<?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;DEEMSXczeCp7ImA9WhRRFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435</id><updated>2011-11-27T15:31:28.980-08:00</updated><title>the Story of Sara &amp; Brad</title><subtitle type="html">the story of Sara &amp;amp; &lt;a href="http://bradsside.blogspot.com"&gt;Brad&lt;/a&gt;</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>17</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/TheStoryOfSaraBrad" /><feedburner:info uri="thestoryofsarabrad" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D04HRng8fSp7ImA9WxNXEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-3904518761291471647</id><published>2009-09-29T18:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-29T18:58:57.675-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-29T18:58:57.675-07:00</app:edited><title>Moving help from Brad?</title><summary>So, I'm moving tomorrow. Brad offered to help me with this, which I really appreciate. Actually he accidentally volunteered. 

I was explaining how I thought it would be difficult to move certain things and he says " Oh, no it's not." and starts explaining exactly how he would do it. I looked and him and said "Oh, it sounds like you know exactly what you are doing. I could really use the help."

</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/3904518761291471647/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/09/moving-help-from-brad.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/3904518761291471647?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/3904518761291471647?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/ydzw8fffb6U/moving-help-from-brad.html" title="Moving help from Brad?" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/09/moving-help-from-brad.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUCSXw8cSp7ImA9WxNQGE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-1293535329906068030</id><published>2009-09-24T17:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T17:24:28.279-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-24T17:24:28.279-07:00</app:edited><title>Good dating traits</title><summary>Wow, I would have to say I agree with Brad on this one. I will say that most people date a lot of people trying to find just the right person for them. 

I have found the opposite to be true. I find that dating one person gives you both more time to get to know each other. This way you can talk and find out if this person has the traits you are looking for, or better yet the traits you don't want</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/1293535329906068030/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/09/good-dating-traits.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/1293535329906068030?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/1293535329906068030?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/JAH8PzL-wuY/good-dating-traits.html" title="Good dating traits" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/09/good-dating-traits.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMFQX8-fyp7ImA9WxNQEk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-5518647032064697213</id><published>2009-09-12T16:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T10:26:50.157-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-17T10:26:50.157-07:00</app:edited><title>Hello? Can you hear me?</title><summary>I was talking with Brad last night, about the party he threw on Monday in Golden Gate Park. A lot of my friends came and it was really fun. 

I started to tell him how everyone loved it and had a great time. So, here I am going on and on about how great it was. Then he just looks up at me and says " huh, sorry I wasn't even listening to you." Then he just smiles, and laughs.

What?! Here I am </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/5518647032064697213/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/09/hello-can-you-hear-me.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/5518647032064697213?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/5518647032064697213?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/dw8iJ5IeQxU/hello-can-you-hear-me.html" title="Hello? Can you hear me?" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/09/hello-can-you-hear-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQFQHk7eip7ImA9WxNREUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-1244520724063657605</id><published>2009-09-05T11:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-05T12:18:31.702-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-05T12:18:31.702-07:00</app:edited><title>Three's a party</title><summary>My boss had a party at his place last night. I decided to ask Brad to go with me.

When we get there I introduce Brad and he immediately seems to hit if off with everyone. After awhile we are all just sitting around talking, and having a great time. 

Then Brad starts telling a story.  In the middle of the story Brad casually places his hand on what he thought was my knee.  The only problem was </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/1244520724063657605/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/09/threes-party.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/1244520724063657605?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/1244520724063657605?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/KhXP7tzOdhE/threes-party.html" title="Three's a party" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/09/threes-party.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMFQHw6fip7ImA9WxNREE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-1595962925765166123</id><published>2009-09-03T20:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-03T21:10:11.216-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-03T21:10:11.216-07:00</app:edited><title>re: It goes both ways</title><summary>“...this is just Sara trying to get a reaction out of me.”Read more at Brad's blogOh God, yeah so Brad came to my place the other night. Things were good, I thought I was gaining ground with Brad, I should have just left well enough alone... 

I knew Brad was coming over soon. So I asked Laura, my roommate, to join me in a little fun.  Brad walks in, he sits down and I finish getting ready. While</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/1595962925765166123/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/09/rejealousy-both-ways.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/1595962925765166123?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/1595962925765166123?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/nAq0QIRjM1I/rejealousy-both-ways.html" title="re: It goes both ways" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/09/rejealousy-both-ways.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYNSXs7eSp7ImA9WxNSF0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-661751602603770168</id><published>2009-08-31T17:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T19:46:38.501-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-31T19:46:38.501-07:00</app:edited><title>Sunday delivery</title><summary>Brad and I had made plans to meet at his place around noon yesterday. I get on the bus and send him a quick text saying I was on my way. I asked him to meet me at the bus stop by his place. He quickly responds, saying that he couldn't, he's stuck at home waiting for a package. That's fine. I get off the bus and head towards his place.A few minutes later he asks me to pick up lunch and bring it </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/661751602603770168/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/sunday-delivery.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/661751602603770168?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/661751602603770168?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/mvIWdLJw5bs/sunday-delivery.html" title="Sunday delivery" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/sunday-delivery.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcARHs4cSp7ImA9WxNSEkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-3399104071723135187</id><published>2009-08-20T05:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T16:47:25.539-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T16:47:25.539-07:00</app:edited><title>Unorganized Lunch</title><summary>I got a call from Brad, asking me if I could meet him on his lunch break. Unfortunately, I told him I was stuck in the library all day studying and I had rushed out of the house this morning and forgot my wallet. Still I was in desperate need of a break, so I told him I would meet him as soon as I could. Maybe we could at least hang out for a bit. By the time I got to him his break was over. I </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/3399104071723135187/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/unorganized-lunch.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/3399104071723135187?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/3399104071723135187?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/zIkWlOXz52I/unorganized-lunch.html" title="Unorganized Lunch" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/unorganized-lunch.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk8ER388fip7ImA9WxNSEkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-6976414509999467592</id><published>2009-08-10T21:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T17:00:06.176-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T17:00:06.176-07:00</app:edited><title>re:  All dressed up</title><summary>“Sara was getting anxious watching me...”      Read more at Brad's blogI'm the type of girl that usually loves just hanging out watching a good movie. I had a very stressful week and was wanting to go out for the evening. Brad understood and mentioned that we could go to the W. This is an exquisite place, and I haven't had the chance to get really dressed up in a while. So, I was excited to </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/6976414509999467592/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/all-dressed-up.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/6976414509999467592?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/6976414509999467592?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/6YuVEeuetZM/all-dressed-up.html" title="re:  All dressed up" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/all-dressed-up.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUcHQ30_fyp7ImA9WxNSEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-2448622578758601679</id><published>2009-08-02T00:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T00:57:12.347-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T00:57:12.347-07:00</app:edited><title>Heels and S.F.</title><summary>Brad, like most guys is a big fan of heels   I am as well, don't get me wrong I love the way they look   Their is only one problem with heels and that is: we live in San Francisco. When ever we make plans to go out he always hints to the fact that he would like me to wear a pair of my heels.   So, in order to make him happy I wore a pair on our last date. When he saw me he immediately made a </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/2448622578758601679/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/heels-and-sf.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/2448622578758601679?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/2448622578758601679?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/_vqO9H3dIDQ/heels-and-sf.html" title="Heels and S.F." /><author><name>Brad Tucker</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i6btvIw4rRc/SpN98PvDrOI/AAAAAAAAAGo/4vDVasB_NcQ/s1600-R/pr_brad.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/heels-and-sf.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IFRHw8fyp7ImA9WxNSEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-2456913715390470564</id><published>2009-07-25T21:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T01:38:35.277-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T01:38:35.277-07:00</app:edited><title>Beach Day, no towels</title><summary>I get a call from Brad asking if I want to go to the beach.   I wasn't working so I was excited to have something to do, so I said yes.   He tells me to get my beach wear together and he will get back to me with more details.   I start putting a few things together, when I get a text saying he is on his way to pick me up.   “Be there in 5” it said.   So i am running around frantically throwing </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/2456913715390470564/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/07/beach-day-no-towels.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/2456913715390470564?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/2456913715390470564?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/6MrG-UZhchw/beach-day-no-towels.html" title="Beach Day, no towels" /><author><name>Brad Tucker</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i6btvIw4rRc/SpN98PvDrOI/AAAAAAAAAGo/4vDVasB_NcQ/s1600-R/pr_brad.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/07/beach-day-no-towels.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0MGQn0zcSp7ImA9WxNSEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-8835613342029902681</id><published>2009-07-12T23:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T01:37:03.389-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T01:37:03.389-07:00</app:edited><title>re: Broken computers...</title><summary>“...it would seem she is sabotaging her computer just to talk with me.” Read more at Brad's blogI was at home working on a paper for school, when all of the sudden the sound on my computer goes out.  I tried a few tricks I knew; that didn't work.  So I called my friends to see if they could help; that got me no where.So there I am staring at this broken computer and I know what I have to do.   I </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/8835613342029902681/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/07/needy-excuses.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/8835613342029902681?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/8835613342029902681?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/HCRe5PSIs_M/needy-excuses.html" title="re: Broken computers..." /><author><name>Brad Tucker</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i6btvIw4rRc/SpN98PvDrOI/AAAAAAAAAGo/4vDVasB_NcQ/s1600-R/pr_brad.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/07/needy-excuses.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4ARHYzeip7ImA9WxNTFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-7190898001734607991</id><published>2009-07-07T21:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T22:22:25.882-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-17T22:22:25.882-07:00</app:edited><title>...Fireworks</title><summary>Ok, Brad did bring up the fact that we were walking slower a few times. I'll give him that. I still think if we would have taken the bus, full or not, we would have made it on time. Oh and the video he bought was ridiculous. I couldn't even believe he thought that would make up for it.</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/7190898001734607991/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/fireworks.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/7190898001734607991?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/7190898001734607991?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/nsERXfCE2BM/fireworks.html" title="...Fireworks" /><author><name>Brad Tucker</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i6btvIw4rRc/SpN98PvDrOI/AAAAAAAAAGo/4vDVasB_NcQ/s1600-R/pr_brad.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/fireworks.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QASHg_eCp7ImA9WxNSEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-9189665619555221660</id><published>2009-07-05T10:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T01:35:49.640-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T01:35:49.640-07:00</app:edited><title>Fourth of July and Fireworks ...maybe not</title><summary>Fourth Of July is one of my favorite holidays, mainly because of the fireworks.  It is a tradition for me to watch the fireworks at the end of the night, it kind of wraps up the holiday.I decided to invite Brad to join my friends and I for a BBQ at the Park.  This seemed like a great time to introduce him to all of my friends.  We had spent a good portion of the day at the park eating, laughing, </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/9189665619555221660/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/fourth-of-july-and-fireworks-maybe-not.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/9189665619555221660?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/9189665619555221660?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/8vGWTUEzjR0/fourth-of-july-and-fireworks-maybe-not.html" title="Fourth of July and Fireworks ...maybe not" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/08/fourth-of-july-and-fireworks-maybe-not.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0UFSHs_cSp7ImA9WxNSEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-437529601720276594</id><published>2009-06-27T21:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T01:33:39.549-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T01:33:39.549-07:00</app:edited><title>Flirty-third date</title><summary>Brad and I were enjoying a very nice dinner for our third date.   We were laughing and having a great conversation.   All of the sudden our waitress comes over.   The only problem with this is that it's actually not the same waitress we had before.   Another lady had taken over our table.This is no big deal, except because of this the rest of the night changed.   Brads drink was refilled numerous</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/437529601720276594/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/06/flirty-third-date.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/437529601720276594?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/437529601720276594?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/0JY3PHOhasA/flirty-third-date.html" title="Flirty-third date" /><author><name>Brad Tucker</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i6btvIw4rRc/SpN98PvDrOI/AAAAAAAAAGo/4vDVasB_NcQ/s1600-R/pr_brad.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/06/flirty-third-date.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcER3g-fCp7ImA9WxNSGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-7160950630847765666</id><published>2009-06-22T22:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-02T22:33:26.654-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-02T22:33:26.654-07:00</app:edited><title>Nicknames already?</title><summary>Oh, and another thing, half way through our date Brad starts calling me by my last name.  I was a little confused by this at first. Then I thought it was cute. This feeling only lasted for awhile. After calling me Tandy all night it started to get very annoying. 

I thought maybe this was just a one time thing, but I was wrong. He continues to refer to me as Tandy all the time. I tried to explain</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/7160950630847765666/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/06/oh-and-another-thinghalf-way-through.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/7160950630847765666?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/7160950630847765666?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/pCSe7uLkxRA/oh-and-another-thinghalf-way-through.html" title="Nicknames already?" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/06/oh-and-another-thinghalf-way-through.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cMRHk4fyp7ImA9WxNSEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-8267426670526431738</id><published>2009-06-21T11:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T01:31:25.737-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T01:31:25.737-07:00</app:edited><title>re:  Second date...</title><summary>“Walking up to her, she barley even flinches and says "Hey, what are you stalking me?” Read more at Brad's blog...Brad asked me to join him for a second date.  I was a little reluctant, given the way our first date started, but when he called he sounded so excited to take me out again I just had to say yes.     It was really sweet, he made reservations at a nice restaurant in Nob Hill.  So, we </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/8267426670526431738/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/06/stalker-got-it-wrong.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/8267426670526431738?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/8267426670526431738?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/DaHCDfcPWRA/stalker-got-it-wrong.html" title="re:  Second date..." /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/06/stalker-got-it-wrong.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4NSXw5eSp7ImA9WxNSEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1479619271702304435.post-8946526627772611313</id><published>2009-06-13T22:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T01:29:58.221-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T01:29:58.221-07:00</app:edited><title>First Dates... Terrible</title><summary>Ok, I usually don't do this but, I just had to.I went out with this guy, Brad, this weekend and something very ridiculous and what I consider weird and unusual happened.  I don't know, maybe it's just me.We have been talking for a little while and he seemed so sweet.  So when we made plans for our first date I was really excited. When I asked him where he wanted to meet he quickly said “Oh, how </summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/feeds/8946526627772611313/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/07/first-dates-terrible.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/8946526627772611313?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1479619271702304435/posts/default/8946526627772611313?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheStoryOfSaraBrad/~3/CaR1m9r7tm4/first-dates-terrible.html" title="First Dates... Terrible" /><author><name>Sara Tandy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06265319163594580805</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_a2XHcd9rPfU/SpRMTxQaKcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/CmfzkRiZMh8/S220/pr_sara.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://sarasdate.blogspot.com/2009/07/first-dates-terrible.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

