<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748</id><updated>2024-09-10T20:04:01.805-07:00</updated><category term="anxiety"/><category term="birthday"/><category term="bullying"/><category term="earthquake"/><category term="fears"/><category term="hope"/><category term="iceberg"/><category term="internet"/><category term="life"/><category term="love"/><category term="metaphors"/><category term="morality"/><category term="party"/><category term="personality"/><title type='text'>jersey girl lost and found</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default?redirect=false'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-839228147850746577</id><published>2016-11-04T17:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2016-11-04T17:07:21.528-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ramblings from a Starbucks....</title><content type='html'>It&#39;s that time of year again. Starbucks is transitioning from Pumpkin Spice Lattes to Peppermint Mochas, every department store looks like Buddy the Elf spent an overnight decorating, and the &quot;Black Friday is coming&quot; memes have started to spread. It&#39;s also that dark time of the year, both in the sense that we have to set the clocks back this weekend and in the sense that Election Day is upon us. Just when you thought the worst was behind us, the oh-not-another-Bush days, the hanging-chads-in-Florida, the Florida recount, etc. this year we are granted with the pleasure of deciding between, to say the least, two very different candidates. On the one hand, you have someone who has years of experience and has the decorum to deal with World leaders, and on the other you have, well, Donald Trump. It&#39;s like you are interviewing two people for a position, say in healthcare. Hillary would be the potential hire that had an impeccable resume, letters of recommendation from top physicians, and have credentials from top notch medical schools. Donald would be the guy who walks in and says &#39;hey, I fell the other day and put a Band-Aid on my knee, I&#39;m practically a surgeon! I know that many people have a problem with Hillary because she is female, or used the wrong email account, or had to defend some pretty nasty people against some innocent victims. I am in no way making her out to be the next patron saint of America. But, she has experience. Has she always been perfect? Hell no. What president has been? Remember Vietnam? Watergate? Taft stuck in the bathtub? Or more recently, the invasion of Iraq? the financial crisis? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
People who back Trump scare me. Seriously. It&#39;s like they are in an immature and abusive relationship. They are like, &#39;oh he says what is on his mind&#39; and &#39;I can&#39;t really defend all of his actions&#39;, but they are willing to vote for him. That is the equivalent of the girl with the black eye deciding to stay with the person who gave her said black eye because &#39;he says he loves me&#39;. The women that back him are probably the worst offenders. Words cannot be unsaid. Trump can&#39;t be like, &#39;let&#39;s nuke the middle east&#39; and then respond hours later with &#39;jk jk jk.&#39; after the bombs&amp;nbsp;start dropping. &lt;br /&gt;
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Then there is the question of &#39;freedom of choice&#39;. Now let me just make it clear, I, personally, do not condone the use of abortion as a form of birth control. However, there are extenuating circumstances in which abortion should be allowed as an option. For example, rape. I have never had to undergo the experience, but I can only imagine the emotional and physical toll it takes on a person. That individual has been deprived of their most basic rights as a human being. To add insult to that kind of injury, they are left with an unwanted pregnancy. How are we, as other human beings, supposed to tell another person that &#39;it sucks you got raped, but now you have a baby coming, so good luck&#39;. NO. The woman has already been tortured. Do not make her drudge through 9 months of constant reminders of the night in question. And I&#39;m not saying that if you are raped you MUST have an abortion. I am just saying you should have the option. Another set of circumstances that should permit the option of abortion are severe financial distress and/or poverty. Republicans already don&#39;t like having to part with their hard-stolen I mean &#39;hard-earned&#39; money to help those less fortunate. Think of the long term cost of forcing a child to be born into financial destitution. That child is born, and the mother has to apply for Medicaid and WIC, which are government funded based on taxes and such. As that child grows, they will need assistance with school lunches. Again, not saying that abortion should be used in all cases, but just playing a little devil&#39;s advocate with the wallets of the elites. &lt;br /&gt;
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Education has and always will be a topic of discussion until our country finally figures out what works. I think it would be great for technical schools and community colleges to be tuition free. However, there are far more costs beyond simple tuition. I have recently hit that road block myself. Textbooks. For example, I am about to take 7 credits at the local technical school toward a degree in nursing. The cost of tuition is roughly $1200. One of the books/packets required for the class is priced at just above $2500. ?:!??! Now, I am lucky enough that myself and my husband work our asses off to be able to afford school. We were aptly prepared for the cost of tuition. But for the textbook? I think I threw up in my mouth a little. Do you know what could be done with $2500? Cause I&#39;ve been thinking about it. For the equivalent of $2500, I could buy: &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoG17lCFJYp6Mz8T2QADe47QRh6LxTPm0FJeO02RlSGPf6Yq0OqzrXjaBiXmXtAO5MbDQIGjBgoO1x6HfqcCHCdEqtnrYOPyZIOdMgqZ1_wDlMSsRp700ZRyLGIZcjw2CC1M1g_JGL48E/s1600/jimmy+choo+shoe.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;200&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoG17lCFJYp6Mz8T2QADe47QRh6LxTPm0FJeO02RlSGPf6Yq0OqzrXjaBiXmXtAO5MbDQIGjBgoO1x6HfqcCHCdEqtnrYOPyZIOdMgqZ1_wDlMSsRp700ZRyLGIZcjw2CC1M1g_JGL48E/s200/jimmy+choo+shoe.jpg&quot; width=&quot;200&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;These pink Jimmy Choo&#39;s, and the same shoe in 3 other colors&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0YpxS1v50OXvL6JZ3onD8IHeIWgMJ0Bky26j80c3oiGE42DJtSaZWTNrbrRH19R9JuO7hV3EvAruylzYhhUi9UYYVDzBUIW-6oS-WO2cOg4GZ4bDAksyrsqrlE8iO3PUKWNDURMPUBQ/s1600/louis+vuitton+bag.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0YpxS1v50OXvL6JZ3onD8IHeIWgMJ0Bky26j80c3oiGE42DJtSaZWTNrbrRH19R9JuO7hV3EvAruylzYhhUi9UYYVDzBUIW-6oS-WO2cOg4GZ4bDAksyrsqrlE8iO3PUKWNDURMPUBQ/s320/louis+vuitton+bag.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;This Louis Vuitton bag, and another for a friend. &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmn7cOp1YMwUxf9HNqoSrE_zqgMFV8HpohGIMiy9BW13Csak20HD2JeEXkrZkRdgQTkPVB8E-KVeh1pll42bMCyham96bbzfccxBIYW8tSwc77l8yULogjzRvpi2on5t6Zndi7QoQ3ms/s1600/rome+trip.png&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;181&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmn7cOp1YMwUxf9HNqoSrE_zqgMFV8HpohGIMiy9BW13Csak20HD2JeEXkrZkRdgQTkPVB8E-KVeh1pll42bMCyham96bbzfccxBIYW8tSwc77l8yULogjzRvpi2on5t6Zndi7QoQ3ms/s320/rome+trip.png&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;This trip to Rome for me AND my husband, and another couple&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I think you get the idea. But, on the upside, when I am finished with the nursing program, I should eventually be in a financial place that I can afford all of these things, much to the chagrin of my miser-ish husband. (Love you!!)&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Anyway, I&#39;m not really sure what my point was in writing this, but I just felt I needed to put down some thoughts and lighten my head a bit. Until next time...&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/839228147850746577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2016/11/its-that-time-of-year-again.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/839228147850746577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/839228147850746577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2016/11/its-that-time-of-year-again.html' title='Ramblings from a Starbucks....'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoG17lCFJYp6Mz8T2QADe47QRh6LxTPm0FJeO02RlSGPf6Yq0OqzrXjaBiXmXtAO5MbDQIGjBgoO1x6HfqcCHCdEqtnrYOPyZIOdMgqZ1_wDlMSsRp700ZRyLGIZcjw2CC1M1g_JGL48E/s72-c/jimmy+choo+shoe.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-2094873207002138723</id><published>2012-02-05T09:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-02-05T09:15:40.627-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="bullying"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="internet"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="morality"/><title type='text'>The Downfall of Decorum</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time there was a groundbreaking social website known as Facebook. It was a wonderful place where college students could connect. Admission to this unique club was restricted to college students, who had to have a valid student email address to join. In those early days, reaching 100 friends was a milestone and there was no need for Farmville or fake accounts or bullying. However, more recently, I believe, it has hit a new low, along with many other social networking sites and the internet in general.&lt;br /&gt;
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One of the reasons for my sudden surge of interest in the subject is my wonderful boyfriend, JP, who is a Brit whose lived in the US for the past 12+ years. We&#39;ve often discussed how our society has moved downward morality-speaking and how our children are all too often the casualties. Bullying in schools has become rampant. Rumors went from word-of-mouth-distribution from person to person, and now can travel at the speed of light, if not faster. One click of the mouse or a touch of an enter key can truly destroy one person&#39;s reputation. And, at the end of the day, the only things we have are what we think of ourselves, and more distressing, what others think of us.&lt;br /&gt;
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As a student of education I found that our schools are not what they once were. They were once a safe haven from the outside, a place where a student could turn when times were tough. Now, however, many have turned into a place of fear, leading to tormented souls, students who turn to homeschooling to avoid harassment, and worst of all, those individuals who feel there is no other option but suicide.&lt;br /&gt;
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Am I the only one that feels this way? Does anyone else find the irony in the fact that the more &#39;evolved&#39; electronically and technologically we become as a society, the more soul-less and moral-less we have also become? How about how our careers and relationships can be made or broken by a simple online post, comment, photo-shopped pic, etc? Please feel free to comment. I would love to get opinions from a variety of sources.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/2094873207002138723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2012/02/downfall-of-decorum.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/2094873207002138723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/2094873207002138723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2012/02/downfall-of-decorum.html' title='The Downfall of Decorum'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-6933320432808131767</id><published>2012-01-27T22:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-27T22:04:50.076-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="earthquake"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="iceberg"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="metaphors"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="personality"/><title type='text'>what does the movie Abduction, &quot;Magic Eye&quot; posters, icebergs, and earthquakes have to do with me?</title><content type='html'>While in this state of &#39;extended hiatus from the working world&#39; (aka unemployment) I have had plenty of time to gather my thoughts and relax for more hours of the day than I ever thought possible. Not only have I been thinking, but also reading and watching movies. Sometimes you find inspiration in the strangest places, where at first glance they seem completely unrelated but then make perfect sense. Tonight&#39;s inspiration was the movie &lt;u&gt;Abduction&lt;/u&gt;. For those unfamiliar with the movie, it&#39;s basically about this high school kid Nathan (Taylor Lautner) who, through a seemingly benign sociology assignment on missing children, discovers that his family and history is not quite what he thought it was.&lt;br /&gt;
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This movie not only reminded me of certain aspects that are relevant to my own life, but also to those annoyingly popular &quot;Magic Eye&quot; posters from the &#39;90s. I always hated seeing one of these things because it immediately drew everyone into it, and everyone shouting &#39;oh i see it!!!&#39; and me pretending to figure it out, but never actually being able to see the damn hidden picture. It wasn&#39;t the first time I was unable to see what was right in front of me, the only thing I needed to do was to look a little closer to see the deeper picture.&lt;br /&gt;
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From the &quot;magic eye&quot; posters I think about how sometimes you can look at something or someone familiar, something you have seen hundreds of times before and just know that something is not quite the same, just the least bit different, but you just can&#39;t quite put your finger on it. Then, when someone tells you what it is (so you like my new haircut?) you see it and think to yourself &#39;how on earth did I miss that&#39;?&lt;br /&gt;
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Furthermore, it brings me to the expression &quot;just the tip of the iceberg&quot; and the fact that you never quite know what is going on just below the surface just by looking at what is most obvious.&lt;br /&gt;
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Most people would probably think what this has to do with the movie &amp;nbsp;&lt;u&gt;Abduction&lt;/u&gt;&amp;nbsp;and even more so what it has to do with my life. Well, first I would say that&#39;s because they don&#39;t know me well enough, but then I would add more explanation, after adding one more example of thoughts that arise. I have never been in an earthquake (knock on wood) but I have seen enough of them on television to know what they are all about. The basics of it are that there are these plates under the surface that, when they bump against each other, cause the earth above to shake and break (not to be confused with the pork chop seasoning brand shake and bake). Those living above ground may not have even realized a fault line was just below them until an earthquake hit. Others that know about the fault line are never quite sure when another one will hit. In between the earthquakes, everything seems sturdy. Buildings stay standing and streets are smooth. But then the moment arrives, when everything starts to shake. In that moment, whether the person knows about the fault line or not, no one knows exactly what is going to happen. How long will it last? How much destruction will it cause? Will my house still be in one piece?&lt;br /&gt;
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Secrets, at least from my experiences, are a lot like fault lines. Those that know the secrets, like those that know the fault lines lying below the surface, are just holding their breath from moment to moment waiting for the moment to come when the earth begins to shake and the fault line makes itself known. For the ones the secrets are being kept from, they are like the people that have no idea there was a fault line until the earthquake occurred. Regardless of whether you are the secret keeper or the one from whom the secret is kept, or the know-er of the fault line or the caught-by-surprise earthquake survivor, one thing is sure: no one is ever the same. A fault line, like a secret, once exposed can never be hidden again.&lt;br /&gt;
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Where am I going with this? Well, there is a lot more to me than meets the eye. The fault line has been discovered, and can never be re-hidden, but there are still people close to the fault line that are oblivious to it&#39;s existence. Like the person who can&#39;t quite put their finger on the slight difference in the appearance of a familiar object, I myself have had the experience of feeling as if something, however small, just didn&#39;t feel &quot;right&quot;. And, in the way that the person responds once hearing what that difference is, I was dumbfounded by the fact that the truth had been staring at me all along, I just never knew it. I never looked further into the picture, never asked what it was that made me different. What differences would have been made to my current situation or even my very personality had I know the fault line was there all along?</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/6933320432808131767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2012/01/what-does-movie-abduction-magic-eye.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/6933320432808131767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/6933320432808131767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2012/01/what-does-movie-abduction-magic-eye.html' title='what does the movie Abduction, &quot;Magic Eye&quot; posters, icebergs, and earthquakes have to do with me?'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-4708504938215597348</id><published>2012-01-22T14:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-22T14:42:00.581-08:00</updated><title type='text'>So long 2011....Hello 2012</title><content type='html'>Tonight is far from my &quot;usual&quot; New Year&#39;s Eve. Well, in truth, I haven&#39;t had a really interesting or exciting New Year&#39;s Eve since we left New Jersey. But this year is quite different. My youngest sister is spending the holiday with her dad back in NJ, and my middle sister, who was supposed to stay here through the weekend, left yesterday with her boyfriend, because, well, we don&#39;t exactly all get along. But that&#39;s another story entirely. So here it is, 10:30ish EST on New Years Eve, and my mom and I are lounging on the couch in pajamas, flipping through the varying televised celebrations.&lt;br /&gt;
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There is one bright spot, however, is that thanks to the powers of the internet and Skype, I can talk to the wonderfully amazing man JP that, although he is thousands of miles away, feels like he is right here.&lt;br /&gt;
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*Note: I started writing this blog New Year&#39;s Eve. I intended to add on to it the next day, but haven&#39;t so I am posting it as-is.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/4708504938215597348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2012/01/so-long-2011hello-2012.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/4708504938215597348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/4708504938215597348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2012/01/so-long-2011hello-2012.html' title='So long 2011....Hello 2012'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-892139306516846621</id><published>2011-11-23T22:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-23T22:36:27.960-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="anxiety"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="fears"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="hope"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love"/><title type='text'>Memory</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: #351c75; font-family: &#39;Helvetica Neue&#39;, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;I have kind of a strange memory. Not that anyone&#39;s memory can ever be perfect. There are just certain points in time and bits and pieces that I can remember clearly to this very day. Yet, if you ask me what I had for lunch last Tuesday, a guess would be as close as the truth. Why do I bring this up now? Well, a few reasons. Mainly it&#39;s because I&#39;ve been home-a lot-lately and it&#39;s beginning to take a toll on me. In the beginning it was easy because I had school stuff to do and what not but as that winds down I have more and more time to ---think. And not just the day to day thinking-about-what-i-want-to-make-for-breakfast or the i-have-to-check-facebook-again thinking. It&#39;s the deep thinking. The scary thinking that looms in the shadows of my mind amid the anxieties and panic attacks.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: #351c75; font-family: &#39;Helvetica Neue&#39;, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: #351c75; font-family: &#39;Helvetica Neue&#39;, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;One such memory was triggered recently and this is an example of how my memory can be. See if you can keep up with this runaway train of thought:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: #351c75; font-family: &#39;Helvetica Neue&#39;, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;It is now towards the end of November. It&#39;s technically Thanksgiving actually because where I live it is currently 1:27 a.m. Thanksgiving means that it is almost December, which brings Christmas and New Year&#39;s Eve. This year we are turning from 2011 into 2012. The year 2012 brings me back to 1998. Yes, way back in the late 1900s. What&#39;s so special about 1998? That would be the year I started high school. The year I was taking World History with Mr. Steiger (a name that will remain in my subconscious for a lifetime because of the various rumors maintained about him, one was that basically any girl who wore a skirt while giving a presentation was almost always guaranteed an A). In that World History class we learned about the early peoples including the Mayans. Yes, those crazy ancient peoples of South America that devised some interesting concepts, one being a system of mathematics, and the other the infamous Mayan calendar. I remember learning in that classroom about the end of the Mayan calendar ending in 2012. I remember sitting in that class we all thought about how old we&#39;d be by the time 2012 came around (mind you this was 14 years ago, so 2012 seemed lightyears away). I remember thinking, Hmm I&#39;ll be 28 by then. Married with a child or two. Living a pretty good life. And now I sit here and it&#39;s almost 2012. I just turned 27 and that means next year is the big 28. Am I married? Nope. Children? not by a longshot. And this brings us to where I am at now.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: #351c75; font-family: &#39;Helvetica Neue&#39;, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: #351c75; font-family: &#39;Helvetica Neue&#39;, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;I know that I won&#39;t be single and childless forever (especially not if JP has anything to say about it), but I still can&#39;t help feeling that I haven&#39;t lived up to my own expectations, and that can be rather unsettling. It&#39;s one thing not meeting other&#39;s expectations, but when you fall short of your own, you feel infinitely worse. This could be why my relatively stable mental state has recently boarded a rollercoaster and decided to have a little fun with me. I figure the best way to deal with all of this would be to release the thoughts from my mind and instead see them live and in print. What better place than in a blog? So here it is. It may not be eloquent, and it may never spark a best seller or movie of the year. But if it helps me to retain my sanity a bit longer, I&#39;m all for it. Who knows, maybe someone will stumble across this post accidentally and be helped by it. I don&#39;t know. All I do know is that I will type it out, and continue to type it out in subsequent blog entries, and then hit post, so that it remains a permanent mark in cyberspace, that can be reviewed and revisited whenever I, or anyone else, so chooses.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/892139306516846621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/11/memory.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/892139306516846621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/892139306516846621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/11/memory.html' title='Memory'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-2539905714572385471</id><published>2011-10-31T22:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-31T22:24:28.717-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trick or Treat....southern style</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;If I have learned at least one thing in the four years I have lived in South Carolina it is this : They do everything a *little* bit different here.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;This Halloween my sister decided to go trick-or-treating after debating whether or not to go for the month before. Luckily, she was a bit crafty this year and made a costume out of things we had around the house (which was good since our budget is pretty sucky right now). My sister wanted to meet up with her friend to go around the neighborhood we&#39;ve been to for past Halloween&#39;s here. The group consisted of myself, my mom, my sister, her friend, her friend&#39;s mom, aunt, uncle, cousin, cousin&#39;s husband, cousin&#39;s baby, and brother (along with brother&#39;s friends). Her friend&#39;s mom, despite being older than pretty much anyone approaching doors for candy, was on a mission for candy nonetheless. Now, let me preface the conversation to follow with the fact that yes, they are both blond. This is a real conversation between my sister&#39;s friend (A) and her mom (L):&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;A: mom what did you get?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;L: a lollipop&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; A: what kind?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;L: a blowpop&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;A: what kind?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;L: a blowpop*&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;*This exchange happened for a few question/responses more, and A never got the answer she was looking for, which was the FLAVOR of the blowpop.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;A favorite mode of transportation for peoples in the south: the golf cart. Clearly not just for golf courses anymore. Oh no. They are used as short-distance transportation devices, such as picking up a child from school in the same neighborhood, or in this case, trick-or-treating. And clearly they don&#39;t take their golf-carts lightly as I walked past one that had a stereo installed. I can just see someone now, cruising down the block at a whopping 8mph headbanging in their golf cart.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;My mom and I, of course, joked along the way at poked a bit of fun at the true southerners and their silly antics.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Another one of our &quot;tradi&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;tions&quot; (as my sister&#39;s friend&#39;s mom called it) was attending the free carnival/&quot;fall festival&quot; at the nearby Baptist church. There is nothing better than benefiting from the kindness of Baptists in cashing in on free food and drink. For the simple price of signing your name on a card and including your email address, you can enter the lawn near their church for a festival that includes a rock wall, a few carnival rides, a few carnival games, and free hot dogs and soda. I love the irony of children dressed up for Halloween (which some still view as a Pagan ritual) enjoying free stuff from a Baptist church. However, it&#39;s not totally free and clear. For a majority of the event their is a &quot;worship band&quot; or in the case of this Halloween, a screen and projector set up displaying some sort of photo display and &quot;Jesus loves you&quot; choruses in the background.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;Another fun thing to point out is the fact that the South, in it&#39;s supreme power, feels that it can delegate when and where to celebrate Halloween. Some neighborhoods declared that Sunday October 30 will be the date for Trick or Treating. Also, they make a majority, if not all, of the actions of the police departments public knowledge. They remind everyone of the regulations placed on registered sex offenders and those that are on parole for the Halloween festivities. They state at every opportunity that those who are on said lists will be required to remain indoors, and in many areas will be checked up on, but also that they are to not have their lights on and not give out candy. This led me to develop an interesting &quot;game&quot; for myself while trick or treating. The game was simple: when we passed a house with it&#39;s lights out, there were three options to guess:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;1. They ran out of candy&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;2. They don&#39;t believe in Halloween&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;3. They are registered sex offenders on parole...WALK FASTER&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;I tried to invite my mom to play, but she denied and scolded me because apparently my voice travels and I should try not to offend people.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;Something else I have noted and laughed at in terms of living in this great state. When a major corporation, such as Boeing, BMW, or more recently, a pharmaceutical company decides to build a factory/production center/etc in our state, the governor beams at the thought that &quot;They chose us. This is an amazing thing and we should be proud!&quot;. No, you shouldn&#39;t. When you list the other states that were vying for said corporation, there is one clear reason as to why they chose us: CHEAP LABOR. This state is not very kind to it&#39;s workers (to put it nicely). The conditions are sub-par, the wages are as well. Of course a major corporation is going to move their offices/production to a state where there is little concern for blue-collared and minimum-waged workers. It&#39;s simple economics. Less money paid to employees=Larger profit/bottom line for corporation. Sure the state is going to make a bit of money off of the project, but it doesn&#39;t do the people any good.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;Ok, enough of the ranting. I just had to get some of that stuff out since it&#39;s been so long since my last blog. The more that I talk to JP and look at houses in Maine, the more I can&#39;t wait to get out of here. The cons greatly outnumber the pros (which are basically only the weather and the cost of living). Despite my mother&#39;s nay-saying as to the present and future relationship of myself and JP, I continue to hold my head up high and remain optimistic. He loves me exactly the way that I am, even knowing all of my faults. How often does that come along? We can talk for hours on end, share similar interests, and most important of all, want to build a relationship that will last. It may not have been a very conventional &quot;courtship&quot;, but then again, what is these days? People date for years upon years, only to get married then divorced withing the first 3 years. There are others that date only a few months and are married decades. No one can really pinpoint what is right and wrong when it comes to relationships. I just know that all of the ones I have been in up until now have not worked, and the reasons why they did not work. The things that were missing from those relationships are ever present in JP. We communicate well. We make each other laugh, smile, and feel good about ourselves. I look forward to the crazy whirlwind that is to come.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i style=&quot;background-color: white;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/2539905714572385471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/trick-or-treatsouthern-style.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/2539905714572385471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/2539905714572385471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/trick-or-treatsouthern-style.html' title='Trick or Treat....southern style'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-8513095972156977904</id><published>2011-10-25T12:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-25T12:06:34.807-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="birthday"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="party"/><title type='text'>Happy Birthday to me :)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;As the title of this blog entry suggests, today is my birthday. My 27th birthday to be exact. It&#39;s strange because it doesn&#39;t feel like a birthday, at least not in the sense that we&#39;re used to as kids. When I was younger, my birthday was exciting. I started counting down at least a month before and made sure everyone around me was aware of the date. (After all, a majority of my birthdays existed in a pre-Facebook-reminder era). For example:&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;10 YEARS AGO.....&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;It was my 17th birthday. I was counting down the final week that stood between me and my drivers license (which I got on Halloween that year). I was a senior in high school starting to look at colleges. I can&#39;t remember what I did for my actual birthday, but I know that it was in a time where multiple birthday parties existed (one for friends, one for family, and then the cake on my actual birthday). I&#39;m sure all of my friends got together and we either did something at the house or all went to the movies or something.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;20 YEARS AGO....&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;It was my 7th birthday. My reign as an &quot;only child&quot; was coming to an end (my mom was pregnant with my sister at the time, whom entered our lives on June 20, 1992). I had just started school in a public school, changing from the Catholic school I attended for Kindergarten and 1st grade (the school had closed, and we moved from our tiny apartment to a two-family across from my new school). I was taking ballet/tap/jazz classes with Ms. Brown (may she rest in peace) and more than likely had a birthday party including new school friends and people from my dance class.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;There have been a few constants in terms of Birthday celebrations over the years, despite changes in circumstances:&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;1) The birthday girl always gets to choose where to go for dinner (when I was younger, it might have been choosing what we had for dinner, but I don&#39;t remember too much from that point).&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;img height=&quot;300&quot; src=&quot;http://a6.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/317579_10150506685682501_617202500_11394124_882209220_n.jpg&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot; width=&quot;400&quot; /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;This year I chose Yamato&#39;s (hibachi)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;2) The birthday girl always gets &quot;control&quot; of things such as tv/radio/what movies to watch on their birthday.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;3) Choice of birthday cake (I used to go for the ice cream cake, then it was yellow cake with chocolate frosting and bananas, and now since I&#39;ve been living in the south it is red velvet with cream cheese icing).&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;img height=&quot;286&quot; src=&quot;http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/45613_584888806204_22306131_33670454_5030969_n.jpg&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot; width=&quot;400&quot; /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Here is an old-school pic from a birthday party&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Most of my birthdays have gone really well. There were a few that had a bit of a bumpy ride. For example:&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;When I was younger (somewhere between 8-12) I had a pinata and one of my friends was accidentally given a black eye by another friend at the party (damn blindfolds and wiffle ball bats).&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;My 21st birthday was a bunch of crap: my mom was sick so my parents and sisters didn&#39;t come out for my birthday dinner (I was away at school), my bf at the time didn&#39;t care if we did anything for my birthday because it was &quot;just another day on the calendar&quot; and ended up being guilted into taking me to dinner, where I proceeded to cry...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;My 23rd birthday was spent as my first day as a waitress (after moving to South Carolina only weeks earlier)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;img height=&quot;300&quot; src=&quot;http://a5.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-ash1/v167/243/9/22306131/n22306131_31164967_4086.jpg&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot; width=&quot;400&quot; /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;the location at which I was a waitress&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;One thing I can say is that I have gotten some pretty good birthday gifts. At 13, my mom got me birthstone earrings. At 21, I got a necklace and matching earrings. Somewhere around my 20th or 21st birthday my best friend (and a future bf) took me to get my belly button pierced (strangest gift to date, and it came out about a year later..it clearly didn&#39;t want to be there). I&#39;ve always loved the cards I&#39;ve gotten from friends and family as well.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Now, a rant about birthdays in this 21st century of ours: Facebook is the devil when it comes to birthdays. Of course it works to my advantage because they politely remind me when friends and friends-of-friends/acquaintances have birthdays, but it leaves me skeptical on my birthday. How many people on my friends list actually know my birthday? How many of them do I talk to on a somewhat regular basis? How many are writing on my wall simply to look good and have no interest in the fact that it&#39;s my birthday? Either way, it is kind of fun to see all the people that post on your wall.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Oh, and one more rant: the one thing I want for my birthday I can&#39;t have. At least not right now. That would be something that I can keep forever, that will love me unconditionally (although sometimes they might not exactly want to), and that is currently thousands of miles away: JP. Two simple letters. But one not-so-simple individual. Not that it&#39;s a bad thing. While it sucks that he can&#39;t be here for this birthday, he promises (and I will hold him to it) that he will be there for every birthday to follow (as well as Thanksgivings, Christmases, New Year&#39;s Eves, etc). He is the sweetest man I have known. We both know that what we have is the reason why no other relationships of ours have worked. It&#39;s because we were both passing time to get to this one.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;img height=&quot;300&quot; src=&quot;http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-ash1/v58/79/3/22302195/n22302195_30468204_9031.jpg&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot; width=&quot;400&quot; /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;blockquote class=&quot;tr_bq&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;And another random birthday picture (can you find me?)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/8513095972156977904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/happy-birthday-to-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/8513095972156977904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/8513095972156977904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/happy-birthday-to-me.html' title='Happy Birthday to me :)'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-5595826353673747231</id><published>2011-10-16T20:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-16T20:34:45.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Updates and Missed messages</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;I thought that once I started writing a blog that ideas and words would come out easily, as I always have plenty of thoughts in my head. But, it seems that once I am sitting in front of the computer, I have no words. Everything I have thought of that day seems inconsequential and meaningless and not worthy of a new blog entry. Because of this I have succumbed to a pattern of &quot;if you don&#39;t have anything good to blog, don&#39;t blog at all&quot; and therefore I have gone days between blog entries.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Maybe it has to do with the fact that every detail is always so up-in-the-air that it doesn&#39;t make sense to write about only one, but explaining every possibility would be terribly dry and boring.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Plus, there is my old standby response which is if something becomes too difficult or seemingly burdensome, walk away. Sadly enough a good analogy here would be the various games on Facebook. They are interesting and new at first, and then after a while there is too much upkeep. What happens then? Those games go stale by the wayside and I&#39;m left looking for a new thing. But how feasible is that kind of behavior in real life? I have found out that when it comes to &quot;fight or flight&quot;, my &quot;flight&quot; side is well exercised but I couldn&#39;t fight my way out of a wet paper bag. (I would probably just sit in the bag and wait for it to dissolve around me and then walk away.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Enough of my rhetorical rambling and saying a lot but nothing at the same time and get down to what&#39;s really going on. On the one hand, I am almost done with my paralegal program and will soon be able to start looking for jobs. I also have a sweet, smart, funny guy JP in my life that makes me smile. The down side of that? I&#39;m in SC, and he&#39;s in AZ. He&#39;s been studying like crazy so he can take the boards he needs to pass to be an LPN. Once that happens it will be easier for him to come back to South Carolina. However, once back in South Carolina, we will all be living under one roof for the time being. How long will that be? I don&#39;t know. That changes by the day. Some days I feel like throwing my hands up and conceding to life in the South. Other days I want to run to I-95 and keep heading north until I hit the NJ Parkway. My family is no help either. My little sister doesn&#39;t want to leave here until she&#39;s done with high school. Most days, my mom wants to move before she starts high school (and avoid being locked in for another 4 years). My other sister (who lives with her boyfriend and his mom and siblings a majority of the time) keeps bouncing around like Tigger on speed. One day she wants to be in California, another she&#39;s talking about Clemson (which she asked my opinion on since I attended (though did not graduate) from the University of South Carolina, sworn enemies of Clemson although I didn&#39;t even care that I &quot;was a gamecock&quot; and she was looking to be a tiger. my thoughts screamed &quot;no that means we&#39;ll be stuck here longer!!!). The one thing about having a close family is that it is both a blessing and a curse. On the blessing side, we have a tendency to stick together. However, sticking together often gets complicated when we all want to do different things at the same time.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;ANYWAY...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Then there is the fact that for whatever reason my little sister despises my very existence and makes it clear at all parts of the day. Every comment or interaction from her to me involves a curse word or some dig at my physical appearance (I am by no means fat, but that doesn&#39;t stop her from being a brat). Another frustration that is consistently looming in our household is finance, and more appropriately, debt. Some times I wish I was strong enough to just run. Pack up what I would need and just run. But that&#39;s not me (at least not when it comes to my mom and sisters). The thing about having a good deal of debt is that you often must compromise and sacrifice. Some of us in the house are better at it than others. When certain people want something they can not have, they do not accept it and walk away. OH NO. They whine and call names and guilt trip and woe-is-me and kick and scream until one of the others offers to sell bodily organs just to shut her up. AND these are the same days that I don&#39;t want JP anywhere near our house which just saddens me more because that means we&#39;ll be apart longer that we already have and will be in the near future. Then I think about the whole thing with JP and wonder if I&#39;m crazy or being foolish. We talk all the time. We get along well, share similar interests, are both quite intelligent. But then it hits me, why is someone like him willing to stall out on other things he could be doing to instead succumb to that which is my household. I want to run to him and push him away all in the same thought. One minute I&#39;m smiling and happy that he asked me about having a &quot;date&quot; where we go on a virtual tour of the MET in NYC (one of my favorite museums, and somewhere he has not been) and the next minute I&#39;m rethinking everything.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: purple; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Even now as I type I look at the clock and it&#39;s 11:31. I&#39;m 31 minutes late for our virtual date. There is a text on my phone that I&#39;m sure is from him but I haven&#39;t looked at my phone and there was an IM that just came up a few minutes ago that I minimized like it was a pop-up ad for Pepsi. Is he really willing to put himself in this situation simply to be with me? The neurotic, anxiety-riddled, near 27 year old child that won&#39;t leave home and doesn&#39;t have her own life? Maybe I&#39;m not the only crazy one here.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/5595826353673747231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/updates-and-missed-messages.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/5595826353673747231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/5595826353673747231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/updates-and-missed-messages.html' title='Updates and Missed messages'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-1227630237442060095</id><published>2011-10-05T21:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-05T21:20:05.574-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a bittersweet anniversary-in memory of the worst job ever and my move to the South</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Tomorrow marks the fourth anniversary of our departure from our home state of New Jersey. Some days it seems like it&#39;s been longer than that, and others it&#39;s hard to imagine we&#39;ve been here that long. Again, &#39;here&#39; is South Carolina. When I first got here I laughed at the question &quot; Are you a Yankee or a Damn Yankee?&quot; I think at this point I&#39;m somewhere in between. I don&#39;t plan on staying here forever, but for the near future I shall call this state &#39;home&#39;.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;How in the world did a girl and her family from New Jersey end up in South Carolina? Well, that can be a long story. The short version for now is this: Father/Ex-Husband screwed over family (after screwing secretary for months), Mother/Ex-Wife wanted a nice place to live that was more affordable. Lo and behold here we are. We were not welcomed by family or friends, we were welcome with the cold hard truth that we were not in Jersey anymore. You would think that after four years I would have gotten better adjusted to living here, but some days the differences just smack you in the face. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;My first job after arriving in South Carolina was as a waitress. At first, this sounded like a splendid idea. I would be working with people, so that meant I had the chance to make friends, and I was working in a popular local diner/restaurant (it&#39;s classified as a restaurant because they don&#39;t have diners in South Carolina, but being from Jersey, I call it like I see it) so it seemed that the money would be decent and maybe I&#39;d learn a bit about the area. Well, I definitely learned about the area, but not in the way I had anticipated. You see, only being here for about a month I did not quite have my &quot;y&#39;all&quot;s and &quot;sweet tea&quot; lingo in place. I decided that in this case, honesty would be the best policy and I would throw myself at the mercy of the customer.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Maybe that wasn&#39;t the best idea.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Here is one of the first things I&#39;ve learned: the vast difference between &quot;iced tea&quot; and &quot;sweet tea&quot;. &quot;Iced tea&quot; is the Yankee version. If made homemade, the two teas begin similar ways but what is added to them towards the end makes all the difference. Iced tea uses a moderate amount of sugar, mostly just to take the bitterness out of the tea, and almost always flavored with lemon. &quot;Sweet tea&quot; on the other hand, is generally without lemon flavoring and an inordinate amount of sugar (the only way &amp;nbsp;I can handle it is to pour one quarter cup of sweet tea and the rest of the cup with plain water). But I digress.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Then, there is the language barrier. Yes, I know it&#39;s the same country but sometimes that&#39;s easy to forget. First of all, I have always had the habit of saying &quot;you guys&quot; when referring to a group of people, regardless of their gender. Well, one customer sitting in a booth with three other females did not waste time correcting my error. When I asked if there was &quot;anything else I could get you guys&quot; the leader of the pack flatly replied &quot;there are no men at this table miss&quot;. I simply gave them an &quot;ok&quot; in response and once out of view, proceeded in rolling my eyes. A few other &quot;dialect&quot; issues that sometimes get severely under my skin (semi-illustrated):&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;that thing you push around in the grocery store and such is not a &quot;buggy&quot;. a &quot;buggy&quot; is something that is driven by the Amish or something you rent at the beach . a &quot;cart&quot; is used to haul groceries.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OGFUywMBj0HbKiPuKarUlq6r2Z_bOnMWfo_2GIvU04uMuDlpCYZ3n4QX-NGQ66i7M4R0S-mKPFDjlLLenS9_GP1nWfHtAyFux38Op9aPAQ2M7ZOkBqjqzDUUEQ6CTqnNbqse-k9lgg8/s1600/horse-buggy-amish.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;223&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OGFUywMBj0HbKiPuKarUlq6r2Z_bOnMWfo_2GIvU04uMuDlpCYZ3n4QX-NGQ66i7M4R0S-mKPFDjlLLenS9_GP1nWfHtAyFux38Op9aPAQ2M7ZOkBqjqzDUUEQ6CTqnNbqse-k9lgg8/s320/horse-buggy-amish.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Amish Buggy&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRFGVl96P04ybQDdIIR6pZ0LkPZVS1uefwRi0R_0_cBikaXdZE8Arr9pEHcsopRxz28vtCS_gOhgBxy9rNhTl_xtE9khye9f9jvmE4j3yrGqcTjuOs9Y8fD9Xhw-tHH9lOE368unhHcHI/s1600/pics-med-171-309756-vw-buggy.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;249&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRFGVl96P04ybQDdIIR6pZ0LkPZVS1uefwRi0R_0_cBikaXdZE8Arr9pEHcsopRxz28vtCS_gOhgBxy9rNhTl_xtE9khye9f9jvmE4j3yrGqcTjuOs9Y8fD9Xhw-tHH9lOE368unhHcHI/s320/pics-med-171-309756-vw-buggy.jpg&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;Dune Buggy&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;when you get home from said grocery store, you do not &quot;put up&quot; your groceries. this makes no logical sense. What? do you not use the drawers in the bottom of your fridge? Unless your cat or small child is putting the groceries away, that is not &quot;up&quot;. therefore, you put things &quot;away&quot;, not &quot;up&quot;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&quot;Ma&#39;am&quot; is not a welcome greeting for most. in other parts of the country, in fact, this is an insult. Rule of thumb: if you have to still card the person for a cigarette or alcohol purchase, they are not a ma&#39;am. if they flash their AARP card, ma&#39;am away.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&quot;fixin&#39; to&quot; does not make sense as a phrase for the preparation of something. fixin&#39; is related to the word fixing, meaning to mend that which is broken. &quot;fixin&#39; to go out&quot; translates to &quot;mending the going out&quot;. what are you mending? if you &quot;fix&quot; dinner, what did you do to break it in the first place?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;I think I have pissed off enough people at this point. Another blog at a later time, I&#39;m sure, will discuss the curious cuisine that is native here. I don&#39;t worry too much about it. I don&#39;t sit at home and fret that I don&#39;t have too many friends here. Not to say I haven&#39;t tried, but there always seems to be this divide. I never realized how &quot;Northern&quot; my ways were all the while I was in New Jersey, but it&#39;s amazing what you can learn about yourself when you are put in a new situation.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/1227630237442060095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/bittersweet-anniversary-in-memory-of.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/1227630237442060095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/1227630237442060095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/bittersweet-anniversary-in-memory-of.html' title='a bittersweet anniversary-in memory of the worst job ever and my move to the South'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OGFUywMBj0HbKiPuKarUlq6r2Z_bOnMWfo_2GIvU04uMuDlpCYZ3n4QX-NGQ66i7M4R0S-mKPFDjlLLenS9_GP1nWfHtAyFux38Op9aPAQ2M7ZOkBqjqzDUUEQ6CTqnNbqse-k9lgg8/s72-c/horse-buggy-amish.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-2000754158092636764</id><published>2011-10-03T20:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-03T20:33:23.506-07:00</updated><title type='text'>strange things....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;You never really know where a cup of coffee and good conversation is going to lead. After that two hour+ conversation at the coffee shop I would have never imagined what would unfold in the days that followed.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;After getting dropped off at home that night, I had sent a text message thanking JP and letting him know that I had a good time. He said the same. The next day, I got a message from him saying he enjoyed our conversation and wanted to see me again, but that he was on his way to AZ to his parent&#39;s house because of some issue with his immigration papers. He called to explain the situation a bit better while he was in bumper to bumper traffic in Kentucky and again later when he had to get a new tire put on. I don&#39;t know what it was, but something interesting was about to start forming.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;What is the first thing that usually comes to mind when someone is having problems with their legal immigration status? Well, besides deportation there is marriage. Which is what many of his friends brought up as a solution to the situation. We joked about it a bit at first and continued talking every day on the phone and via text, getting to know each other. One thing he was adamant about from the beginning was that he would only pursue the marriage option with someone if he truly saw himself with that person.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;There was something refreshing about being able to be completely and utterly honest with another person, especially one of the opposite sex. We talked about anything and everything: favorite books, favorite movies, biggest pet peeves, what side of the bed we sleep on. Over time, things started progressing from joking to something more serious. When we talked about what was happening, things were becoming clearer. We started talking about more important topics like how many kids we want, where we want to live, how big of a house to have. He also began showing me information on what the legal process would be if we were to move forward with everything. We started talking about how astonished we both were in the fact that neither one of us ever expected this to grow into what it was. I even asked him one night about how he knew when it crossed over from a joke to something real. Here is what he said: &quot;I was thinking, before shit happened {him having to return to AZ because of paperwork issues} I&#39;m going to pursue this woman, there&#39;s something about her that makes me tick and after the conversation on Sat about Texas, I thought, yep, she is someone I&#39;d love around in my life, maybe she&#39;s someone who can keep me on my toes and then Mon or Tues, can&#39;t remember when, I realised yes, this is a woman I&#39;d like around, and I&#39;m going to try and keep her around in my life.&quot; Now, a note about the Texas conversation. He had been driving through Texas and we got to talking about how it was the &#39;Lone-Star&#39; state because it had at one point been a separate country. We also got to talking about the states and in particular a show on the History Channel called &quot;How the States Got their Shape&quot; and remembered one about the state of Texas. We were talking about the different countries&#39; flags that are flown at the state house in Texas but couldn&#39;t come up with all six. Here is where being a super-nerd came in handy. You see, I&#39;m a bit of a nerd. Ok, a lot a bit a nerd. Because of this I did a Google search of Texas to find out the six different countries and called him back. He told me that this had impressed him and that one thing he is looking for in a woman is someone who can challenge him and wants to teach him things, and a woman he can converse with about anything and everything.&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: #222222;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 18px;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;Well if there is one thing I know to do well, it&#39;s talk. I think one of the things that automatically drew me to him is the fact that he talks as much, if not more, than I do. Our Skype conversations run on for hours and before I know it, it&#39;s 3 or 4 am. You would think that after almost a month of such extensive conversations, we&#39;d just about cover everything we both knew. But there is always something else. Something new to talk about. Something new to show the other person on a favorite website, or a map, or some nugget of information they got that day.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 18px;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif;&quot;&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;Apple-style-span&quot; style=&quot;line-height: 18px;&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Even though there are thousands of miles between us right now, we grow closer every day. I look forward to where this crazy adventure will lead.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/2000754158092636764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/strange-things.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/2000754158092636764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/2000754158092636764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/strange-things.html' title='strange things....'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6431783485368367748.post-7004662146867169091</id><published>2011-10-01T20:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-01T21:00:27.070-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Countdown to 27</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: justify;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;color: rgb(153, 51, 153);&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-size:100%;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: georgia;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;It&#39;s the first day of October and that means one thing-countdown to my birthday!! Yes, in a short 24 days I will turn the big 2-7. One year closer to 30. One year further from 21. I&#39;ve found that the best way to cope with getting older is making sure you surround yourself with people older than you are. That way, whenever you complain about your age, they remind you that it could be worse, you could be as old as them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least the year has taken a bit of a more interesting turn, after not graduating from the Graduate program at USC and applying to 100+ jobs with no call backs. So, most of my days are spent around the house, doing laundry, cooking dinner. If I didn&#39;t know any better, or had a kid and/or husband, you&#39;d think I was a housewife. Nope. I&#39;m just one of the thousands of educated unemployed. But I haven&#39;t been just  taking up space and converting oxygen to carbon dioxide. I have been working on a certificate in paralegal. While it wasn&#39;t what I thought I&#39;d have in mind for my career, it&#39;s been interesting. And the fact that things don&#39;t always go as planned has become a theme for my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If there are three things I am (almost) absolutely sure of, it is (1) everything happens for a reason (no matter how long it may take for the answer to become clear); (2) the truth always comes out (no matter how many years have passed); and (3) expect the unexpected. Currently, I have a shining example of number 3 in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a few short weeks ago I began talking to an individual via an online dating site, like I had done numerous times before. Little did I know that this would be something completely different. As I anxiously got ready for our first meeting, I never could have anticipated what would have transpired from that first meeting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the evening of September 6, we planned to meet at Jamestown Coffee in Lexington. From the very beginning I could tell that he was different. Well, that much is obvious actually. Anyone in that coffee shop could tell he was different, since he had a thick British accent. We started talking right away and didn&#39;t stop for at least two hours. We talked about everything and anything. He showed me pics and maps online of where he grew up in England. We talked about food and music, likes and dislikes, anything. We didn&#39;t leave until the barristas literally came around telling the last few stragglers that they were closing. Normally I would be cautious about being loud in a coffee shop when there were other people, but not this time. We talked and laughed out loud. He showed me clips of British comedians and didn&#39;t seem to have a care in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt comfortable enough with him that he was able to drive me home. When he pulled up outside my building I said thank you for the coffee and the company, and gave him a hug. I thought, for a moment, that he was going to try to kiss me, and maybe he was but I missed it. But after getting inside my apartment, I made sure to send a quick text once again thanking him for the company. That would be the beginning of an interesting journey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/feeds/7004662146867169091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/countdown-to-27.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/7004662146867169091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6431783485368367748/posts/default/7004662146867169091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://jerseygirllostandfound.blogspot.com/2011/10/countdown-to-27.html' title='Countdown to 27'/><author><name>klickers84</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03805945085066738284</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>