAAAAAENg/QXDxvMf8ypE/s1600/DSCN0894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92EfDkp_eI/AAAAAAAAENg/QXDxvMf8ypE/s400/DSCN0894.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Uncle David, resting in the sun.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92Eq-Wtp0I/AAAAAAAAENo/pB3-gcWER_s/s1600/DSCN0895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92Eq-Wtp0I/AAAAAAAAENo/pB3-gcWER_s/s400/DSCN0895.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">This little guy was picking his nose and eating it. From the look on his face I'd say it didn't taste very good. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92E9BB9urI/AAAAAAAAENw/sukNHy3ln2k/s1600/DSCN0898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92E9BB9urI/AAAAAAAAENw/sukNHy3ln2k/s640/DSCN0898.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">It wasn't all fun and games while they were here. There was also relaxation time, or what I like to call, "Aunt Barbara ignoring all the annoying people."</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> See? She's doing it again! Uncle David looks to be contemplating the air quality.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92FmECWlWI/AAAAAAAAEOA/LGEXhNszW9s/s1600/DSCN0860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92FmECWlWI/AAAAAAAAEOA/LGEXhNszW9s/s400/DSCN0860.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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One of the funniest things happened while I was taking a nap. How could I miss something this good? Thank goodness Aunt Barbara had the intelligence to grab the camera as soon as she heard screaming from outside.<br />
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"Barbara! Help!!!! The chair broke! I can't get up!!!"<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">"It's like this. I sat down, went to Facebook to take over Justine's account, and the chair bent over!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92bl9tja-I/AAAAAAAAEOI/NUV86dbpgHs/s1600/IMG_3900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92bl9tja-I/AAAAAAAAEOI/NUV86dbpgHs/s400/IMG_3900.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">"Look, I don't care if I was wrong to leave snarky updates on my niece's account. Get me up and stop taking pictures!" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92b5GuUNEI/AAAAAAAAEOQ/8TsqkNF6ISo/s1600/IMG_3899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92b5GuUNEI/AAAAAAAAEOQ/8TsqkNF6ISo/s640/IMG_3899.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">"Okay okay, I guess you're right and I do deserve the position I'm in. Can you help me up now?" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92cKQvgVWI/AAAAAAAAEOY/K5MUs0gPzK4/s1600/IMG_3895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92cKQvgVWI/AAAAAAAAEOY/K5MUs0gPzK4/s640/IMG_3895.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">"Oh, what have I ever done to be so forsaken?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92cYfsgKmI/AAAAAAAAEOg/hnU_aYwAPm4/s1600/IMG_3897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92cYfsgKmI/AAAAAAAAEOg/hnU_aYwAPm4/s400/IMG_3897.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> "Okay! I give up! It's funny! <i><b> Really </b></i>funny! Can you help me up now so I can delete all of those pictures you just took?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92cstZ3EpI/AAAAAAAAEOo/ynQvrjhsqcU/s1600/IMG_3894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S92cstZ3EpI/AAAAAAAAEOo/ynQvrjhsqcU/s400/IMG_3894.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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Did I mention that Uncle David lives just a few blocks away from my good friend, <a href="http://grandpooba.blogspot.com/">Pooba</a>? Good luck to ya Kelly, now that he knows exactly where you live! And guess what Poo? The aunt and uncle invited my girls to spend a week with them in July and I may just send them over to your house to decompress after spending hours in close proximity to my uncle. <br />
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So there ya have it. Most of our visit with Aunt Barbara and Uncle David. I can't wait until they come back again!<br />
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No, really. I'm serious!<br />
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Pssst! If you love me, you might love my <strike>stupid</strike> sister more. Go visit her at <a href="http://jillsbelieveitornot.blogspot.com/">Jill's Believe it or Not</a>, and tell her I sent you!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-35337763951051898912010-04-29T07:46:00.001-04:002010-04-29T07:47:41.979-04:00One Flew Over the Cuckoo's NestYeah, it's me, can you believe it?<br />
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I figured if I didn't write something soon there would be a mutiny in blogland.<br />
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It's been about a month since I took this hiatus and it took me until today to figure out what the hell my problem is. It's this. I've been feeling disenchanted. Unable to write about what I really want to write about. Imagine how you'd feel if the thing that had been foremost in your mind was off-limits for your blog. How would you deal with that? How would it make you feel? Disenchanted!!! Right? Right?????<br />
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I can't get into any details, but let me just say that my title should give you a tiny clue. No, it's not me who's gone bat-shit crazy, but someone in my vicinity. This psychotic individual did everything in his/her (ooh, it's a he-she? Possibly... never thought of that) Anyhoo... they did everything they could to try and smear my character; using lies, deceit and their sociopathic <span style="color: #cc0000;">(</span><i style="color: #cc0000;">Def:</i><br />
<div class="luna-Ent"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">person,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">as</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">psychopathic</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">personality,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">whose</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">behavior</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">is</span> <i><b><span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">antisocial</span></b></i> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">and</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">who</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">lacks</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">a</span> <i><b><span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">sense</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">of</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">moral </span><span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">responsibility</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'">social</span> </b></i> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;"><i><b>conscience.</b></i><span style="color: #cc0000;">)</span></span> </span></div>tendencies to do so. Did it work? Of course not. The person is bat-shit crazy and everyone but he/she knows it. Sad actually.<br />
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Pitiful, in fact.<br />
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And why did this person turn vengeful?<br />
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Get this. You're not gonna believe it.<br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Because I hurt his/her feelings.</span></b></i><br />
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Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!<br />
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Usually, the proper response to having your feelings hurt is to tell the person who hurt them. Either work it out, or no longer be their friend.<br />
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If, on the other hand, you're bat-shit crazy, you can instead make up a ton of lies, corner the husband and <i><b>children</b></i> in the street and profess those lies as fact, then run your crazy-ass mouth all over the neighborhood trying to garner sympathy because "Justine is so mean."<br />
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You could put in complaints to Facebook that your "wildlife photography" is being used as a copyright infringement and also tell Facebook that Justine is <i><b><span style="font-size: large;">stalking you</span>. </b></i>But then Facebook just looks at your chat history and such and sees that Justine has had almost no contact with you in months. Stalking indeed.<br />
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You could then contact blogger and cry copyright infringement there too. But Justine has written proof that she was given permission to use said pictures.<br />
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To further your cause of stalking and infringement, you may go into Facebook and blogger and take down every single comment you've ever left so that it looks like you never knew me. Good for you!<br />
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I still have copies.<br />
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So. When all this came to fruition, did I run from house to house, shouting at the top of my lungs that I'd been done wrong? Did I show proof of each accusation being a lie?<br />
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No, I didn't, although I do have proof, and plenty of it.<br />
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I'm not quite sure how to definitively prove that I haven't had <span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>several affairs</b></i></span> while married, but that's neither here nor there. The people who matter know that's not true and that's good enough for me. <br />
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All this time I've been seething while taking the high road because I wouldn't<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> allow myself</b></i></span> to be heard, except to a token few whom I'm close to. For the most part, it will remain as it has been for over a month because staying quiet, not naming names, is the right thing to do, both legally and morally.<br />
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I guess this post doesn't actually fall under the category of "staying quiet" but it does, on the other hand, fall under the category of, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"<br />
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It's hard to fight crazy because it just makes the crazy person more crazy. Of course, ignoring crazy person probably makes them even<i><b> more</b></i> crazy.<br />
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Which, come to think of it, is kind if fun.<br />
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Imagine Nurse Ratched as one of the<i><b><span style="font-size: large;"> patients </span></b></i>and you'll kind of get an idea about him/her.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S9lsAr209PI/AAAAAAAAEKk/vJwL4I7YJMA/s1600/nurse-ratched.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S9lsAr209PI/AAAAAAAAEKk/vJwL4I7YJMA/s400/nurse-ratched.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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This also comes to mind.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S9lswzTk1HI/AAAAAAAAEKs/QC3r6LYXaN8/s1600/huntingwoman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S9lswzTk1HI/AAAAAAAAEKs/QC3r6LYXaN8/s320/huntingwoman.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Confused yet? I'm sure most of you are. Some know exactly what I'm talking about.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Things here have been nice and calm for about a month now. But how much do you want to bet that said bat-shit crazy person is going to read this and then strike out on another war path against me? I guess that would be okay, being that he/she doesn't have a legal leg to stand on. As long as he/she stays the hell away from my home and my kids it's all good.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">End of rant.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-10187731875343905272010-04-13T21:59:00.000-04:002010-04-13T21:59:13.923-04:00She's Flown The Coop!Nah, not really, but I sure have been absent as of late, haven't I? I do apologize that I haven't been by all of your blogs. This is the first time I've ever gotten in a bloggy funk so bad that I can't even motivate myself to read them! Ugh.<br />
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I'm in the midst of a semi-busy week with aunt Barbara and uncle David coming this Sunday. I am so excited to see them!!! Even though yes, uncle David will drive me nuts, no doubt about it. Right uncle David?<br />
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Jimmy is in Ontario, Canada, so, I've been trying to get some deep cleaning done. Ya know, the stuff you don't do nearly often enough, like wiping down the floor boards, giving the doors a good cleaning, touch-up painting and stuff like that. I've also been trying to make the guest room more welcoming, to Jimmy's utter chagrin. Chagrin. What a weird word. I mean, who the hell even uses that word? Well, I guess I do.<br />
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Anyway, I bought a very simple quilt in bright white, something that is totally different than what I'd usually choose. Here's a picture of it.<br />
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Of course I wanted to add some color to the room but nothing blaring. I was looking for soothing. So, I got these drapes.<br />
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They're not due to arrive until Friday. I was going to put the curtain rod up today but I couldn't find the cordless drill. Jimmy "cleaned" the garage last week and now everything is in weird places that they totally don't belong.<br />
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One last thing before I go. On Easter morning at my in-laws' house, this cardinal kept perching himself upon this really high tree and singing. He was just so beautiful but I wasn't sure I could get a good shot of him because he was in a neighboring yard and at least 30 feet up. I figured it was too far for my $200 Nikon to handle. I was wrong. <br />
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Check him out!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S8Ufaj9Yz-I/AAAAAAAAEKE/ENIMxpf7GWI/s1600/DSCN0829.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S8Ufaj9Yz-I/AAAAAAAAEKE/ENIMxpf7GWI/s640/DSCN0829.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I don't know what the hell kind of tree that is, but I LOVE it.<br />
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Is he<strike> my photography skills</strike> not spectacular? <br />
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Orange blossoms smell soooo good. I miss that smell. We don't have orange groves this far north in FL, unfortunately.<br />
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And lemon blossoms smell divine too!<br />
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And that is the conclusion of my flora and fauna (or should I say, <i><span style="font-size: x-large;">wildlife photography... ahem)<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">pictures.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hope you all are having a great week! And remember, if something special is going on, please email me and tell me to get my ass to your blog! </span></span><br />
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Pssst! If you love me, you might love my <strike>stupid</strike> sister more. Go visit her at <a href="http://jillsbelieveitornot.blogspot.com/">Jill's Believe it or Not</a>, and tell her I sent you!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-38381899164469517732010-04-03T20:15:00.004-04:002010-04-05T20:39:37.284-04:00Sunday Scramble 4-4-10<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I cordially invite you to join me each week in the Sunday Scramble. The SS gives you a chance to write down your scattered, random, or just plain stupid thoughts. No rules apply here. I give you permission to write anything that's on your mind, whether it makes sense or not!</span></span></div><br />
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I don't expect many people to link with the SS this week, it being Easter and all, but I decided to put up a quick post of my own anyway. Gotta keep those scrambled thoughts sharp!<br />
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Please forgive me for not getting around to your blogs this past week. Sometimes life gets in the way of the things we enjoy the most, and this has been one of those times. If I've missed any important announcements or posts that you feel I must read to make your life complete, please let me know and I'll make a point of stopping by!<br />
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Okay, I'm stumped. I don't think I have a damn thing to tell you about this weekend.<br />
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Oh wait! I can tell you about the newest silly<strike> stupid</strike> thing Jill did. That's always fun!<br />
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Earlier today she was at the bank in the drive-thru. She took the container thingy out of the vacuum tube thingy, did what she had to do, and then hit Send. Off the container goes through the tube, right into the capable hands of the bank teller.<br />
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But it didn't. Get to the bank teller that is. It never came out. The teller looked up inside the tube, Jill tried to look from her position in the car. The container was nowhere to be found.<br />
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Just. Gone.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S7YE6TDSjyI/AAAAAAAAEJs/YfXjqEQ9IWQ/s1600/orange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S7YE6TDSjyI/AAAAAAAAEJs/YfXjqEQ9IWQ/s320/orange.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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They're looking at each other through the bulletproof glass, both with puzzled expressions on their faces.<br />
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Finally, the teller decides to call the manager.<br />
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It was at that time that Jill glanced down.<br />
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You guessed it. <i><span style="font-size: large;">The container thingy was in her lap.</span></i><br />
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I shit you not!<br />
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She then proceeded to finish her transaction as she spoke on the phone with our dad.<br />
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Just one problem.<br />
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She was so involved in her conversation that <i>she forgot she was idling in the drive-thru lane.</i><br />
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For like<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> 5 full minutes.</b></i></span><br />
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When she finally realized where she was (does it sound to you like she was fit to be behind the wheel today?) and how long she'd been sitting there, she looked up to find that, thank goodness, no one was behind her.<br />
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And the teller was gone.<br />
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Probably went home for the day. Ya know, while Jill just sat there in her vehicular phone booth.<br />
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A couple weeks ago while vacuuming, my vacuum shut itself off. I thought maybe the plug had come out of the wall, but nope, it was in there securely. The on/off switch is on the side and I hadn't been near any furniture that could have flipped it. So of course I decided it was a ghost, and immediately started talking to said ghost.<br />
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When I put an update about this on Facebook, (because, ya know, Facebook <i><b>is my entire life</b></i> and if I didn't share every.damn.thing.I.do, my i-friends would feel desolate and incomplete.) my uncle said this:<br />
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<blockquote>"TOO MUCH DOG HAIR,vacuuums filters are clogged and motor will run hot and shut off due to thermocouple protection circuit.Get rid of that dog now!"</blockquote>(I'm cringing at the spelling and punctuation there, by the way.)<br />
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To which our friend<a href="http://lovefrommn.blogspot.com/"> Cindy,</a> replied:<br />
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<blockquote>"why does your uncle(?) hate that dog so much?....."</blockquote><br />
Do you have any idea how many people have asked me this very question? So uncle David, why <i><b>do</b></i> you hate my dog so much? You haven't even met her yet!<br />
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He doesn't hate my dog, peeps. He's just trying to be funny. Key word: <i><span style="font-size: large;"> Trying.</span></i><br />
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When Strudel is calm she's a pure joy to be around. Just look at her laying with Mikayla.<br />
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</div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">At least, I <i>think</i> that's Mikayla under there.</span></span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S7VZvUB-u5I/AAAAAAAAEI8/LBnNaLhGoOk/s1600/DSCN0824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S7VZvUB-u5I/AAAAAAAAEI8/LBnNaLhGoOk/s400/DSCN0824.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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This week, Madison painted this at school. It immediately made me think of Donna and Ralph and their <a href="http://adventureswithtassie.blogspot.com/">Adventures with Tassie</a>, as they've been in AZ, enjoying the saguaros in the desert.<br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Bitchayla</span> strikes again! What is it with her and her friend Kat, and their inability to leave my Robert Pattinson calendar alone???<br />
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Let's get serious for a moment.<br />
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In the nearly 2 years I've been blogging, I've been constantly surprised and amazed at the generosity and love that can be found through this platform. I don't care that Jimmy refers to people I haven't met in person as "i-friends". I-friends you may be, but I have felt your hugs, your prayers, your love, through the distance of many miles.<br />
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Through this venue we call blogging I have connected to others in ways that probably wouldn't be realistic if we'd first met face to face. I have come to know and love men and women vastly different than me. Reading their stories, sharing their lives through pictures and words, has given me the opportunity to get to know them at my own pace. There are some that I cherish as a family member of the heart.<br />
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All of that was leading up to tell you that Stephanie, over at <a href="http://mamastillwearsgucci.com/">Mama Still Wears Gucci </a>is one of those special people. Sure, she likes everyone to think she's a stuck-up bad-ass, but really? Underneath it all she's all <i><span style="font-size: large;">gooey</span></i> and <i><span style="font-size: large;">squishy</span></i> and <i><span style="font-size: large;">lovable</span></i>.<br />
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Okay, okay, I have to be totally honest. Steph<span style="font-size: large;"><i> is</i></span> a snob, and of the highest order. But, she seems to wear that badge proudly and without apology. <br />
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I think I may adore her more because of it.<br />
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You know that a few weeks ago we had to say goodbye to our sweet kitty, Poo. It was devastating, but time is healing all of us and your comments and emails have meant the world to me.<br />
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And then last week I received a package from Steph. She sent it just to cheer me up after losing Poo, to let me know she was thinking of me and hurting for me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S7Ve4Sg6IiI/AAAAAAAAEJc/Pxogmc7xqpk/s1600/DSCN0825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S7Ve4Sg6IiI/AAAAAAAAEJc/Pxogmc7xqpk/s400/DSCN0825.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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The picture is crap and doesn't do my goodies justice. That's what you get for taking a picture at night with incandescent lighting. But is that stuff sweet, or what? It's a ceramic shoe with polka dots<a href="http://sweetnothingsbj.blogspot.com/"> (BJ!!!)</a>, holding a sweet note pad and pen. Then a book called How To Understand Women Through Their Cats. I haven't yet cracked it open, but I know I'm going to enjoy it when I do!<br />
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And hellooooooo... every woman in mourning needs chocolate! So, Steph obviously forgot I'm hypoglycemic and in sending the chocolate<i><b> that I couldn't eat</b></i> just made me more depressed. Sigh. It's okay, because Mikayla ate it all.<br />
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Okay. I ate one piece. I had to! Come on, it's Ghiardelli for cripe's sakes!<br />
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Thank you, Steph, from the bottom of my heart!<br />
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Earlier this week, while having a discussion with Mikayla on forgiveness, she quoted one of Jesus's last statements while dying on the cross.<br />
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He said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they've done."<br />
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Simple, but so profound. If Jesus could ask forgiveness of those who crucified him, why is it so hard for all of us to forgive people for much lesser sins against us?<br />
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I think that's something I'll pray for, for both me and all of you on this holy weekend. The ability to forgive.<br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;">Happy</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-large;">Easter</span> to all of you!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">He Is Risen!!!</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mcklinky.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="39" src="http://www.mcklinky.com/images/MckLinkyLogo119.gif" width="119" /></a><br />
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Pssst! If you love me, you might love my <strike>stupid</strike> sister more. Go visit her at <a href="http://jillsbelieveitornot.blogspot.com/">Jill's Believe it or Not</a>, and tell her I sent you!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-55915482048172228132010-03-30T10:30:00.000-04:002010-03-30T10:30:04.965-04:00The Black Widow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S7IJilUR3jI/AAAAAAAAEIs/5mEcp6w0JGc/s1600/Black_Widow_Spider_Eating_Something.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S7IJilUR3jI/AAAAAAAAEIs/5mEcp6w0JGc/s320/Black_Widow_Spider_Eating_Something.JPG" width="248" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u>The Black Widow</u></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<i>Oh the tangled web she weaves</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Untruths abound,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Lies she may even believe.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Amid the muddy vortex of her mind,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Delusions reign,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Reason left behind.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Heinous accusations spill forth with ease,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For these she should be on her knees.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Heavenly Father, guide her path,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Release her from bitterness, hate and wrath.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>If it be Your will, breathe life into her blackened heart,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Remove the vengeful poison dart.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Searching for justice to right imagined wrongs,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>She's sealing her fate to be impaled by her own thorns.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It is to this end that I feel pity and sorrow,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Delusions of the self righteous I feel, will leave her forsaken tomorrow.</i></div><br />
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Pssst! If you love me, you might love my <strike>stupid</strike> sister more. Go visit her at <a href="http://jillsbelieveitornot.blogspot.com/">Jill's Believe it or Not</a>, and tell her I sent you!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-18162278148709287722010-03-27T20:00:00.003-04:002010-03-30T00:45:02.095-04:00Sunday Scramble 3-28-10<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S61U-9zwTbI/AAAAAAAAEHM/V4RLeJNqd-8/s1600/sundayscramble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S61U-9zwTbI/AAAAAAAAEHM/V4RLeJNqd-8/s320/sundayscramble.jpg" width="281" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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Whew! What a couple of weeks I've had.<br />
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Let's see what I can update you on.<br />
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Well, Mikayla got in more trouble last week than she's ever been in in her life. Why? Because she insisted on telling Madison that there is no Santa Claus. Said she couldn't stand perpetuating the lie anymore. She didn't actually say perpetuating, but that's what she meant.<br />
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I threatened her bodily harm if she went ahead with it.<br />
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She did it anyway.<br />
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<i style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">WHOP</span></i> upside the head.<br />
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I can't even tell you the trauma this caused all of us. Madison crying hysterically, asking why we've lied to her all these years, Jimmy over the phone from Kansas City yelling at Mikayla, Mikayla in her room crying for hours... and punishment! Ooh, for five days Jimmy let her think that her hip hop classes were a thing of the past.<br />
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Thank goodness I convinced him not to take that away. It's the first thing she's ever done that she's truly passionate about.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I love my sister.</span></i> You all know that.<br />
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But sometimes she's<i><b> stupid.</b></i><br />
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The night of my nephew, Jonny's, play, we all went out for dinner at a Chinese buffet.<br />
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Blech. Ptooey. Need I say more?<br />
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But as we were sitting there over dessert, all of a sudden Jill looks at me and says, "Man, this ice cream is cold!"<br />
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Now what would you do or say if your beloved sister said something so completely ridiculous? I mean really, was the ice cream supposed to be tepid? I wanted to smack her, but instead I just called down the table to my brother and loudly announced what she'd just said. Ya know, to make her feel even more stupid. Jeff, of course, was not surprised, but rolled his eyes anyway.<br />
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Then, days later Jill and I are on the phone. She's telling me about seeing her friend's mother's house for the first time and how beautiful it is.<br />
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Jill: You should see it. It has a porch that goes all around and then those big, tall cylinders. So pretty!<br />
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Me: Excuse me? Did you just say cylinders?<br />
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Jill: Yeah, what was I supposed to say? Oh duh! I mean, colanders!<br />
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Me: Really Jill? They have giant colanders on their porch? What? They have massive amounts of pasta to drain?<br />
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Jill: Oh. Shit. What's the word I'm looking for?<br />
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Me: Columns, you asshole! <br />
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See? <i><span style="font-size: large;">Stupid! </span></i><br />
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Love you sis!<br />
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I'm excited and I'm nervous. I've decided I'm going to take online courses and get a certificate in medical transcription!!!! I have two different schools I'm looking at and am just waiting for Jimmy to look them over and see which one will work best for me. I know which one I want to use, but dammit, it's $5,000 for the course, versus $800 at Penn Foster.<br />
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This could potentially open up a whole new world for me!<br />
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Remember the pictures of all those adorable armadillos I showed you weeks ago? Seems the poor rototillers are dropping like flies around here.<br />
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Actually, it's more like they're dropping like animals being shot by pellet gun-totin' neighbors who are out for blood.<br />
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I shit you not. They're working together, the neighbors. They've formed a regiment of sorts. One traps, one shoots, others look on, another disposes<i> without Justine seeing.</i><br />
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Last week, I was sitting out here in the bitch cave, minding my own business as usual, when suddenly I see 3 or 4 people skulking around the side of my next door neighbors' house. Yes, I said <i>skulking</i>, because that's exactly what they were doing. Grown men and a woman actually tip-toeing as to not alert me to their presence. But I saw the murderers.<br />
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I just didn't know they were murderers at the time.<br />
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I raised my hand to wave at my good friend and wouldn't you know she looked down, turned around and the whole gaggle of them skulked away in the other direction? One of them holding a garbage can? They actually turned in unison like synchronized swimmers (Buzby Berkeley comes to mind) and walked away guiltily in the direction they'd come from!<br />
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I grew suspicious (wouldn't you?), so emailed my good friend to ask what they had been doing.<br />
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She said, "Well, Tim had an armadillo trapped in his trash can and we didn't want you to see and make you sad. So we turned around."<br />
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Hmmm... What else?<br />
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"Well, we kind of bought a pellet gun to get rid of these things. They're digging under the foundation of our houses now! They've gone rogue! Four down at my last count."<br />
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Then, a few days later, while on the phone, she says, "Hey, did you see the picture on my Facebook page? It was on my front porch so we killed it with a shovel.<br />
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Oh.My.Goodness. It's a harmless garter snake for goodness sakes! These beautiful animals eat the disgusting vermin. Stop squishing them! Squish the<i><span style="font-size: large;"> vermin! </span></i> Hell, you can even shoot them with the pellet gun if it'll make ya feel better. Leave my critters alone!<br />
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Holy crap, am I still living in Saint Augustine, or have I been transported to Buttmunch, West VA? We don't shoot things in these parts! We trap them humanely and release them a few miles from our neighborhood.<br />
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At least that's the way it used to be done.<br />
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I'm thinking it's time to move.<br />
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Or get new friends.<br />
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Does it occur to anyone else that I'm really not fit to live in suburbia? Me, the critter lover, is meant to be out in the wide open, with animals walking up to my porch to be hand fed, birds alighting upon my raised hand, pecking gently at the organic seeds I offer.<br />
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I truly feel that my destiny is to commune with cattle like Temple Grandin.<br />
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I would just look a wee bit better while doing so.<br />
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Pssst! If you love me, you might love my <strike>stupid</strike> sister more. Go visit her at <a href="http://jillsbelieveitornot.blogspot.com/">Jill's Believe it or Not</a>, and tell her I sent you!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-57734198743464043602010-03-22T19:02:00.000-04:002010-03-22T19:02:24.002-04:00Words To The DogI want to thank you all so much for all the kind words you've shared, your prayers and your love. I'm still struggling with the loss of Poo... in fact just spent another 15 minutes or so bawling my eyes out. I've lost quite a few family members over the years and never doubted that they'd gone to heaven and were watching over me. <br />
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But since Poo crossed over, my faith in heaven seems to be slipping. What if she's not there? What if I really will never see her again? What if she doesn't know how much I love her?<br />
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I know this is not something that any of you can help me with. I have to work through it on my own. And even though I no longer practice the Catholic faith, it did soothe me a bit to read that in 1993 Pope John Paul II stated that animals do, in fact, have a soul, and go to heaven. I pray it's true.<br />
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Anyway, yesterday Jimmy wrote a poem to honor Poo and I thought I would share it with you. <br />
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Here come some more tears.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Words To The Dog</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I came into their lives when everything was new,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>From that point on they were never just two.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Dreams yet spoken,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Were not made or broken.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I was the keeper of what is good,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>During this time all was understood.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Living free and day to day,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It was quite fun-- I have to say.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I loved these two -- my mom and dad,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Along came another which was not too bad.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>A lion at heart,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>She and I were there from the start.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>We saw creatures come and go,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>We saw rain and we saw snow.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> We started north and traveled south,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Soon we added the girl with the birdie mouth.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>She was the special one -- the first of two,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Our lives changed -- we had something to do.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>We stood guard over those girls,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>From diapers to little curls.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>We saw them laugh and saw them cry,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>We were to love them until we die.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>We saw them off on their first day of school,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And lost some whiskers to some prehistoric tool.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>At night we watched over their dreams,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It was purr-fect -- so it seems.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>We managed with dignity and grace,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And kept the family's endless pace.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>God has a way of knowing,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And we thought he had a way of showing.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Then to our dismay,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You came that sunny warm day.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You are clumsy and rude,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You would lick my face -- how shrewd!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>My angels were moving faster and faster,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You, I feared were another disaster.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You are impatient -- thirsting for fun,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I slowly began to think that you were the one.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>To watch my angels lives continue to unfold,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Because my days are waning as I am growing old.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I think it is time to pass on my meow,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For your simple bow wow.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I pass the torch, my canine friend,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For my time has come to an end.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Please watch over them for me,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Until they are ready to be set free.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>There are tough times ahead,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So remember to choose carefully when going to bed.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Under your watch they will grow up,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And before long you will no longer be a pup.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>There will be graduation days, proms and gowns, </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>All the time there will be ups and downs.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Take it all in for a while,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And when in doubt flash that genuine smile.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I trust you will prevail,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For now I must set sail.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Meow Meow.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>J. Oko March, 2010</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For my family and Poo, rest in peace.</i></div><br />
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Pssst! If you love me, you might love my <strike>stupid</strike> sister more. Go visit her at <a href="http://jillsbelieveitornot.blogspot.com/">Jill's Believe it or Not</a>, and tell her I sent you!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2884255801358360477.post-83859746689623093182010-03-20T19:04:00.000-04:002010-03-20T19:04:44.820-04:00Today Heaven Shines Brighter, But My World Has DimmedI'm sitting here and I don't know if I can even write this post. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to express to all of you the pain and loss I'm feeling.<br />
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This morning, we had to have our beloved, 16-1/2 year old Siamese cat, Stinky, put to sleep.<br />
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I guess it doesn't matter why, just that it had to be done, and we're all having a hard time handling it with any sort of grace. You see, Stinky was our first child. Jimmy and I brought her home just a month after we were married, and this little tiny furball became our life, and yes, our child.<br />
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For more than 16 years, Stinky was there for us, always willing to give us unconditional love. Through several moves, two more cats brought into the family, the stupid Pug named Snuffie, two children, and finally, Strudel, Stinky did nothing but love all of us completely. Except for Strudel, that is. Once the dog came into our family, Stinky decided it was time to retire to the upstairs rooms for good.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Stinky, with her best fur friend and sister, Simmie.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S6VQahOyIkI/AAAAAAAAEF0/neWw8UJWG4M/s1600-h/Picture+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S6VQahOyIkI/AAAAAAAAEF0/neWw8UJWG4M/s400/Picture+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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Poo, as we always called her, was the most devoted and loving cat anyone could ever ask for. She has brightened our lives beyond measure, and with her passing, has dimmed our lives, at least temporarily.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Jimmy held her for hours last night.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S6VR0vvAtrI/AAAAAAAAEGM/n8fUyJBm1mA/s1600-h/DSCN0748.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S6VR0vvAtrI/AAAAAAAAEGM/n8fUyJBm1mA/s400/DSCN0748.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Jimmy kept telling me that Poo wasn't telling him she was ready to go. The true problem was that <i><span style="font-size: large;">we weren't ready to let </span></i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>her</b></span><i><span style="font-size: large;"> go.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">This morning she tried to convince us she was just fine by licking Jimmy's leftover tomato juice out of his cup.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S6VSYj126NI/AAAAAAAAEGU/lW_Hhtw8a28/s1600-h/DSCN0758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y8ywT-57YWE/S6VSYj126NI/AAAAAAAAEGU/lW_Hhtw8a28/s400/DSCN0758.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">My Dearest Stinky Poo Poo Queen of the Kitties Oko,</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I will love you always and forever. All the thousands of tears I am shedding for you will never compare to the thousands of moments of joy you brought to my life.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I know you've made it safely over the rainbow bridge and will be there to greet me some day with a pounce and a purr.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">My love to you always, </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Mommy</span></i><br />
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Pssst! If you love me, you might love my <strike>stupid</strike> sister more. Go visit her at <a href="http://jillsbelieveitornot.blogspot.com/">Jill's Believe it or Not</a>, and tell her I sent you!Justinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07011990752073017542noreply@blogger.com41