<?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;A0MHRn8_eyp7ImA9WhRbGUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595</id><updated>2012-02-10T19:17:17.143-05:00</updated><category term="easter dresses" /><category term="tights stories" /><category term="custom" /><category term="little girl fashion" /><category term="tights" /><category term="summer 2010" /><category term="Cinderella bed" /><category term="going out" /><category term="LG" /><category term="tide commercial" /><category term="Cinderella Crib" /><category term="Trangender" /><category term="little girl rooms" /><title>Sparkle, the Blog for ALGs</title><subtitle type="html">A blog site for "Adult Little Girls".</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>36</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/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs" /><feedburner:info uri="sparkletheblogforalgs" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>SparkleTheBlogForAlgs</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IDRX46fyp7ImA9WhRXF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-8746867545196872830</id><published>2011-12-24T21:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-24T21:52:54.017-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-24T21:52:54.017-05:00</app:edited><title>Christmas Eve!</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;A bit of trivia ... what movie is this from? (No cheating!!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;"Would it please the court if I gave you a christmas card? I probably won't see you again unless I get arrested, which is very unlikely, since it's christmas eve and I'm going to bed uncharacteristically early."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-8746867545196872830?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tRwscSfa7c1fPaDMgilB3A55KNM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tRwscSfa7c1fPaDMgilB3A55KNM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/9IY6RSrHs1M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/8746867545196872830/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/christmas-eve.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/8746867545196872830?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/8746867545196872830?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/9IY6RSrHs1M/christmas-eve.html" title="Christmas Eve!" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/christmas-eve.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEIFSHgzeip7ImA9WhRXE0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-282224495715763429</id><published>2011-12-19T23:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-19T23:48:39.682-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-19T23:48:39.682-05:00</app:edited><title>Advent Calendar, Day 9 ... and my Birthday!!</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Today is my birthday. :-)  I am 6 ... with experience. It was 12 years ago today (ignore the math - I'm only 6 and can't do it anyway) that my LG spirit burst on the scene, with much enthusiasm.  My life has not been the same since, and I wouldn't want it to be. Not that life was so BAD before, but there were lots of pieces of the puzzle that were missing. Like, when I was little, why were almost all my friends girls? Why did I always like such "flamboyant" clothing? Why was most of my playing so much different from the other boys? Why did I like dollhouses so much? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Today I can decorate my house however I want - I have dolls and a dollhouse, and paintings of little girls all over my walls. When people ask, I shrug and tell them I am eccentric. If they don't like it, too bad - they aren't the one living the life. That's because I know who I am and I am comfortable with it ... before I discovered what LG is, I didn't know and I wasn't comfortable. After, I understood and a lot of the events of the past made sense in this new light. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I am a Christian and I had to decide if this was wrong. People tend to mix a bunch of lifestyles together which have no business being so. I believe homosexual sex is wrong because the Bible says it is, in Romans 1. (I'm not interested in a debate about this ... I've already heard all the arguments one who disagrees with me has, and likely they have heard all the arguments I have, and frankly I have no need of making more enemies than I already have.) I had to look to see if there was anything in the New Testament about transgender. I couldn't find anything except one word ... "effeminate". I had to wonder if God really cared whether I sometimes want to live as a little girl - view the world with that kind of innocence and love, be full of wonder and excitement? Is it wrong to wear a dress?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;A study of the word gave me two ideas. One is that effeminate refers to a boy lover - a sexual act. The other is that the word literally means "soft".  I am not soft. I may be a little girl, but I'm tough as nails when it comes right down to it. I stand up for what is right, and I believe that was the meaning behind the term - one who doesn't live up to responsibility. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Someone said today that I am like a boomerang. I get thrown but I keep coming back around to where I was before. It was funny because in the past I had a friend who referred to my male personae as having an incredible amount of&amp;nbsp;perseverance&amp;nbsp;... no matter how many times I get knocked off a cliff I keep climbing back up it.  I found it interesting that this quality is seen by friends to both sides of my personality. However, I think it leaves out one thing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I don't return exactly where I was before. I climb higher up the cliff. I fall further ahead than I was before. I'm stronger than before and I know the way back because, "This is not a place I have not been before." My personality is in constant evolution. Plus, any mistakes I made before, I know not to make again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I'd like to share a few lighthearted, and some deeper, things I have learned over the years:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;1. People can be friends, despite extreme differences in personal opinions and backgrounds.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;2. You can have a "twin" who looks nothing at all like you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;3. It DOES matter if you are color blind. Get a friend to help you match your tights, shoes, accessories, and dress.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;4. Self-pity is a bottomless pit, and it feeds on itself ... the more you pity yourself, the worse you will feel, which in turn will make you pity yourself more.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;5. Shopping is the ultimate fun experience .... but someone has to pay the bill for it!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;6. A person who will allow you to become dependent on them ... even in just small ways and in small doses .... is a very special person.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;7. And...... we shouldn't build towers at the Dining Room Table out of crystal wine glasses..... :: Giggle ::&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Now - these are deeper things I have learned from being knocked down once or twice. Hopefully they are not just cynical and they might be of help to some people:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;1. Most people don't really care what you do with your personal life, but those who do are REAL adamant and loud and closed minded about it. If a good portion of your life is going to depend upon how these people perceive you - and there is nothing you can do about that - be careful how much info about yourself you make available. Always have plausible deniability. In worst case scenarios, cut your losses and simply refuse to answer your critics. Why give them more ammo anyway; what possible good can come of that? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;2. Some people are going to act like idiots. Let them. Everyone else can already see it, and if they can't, they soon will. If you've wasted your breath trying to warn people BEFORE they find out for themselves, they will resent you for it. Just make sure you're not in the way when the fall comes. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;3. Everyone thinks they know what is best, but when it comes to volunteering to lead .... very few will. Instead, they will let someone else lead the way, and then complain about the way that person is leading. After all, that's more fun. IF you simply bite your tongue and keep leading, they'll still follow. You don't need to nip at anybody's heels to make them go. And if some don't .... you're probably better off. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-282224495715763429?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/unImfJz_Bfp071-3ZWAI6segGqw/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/unImfJz_Bfp071-3ZWAI6segGqw/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/unImfJz_Bfp071-3ZWAI6segGqw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/unImfJz_Bfp071-3ZWAI6segGqw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/5gx09lbICpc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/282224495715763429/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-9-and-my-birthday.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/282224495715763429?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/282224495715763429?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/5gx09lbICpc/advent-calendar-day-9-and-my-birthday.html" title="Advent Calendar, Day 9 ... and my Birthday!!" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-9-and-my-birthday.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cDRno7fip7ImA9WhRXEUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-7698731325605204093</id><published>2011-12-17T14:37:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-17T14:44:37.406-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-17T14:44:37.406-05:00</app:edited><title>Advent Calendar, Day 8</title><content type="html">Now, I know you've all been wondering what to get me for Christmas (Or my birthday ... it's on the 19th you know)! &amp;nbsp;:: Giggle :: &amp;nbsp;So here's a few ideas. &amp;nbsp;Just email me and I'll tell you where to send the gifts!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ooooooor.......... maybe you'll want to ask your Mommy or Daddy for them yourself...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://c4.diapers.com/images/products/p/ks/ks-093_1z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="337" width="400" src="http://c4.diapers.com/images/products/p/ks/ks-093_1z.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That's called KidKraft Majestic Mansion.&amp;nbsp;Isn't that a great dollhouse?? And it's even available on Diapers.com :&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://www.diapers.com/p/kidkraft-majestic-mansion-dollhouse-73535?site=CI&amp;amp;srccode=cii_5784816&amp;amp;cpncode=26-66146798-2&amp;amp;utm_source=cse&amp;amp;utm_medium=cpc_D&amp;amp;utm_term=KS-093&amp;amp;utm_campaign=pricegrabber"&gt;http://www.diapers.com/p/kidkraft-majestic-mansion-dollhouse-73535?site=CI&amp;amp;srccode=cii_5784816&amp;amp;cpncode=26-66146798-2&amp;amp;utm_source=cse&amp;amp;utm_medium=cpc_D&amp;amp;utm_term=KS-093&amp;amp;utm_campaign=pricegrabber&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Course it is also available at Walmart for $100 less..... &amp;nbsp;but hey - think of the convenience! &amp;nbsp;Buy your diapers, then just click over and buy the Christmas present for Kita Sparkles! &amp;nbsp;Right? &amp;nbsp;:: Giggle ::&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And then I saw this on a "must have toys" list:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://shopping.yahoo.com/893692522-lite-sprites-wand-prisma-and-pod/;_ylt=AhVmKsMgduradLbPjGUKo7lpWr8F"&gt;http://shopping.yahoo.com/893692522-lite-sprites-wand-prisma-and-pod/;_ylt=AhVmKsMgduradLbPjGUKo7lpWr8F&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Seems like a cute idea.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-7698731325605204093?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kC_NXrBv2xRIQe8bHkDdGz_86TY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kC_NXrBv2xRIQe8bHkDdGz_86TY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/DucTA82bkdw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/7698731325605204093/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-8.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7698731325605204093?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7698731325605204093?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/DucTA82bkdw/advent-calendar-day-8.html" title="Advent Calendar, Day 8" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-8.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEACQ3s6eSp7ImA9WhRQGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-4809282940900271090</id><published>2011-12-15T19:47:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-15T19:52:42.511-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-15T19:52:42.511-05:00</app:edited><title>Advent Calendar, Day 7</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Here's a merry little commercial with a cute little girl singing Feliz Navidad with her Daddy. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;object style="height: 390px; width: 640px;"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qAe2xaOUuSU?version=3&amp;amp;feature=player_detailpage"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qAe2xaOUuSU?version=3&amp;amp;feature=player_detailpage" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="360"&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
AND ... apparently she is quite famous. Here is Alexa Narvaez's official website:&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://alexanarvaez.net/"&gt;http://alexanarvaez.net/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-4809282940900271090?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9U9qr1jBKAeNaY_qXC7ZqebQSBk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9U9qr1jBKAeNaY_qXC7ZqebQSBk/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/9U9qr1jBKAeNaY_qXC7ZqebQSBk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9U9qr1jBKAeNaY_qXC7ZqebQSBk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/UkO4rlqNkZg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/4809282940900271090/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-7.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/4809282940900271090?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/4809282940900271090?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/UkO4rlqNkZg/advent-calendar-day-7.html" title="Advent Calendar, Day 7" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-7.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEGRnw5eip7ImA9WhRQFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-9189059138947693924</id><published>2011-12-10T00:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-10T00:23:47.222-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-10T00:23:47.222-05:00</app:edited><title>Advent Calendar, Day 6</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;Here is another Christmas Story for you!!&lt;br /&gt;
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Don shuffled his feet&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="SpellE"&gt;boredly&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;as he stood in the long line of children. His little sister was chattering away endlessly about something or other, but he wasn't listening. He was instead brooding over getting stuck taking her to see Santa while his mother shopped. He had only come along to the mall today thinking he would get to go to the arcade; he didn't know he was going to get saddled with his little sister.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"Don! DON!" Samantha, his little sister, was tugging on his arm.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"WHAT?" He looked down, and realized they had finally reached the front of the line. "Oh. . ." He let go of her hand and she rushed to get into Santa's lap.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"&lt;span class="SpellE"&gt;Aww&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;- she's so cute," a female voice near him said.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"Huh?" Don looked into the face of a very pretty girl, dressed in an Elf costume. He felt his entire 15 year old body go tingly as he stared into her eyes. She looked about his age, maybe slightly younger, but he knew that couldn't be because you had to be at least 16 to work at the mall. Maybe this whole day wasn't a TOTAL loss after all. He prepared himself to flirt with the girl.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"And YOU are a good boy to bring her to see Santa, Donnie," the girl went on. Don felt his ears burn with shame - she thought of him as one of these CHILDREN! She even called him "Donnie" - he made sure NOBODY - even his mother - called him&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="GramE"&gt;that&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;ever&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;since he was 8!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"Now see&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="GramE"&gt;here.&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;. .!" he started, then stopped himself. He was trying to be angry, but she was so pretty it was taking the anger right out of him, it seemed. And her outfit, he looked her over in it,&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="GramE"&gt;then&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;blushed as an uninvited thought entered his mind - he wondered how he would look in it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;Don didn't know why he had thoughts like that. Ever since he could remember they were daily occurrences. When he was six and had seen girls going to a party, he wanted to wear their party dresses. When he was eight on Halloween he was a cowboy, but what he really wanted was the cowgirl dress. When he was in a school play at 11, he had wished he had the part of one of the girls in his class, since she wore a ballet tutu for her part. And even this year when he had seen the dress she had picked out for Samantha's Christmas Dress - OH! He had been so jealous of Samantha then.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;Now, here he was in front of a pretty girl in a somewhat revealing outfit, and all he could think about was what it would look like on him?? These thoughts often made Don feel guilty, and afraid that maybe he was gay. He didn't like boys, though, he liked girls.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"Yes - a VERY good boy, Donnie," the girl said. "I bet you're right at the top of&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="GramE"&gt;Santa's&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;'nice&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;list'. Not like a lot of other little boys – they end up on the 'naughty' list so often. Usually around Christmas time they remember and are good enough at the end to squeeze in on the bottom of the 'nice list', though."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;Don somehow kept himself from rolling his eyes. This conversation was getting ridiculous. "It's&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="GramE"&gt;DON&lt;/span&gt;," he corrected her. "And I'm NOT a little boy. I'm going to be 16. . ." It wasn't a total lie. He had another ten months to go, but he was GOING to be sixteen. He trailed off as her green eyes seemed to probe deep into his mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"Not a little boy, Donnie? No - I guess you're not. . ." she said, a small smile coming to her lips. "But still on Santa's nice list. And I bet I know what you want!" she finished in a sing song voice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;Normally Don would have taken this as an invitation to ask her out, but he had had about enough of this batty chick. He looked to see if Samantha was done yet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"Oh, Don. When did you stop believing in Santa?" the girl asked. "Was it when you were seven?" Don looked at her and his mouth dropped open. She couldn't know about that! No one did! "When you were seven Don - Santa couldn't give you what you asked for. It was a mistake - the letter never got to the right department. You see, Santa brings toys and dollies and teddy bears to all the good little boys and girls, but he doesn't do what you asked."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;Don turned his back on the girl, disbelieving what he was hearing. She had just made a lucky&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="GramE"&gt;guess, that&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;was all. He knew for a long time that Santa was just a fairy tale! He reached out and grabbed Sam's hand as she was coming back, wanting to make a fast getaway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"Don! Don! Did you hear? Santa said we've BOTH been really good this year, and we're both gonna get what we wanted. And he said I can have a sister!" Don wasn't&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="GramE"&gt;listening,&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;he was making his way to the exit. He turned for one last look at the nutty girl, and found she was right behind him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;"Didn't you know, Don?" she asked. "Santa brings TOYS. It's Santa's ELVES that grant WISHES." She touched his arm, and that was the last thing he remembered as he thought he was passing out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;_________________________&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;Santa smiled as he looked around the toy factory. Everything was running smoothly it seemed. He chuckled as the newest little elf ran about, checking everything out herself. She was such a cute little girl - and she had the cutest name too - "Christmas DAWN".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Merry Christmas, and&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="GramE"&gt;may&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;all your dreams come true. - Sparkles&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-9189059138947693924?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZBBR_bFntvHh0KRTZYc0_9FGyYk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZBBR_bFntvHh0KRTZYc0_9FGyYk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/Zxo84gQZKCE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/9189059138947693924/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-6.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/9189059138947693924?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/9189059138947693924?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/Zxo84gQZKCE/advent-calendar-day-6.html" title="Advent Calendar, Day 6" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-6.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkQER3s6eyp7ImA9WhRQFEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-4096477945413831530</id><published>2011-12-09T01:13:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-09T17:38:26.513-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-09T17:38:26.513-05:00</app:edited><title>Advent Calendar, Day 5</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Today, a story of love and civil rights that I learned in Charleston. Don't get bored ... there are a lot of twists in this tale.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Our subject was born - most likely in 1922 in Sussex in England. He later in life claimed 1937. This is not as much a leap as the other changes that took place in Gordon Langley's life.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Understand that much of Gordon's life is shrouded in mystery, purposefully by some in Charleston, for reasons you will soon learn. Thus, historians differ on certain details. The main points, however, are fairly agreed upon and we will attempt for the most part to stick to those.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Gordon came to North America at the age of 16. When he came to America, he met and charmed several older women. One of these was&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"&gt;Isabel Whitney (of the Whitney Museum Whitneys), and he was a major beneficiary of her will when she died in 1962.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"&gt;Now with quite a sum of money, Gordon came to Charleston and settled in an area where mostly gay men were known to live. This did not cause a stir among the&amp;nbsp;Charleston&amp;nbsp;Elite. &amp;nbsp;He was &amp;nbsp;writer by this time and was quite eccentric, trying to rent a drinking club for a debutante ball .... for two of his dogs.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Gordon eventually fell in love with a mechanic named John Paul Simmons. John Paul, however, was not gay. Oh, he TRIED to be, &amp;nbsp;but it just wasn't &amp;nbsp;happening. &amp;nbsp;So Gordon began to dress in drag for him. Eventually, Gordon disappeared - taking a trip to Johns Hopkins University Hospital it seems for a somewhat new surgical procedure. When Gordon resurfaced in Charleston, he ... or rather SHE ... was now Dawn.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dawn hired John Paul Simmons as her butler, because they could not get married. And do you know WHY they could not get married? &amp;nbsp;It had nothing to do with Dawn having once been a man. &amp;nbsp;You see, until 1967 it was illegal for a white person to marry a black person, and John Paul Simmons was black.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They joined the fight for civil rights, and in 1967 a famous case in Virginia went all the way to the Supreme Court, who ruled that these laws were unconstitutional. (For the record, &amp;nbsp;South Carolina kept the law in the books until 1998, &amp;nbsp;but they could not apply it because of the Federal Law.) In 1968, Dawn Langley became Dawn Langley Simmons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now - the Charleston Elite were ok with eccentric Mr. Gordon Langley being gay and trying to have debutante balls for his dogs. &amp;nbsp;They were ok when he was seen around town dressed as a woman (having experience in this, I can tell you no one has a problem with it now either!) They were even ok when he resurfaced as a she. BUT, when Dawn married a black man, THAT'S when Charleston went ballistic. &amp;nbsp;The wedding announcement was in print barely large enough to read, and found in the obituary section of the newspaper.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So - the first interracial marriage in South Carolina was between a black man who was a mechanic-turned- butler, and a rich white woman who used to be a poor white man.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And that is one of the many reasons Charleston is so interesting.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Special thanks for the history from historian and Tour Guide (Wicked Charleston Tour) Mark R. Jones. Some extra research was from:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://strangeflowers.wordpress.com/2011/10/15/dixie-orlando/"&gt;http://strangeflowers.wordpress.com/2011/10/15/dixie-orlando/&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;and from&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://www.religioustolerance.org/hom_mar14.htm"&gt;http://www.religioustolerance.org/hom_mar14.htm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-4096477945413831530?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hHptpQtEKwhQX4lkS_ads7Tn5OM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hHptpQtEKwhQX4lkS_ads7Tn5OM/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/hHptpQtEKwhQX4lkS_ads7Tn5OM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hHptpQtEKwhQX4lkS_ads7Tn5OM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/a-hgqgOdaUM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/4096477945413831530/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-5.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/4096477945413831530?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/4096477945413831530?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/a-hgqgOdaUM/advent-calendar-day-5.html" title="Advent Calendar, Day 5" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-5.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcHRXw9cSp7ImA9WhRQE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-858663636306831410</id><published>2011-12-07T22:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-07T22:13:54.269-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-07T22:13:54.269-05:00</app:edited><title>Advent Calendar, Day 4</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Playing Catch-up now! &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;A couple years ago, my sister Spinner-Grace and I put together a Slideshow of Christmas pictures and I posted it on my site. Well, my site had to come down a little while after that, and now technology has changed and SWF files are hard to find a place to post - let alone embed. Thus, I converted this one to a movie, and am hoping it will play right here.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-2163e6c9740d0817" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/n8hcLFDFTao5If5HmHABwZuelP0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/n8hcLFDFTao5If5HmHABwZuelP0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/rf9K_MyM_QU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/858663636306831410/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-4.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/858663636306831410?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/858663636306831410?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/rf9K_MyM_QU/advent-calendar-day-4.html" title="Advent Calendar, Day 4" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-4.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YBQHoycSp7ImA9WhRQEkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-7989672692384999608</id><published>2011-12-07T15:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-07T15:52:31.499-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-07T15:52:31.499-05:00</app:edited><title>Advent Calendar, Day 3</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Sorry I got behind! &amp;nbsp;I went to visit friends for a few days. Ended up taking a trip to Charleston and having a Nanny along the way.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Molly Mae" (she picked the name) joined us on our trip as all 4 of us - including Aunty - dressed LG. On the evening before, we were talking with Lori's Daddy's daughter (yeah - I know it is confusing, but I get it and I'm only 6!) who has started to sew LG dresses. We wanted to see one she had finished (which I got as a present!), and she didn't want to show it without petticoats and a model - so she "forced" her daughter to come model it. "Molly Mae", as she christened herself at the time, was obviously very into this. So Aunty and Lori's Daddy invited her to go with us to Charleston, provided she would also dress LG and make sure I didn't get into trouble. Which of course is easy considering the fact that I am such an angel. :: Placing hands together and giving innocent look after polishing somewhat rusty halo ::&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I had not brought anything for cold (assuming we would visit in the day time - but we went for an evening walking tour), so Lori let me borrow her Tinkerbell jacket. Loved that! &amp;nbsp;I wore my Christmas dress and Christmas tights, and red T-Bar Double Strap Mary Janes. And frilly ankle socks, for the first time ever. Nanny Molly Mae fixed my hair for me and painted my nails a nice pink color.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Lori wore a cute red, white, and green Christmas dress with a green ribbon bow at her collar. Aunty wore a Strawberry Shortcake dress, and last but not least, Nanny Molly Mae wore a Christmas dress belonging to Lori and a red curly wig. And a heck of a lot of petticoats. &amp;nbsp;Really the only one who didn't wear a petti was me, because my dress already had a built in one, and putting another under it gave it the "bunched petticoat" effect.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nanny Molly grabbed my arm while we walked around the city, which kept me from wandering off (including into the store that smelled like chocolate and coffee .. almost got my arm yanked off there...). It got a little chilly near the end of the tour, which is about 90 minutes, but not too bad.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Some people stared, but I didn't notice any really bad reactions. It's always fun! &amp;nbsp;:-) &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This is a picture of me and Nanny Molly Mae. As usual, I blurred the faces. Also, I got her permission before posting it here! We were playing pattycake in front of the market here.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w9cht0YaAq4/Tt_LwbmFynI/AAAAAAAAACM/2WDXSmpML9A/s1600/Charleston+xmas+trip+014a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w9cht0YaAq4/Tt_LwbmFynI/AAAAAAAAACM/2WDXSmpML9A/s320/Charleston+xmas+trip+014a.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;And this is me at the end of the weekend - I was one happy little girl:&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5m4Dt55x8w/Tt_RyayJrfI/AAAAAAAAACU/bVNZEqtHKGo/s1600/PC040068a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="218" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5m4Dt55x8w/Tt_RyayJrfI/AAAAAAAAACU/bVNZEqtHKGo/s320/PC040068a.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xYS88ui4V9k/Tt_R_GweUxI/AAAAAAAAACc/ykpV7mtv7Gs/s1600/PC040069a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="222" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xYS88ui4V9k/Tt_R_GweUxI/AAAAAAAAACc/ykpV7mtv7Gs/s320/PC040069a.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oZmKf-ihPDm0hj2OxSy_kglm_2Q/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oZmKf-ihPDm0hj2OxSy_kglm_2Q/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/uESPuooLeIs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/7989672692384999608/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-3.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7989672692384999608?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7989672692384999608?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/uESPuooLeIs/advent-calendar-day-3.html" title="Advent Calendar, Day 3" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w9cht0YaAq4/Tt_LwbmFynI/AAAAAAAAACM/2WDXSmpML9A/s72-c/Charleston+xmas+trip+014a.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-3.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8AR3oyeyp7ImA9WhRRGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-7076726242461679261</id><published>2011-12-03T01:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-03T01:14:06.493-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-03T01:14:06.493-05:00</app:edited><title>Advent Calendar, Day 2</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;An LG Christmas story, written by yours truly! &amp;nbsp;;-)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;A Special Christmas Dress&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; All my childhood, my family had a tradition of going to my Aunt and Uncle’s house on Christmas for dinner. They were my Dad’s brother and sister-in-law, and lived closer to us than any other relative – 35 miles as opposed to 250. It was weird though, because we only saw them at Christmas and sometimes we saw the relatives that lived further away more often than we saw them. Also they never came to our house – I think I can remember only two visits we had from them, and those were short.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; That was my later childhood I guess though. Early on there was more contact. My aunt and uncle had a son and three daughters. Each of the daughters did come out to spend a couple or more weeks with us. The last to visit was the eldest daughter, named Kim, when she was 14. The first I recall was Julie, the youngest daughter, when she was just a baby and my aunt was in the hospital for surgery. My mom offered to take care of Julie, and I remember helping take care of her. I could have only been three myself, but I recall a few things from that period of time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The event I want to bring up now though happened later than that. I was 10 and Julie was 8. If you know me, or have read any of my stories before, you know I am somewhat small, and always was for my age all through my childhood. I was always the shortest in my&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="IL_AD" id="IL_AD1" style="background-attachment: scroll !important; background-clip: initial !important; background-color: transparent !important; background-image: none !important; background-origin: initial !important; background-position: 0% 50%; background-repeat: repeat repeat !important; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 128) !important; border-bottom-style: solid !important; border-bottom-width: 1px !important; color: rgb(0, 0, 128) !important; cursor: pointer !important; display: inline !important; float: none !important; padding-bottom: 1px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; position: static; text-decoration: underline !important;"&gt;class&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;(until 12th grade, when I passed one of the girls.&amp;nbsp; Yes, just one of them.) All that I say to tell you this – I was the same size as Julie that year. (The next year, she was taller than me…)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; When we got to the house, Julie was wearing a purple velvet dress with white lace at the edge of the sleeves, collar, and in a ruffle at the bottom. It had some silvery threads running through it, and a big white satin sash around it tied in a bow in back. She had a ribbon in her hair that matched the sash on the dress. The dress puffed WAY out; of&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="IL_AD" id="IL_AD2" style="background-attachment: scroll !important; background-clip: initial !important; background-color: transparent !important; background-image: none !important; background-origin: initial !important; background-position: 0% 50%; background-repeat: repeat repeat !important; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 128) !important; border-bottom-style: solid !important; border-bottom-width: 1px !important; color: rgb(0, 0, 128) !important; cursor: pointer !important; display: inline !important; float: none !important; padding-bottom: 1px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; position: static; text-decoration: underline !important;"&gt;course&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;at the time I had no idea about petticoats and such that girls wore with their dresses. She had on white tights, and the shiny black patent leather Mary Jane shoes that were so common on little girls back then. For some reason, I found myself drawn to the dress and could barely take my eyes off it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The crowd for dinner at my aunt’s was fairly large each year and as a result, those who were younger had to sit at the “childrens' table”, a card table that was set up off to the side in the living room. Julie and I were the youngest, and therefore the last to finally leave this table. This year, we were the only two left at it, since the others had rebelled and would no longer sit at a table with “children” when they were SOOO much older and more mature than we. (I’m not bitter, I’m just telling you what they said!) They fixed the problem by setting up yet another table out in the kitchen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Julie and I therefore had the whole table to ourselves. While I was talking to her, my eyes kept wondering back to her dress, and she noticed I was staring at it. Finally, she said, “Do you like my dress?” holding her arms out so I could get the full view. Blushing as though I had been caught at something, I nodded. This guilty look was not lost on Julie. She continued, “Well, it is a chore to wear, you know. It is a bit hot, and I have to be super careful not to get any food on it – do you know Mom almost made me wear a bib? And it is hard to sit down in it with all this extra, and you can’t even get into it by yourself. The tights are itching my legs and my shoes are pinching my feet. Boys are lucky they don’t have to wear dresses like this.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “I think it is beautiful,” I said before I thought of the implications of the statement.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Really?” Julie giggled. “I bet you wouldn’t think so if YOU were the one wearing it!” I blushed again, and this confirmed in Julie’s mind what she was suspecting. A small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Would you?” She was forcing an answer from me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Uh…umm…I…” I faltered for words, causing her grin to become wider.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Well, maybe you should try it just to see what I mean,” she said.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I regained my voice. “Of&amp;nbsp;course&amp;nbsp;not!” I said indignantly. “Boys don’t wear dresses!”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Some boys,” Julie said, “would be prettier in these dresses than some girls are. Some boys might actually be girls in their hearts.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Maybe SOME boys,” I relented. I figured that was safe enough to say without letting on that I might BE one of them. We were too young at the time to understand much about the difference between genders anyway. Most of what we knew was limited to boys wear pants, girls wear dresses, girls play with dolls, boys play with toy&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="IL_AD" id="IL_AD4" style="background-attachment: scroll !important; background-clip: initial !important; background-color: transparent !important; background-image: none !important; background-origin: initial !important; background-position: 0% 50%; background-repeat: repeat repeat !important; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 128) !important; border-bottom-style: solid !important; border-bottom-width: 1px !important; color: rgb(0, 0, 128) !important; cursor: pointer !important; display: inline !important; float: none !important; padding-bottom: 1px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; position: static; text-decoration: underline !important;"&gt;cars&lt;/span&gt;. I liked toy&amp;nbsp;cars. We continued with eating, Julie not pressing me about the dress any more.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; After we ate, Julie wanted me to go up to her room with her. I didn’t want to at first. They had an Atari in the basement playroom, and I was highly interested in that since my parents wouldn’t get one. Julie let me play a few games, then sat down and played a few with me. She didn’t seem very good, which was why I agreed with her that if she won the next three games I would go up to her bedroom to play with her for a while. Those three games lasted about 10 minutes. I still wonder if Julie was just a shark, or if deep down I really did want to go to her room.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Everything about Julie’s bedroom said eight year old girl. Cabbage Patch Kids were big at that time, and she had several of them as well as some more conventional type dolls. I noticed a few Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcake themes as well. The room was less than immaculate with some of her clothes scattered about on the&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="IL_AD" id="IL_AD5" style="background-attachment: scroll !important; background-clip: initial !important; background-color: transparent !important; background-image: none !important; background-origin: initial !important; background-position: 0% 50%; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 128) !important; border-bottom-style: solid !important; border-bottom-width: 1px !important; color: rgb(0, 0, 128) !important; cursor: pointer !important; display: inline !important; float: none !important; padding-bottom: 1px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; position: static;"&gt;floor&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;and hanging over a chair. These she quickly picked up and threw them in the closet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I looked around the room, and then noticed she was pushing the door closed. “What are you doing?” I asked her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Well, you don’t want anyone watching while you change clothes,” she said. She waited for the confusion to register on my face before going on. “I thought we might play dress-up. *I* think *you* want to try my Christmas dress, and I can wear your clothes.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “No way!” I said. “I’m not wearing a dress!” Inside, my feelings were screaming the opposite thing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Oh, come on. It’s only a game of dress-up,” Julie said, making her eyes wide and innocent. Why are girls so GOOD at that? “You didn’t get me a present,” Julie pouted. “You could make this my present; playing a game of dress-up with me, and letting me choose the clothes.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Well…” I faltered, and Julie capitalized on it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Great!” she started to unbutton my shirt.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “I can undress myself!” I snapped, blushing as soon as I realized what I said.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Okay, but I can’t,” Julie said. “You’re gonna have to help me with this stuff.” She turned around and held her hair up in the back. “Unzip me,” she requested. I had never done that before, and though I was not one of those boys who thought that all girls had cooties, I found this to be a hard thing to do. I stood as far as I could from Julie and reached way out with my arm, taking the zipper in the very tips of my fingers to tug it down. I blushed as the white satin of her petticoat showed from underneath.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Julie then contorted her body into an angle I had never seen a human do before, and had the dress off in a second. I stood staring at the petticoat (which I still didn’t know what it was); three layers of ruffles on the skirt part, and every bit as fancy as the dress itself had been. Julie rolled her eyes finally and said, “Just what I thought. You like looking at girls in their underwear.” I blushed and started to stutter out a reply, but she cut me off saying, “Would you please hurry up? It will be New Years before you get into this stuff!”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I thought about making her turn around first, but since she had just accused me of staring at her underwear, it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Besides, we were cousins and had seen each other in our underwear before. I quickly took off my shirt, undershirt, pants, and socks. My boots were already off and sitting downstairs on their porch. Even though Julie and I had seen each other in our underwear before, now I felt a bit awkward.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I reached for the dress, and Julie smacked my hands away. “Not YET,” she sighed exaggeratedly. “You don’t have half the things you put on first!&amp;nbsp; Sheesh. Oh! I almost forgot!” She opened a dresser drawer and drew out two things, handing them to me. I looked at them – a pair of flowered panties and a small white roll. I unrolled it and realized it was a pair of tights, though they looked extremely small. “Put those on,” Julie instructed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Aww, come on, Julie!” I complained. “Why do I gotta wear these too? Can’t I just wear the dress?”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “You won’t get the full effect!” she said. “Look, I’ll turn around if that is what is bothering you.” She turned her back to me, the petticoat swinging out as she did. I stared at them another minute, then drew my own underwear off and pulled the panties up my legs and into place. These felt a lot different than my own underpants, and I realized it was not a bad feeling.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I then looked at the tights. “These are WAY too small,” I told her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “The tights?” she asked, turning around. She laughed. “They stretch,” she said. I looked at them, a bit confused. “Here.” She took them from me, bunched one leg up to the foot. “Sit down on the bed and hold out your foot,” she told me. I did as she said. “Your OTHER foot.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Oh.” I put my other foot out, and she pulled the tights over it, and up my leg to the knee. Then she did the same with the other leg. Last she tugged them all the way up, making me lay on my back on the bed and put my feet in the air so she could get them in place.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “This is as hard as dressing a baby,” I thought I heard her mutter as I stood up then. She tugged and made a few adjustments to the tights. I was getting used to the feeling of having these things hug my legs and push them into shape. They were a bit itchy, perhaps, but I knew I could easily get used to these. I was beginning to enjoy this, not that I would ever let Julie know that! “Okay, help me out of the petticoat,” she said, holding her arms up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I pulled it up over her head, so that now both of us were standing in just a pair of panties and white tights. “We could almost be twins,” Julie said, catching sight of our reflections in the mirror. She was right. Then she took hold of the petticoat and helped me get it over my body. “A dress like this absolutely HAS to have a petticoat under it,” Julie said with a smile.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “A what?” I popped my head out over the abundance of lace.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “A petticoat. What you are putting on now,” she giggled at my confusion. “Gee, you have a lot to learn about girl’s clothes, don’t you? Boys clothes are so simple – underwear, socks, shirt, pants…” she pointed to each item as she named them. “Girls have tights, nylons, slips, petticoats, half-slips, coulettes, skorts, slacks, skirts, dresses, bras – and about a dozen different styles of panties. You have shoes. We have pumps, flats, heels of different heights, sandals… it gets confusing sometimes. And we have to match it all, and THEN do our hair and make-up! And you probably wondered why it takes girls so long to get dressed.” Julie’s complaints were somewhat funny and probably picked up from her older sisters, since she didn’t wear make-up or heels or a bra yet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I shook my body a bit and the petticoat fell right into place. “Hey! You did that pretty good – just like a real girl,” Julie teased. “I told you you must have some girl blood!” I just rolled my eyes and held my arms up so she would help me into the dress.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “See? The petticoat makes the dress stand out,” Julie said as the dress fell into place over the petticoat. “And it makes it swing and swish when you twirl,” she went on, making several adjustments to the dress. She took the zipper and pulled it up, much more easily than I had taken it down when she was wearing the dress.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Umph,” I grunted as she pulled the sash tight around my waist to tie it. “Sorry. It has to be tight,” she said. “It doesn’t look right otherwise.” She picked up my shirt and slipped into it, buttoning it as she said, “I was getting cold.” She stripped her tights down her legs. “Might be colder like this, but those things ITCH!” She was wearing little pink panties with hearts on them, and covered them quickly with my pants. “Yep – we are exactly the same size,” she told me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; She looked at my feet and handed me the Mary Janes, which I immediately figured out I could not put on while wearing the dress. “I can’t see my feet,” I complained.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Oh for heaven’s sake!” She took the shoes from me and put them on my feet, buckling them on just right. In the mirror I could see that my body had been transformed and I was beginning to look very much like the pretty girl Julie had mentioned earlier. She grabbed a hairbrush and comb next and went to work on my hair. It had been quite awhile since my last haircut, so she at least had some to work with, I watched in the mirror as she worked on it, finally taking a ribbon the same color as her own and working it into my hair. “It would be better if it was longer,” she admitted, “But I think it looks pretty girlish like that.” And it did.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Next she had me hold my hands out. “Jeez! How did you get them so LONG?” she exclaimed, staring at my long, unkempt nails.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I shrugged. “By never cutting them.” She gave me a dirty look. I never could stand having my nails short, whenever one broke it would bother me until it grew out again, so I never cut them. Unfortunately I also never trimmed or filed them either, which Julie promptly took care of with her manicure set, as well as cleaning them. After that, she took out a bottle of nail polish, and painted my nails a glistening pink color.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “I got this for Christmas,” she told me. “It’s my first nail polish, and I also got this.” She pulled out a box that had different types of lip gloss. “You can use some of this too – you put it on like this.” She took some on her fingers and smeared it on her lips, then puckered them and wiped the excess on a tissue. “It’s my first lip gloss too, but I’ve been sneaking some of Kim’s,” she admitted.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Since this was her first make-up, I felt it was very special that she actually allowed me to use some of it, and I thanked her. “No problem,” she said. “You’re more fun to play with when you are a girl.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I was kind of taken aback by that comment until I thought about it. “You’re more fun to play with when I am a girl too,” I told her, and we both giggled. Something was happening to me, though I couldn’t figure out what. I could never imagine giggling like that with my friend Ricky. I also could never imagine Ricky and I playing with a doll house, which is what I began to do then with Julie.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; It was some time later when my aunt opened the bedroom door. “Julie, what are you two doing up her…Oh!” She stared at me for a minute. “Well don’t YOU look sweet,” she said after a minute.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “Umm – I’m sorry!&amp;nbsp; I … we were just…” I tried to stutter out some excuse as to why I would be dressed like this.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; “I know what you ‘were just’ doing,” my aunt said. “You were just going to get my special niece to come and visit me, right?” Julie giggled as my aunt sat down and retied the sash into a better bow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; She wanted me to come downstairs so she could show me off to the rest of the family, but I was far too shy to let everyone else see me like that. I did let Kim see me before the day was over, and she actually gave me some of her own lip gloss to take home with me. “Just don’t wear any to school,” she warned me. “They might not understand,” she went on with a wink.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; My aunt must have also told my Mom, although she never brought it up. I just noticed that every so often I would open my closet, and a brand new dress in my size would be hanging in it, right in front where I would have to see it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; When I went home that evening, I wore the tights and panties under my pants. And for quite a few years after that, Julie and I always played “dress-up” at Christmastime.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-59MfLE3bLco/Ttm-HvZDxdI/AAAAAAAAACE/bDmOmHa_-sU/s1600/H23256_0400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-59MfLE3bLco/Ttm-HvZDxdI/AAAAAAAAACE/bDmOmHa_-sU/s320/H23256_0400.jpg" width="248" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoPlainText" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-7076726242461679261?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7vgMyVSMwoQ5h1PPnqwOCHLvrys/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7vgMyVSMwoQ5h1PPnqwOCHLvrys/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/7vgMyVSMwoQ5h1PPnqwOCHLvrys/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7vgMyVSMwoQ5h1PPnqwOCHLvrys/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/PEAz6CsW3JM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/7076726242461679261/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-2.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7076726242461679261?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7076726242461679261?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/PEAz6CsW3JM/advent-calendar-day-2.html" title="Advent Calendar, Day 2" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-59MfLE3bLco/Ttm-HvZDxdI/AAAAAAAAACE/bDmOmHa_-sU/s72-c/H23256_0400.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-2.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUDQ3k_eSp7ImA9WhRRF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-6856902570734246560</id><published>2011-12-01T19:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-01T19:54:32.741-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-01T19:54:32.741-05:00</app:edited><title>Advent Calendar, Day 1!</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;It's here, it's here! &amp;nbsp; :: Giggle :: &amp;nbsp;Now if I can just stay disciplined enough (no.... not THAT kind of discipline.... put the hairbrush down please....) to post every day til Christmas! &amp;nbsp;:-) &amp;nbsp; Check here daily for a new post with something... an image, or a game, a story, or something of the like. &amp;nbsp;:-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lekyH_vqaVw/TtggS2K2M_I/AAAAAAAAAB8/1dS-zUOorXI/s1600/XmasGirls_ClassicAd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lekyH_vqaVw/TtggS2K2M_I/AAAAAAAAAB8/1dS-zUOorXI/s1600/XmasGirls_ClassicAd.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Sorry about the writing on this... it is as clear as I could get it. This is an old Sears Christmas Catalog page. Now, I remember getting the catalog when we were kids, and looking at all the toys, but they weren't like this. Actually, I'm a little disgusted, but maybe little girls LIKED these type of toys then? It's all about cooking and cleaning and sewing and taking care of babies. Would you really want all your play to be about the work you'll have to do when you grow up? So, I'm kinda happy not to be living back then ... although the toy stove, the beauty set, or the Dolly Dear family would not be a bad gift for me right now. &amp;nbsp;Hint, hint. &amp;nbsp;:: Giggle ::&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-6856902570734246560?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2AV0as_ZUyfITKuEeQxZ0obZ7r4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2AV0as_ZUyfITKuEeQxZ0obZ7r4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2AV0as_ZUyfITKuEeQxZ0obZ7r4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2AV0as_ZUyfITKuEeQxZ0obZ7r4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/2UhUolfv-Q4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/6856902570734246560/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-1.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/6856902570734246560?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/6856902570734246560?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/2UhUolfv-Q4/advent-calendar-day-1.html" title="Advent Calendar, Day 1!" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lekyH_vqaVw/TtggS2K2M_I/AAAAAAAAAB8/1dS-zUOorXI/s72-c/XmasGirls_ClassicAd.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/12/advent-calendar-day-1.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMHSXs4fSp7ImA9WhRRFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-6506387664903391581</id><published>2011-11-28T11:22:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-28T11:23:58.535-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-28T11:23:58.535-05:00</app:edited><title>For Anyone Wanting Adult Footed Sleepers</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;I don't know if Footed Sleepers are coming back into style - for adults now - or what, but I have been seeing them a lot more often. I even saw bunny style pink footed sleepers at Target a couple weeks ago. But here's a deal I came upon this morning that I thought everyone might like a chance to see.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"&gt;You'll never believe what I found. I wasn't even looking, but I once bought pajamas from this place called "Fun Sleepwear", and I got an email from them.&amp;nbsp; They are having a sale.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;br style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;When I looked, lo and behold, they have dozens of styles of one-piece footed sleepers! No joke ... both men's and women's styles! And they are not expensive - they range from $35 - $45.&amp;nbsp; Some are hooded, and many have drop seats. The link I am sending is to the womens styles, cause they are way cuter, but if you want mens just look under the mens pajamas link on the left side menu - there are footed sleepers for men too.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;br style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.crazyforbargains.com/fopaforwo.html" style="color: #bc2d97; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"&gt;http://www.crazyforbargains.com/fopaforwo.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;br style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;I have shopped here before and they are safe.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;br style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"&gt;For free shipping through November 30, use the coupon code SLEEPISGOOD.&amp;nbsp; And no, I am not getting anything for posting this, I just figured someone here might like to get footed sleepers in their size for a low price.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-6506387664903391581?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fsiPDpiyen8ypsWJzek0EEekXgQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fsiPDpiyen8ypsWJzek0EEekXgQ/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/fsiPDpiyen8ypsWJzek0EEekXgQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fsiPDpiyen8ypsWJzek0EEekXgQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/ry0YjAD9NeY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/6506387664903391581/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/11/for-anyone-wanting-adult-footed.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/6506387664903391581?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/6506387664903391581?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/ry0YjAD9NeY/for-anyone-wanting-adult-footed.html" title="For Anyone Wanting Adult Footed Sleepers" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/11/for-anyone-wanting-adult-footed.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUCRXo7eyp7ImA9WhRREko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-2645931658942369461</id><published>2011-11-25T22:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-25T22:14:24.403-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-25T22:14:24.403-05:00</app:edited><title>Advent Calendar</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;So, I really wanted to make an Advent Calendar and post it on here. &amp;nbsp;But I couldn't figure out how the heck to do it. &amp;nbsp;So, I'm still going to make a post every day from December 1 -25 and you'll just have to use your imagination for the calendar. Sorry.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sometimes the post will be a story, sometimes a picture, sometimes a game. Hopefully everyone will like my little presents. &amp;nbsp;:-) &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;Comments always appreciated.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-2645931658942369461?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Oy9KnBmzm3GouZ82Nbce4Eo8hUc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Oy9KnBmzm3GouZ82Nbce4Eo8hUc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/Thn1IqRDCh8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/2645931658942369461/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/11/advent-calendar.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/2645931658942369461?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/2645931658942369461?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/Thn1IqRDCh8/advent-calendar.html" title="Advent Calendar" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/11/advent-calendar.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0EBQ3szfCp7ImA9WhRSFEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-6942296463819015103</id><published>2011-11-16T16:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-16T16:40:52.584-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-16T16:40:52.584-05:00</app:edited><title>Halloween</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Well, I had a fun Halloween. Although it was strange going back between me and another LG, handing out candy - plus at the same time we ended up fielding several rather important phone calls (dealing with financial matters and with career matters). At least while she was on the phone I was handing out candy, and while I was on the phone she was handing out the candy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I did get a couple requests for pictures, which I obliged. On the other hand, I also got questions from kids as to just who I was supposed to be. &amp;nbsp;I'll have to come up with a better answer next year. &amp;nbsp;:: Giggle ::.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I wore the jumper given to me by my Auntie Dixie and Cousin Lori-Sue. I also picked up the purse and jacket at that same time. The wig is just a favorite of mine, even though it is definitely just a costume-type wig. Not really comfortable to wear for any extended period of time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Here's a picture of me in my outfit.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SLWNOT42c0c/TsQtgz4HW4I/AAAAAAAAAB0/M1woc30ihaA/s1600/PA310012a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SLWNOT42c0c/TsQtgz4HW4I/AAAAAAAAAB0/M1woc30ihaA/s320/PA310012a.jpg" width="180" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-6942296463819015103?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5nABc31z8sU2bzsATiZEgoVtXL4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5nABc31z8sU2bzsATiZEgoVtXL4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/P4Z-cOY42jA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/6942296463819015103/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/11/halloween.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/6942296463819015103?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/6942296463819015103?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/P4Z-cOY42jA/halloween.html" title="Halloween" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SLWNOT42c0c/TsQtgz4HW4I/AAAAAAAAAB0/M1woc30ihaA/s72-c/PA310012a.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/11/halloween.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0ANQn44eSp7ImA9WhRTEE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-7917295779500369070</id><published>2011-10-31T01:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-31T01:43:13.031-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-31T01:43:13.031-04:00</app:edited><title>Bobby Get's Her Wish .... or Did She?</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;The news has been chattering over the past weekend about a little TG "boy" named Bobby, who wanted to join the Girl Scouts. Initially Bobby was told she could not be a girl scout, but then people higher up in the organization made it clear that this was misunderstood, and Bobby or any other boy who is living as a girl is welcome in Girl Scouts.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/transgender-boy-attempt-join-girl-scouts-initially-rejected-boy-parts-article-1.968179"&gt;http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/transgender-boy-attempt-join-girl-scouts-initially-rejected-boy-parts-article-1.968179&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While this may sound highly unusual, Boy Scouts have been open to girls since the 1990s - why shouldn't it be &amp;nbsp;the other way around as well? **&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anyone who knows me knows I can't be a shining example of being unbiased on this issue. It's every LGs dream to be "just like the other little girls" and be able to regress in age and go to a girls school, take dance classes (or gymnastics, or cheerleading...), wear cute clothes, and for many ... join the Girl Scouts. What if we really could pull that off? I bet there are a lot who would. I know I would.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I won't dwell on whether Bobby is really TG, or is being unduly influenced by his mother. There is no doubt in my mind that some people are born with the mind of a girl and the body of a boy. There are also some people born with the body of a boy and some characteristics that are feminine. There are some who grow up in an environment that cultivates these characteristics, and some who grow up in an environment that induces or even demands that they internalize these feelings and keep them bottled up. The same is true of course for those born in girls' bodies with the mind or characteristics of a boy. In all of this mess, there are also those who may have nothing more than a curiosity, and grow completely out of it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Every person is different. This seems to be unknown to many people who have commented on Bobby's story in the last week. There are some who seem set on proving Bobby had a curiosity and his mother exploited it and turned him into a "sissy". There are others who seem intent one proving that Bobby is definitely a TG, even at the tender age of seven. Still others insist that Bobby and his mother both need professional help. Not one of the people making these arguments have ever MET Bobby or his mother. Thus they should be understood to be completely unqualified to make any such judgment! One man even claimed to be a Psychologist, then went on to show he was ignorant of the difference between Transgender, Transexual, and Homosexual!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Focussing beyond all of this, what we have here is a young person who wanted to join the Girl Scouts. Let's eliminate all gender specifics for a moment and think about the activities involved. In both Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts one can earn badges. In Girl Scouts, there are badges for Child Care, Baking Cookies, Dance, First Aid, Drawing and Painting, Cooking, Sewing, and making jewelry. There are many others as well, including such things as Car Care, and Ms. Fix-it. In Boy Scouts, one can earn badges for many athletic type activities, Bugling, American Labor, American Business (I'm not making these up!), Chemistry, Chess, Leatherworking, Metalworking, or Rifle or Shotgun Shooting. Again, there are more - interestingly there is a Boy Scout Badge for Cooking. There is nothing for sewing, and very little focus to the arts. Now consider ... what if a boy does not like what Boy Scouts do? It appears the Girl Scouts make more of an effort to be inclusive than the Boy Scouts.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Should a child (or anyone for that matter) be doomed to a life of exclusion just for being different than the status quo? And whose standard are we using to judge status quo anyway? When I was a kid, I would come home from school and be asked what I did. I would mention playing with _____ or with ______ - all were girl's names. That's because I only played with the girls. I remember being asked about that even at that age, and saying, "I don't like what the boys play. They're dumb." Although at that age, I never fully understood why I was so much different from all the other boys. I was content to play jacks, jump rope, and play with my sisters doll house. I made up elaborate plays in my head and acted them out ... being called blessed with a vivid imagination. Later, when I got older and I was banned from playing with doll houses, I built my own from shoe boxes and leftover tile and carpet from my parents' remodeling of our house. I built furniture from cardboard. Sometimes I built houses with Legos or Dominos. When I was an adult and out on my own, I bought the things I SHOULD have had but never got as a child - my own dollies and my own doll house. Screw what anyone else thought about it - it's none of their business anyway.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I want to look at one other point, however. Bobby's wish was not really to join the Girl Scouts, per se. Bobby's only wish was to be just like the other little girls. I am reasonably certain that nobody makes a kid pull down his pants to prove whether he's a boy or girl. The pictures of Bobby show him to be quite a cute little girl, and his name is not unbelievably masculine. The Girl Scouts have issued a statement in which they specifically state that they do not make anyone prove the gender of their child. So, who told that Bobby is actually a boy (biologically)? &amp;nbsp;And after that, once the Girl Scouts organization heard this situation and told Bobby's mother that he could in fact join Girl Scouts, who alerted the media? Bobby's mother appears to be using him to get attention, and this is wrong. If she really wanted to help him be the girl she claimns he wants to be, every effort should have been made to keep this quiet - now that all this attention has been rained upon it, Bobby can never get the wish to be "just like the other little girls".*&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* I have purposefully left out Bobby's full name and location. All the organizations who insisted upon giving all this information have participated in bringing all this attention on Bobby, which will ultimately make it impossible for him to live as a normal girl.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
** In mid February of 2011, a teenage boy in London attempted to join Girl Guides and was turned away. In this case the leaders fiercely defended their stance - but the details are completely different from this case. Whereas the boy from London identifies as a BOY, Bobby identifies and lives as a GIRL. Also, Wikipedia claims that Girl Guides is open to both boys and girls in some countries, however, it does not list the countries nor does it have any citation for this remark.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-7917295779500369070?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yv7boJl6xxPSXJRrfBQgC_k6xME/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yv7boJl6xxPSXJRrfBQgC_k6xME/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/IzTtYJuDd_E" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/7917295779500369070/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/10/bobby-gets-her-wish-or-did-she.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7917295779500369070?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7917295779500369070?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/IzTtYJuDd_E/bobby-gets-her-wish-or-did-she.html" title="Bobby Get's Her Wish .... or Did She?" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/10/bobby-gets-her-wish-or-did-she.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0ABRns-fSp7ImA9WhdaEUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-6630408252527893723</id><published>2011-10-20T16:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-20T16:15:57.555-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-20T16:15:57.555-04:00</app:edited><title>Yearbook Yourself</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;I just found a&amp;nbsp;fabulously&amp;nbsp;fun site to play with, called "Yearbook Yourself"! &amp;nbsp;Ever wonder what you would look like with a historic hairstyle? You can upload your facial photos to this site, and then click on whatever you want to have your face inserted into a yearbook style photo. &amp;nbsp;They have a style from every two years, 1950-2000. Plus, even if you are a male, you can put your face on female photos just to see what it looks like.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In a couple places I had to say, "DANG, I'd make an ugly girl with that hairstyle!" &amp;nbsp;But in other places I was pleasantly surprised. Also surprising was just how well it worked. It has me thinking about a different hairstyle wig for sure.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anyway - give it a try! &amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://www.yearbookyourself.com/"&gt;http://www.yearbookyourself.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-6630408252527893723?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/I1-YMwKXJpxD4EHMapKOkOgtw54/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/I1-YMwKXJpxD4EHMapKOkOgtw54/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/I1-YMwKXJpxD4EHMapKOkOgtw54/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/I1-YMwKXJpxD4EHMapKOkOgtw54/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/LQmw6Z-XeD8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/6630408252527893723/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/10/yearbook-yourself.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/6630408252527893723?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/6630408252527893723?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/LQmw6Z-XeD8/yearbook-yourself.html" title="Yearbook Yourself" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/10/yearbook-yourself.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkMBSXwzeSp7ImA9WhdUFEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-3107115145099091230</id><published>2011-10-01T02:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-01T02:27:38.281-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-01T02:27:38.281-04:00</app:edited><title>Now that's a smart car!</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;So what does a&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"&gt;6-foot-4, 320-pound NFL defender drive? &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"&gt;Most of us would answer that with a hearty, "Whatever he wants to!" Antonio Garay of the San Diego Chargers took full advantage of this privilege with his new car ... a Smart Car with Hello Kitty on the side! He has posted about it on his Twitter account, complete with pictures.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://desmond.yfrog.com/Himg740/scaled.php?tn=0&amp;amp;server=740&amp;amp;filename=jdcxh.jpg&amp;amp;xsize=640&amp;amp;ysize=640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://desmond.yfrog.com/Himg740/scaled.php?tn=0&amp;amp;server=740&amp;amp;filename=jdcxh.jpg&amp;amp;xsize=640&amp;amp;ysize=640" width="239" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"&gt;Check out this one with he and team mate Cam Thomas in the car with him. Hope that car has good shocks - that's almost 700 lbs!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://desmond.yfrog.com/Himg858/scaled.php?tn=0&amp;amp;server=858&amp;amp;filename=ye2k.jpg&amp;amp;xsize=640&amp;amp;ysize=640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://desmond.yfrog.com/Himg858/scaled.php?tn=0&amp;amp;server=858&amp;amp;filename=ye2k.jpg&amp;amp;xsize=640&amp;amp;ysize=640" width="239" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"&gt;As those of you who know me are aware, I am a LG who likes football. It is VERY seldom one might get to combine LG interests and Football interests. I'm happy to have been able to do it twice so far in this blog. Anyway - now you can get a Hello Kitty car, and if anyone says anything, just tell them you are emulating your football hero, Antonio Garay. &amp;nbsp;Thanks from LGs everywhere, Antonio!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-3107115145099091230?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/roEYjIKcFJsRuMbP4uQj-Odg1DQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/roEYjIKcFJsRuMbP4uQj-Odg1DQ/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/roEYjIKcFJsRuMbP4uQj-Odg1DQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/roEYjIKcFJsRuMbP4uQj-Odg1DQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/vJkVefDbXYY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/3107115145099091230/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/10/now-thats-smart-car.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/3107115145099091230?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/3107115145099091230?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/vJkVefDbXYY/now-thats-smart-car.html" title="Now that's a smart car!" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/10/now-thats-smart-car.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQBQnw7eSp7ImA9WhdQGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-1928594413760742674</id><published>2011-08-22T00:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-22T00:12:33.201-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-22T00:12:33.201-04:00</app:edited><title>:: Giggle ::  One more pic</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;I found one more from my Easter trip. I think it shows the detail of my dress better. &amp;nbsp;Sorry about the blur on the side - a friend was standing next to me (although she probably wouldn't care if I showed her or not, it's just not ethical). And you know why the face is blurred.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FPT3Yw6AJ7Y/TlHXFIMu5dI/AAAAAAAAABw/wQgsUiGE3uc/s1600/carriagetour.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FPT3Yw6AJ7Y/TlHXFIMu5dI/AAAAAAAAABw/wQgsUiGE3uc/s1600/carriagetour.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PwNMKgKfudcNbqdPgYtbH4SzFz4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PwNMKgKfudcNbqdPgYtbH4SzFz4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PwNMKgKfudcNbqdPgYtbH4SzFz4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PwNMKgKfudcNbqdPgYtbH4SzFz4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/frcEGgViujA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/1928594413760742674/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/08/giggle-one-more-pic.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/1928594413760742674?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/1928594413760742674?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/frcEGgViujA/giggle-one-more-pic.html" title=":: Giggle ::  One more pic" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FPT3Yw6AJ7Y/TlHXFIMu5dI/AAAAAAAAABw/wQgsUiGE3uc/s72-c/carriagetour.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/08/giggle-one-more-pic.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUcMRno8eip7ImA9WhdQGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-3428456110195478743</id><published>2011-08-20T01:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-20T01:11:27.472-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-20T01:11:27.472-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Trangender" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="easter dresses" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="LG" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="going out" /><title>Personal View: Going Out In Public Dressed LG</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;So - I am hoping that once I make this post, I am getting enough readers that will want to comment on it. That would be great.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;Basically, my email account was hacked this week. &amp;nbsp;It was all over some silly little worm and Google shut down my email as soon as it was discovered. &amp;nbsp;I just needed to verify it by phone which I did, then sent an apology to all the people who were sent the stupid thing from my email.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;Anyway, in all that I ended up missing some posts from Fetlife. By the time I got to the threads, they had both been shut down. The main subject was a man who goes out in public dressed as a baby, and whether this is acceptable or not, and boy did a lot of people ever let him have it! I didn't get to have my say there... and since I have this handy little blog, I thought I'd spin it just a bit and pose the question here. Unlike certain overreactive moderators, I won't shut down discussion on the subject here - HOWEVER, I simply won't post comments that are nothing but hateful or threatening attacks. Keep on subject and it will be fine, even if you post contentiously. I've ALWAYS been controvesial myself, in every area of life, anyway. ;-)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;So here are my thoughts on the matter - which is this - is it okay to dress as a little girl and go out in public dressed that way? It's interesting because my views really have changed in the last several years. Knowing that, I am willing to believe that a lot of people who say one thing today will feel differently about it in the future as well. I used to believe it was wrong to do so; that it should be kept inside and private. And there are some things I still think fall in that range. I don't believe someone should go out for cheap sexual thrills, I believe diapers should be covered, and I believe panties should not be on display.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;That said, if a person is dressed in a respectable manner and all private body parts are covered, what does it harm? Is it better to sit inside and watch out of the window, or is it better to go out and play? We all know the answer to that.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;I've been out many times. The first time was merely because my brakes had gone bad as I was driving to a weekend event. At that time, most people stayed on campus at the resort the entire weekend. Going out dressed LG was almost unheard of and not really spoken of. I had dropped my car off at a garage nearby. &amp;nbsp;The day they finished fixing it, I had already changed back to boy clothes several times to go to stores, and frankly I was tired of it. I said, "Y'know what? I should just go dressed like this!" I was in a little schoolgirl dress and white tights and saddle shoes. And then my friends and sisters egged me on, so - I did. And when I got there, I skipped right up to the counter and chirped, "Hiya! Got my car ready yet?" &amp;nbsp;The guy at the desk was SOOOOO professional - he would not even look up at me. &amp;nbsp;:: Giggle ::&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;I went several more times ... such as going to get pizza... over the next couple years. Then one Spring, a TG friend named Cheryl was going out shopping and invited me along. That was the first time I went more than one place.... several stores in the town and had a LOT of people see me. And I didn't die. In fact it was fun to just be me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="font-size: 11px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;"&gt;I started going into NYC on the day after our weekends dressed in clothes that would be questionable ... such as Tinkerbell overalls (I sewed the patches on myself! &amp;nbsp;Yeah... me! *I* sewed something!) Then I went to see some friends in SC and we went to Charleston dressed LG. &amp;nbsp;I began to notice that most people simply do not care. And those that do care, love it. The negative reactions are extremely rare.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I've been to botanical gardens twice. Malls and Walmarts several times. Hotels. A zoo. Too many restaurants to count. Children? &amp;nbsp;Yeah - I have been around many and had my picture taken with a bunch of them. I've had one little girl compliment my dress, and I had another take one look at me, frown, and run off. No children were emotionally harmed in the making of Kita Sparkles. "Vanilla people" or "normies" seem to react to us going out a heck of a lot better than "our own kind" do!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The biggest test was last Spring. I spent several days out with friends, all around Charleston. We even had a Carriage tour. I would bet over 500 people took pictures of us. I saw ONE negative reaction. Granted, a lot of people assumed we "lost a bet", even when we told them that wasn't the case. &amp;nbsp;Really - where would we have come up with such elaborate dresses had we simply "lost a bet"? Best Easter I ever had.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Here are a couple pictures of me in the dresses I wore that weekend. &amp;nbsp;Sorry I can not make the face clearer - I have had certain people make extreme trouble for me in the past and I just don't do that anymore.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rT8C02yBaRI/Tk9BeWaXZcI/AAAAAAAAABk/OUScvF2e-4M/s1600/P4240384a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rT8C02yBaRI/Tk9BeWaXZcI/AAAAAAAAABk/OUScvF2e-4M/s320/P4240384a.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kEktjfLwnpI/Tk9BghcH8NI/AAAAAAAAABo/Qhg0mXooxFI/s1600/P4230358a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kEktjfLwnpI/Tk9BghcH8NI/AAAAAAAAABo/Qhg0mXooxFI/s320/P4230358a.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T3Ws2Io9woA/Tk9BjGyxVFI/AAAAAAAAABs/lRxchbn6Hus/s1600/P4230365a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T3Ws2Io9woA/Tk9BjGyxVFI/AAAAAAAAABs/lRxchbn6Hus/s320/P4230365a.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now - I don't dress like this 24/7. &amp;nbsp;Not even the 7 part, though sometimes I would like to. &amp;nbsp;There are people who depend on me to be someone else ... not a little girl .... and I take my responsibilities to them very, very seriously. Once that is fulfilled, I can be Kita. I also have responsibilities to some people as Kita, and I take those seriously as well - I do not burden them with my adult male responsibilities.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"&gt;So - I go out dressed LG, and yet do not contribute to the idea that age players/littles are creepy, child&amp;nbsp;molesters, or horrible people. I do not get any sexual kicks in this. And I still live up to my responsibilities. So maybe - just maybe - there are a lot more like me, and the only reason you don't hear about us is because we don't try to be sensational and thereby bring the whole&amp;nbsp;judgmental&amp;nbsp;world down upon our backs!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-3428456110195478743?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pLEtTBaFtBGsLAg1zHRbSkOp0TA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pLEtTBaFtBGsLAg1zHRbSkOp0TA/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/pLEtTBaFtBGsLAg1zHRbSkOp0TA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pLEtTBaFtBGsLAg1zHRbSkOp0TA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/IOBDhZPwiG0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/3428456110195478743/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/08/personal-view-going-out-in-public.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/3428456110195478743?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/3428456110195478743?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/IOBDhZPwiG0/personal-view-going-out-in-public.html" title="Personal View: Going Out In Public Dressed LG" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rT8C02yBaRI/Tk9BeWaXZcI/AAAAAAAAABk/OUScvF2e-4M/s72-c/P4240384a.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/08/personal-view-going-out-in-public.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEIBR38zeCp7ImA9WhdRFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-6988881365551436987</id><published>2011-08-05T21:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-05T21:02:36.180-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-05T21:02:36.180-04:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Well, "Back To School" is fully in swing now and all the stores have sales going. It has always been my practice in the past to walk through the Girls sections in the stores and see what is going to be in style for the next season, and I likely will again this year. It's always a fun thing to do.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's not unusual for a commercial to catch my eye, especially if it is cute. Such is the case with this Back to School commercial from Staples, circa 2007 or 2008:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/H41MkG23Jww" width="425"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-6988881365551436987?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Y-CEZTGezntNoRDsGZn_oBIxHls/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Y-CEZTGezntNoRDsGZn_oBIxHls/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/Y-CEZTGezntNoRDsGZn_oBIxHls/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Y-CEZTGezntNoRDsGZn_oBIxHls/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/_cap25U-y5k" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/6988881365551436987/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/08/well-back-to-school-is-fully-in-swing.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/6988881365551436987?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/6988881365551436987?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/_cap25U-y5k/well-back-to-school-is-fully-in-swing.html" title="" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/H41MkG23Jww/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/08/well-back-to-school-is-fully-in-swing.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkMBSXg7eCp7ImA9WhZbEEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-7071587650451656442</id><published>2011-06-13T20:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-13T20:14:18.600-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-13T20:14:18.600-04:00</app:edited><title>A Nazi Can Change His ...er.... HER ... Spots?</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;A&amp;nbsp;leopard&amp;nbsp;may not be able to change its spots, as the saying goes, but this ex-Neo-Nazi from Germany can change political parties .... and sex. Horst Strub was a member of Germany's NPD party - a Neo-Nazi political party - ten years ago. But now, Horst is known as Monika, after going through a sex change. As dramatic as the physical change, Stub has also changed political philosophy and now campaigns for the socialist Left party.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Here are some pictures so you can compare the change.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://dailypicksandflicks.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/strub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="211" src="http://dailypicksandflicks.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/strub.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://dailypicksandflicks.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/strub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;She's quite pretty - but I'm positive our viewpoints would clash!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-7071587650451656442?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/saDIifkmX5-CPEhglPt9ULeEIv8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/saDIifkmX5-CPEhglPt9ULeEIv8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/saDIifkmX5-CPEhglPt9ULeEIv8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/saDIifkmX5-CPEhglPt9ULeEIv8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/-oO6FDf1ndA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/7071587650451656442/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/06/nazi-can-change-his-er-her-spots.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7071587650451656442?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7071587650451656442?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/-oO6FDf1ndA/nazi-can-change-his-er-her-spots.html" title="A Nazi Can Change His ...er.... HER ... Spots?" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/06/nazi-can-change-his-er-her-spots.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU8FR3k7eCp7ImA9WhZUGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-7231863902901640538</id><published>2011-06-11T23:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-11T23:03:36.700-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-11T23:03:36.700-04:00</app:edited><title>An Old Point/Counterpoint Article</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;This article came from "The Onion" over 10 years ago - during the last century, in fact. It may still be there. I am publishing it under "Fair Use".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Point&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I Want To Be A Fireman&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;BY KIMBERLY MEIER&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;When I grow up, I want to be big and strong and brave and put out fires. I want to ride in a big red truck and wear a raincoat and a red hat. I want to be a fireman!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Firemen are the best people because they put out fires. The fires burn down buildings, but the firemen come in trucks and put out the fires with water from hoses and from fire hydrants. They go in the burning houses if people are inside and can't get out. Even if the buildings are on fire! And they get everybody out so they don't get hurt. Because firemen are very brave and like to help people by stopping the fires from burning all the houses down. And rescuing the people, too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I already have a book about firemen and about fire trucks, too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;When I get big I'm going to be a fireman. I am. I will live in the big firehouse with the other firemen, and so will Mrs. Kitty, and I will shine up the trucks--the Pumper Truck and the Hooking Ladder Truck, and I will shine them all shiny.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;And if there is a fire I will slide down the big pole. I'll slide right down--zooom! Also, I will slide down all the time even if there is not a fire. And I will play with the spotted dog, and so will my kitty. Her name is Mrs. Kitty!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Mrs. Kitty was up in a tree that time, you know? And she was scared to come down? And the fireman came and got her down, you know? With a ladder! And they gave me a fireman badge and it says "Fireman" on it, and they said I was an honorary fireman girl! Just like them. And so Mrs. Kitty wants to be a fireman now 'cause she got saved and I want to be a fireman, too. But because I already am a fireman. A honorary one. But I will be one for real, too, someday, but first I have to grow up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Counterpoint&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I Want To Be A Seven-Year-Old-Girl&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;BY TOM GIBSON, FIREMAN&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I enjoy being a fireman. It's a rewarding job, putting out fires and helping people in need. Besides, it's a very tangible way of helping the community. People respect you when you're a fireman.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;But despite the fact that lugging heavy hoses, smashing through burning walls with a fire axe, and carrying victims across your shoulders can be quite fulfilling, it's also a big responsibility. It's tough being a big strong man day in and day out. I guess that's why I so often find myself daydreaming about being an adorable, precious little seven-year-old girl.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Being seven, now, that would be the life. I would wear a pretty little yellow jumper while I skipped rope, and I'd know all the words to jump-rope rhymes like, "Cinderella Dressed In Yellow." I could even pretend I was Cinderella in my pretty little yellow jumper. Not that I'd have just the one jumper, mind you; I'd have dozens, in many different colors, and lots of beautiful sun-dresses, and lots of adorable, lacy, frilly white socks to wear with my buckle-shoes. I would have a lot of outfits, and they'd all be much more comfortable than this 30-pound raincoat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I would have one very special pink flowery pinafore that I would only wear to teatime with Pooh and Paddington and Raggedy Ann. I would wear this dress with a sweet little bonnet with ribbons, and my hair would be long and fine and done up in bows. I would be a pretty little girl, very prim and proper and delicate--not some big, burly ox who can barely get his finger through the cup-handle without breaking the cup half the time. I would always stick my pinky out while I sipped from my cup. There would be biscuits and little white cakes, as well, and I would throw a simply delightful afternoon tea party.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I would be the very best little girl in the world, and the grownups would buy me lollipops and treats and generally spoil me. I would say, "Please" and "Thank you" and "If you please, ma'am," and the grownups would protect me and keep me safe, and no one would ever expect me to get out of bed at four in the morning and lug some damn hippie out of the raging apartment fire he started with his grow lights.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I would not be lazy, though. I would go around with my miniature feather duster, wearing that cute blue frock I have way in the back of my closet, and I'd keep everything spic-and-span. The firemen would tousle my hair and say I was a good little girl, and they'd play hide-and-seek with me and tuck me in at night and sing me lullabies. They'd hardly ever have to spank me until my little bottom turned pink.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I would be such a good girl, I would be able to stay little forever and ever. I'd never have to grow up and get big and clumsy and ugly and hairy and hate my smelly body. I would be cute and dainty forever, like all little girls should.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I realize that "The Onion" is supposed to be a comedy site (although, I rarely find much there that I think is all that funny). However, I can remember when I first came across this, not too long after it was first published. I was very early into my beginning of understanding being LG, and this struck a chord. It was quite awhile before I learned that it was not a serious article ... because much of what the "fireman" wrote sounds exactly like many LGs. Maybe some of it is a little over-the-top, but then I know a lot of LGs who are somewhat over-the-top, too! (Myself included!)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Many real little girls would never understand why we would want to be like them. They are looking forward to growing up and trying new things - just like the "little girl" wrote in this article. They don't realize someone else longs to be in the situation they are now in. The grass is always greener...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I once had an odd dream. In the dream, I was a little girl - maybe 9 or 10 years old. It felt perfectly natural that I should be her - not like I was dreaming or that anything was not as it should be. I was helping in the kitchen - preparing food. It was very old fashioned, like maybe turn-of-the-century. There were men sitting at the table to eat - no women sat down to eat with them. It was dark, and there was a pot-bellied stove. I was wearing a long dress, with a pinafore or apron over it. Though I get the impression this girl would not have had an easy life, I did not get any bad feelings in the dream. It also was not exceptional in any way whatsoever - it was just a very common moment. Though I have no idea who the people in the house in my dream were, my dream identity knew them. It has always felt to me that some little girl from the past shared a perfectly normal minute from her life with me - one that would show that the life of a normal girl is not made up of all significant events - and yet that is a very special memory I now have.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-7231863902901640538?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IKFdJMZDE2YDtx-r_-AcII36IOc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IKFdJMZDE2YDtx-r_-AcII36IOc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/pfd05m3desE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/7231863902901640538/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/06/old-pointcounterpoint-article.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7231863902901640538?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7231863902901640538?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/pfd05m3desE/old-pointcounterpoint-article.html" title="An Old Point/Counterpoint Article" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/06/old-pointcounterpoint-article.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEINQ30_eCp7ImA9WhZUFko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-9140879633711187152</id><published>2011-06-09T22:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-09T22:23:12.340-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-09T22:23:12.340-04:00</app:edited><title>Additions</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Some of you may notice that I don't update very much. That's going to change. I've had some things lately that blocked my creative energy, but now I have brought those circumstances under control and can get back into doing what I like to do, which hopefully also makes my readers happy (and draws some new ones).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You may also notice the ads. I have incorporated this as a way to supplement a struggling income. I hope they are not too intrusive, and that you will still find my blog enjoyable.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-9140879633711187152?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yP6q2hCaCMMP9sgdpCcCpsrrCZY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yP6q2hCaCMMP9sgdpCcCpsrrCZY/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/yP6q2hCaCMMP9sgdpCcCpsrrCZY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yP6q2hCaCMMP9sgdpCcCpsrrCZY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/lV_5CLCHsLA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/9140879633711187152/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/06/additions.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/9140879633711187152?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/9140879633711187152?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/lV_5CLCHsLA/additions.html" title="Additions" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/06/additions.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU4BSH0yfyp7ImA9WhZTE0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-7043091561239129058</id><published>2011-03-17T14:49:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-17T14:52:39.397-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-17T14:52:39.397-04:00</app:edited><title>A Wee Bit O' Irish Dancin'</title><content type="html">&lt;iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/7548805" frameborder="0" height="300" width="400"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/7548805"&gt;The Donny Golden School of Irish Dance&lt;/a&gt; from &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/patrickrabdau"&gt;Little Big Pictures&lt;/a&gt; on &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/"&gt;Vimeo&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Produced for the Brooklyn Children’s Museum. This short film is one of seven interactive dance pieces that are on display at the museum. The pieces are projected on a large High Definition projection screen that’s life size to the kids with a small dance floor in front of the screen. The kids learn to do the dance or part of it and sometimes use a prop that’s related to the costume.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;www.brooklynkids.org&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;www.LittleBigPictures.com&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Well, apparently I can't do that.  If you click on the first link below the big stupid window that tells me I can't do that, it should take you to the video.   ;-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-7043091561239129058?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c2aixFS5NVr4Jz82DI0_6yL4qg0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c2aixFS5NVr4Jz82DI0_6yL4qg0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c2aixFS5NVr4Jz82DI0_6yL4qg0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c2aixFS5NVr4Jz82DI0_6yL4qg0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/IXfSJ3I7CuQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/7043091561239129058/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/03/wee-bit-o-irish-dancin.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7043091561239129058?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/7043091561239129058?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/IXfSJ3I7CuQ/wee-bit-o-irish-dancin.html" title="A Wee Bit O' Irish Dancin'" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/03/wee-bit-o-irish-dancin.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcERHo_fCp7ImA9Wx9VEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-4053681502750057412</id><published>2011-01-28T00:04:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-28T00:20:05.444-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-28T00:20:05.444-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="tights stories" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="tide commercial" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="tights" /><title>OMG I LOVE this commercial!!</title><content type="html">Most of you who know me know that I am just nuts about tights.  A lot of you who have seen me have NEVER seen me without tights! (Don't worry - I'm not about to post a picture of myself without tights....)  My love affair with tights goes back a long way and there are a couple funny stories I can relate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On one occasion when I was sharing a cabin at Camp with my sister Emi, I was in a hurry in the morning and just began to pull the tights up my legs. She let out this half-anguished cry of, "NO! Not like THAT! You'll TEAR them!" So then she spent the next ten minutes showing me how to put my tights on correctly and making me practice. BTW, she is my YOUNGER sister, too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On another occasion I was visiting a Mommy (to me) named Nicole, and we needed to g to the store. I just threw a pair of jeans on over my tights and diaper, and I was wearing Crocs shoes - you know, with the holes in them?  Anyway, in the checkout line, Mommy noticed the pink in my tights through the hols in the shoes. "Nice socks there," she whispered to me.  Seeing me blush, she kept this up all the way to the car.  :: Giggle ::&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been shopping with my sister Spinner at a store that sold tights, and the guy working there seemed very worried, telling us, "Umm... those are ladies socks!" To which I replied... "No kiddin'?"  :: Giggle ::   And with my friend Alice we discovered a "Little Miss Matched" in Manhattan, and the girls working that store did not seem bothered at all by our shopping and our merchandise choices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay - so, the commercial. I saw this on TV tonight and immediately set to search for it, and I found a great video of it (plus it is legal cause the advertiser themselves posted it!) Oh to have a drawer of tights heaven like that little girl has!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;iframe title="YouTube video player" class="youtube-player" type="text/html" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/89I98nR__9A" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-4053681502750057412?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kW_JCSB8JOzE1Tf9kaKwFQjn5xY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kW_JCSB8JOzE1Tf9kaKwFQjn5xY/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/kW_JCSB8JOzE1Tf9kaKwFQjn5xY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kW_JCSB8JOzE1Tf9kaKwFQjn5xY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/UhJ3Am63vVg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/4053681502750057412/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/01/omg-i-love-this-commercial.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/4053681502750057412?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/4053681502750057412?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/UhJ3Am63vVg/omg-i-love-this-commercial.html" title="OMG I LOVE this commercial!!" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/89I98nR__9A/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/01/omg-i-love-this-commercial.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEENRXg7cSp7ImA9Wx9XFEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100096292958088595.post-5262015864561765955</id><published>2011-01-07T22:15:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-07T22:18:14.609-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-07T22:18:14.609-05:00</app:edited><title>Cute Outfits ... in college football?</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.rangerette.com/Content/200812_1_2/135654.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 400px;" src="http://www.rangerette.com/Content/200812_1_2/135654.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, just about anyone who knows Kita Sparkles knows she is a college football fan. But aside from the game itself, I may see an interest in a little bit more than the average fan. Thelast two years, I have noticed that the Cotton Bowl Pre-game show features a group that wears what must be the most absolutely darling uniform I have ever seen in anything associated with college football.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.rangerette.com/Content/200812_1_2/135654.jpg"&gt;http://www.rangerette.com/Content/200812_1_2/135654.jpg&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did a little research and found out they are known as the Kilgore College Rangerettes. Apparently, they were the first dance/drill team in the world, started in 1940. They have been traditionally featured in the Cotton Bowl each year since 1951.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found this brochure with some information on them and lots of cute pictures:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.rangerette.com/Content/200810/brochure.pdf"&gt;http://www.rangerette.com/Content/200810/brochure.pdf&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just love those uniforms.  Wonder how hard it would be to get one in my size?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6100096292958088595-5262015864561765955?l=girlsparkle.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IYMv5DR3atIMtXcUOVYvCKyuSP8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IYMv5DR3atIMtXcUOVYvCKyuSP8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~4/I9x69xJtwbA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/feeds/5262015864561765955/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/01/cute-outfits-in-college-football.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/5262015864561765955?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6100096292958088595/posts/default/5262015864561765955?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SparkleTheBlogForAlgs/~3/I9x69xJtwbA/cute-outfits-in-college-football.html" title="Cute Outfits ... in college football?" /><author><name>Sparkle!</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16235803156487659595</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="31" height="16" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BRnOA6Q_SKs/S6mQ1Pt1sZI/AAAAAAAAAAM/41iKrY6s3XQ/S220/1001297l.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://girlsparkle.blogspot.com/2011/01/cute-outfits-in-college-football.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

