<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CU8NR30-cSp7ImA9WhdXGUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800</id><updated>2011-09-02T10:31:36.359-04:00</updated><category term="Holidays" /><category term="Self-Competition" /><category term="Piglet" /><category term="Teenybop" /><category term="Blast From The Past" /><category term="Spiritual Warfare" /><category term="The Guys" /><category term="Friendship" /><category term="Interviewing The Kids" /><category term="Private Ryan" /><category term="Fasting" /><category term="Leaning On God" /><category term="Gardening" /><category term="&quot;Addicted&quot; to Books" /><category term="Product Reviews" /><category term="Gratitude" /><category term="Weight Loss" /><category term="Disclaimer" /><category term="My Dad" /><category term="Whining" /><category term="ADHD" /><category term="Manic Monday" /><category term="Do You Think I'm Beautiful?" /><category term="Pregnant" /><category term="God's Story in My Life" /><category term="Intuitive Eating" /><category term="Affirming Me" /><category term="Tiny Talk Tuesday" /><category term="Letters To Me" /><category term="Movies" /><category term="Tyson Foods" /><category term="Child Abuse" /><category term="Army Stuff" /><category term="Domestic Abuse" /><title>Life and Times of Brandi</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>344</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi" /><feedburner:info uri="lifeandtimesofbrandi" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU8CRnc-eCp7ImA9Wx5UEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-5801498725300958211</id><published>2010-10-16T07:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-16T07:17:47.950-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-16T07:17:47.950-04:00</app:edited><title>Moving</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/5801498725300958211?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/5801498725300958211?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/NCrh6Bsh0Ms/moving.html" title="Moving" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Lately a lot has changed in my life. Things feel different for me here, and I feel less able to be completely honest on this blog because of certain people who know where it is and might be reading, and because there are just something you can't say in a public forum like this. So I've been thinkig about how to deal with that for a while now and there are a few options.

One, I could spell it all
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PuyPMFnriFpdn13T3bbFKU8MDio/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PuyPMFnriFpdn13T3bbFKU8MDio/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PuyPMFnriFpdn13T3bbFKU8MDio/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PuyPMFnriFpdn13T3bbFKU8MDio/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/NCrh6Bsh0Ms" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/10/moving.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D04DQ3YyfSp7ImA9Wx5WFU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-612683035702825589</id><published>2010-09-26T17:19:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-26T17:19:32.895-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-26T17:19:32.895-04:00</app:edited><title>Android, I Love You</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/612683035702825589?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/612683035702825589?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/z_EqAd2sDM0/android-i-love-you.html" title="Android, I Love You" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Perhaps my heart is fickle. I have recently found that I can be swayed easily. Not so long ago, I swore my affection for iPhone. But then Google came along and whispered softly in my ear ... "There are free apps". "The system is open source." "Create your own apps if you wanna."And I found myself dissillusioned. I found my heart betraying its love for iPhone and turning to Android. Now, the 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tdL2aK24-DFFvAz79CQdd2f7bHs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tdL2aK24-DFFvAz79CQdd2f7bHs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/z_EqAd2sDM0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/09/android-i-love-you.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUACSHo6fSp7ImA9Wx5WEk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-3151306954480260079</id><published>2010-09-22T22:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-22T22:09:29.415-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-22T22:09:29.415-04:00</app:edited><title>The Randomness That Is Me</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/3151306954480260079?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/3151306954480260079?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/ErNnY8YrOPk/randomness-that-is-me.html" title="The Randomness That Is Me" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Today my facebook status has said;

Today's  Word of Advice? "Never PRETEND to be what you don't INTEND to be. And  when you get caught PRETENDING, don't be surprised when no one is  impressed."
A  Conundrum. Why is it that people will tell you all day long how much  they care about you and how important you are or always have been to  them ... but when you wanna talk about it to fix the wiring 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AxXE9qIflfpdFJof3aOEXYBg2WE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AxXE9qIflfpdFJof3aOEXYBg2WE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AxXE9qIflfpdFJof3aOEXYBg2WE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AxXE9qIflfpdFJof3aOEXYBg2WE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/ErNnY8YrOPk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/09/randomness-that-is-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A08CR307cCp7ImA9Wx5XGU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-7143048550774682922</id><published>2010-09-19T19:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-19T19:44:26.308-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-19T19:44:26.308-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Piglet" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Teenybop" /><title>I Wonder</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/7143048550774682922?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/7143048550774682922?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/cjRkY-b9XtM/i-wonder.html" title="I Wonder" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Sometimes I wonder what I'm really doing with my life. I think about my childhood and the big dreams that I had. I remember that little girl so vividly, with reddish-brown hair and blue eyes.

That girl was a dreamer.

She wanted to be a lawyer. She wanted to shout "Objection!" in the courtroom, argue eloquently and intelligently, and then go out and celebrate the big win. She wanted to figure it
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q3q4AYbZ8fIMnNAh3Lj34ha6jb4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q3q4AYbZ8fIMnNAh3Lj34ha6jb4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q3q4AYbZ8fIMnNAh3Lj34ha6jb4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q3q4AYbZ8fIMnNAh3Lj34ha6jb4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/cjRkY-b9XtM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-wonder.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU4GQH49eSp7ImA9Wx5XFEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-1865372589660740877</id><published>2010-09-14T07:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-14T07:32:01.061-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-14T07:32:01.061-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Blast From The Past" /><title>Blast From The Past - Part II</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/1865372589660740877?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/1865372589660740877?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/l-c4XPYxW4g/blast-from-past-part-ii.html" title="Blast From The Past - Part II" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">In my last post I talked about some of the better memories from one of my oldest and most important relationships. I talked about how things were between Jon and I ... And I talked about how he was pretty much my first everything for a long time. My first kiss, my first real date, my first lover, my first proposal ...

My first act of domestic violence.

He worked at a car shop down the road from
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/w9fLPf_N-ailzM3ivoeSoaycp_g/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/w9fLPf_N-ailzM3ivoeSoaycp_g/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/w9fLPf_N-ailzM3ivoeSoaycp_g/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/w9fLPf_N-ailzM3ivoeSoaycp_g/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/l-c4XPYxW4g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/09/blast-from-past-part-ii.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkAGRHozfCp7ImA9Wx5XFE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-9218674433023360327</id><published>2010-09-13T19:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-13T19:32:05.484-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-13T19:32:05.484-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Blast From The Past" /><title>Blast From The Past - Part I</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/9218674433023360327?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/9218674433023360327?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/H7DM9EsBOrw/blast-from-past-part-i.html" title="Blast From The Past - Part I" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Healing can come from the strangest and most unexpected places.

I remember my first love fondly. I remember him with love because he is a good memory for me, I remember him with sorrow because in the end of the "dating" relationship, I hurt him in a way that made him lash out at me. It wasn't anything really bad ... we were only in sixth grade after all. But it was bad enough to be a lasting 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SZhY22HFgoQCCnnAnNGhI6CPcK4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SZhY22HFgoQCCnnAnNGhI6CPcK4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SZhY22HFgoQCCnnAnNGhI6CPcK4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SZhY22HFgoQCCnnAnNGhI6CPcK4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/H7DM9EsBOrw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/09/blast-from-past-part-i.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUcFRn44cCp7ImA9Wx5XEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-1067160491072040675</id><published>2010-09-11T10:37:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-11T15:23:37.038-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-11T15:23:37.038-04:00</app:edited><title>It's September Eleventh. Again.</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/1067160491072040675?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/1067160491072040675?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/qVWsolw0Aio/its-september-eleventh-again.html" title="It's September Eleventh. Again." /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">I have a terrible confession to make. I don't remember exactly where I was when the World Trade Center was attacked by terrorists. I don't remember exactly what I was wearing. I was in high school then so I was probably in class, and I have friends who tell me the footage was played live in schoolrooms across the country. I'm sure that if it were played in mine, I'd remember ... but it wasn't.

I
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vRWdQ_splLA8AiimOdArJNke9R4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vRWdQ_splLA8AiimOdArJNke9R4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vRWdQ_splLA8AiimOdArJNke9R4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vRWdQ_splLA8AiimOdArJNke9R4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/qVWsolw0Aio" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/09/its-september-eleventh-again.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcMQng4fyp7ImA9Wx5QF0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-1986279135856638563</id><published>2010-09-06T07:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-06T08:28:03.637-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-06T08:28:03.637-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Leaning On God" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fasting" /><title>The 45 Hour *SLOW* -- Part II</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/1986279135856638563?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/1986279135856638563?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/EFXt0xndlK0/45-hour-slow-part-ii.html" title="The 45 Hour *SLOW* -- Part II" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">When I fasted on Friday and Saturday, I did it for a lot of reasons. I did it because I enjoy the health benefits of fasting. I did it because I love the way I feel during and after a fast. I did it because I love the increase in mental focus and clarity. I did it as a way to remind myself to bring my needs to God ... to bring my prayer to Him even when it feels selfish to say to him, "God, my 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/H8waG43pb-SlxOemyUX6HWpfzJI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/H8waG43pb-SlxOemyUX6HWpfzJI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/H8waG43pb-SlxOemyUX6HWpfzJI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/H8waG43pb-SlxOemyUX6HWpfzJI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/EFXt0xndlK0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/09/45-hour-slow-part-ii.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUENQXk8eSp7ImA9Wx5QF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-4748234589983853505</id><published>2010-09-05T20:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-05T20:41:30.771-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-05T20:41:30.771-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fasting" /><title>The 45 Hour *SLOW* -- Part I</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/4748234589983853505?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/4748234589983853505?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/2tizwBaj55Q/45-hour-slow-part-i.html" title="The 45 Hour *SLOW* -- Part I" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">So the 48 hour fast didn't actually last for 48 hours. It was more like 45-46 hours, honestly. I wish that I'd had time to blog about it as I went through it, time to process the thoughts that I had during that time ... but I'm thankful to come away with this in a positive light. I'm thankful that I felt strong and healthy the whole time. I'm thankful that God used that time to speak to me on 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Cs4QyRIVWnDjKZt0GzOPBqsSBQA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Cs4QyRIVWnDjKZt0GzOPBqsSBQA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Cs4QyRIVWnDjKZt0GzOPBqsSBQA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Cs4QyRIVWnDjKZt0GzOPBqsSBQA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/2tizwBaj55Q" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/09/45-hour-slow-part-i.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEEBSX0yfSp7ImA9Wx5QFEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-1511039780805114433</id><published>2010-09-02T17:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-02T17:24:18.395-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-02T17:24:18.395-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Leaning On God" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fasting" /><title>48 Hours</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/1511039780805114433?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/1511039780805114433?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/ClL-84DDFe8/48-hours.html" title="48 Hours" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Tonight after dinner, I am starting my second fast. This one will be just like the first one, only longer. I will have nothing to eat during that time, but will be drinking my unsweet green tea as usual. I am also going to try to blog a lot during that time and keep track of my thought processes during the longer fast. When I did the 22-23 hour fast last week there were things that we had to be 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/I2dg38VeJyQA8Tl4MO8_vjjyfG0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/I2dg38VeJyQA8Tl4MO8_vjjyfG0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/I2dg38VeJyQA8Tl4MO8_vjjyfG0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/I2dg38VeJyQA8Tl4MO8_vjjyfG0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/ClL-84DDFe8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/09/48-hours.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcER3s4fCp7ImA9Wx5QEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-501132000909257006</id><published>2010-08-31T08:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-31T08:00:06.534-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-31T08:00:06.534-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Leaning On God" /><title>Have You Seen Him?</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/501132000909257006?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/501132000909257006?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/9621GAibIws/have-you-seen-him.html" title="Have You Seen Him?" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">I found a blog the other day that has touched my heart. This isn't one of the ones where I'm going to go back and read the archives, because it isn't a regular blog. It's a blog that other people can contribute to by sending emails to the admin of the blog, and they will presumably post your story for you so that others can see it. So what's it called?

The title of the blog asks a question ... "
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PzvhmG0Gs_BlZWxuPpQD6MKEMdk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PzvhmG0Gs_BlZWxuPpQD6MKEMdk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PzvhmG0Gs_BlZWxuPpQD6MKEMdk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PzvhmG0Gs_BlZWxuPpQD6MKEMdk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/9621GAibIws" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/have-you-seen-him.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUNRXc4fSp7ImA9Wx5QEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-7976147543327003557</id><published>2010-08-30T22:45:00.021-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-30T22:54:54.935-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-30T22:54:54.935-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Private Ryan" /><title>Guest Post From Private Ryan</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/7976147543327003557?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/7976147543327003557?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/fBuea-YkOPo/guest-post-from-private-ryan.html" title="Guest Post From Private Ryan" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">When I posted yesterday about my five-year  anniversary with Private Ryan, I thought it would be interesting to see  what his side of the story would look like, because although we  generally mesh well ... we are DIFFERENT people. VERY DIFFERENT.
So without further ado ... "Private Ryan" ... (quiet applause?)

"So here is my side of our story…

I had decided that I was going to come up to 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RP0WG9gjGlzu5zUZTw6SSY-z3nQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RP0WG9gjGlzu5zUZTw6SSY-z3nQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RP0WG9gjGlzu5zUZTw6SSY-z3nQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RP0WG9gjGlzu5zUZTw6SSY-z3nQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/fBuea-YkOPo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/guest-post-from-private-ryan.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cGQXk5cCp7ImA9Wx5QEU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-8382704449249685870</id><published>2010-08-29T20:42:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-29T20:43:40.728-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-29T20:43:40.728-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Private Ryan" /><title>Five Years Is A Long Time. Maybe.</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/8382704449249685870?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/8382704449249685870?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/NNeyqJc65IU/five-years-is-long-time-maybe.html" title="Five Years Is A Long Time. Maybe." /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">In five years, a person can accomplish a lot. You can transform from a newborn to a kindergartener. You can begin first grade and then finish fifth. You can get through high school and spend a year putting that entire experience behind you. You can get a college degree. You can make friends that you will love for the rest of your life.

You can meet someone who learns to hold your heart in their 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tZSvXkGNtAeLVG2_S12rGq57KEI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tZSvXkGNtAeLVG2_S12rGq57KEI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tZSvXkGNtAeLVG2_S12rGq57KEI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tZSvXkGNtAeLVG2_S12rGq57KEI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/NNeyqJc65IU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/five-years-is-long-time-maybe.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYAQXgzeip7ImA9Wx5RGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-9044668790919095496</id><published>2010-08-28T07:49:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-28T07:49:00.682-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-28T07:49:00.682-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Private Ryan" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Piglet" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Teenybop" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Leaning On God" /><title>Counting My Blessings. Literally.</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/9044668790919095496?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/9044668790919095496?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/_8uCKg4Wwvc/counting-my-blessings-literally.html" title="Counting My Blessings. Literally." /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Yesterday's post is so down, so sad ... But it's real. However, in it's reality it is depressing. Just knowing that my list of "things" is longer than even what is listed here ... It saddens me to be so burdened. Sometimes I feel like I've got a whole luggage set full of heavy crap and forlorn broken-ness attached to my shoulders. Sometimes I feel like I'm dragging that luggage set behind me, 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8uUT-qej8PfuxoipfZFjxkDJE4w/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8uUT-qej8PfuxoipfZFjxkDJE4w/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8uUT-qej8PfuxoipfZFjxkDJE4w/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8uUT-qej8PfuxoipfZFjxkDJE4w/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/_8uCKg4Wwvc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/counting-my-blessings-literally.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEAQnk-fip7ImA9Wx5RGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-8470915351362462039</id><published>2010-08-27T11:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-27T11:40:43.756-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-27T11:40:43.756-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Whining" /><title>How Much Is Too Much?</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/8470915351362462039?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/8470915351362462039?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/bBqugXug5Ck/how-much-is-too-much.html" title="How Much Is Too Much?" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">
How much can one girl whine about how much certain things suck?
I'm tired of whining. I'm tired. I'm sick, and tired.So here's the breakdown ... of what could soon be an actual breakdown.At this point, I might even relish the padded walls, the constant hug of the straight-jacket, and the sweet little doctors with their sweet little cups of happy pills.Because really, how much can one person take
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8TiibqoiD82kxy-_0em_EBF86bs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8TiibqoiD82kxy-_0em_EBF86bs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8TiibqoiD82kxy-_0em_EBF86bs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8TiibqoiD82kxy-_0em_EBF86bs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/bBqugXug5Ck" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/how-much-is-too-much.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcDSXYyeCp7ImA9Wx5RGEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-4474929001148986168</id><published>2010-08-26T16:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-26T16:54:38.890-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-26T16:54:38.890-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Tyson Foods" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Product Reviews" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Whining" /><title>An Open Letter To Tyson Foods, Inc.</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/4474929001148986168?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/4474929001148986168?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/3G3xncpu0As/open-letter-to-tyson-foods-inc.html" title="An Open Letter To Tyson Foods, Inc." /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Dear Tyson Foods,

You suck. Seriously.

I used to always buy your more expensive chicken because it tasted better than the store brand, because it was better cut, and because it was ... well, because it was "name brand". But over the past months, I have found myself increasingly disappointed in the quality of your product. I stopped buying my beloved boneless skinless chicken breasts because I 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/INWOUvMK3sTSBQxLCKEIIIWrlNc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/INWOUvMK3sTSBQxLCKEIIIWrlNc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/INWOUvMK3sTSBQxLCKEIIIWrlNc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/INWOUvMK3sTSBQxLCKEIIIWrlNc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/3G3xncpu0As" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/open-letter-to-tyson-foods-inc.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04EQX0zfSp7ImA9Wx5RF00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-1938370863503554305</id><published>2010-08-24T22:05:00.034-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-24T22:05:00.385-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-24T22:05:00.385-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fasting" /><title>My First Fast</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/1938370863503554305?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/1938370863503554305?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/BXbf-8Smr8M/my-first-fast.html" title="My First Fast" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Fasting has been quite an experience for me, in some ways exactly the way I thought it would be, and in some ways nothing like I thought it would be. I thought a lot of random things throughout the day, partly because my days are random and partly because I have been thinking lately that I might have a touch of ADHD. Anyway, here's my random-day breakdown for you.

6:22 am -- Can I really do this
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jKInAKO-qwOfaY2N6ySsAmaueQo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jKInAKO-qwOfaY2N6ySsAmaueQo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jKInAKO-qwOfaY2N6ySsAmaueQo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jKInAKO-qwOfaY2N6ySsAmaueQo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/BXbf-8Smr8M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-first-fast.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8ASHw-eip7ImA9Wx5RFkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-5415621453608309764</id><published>2010-08-24T09:37:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-24T10:07:29.252-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-24T10:07:29.252-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Tiny Talk Tuesday" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Piglet" /><title>Tiny Talk Tuesday</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/5415621453608309764?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/5415621453608309764?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/hF-7JW0Kc0U/tiny-talk-tuesday.html" title="Tiny Talk Tuesday" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Sometimes kids are hilarious, sometimes they aren't. Sometimes they sit quietly ... Sometimes they talk. And sometimes it's funny. Sometimes it's cute. Super cute.

Like when Piglet tries to tell us something is funny, and she laughs her head off while biting her lower lip and shouting, "Fa-fa!! Fa-fa!" And to us, it is absolutely right. She is so utterly, ingeniously, unbelievably ... Fafa.
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eLCEC8C6Yzmy7MdLoa7snudNLTo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eLCEC8C6Yzmy7MdLoa7snudNLTo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eLCEC8C6Yzmy7MdLoa7snudNLTo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eLCEC8C6Yzmy7MdLoa7snudNLTo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/hF-7JW0Kc0U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/tiny-talk-tuesday.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEAQHw9fCp7ImA9Wx5RFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-4483417635252484767</id><published>2010-08-23T21:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T21:34:01.264-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-23T21:34:01.264-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fasting" /><title>Fasting</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/4483417635252484767?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/4483417635252484767?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/Ihb6G0Co-lc/fasting.html" title="Fasting" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">Several months ago, my church youth did a fast called the 40 hour famine. The concept, at least for our church, was that instead of spending time and money on food during those forty hours, the youth would spend their time and money helping people who were "less fortunate". They collected donations and materials, supplies and such, for a month or two in preparation, and then spent the forty hours
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eeKsEjcTbWdjoKjrosry82-iGvk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eeKsEjcTbWdjoKjrosry82-iGvk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eeKsEjcTbWdjoKjrosry82-iGvk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/eeKsEjcTbWdjoKjrosry82-iGvk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/Ihb6G0Co-lc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/fasting.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcCRnwycCp7ImA9Wx5RFEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-2671230688512953612</id><published>2010-08-22T09:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-22T09:34:27.298-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-22T09:34:27.298-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Teenybop" /><title>First Grade</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/2671230688512953612?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/2671230688512953612?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/TCqmBZOBEuY/first-grade.html" title="First Grade" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">My little Teenybop recently started first grade, and lately, every day is like a walk down memory lane. I remember being so proud of her when she was younger, so intensely proud of her early love of books. These days, she doesn't read as much because ADHD makes it challenging for her ...

I can't say that I love either of my children more, but I understand now what a mother means when she says 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cU4f-ja_nUhy7jgEUXgVhrOtJK0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cU4f-ja_nUhy7jgEUXgVhrOtJK0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cU4f-ja_nUhy7jgEUXgVhrOtJK0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cU4f-ja_nUhy7jgEUXgVhrOtJK0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/TCqmBZOBEuY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/first-grade.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UNQ38yfyp7ImA9Wx5REk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-2085274324671376419</id><published>2010-08-19T09:31:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-19T12:28:12.197-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-19T12:28:12.197-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Private Ryan" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Army Stuff" /><title>He's Baaa-aaa-aaack!</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/2085274324671376419?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/2085274324671376419?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/dmXbJTwhja0/hes-baaa-aaa-aaack.html" title="He's Baaa-aaa-aaack!" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">So I am officially angry at the Army. I am FURIOUS at the Army. Why? Because the people who run the Army (at least, the ones who run it where Private Ryan was) are. Absolutely. Stupid. And they have screwed my family. That pisses me off.

A lot.

Private Ryan's training was put on hold because his job category is being re-organized and the Army didn't want to train him for a job and then have to 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NJwXdGGNcCE1vfNNIIkSkCPu6bo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NJwXdGGNcCE1vfNNIIkSkCPu6bo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NJwXdGGNcCE1vfNNIIkSkCPu6bo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NJwXdGGNcCE1vfNNIIkSkCPu6bo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/dmXbJTwhja0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/hes-baaa-aaa-aaack.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0AAQ3gyeyp7ImA9Wx5SE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-3935191858299412057</id><published>2010-08-09T19:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-09T19:15:42.693-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-09T19:15:42.693-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Manic Monday" /><title>Manic Monday Returns!</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/3935191858299412057?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/3935191858299412057?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/D4dsxwPehyQ/manic-monday-returns.html" title="Manic Monday Returns!" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TGCLL6jVTTI/AAAAAAAAATE/QtvFie-x43k/s72-c/manicmonday.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><content type="html">It's been a long time since I wanted something small enough that I felt like I could talk freely here about it. There are things that I want that I am not proud of, things that I can hardly admit to the closest of my friends, let alone admit them to the world in general.

This week, I just want August 17 to get here faster. I have been on my own with my girls for a long LONG time, and I am 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hK2tJJXjsVKR8qRrxzRWSe_MRhA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hK2tJJXjsVKR8qRrxzRWSe_MRhA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hK2tJJXjsVKR8qRrxzRWSe_MRhA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hK2tJJXjsVKR8qRrxzRWSe_MRhA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/D4dsxwPehyQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/manic-monday-returns.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cHRns9eyp7ImA9Wx5TF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-8448237321324369136</id><published>2010-08-02T10:53:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-02T10:57:17.563-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-02T10:57:17.563-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Teenybop" /><title>Black And White</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/8448237321324369136?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/8448237321324369136?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/wjoeCnL9ueo/black-and-white.html" title="Black And White" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">I used to post about Teenybop's relationship with Private Ryan more often. When he was here they fought constantly, over everything. EVERYTHING. They fought because she is loud. They fought because she is busy. They fought because he is not six years old and was therefore often tired and grumpy. He and I fought because he and Teenybop fought. It was unbelievably hard for me to know that he was 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8SOe-5GXrnanq14dZqUbcdLAaSI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8SOe-5GXrnanq14dZqUbcdLAaSI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8SOe-5GXrnanq14dZqUbcdLAaSI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8SOe-5GXrnanq14dZqUbcdLAaSI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/wjoeCnL9ueo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/08/black-and-white.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cDSXw4eSp7ImA9Wx5TF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-2632692241225497961</id><published>2010-07-31T08:42:00.036-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-02T10:57:58.231-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-02T10:57:58.231-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Piglet" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Teenybop" /><title>Thank You McGriddle-Inventor-Man</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/2632692241225497961?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/2632692241225497961?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/OpcO7_ZpXO0/thank-you-mcgriddle-inventor-man.html" title="Thank You McGriddle-Inventor-Man" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">This morning when I woke up, I was hungry. The past few days, my appetite has lagged, so between no appetite and keeping up with my girls, I have lost a few pounds. I have also been trying to be more active lately, because right now I desperately need the feel-good that comes from working out. Because I am too proud to go running to my doctor for some feel-good pills.

Don't get me wrong, I have 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LSTrVONygwOz-rFiQpVt8Zp0GZs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LSTrVONygwOz-rFiQpVt8Zp0GZs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LSTrVONygwOz-rFiQpVt8Zp0GZs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LSTrVONygwOz-rFiQpVt8Zp0GZs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/OpcO7_ZpXO0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/07/thank-you-mcgriddle-inventor-man.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkUDQX45eCp7ImA9Wx5TFUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296555347878033800.post-462561061180781798</id><published>2010-07-30T22:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2010-07-30T22:44:30.020-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-07-30T22:44:30.020-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Teenybop" /><title>Crap</title><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/462561061180781798?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8296555347878033800/posts/default/462561061180781798?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~3/JzOgtQAtA68/crap.html" title="Crap" /><author><name>Brandi</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10324309910118162466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="33" height="26" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_B96jhAPsgKE/TBVo41C7C5I/AAAAAAAAASk/v_emIvMstKA/S220/SDC12077.JPG" /></author><content type="html">I went to court yesterday. I am not sure if the whole sordid story has ever been spelled out here or not, but the short of it is that I am still legally married to Ex-Husband, which is why Private Ryan and I are not presently married.

It is because of this that I am still here, wasting time in Knoxville until Private Ryan and I can be together again. In the meantime, I am left to fight for my 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cAM_9Akv3Puq6G8vuvFC_lU0ru8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cAM_9Akv3Puq6G8vuvFC_lU0ru8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/LifeAndTimesOfBrandi/~4/JzOgtQAtA68" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://lifeandtimesofbrandi.blogspot.com/2010/07/crap.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

