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<?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:blogger="http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;A0UBR347cCp7ImA9WhBaFEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829</id><updated>2013-05-24T22:20:56.008-07:00</updated><title>CRAZY</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>25</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/blogspot/MxpGM" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/mxpgm" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkACRXg8fyp7ImA9WhBaFEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-1041149354273892569</id><published>2013-05-24T22:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2013-05-24T22:12:44.677-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2013-05-24T22:12:44.677-07:00</app:edited><title>Random</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;Today was just one of those days. I woke up got dressed headed off to work heard one of my favorite worship songs on the radio and blasted it. I jammed to that song all the way to my job thinking today is going to be a good day. I went to work feeling good but after a few hours I started feeling BLAH. I went to McDonald's and picked up a large coffee on my lunch and was on the road to feeling better until, I got home. The downs stairs was clean but the up stairs was a mess. My bathroom, room and&amp;nbsp;all three of the kids rooms were a mess. There bathroom I wont say what that looked like. As soon as I hit the door&amp;nbsp;I put them all to work. I started with my son's room which smelt like stinky feet.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;I told that boy he needed to keep his room door open to air&amp;nbsp;all that fonk out. I found so much crap under and behind everything. I saw things in his room I haven't seen in a long time. He had damp cloths hiding in places that could have started to grow mold including his sheets and comforter. I pulled everything out to be sure he&amp;nbsp;hit every nuk and cranny and made him wash all of it.&amp;nbsp;The damp cloths were sitting in his room&amp;nbsp;for at least four days. By the time he was done it was almost&amp;nbsp;1AM in the morning.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;As soon as his head hit his pillow he was out&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;JUST A &amp;nbsp;NASTY LIL OLD THANG &amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/EZ6dSGBsDPw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/1041149354273892569/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2013/05/random.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/1041149354273892569?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/1041149354273892569?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/EZ6dSGBsDPw/random.html" title="Random" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2013/05/random.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8FSHs6eyp7ImA9WhBaFEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-6029211793521996246</id><published>2013-05-23T17:34:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2013-05-24T22:13:39.513-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2013-05-24T22:13:39.513-07:00</app:edited><title>Here Comes Trouble</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;About a year ago my 13 year old flooded the upstairs bathroom which leaked into the hallway, which leaked through the carpet, which leaked into the downstairs vents and through the ceiling that left a&amp;nbsp;hole my husband had to patch up. Last night my son came to me and told me the&amp;nbsp;ceiling was leaking downstairs&amp;nbsp;but he didn't know what happened. As I was walking into the upstairs bathroom I noticed the carpet was wet. I looked dead at him and asked if he flooded the tub again , he said no. He also told me not to say anything about the leak to my husband because he would accuse him of making&amp;nbsp;a flood and he was innocent.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&lt;em&gt;I went downstairs to let my husband know about the leak&amp;nbsp;but he already had a bucket and rage in place, It was raining last night so he thought the leak was coming from the attic and was about to go up there to check it out. He ended up going upstairs instead&amp;nbsp;so, I told him about the wet carpet.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;He noticed the closet floor inside of the bathroom was wet as well. He then looked around the tub and noticed there was standing water there to. My son was standing next to both me and my husband looking at him inspect the bathroom. My daughter heard all of the co- motion and came out of her room. My husband asked if anyone took a bath or shower. She told him she took a shower and my son said he took a bath. Then my son told my husband he had something to tell him but he had to promise not to get bad. He told him he was running water and the tub filled up but he stopped it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;He went on to say a little water&amp;nbsp;fell onto the floor but he cleaned it up. After searching the bathroom we found a big bath towel&amp;nbsp;sitting inside of the trash can next to the sink&amp;nbsp;soaking wet as well as a soaked face towel under the trash can. There was water all over the counter top. By this time my husband was getting up set because the more evidence we found the more my son kept saying it wasn't his fault, that he didn't flood the tub that leaked&amp;nbsp; to the hallway, that lead to a big&amp;nbsp;hole in my ceiling yet AGAIN! They both get into a screaming match that leads to them going into the hallway&amp;nbsp;and out of the hallway into my son's room. The more my husband would question him the more he lied and said it wasn't his fault on top of getting sassy at the mouth. He made myhusband so bad he reached over and smacked him.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;My son flipped out and called the police and told them my husband punched him in the face. I know for sure he hit him not sure where but the Punch in the face I know for sure that didn't happen. The cops came and&amp;nbsp;questioned all three of us. The only reason my husband didn't go to jail was because there were know bruises&amp;nbsp;or blood shed The&amp;nbsp;hole is still in my ceiling and neither one of them are talking to the other.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Waiting for this storm to be over.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/YQztooJlV8k" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/6029211793521996246/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-storm.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/6029211793521996246?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/6029211793521996246?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/YQztooJlV8k/the-storm.html" title="Here Comes Trouble" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-storm.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkUCSHs5eSp7ImA9WhBVFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-6456018057198769728</id><published>2013-04-20T21:53:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2013-04-20T21:57:49.521-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2013-04-20T21:57:49.521-07:00</app:edited><title>READY</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;It's been a while since I've blogged. When I first started blogging I was a stay at home mom and had lots of free time time to do so.&amp;nbsp;Last year I started working out side of my home working full time&amp;nbsp;at a preschool that I&amp;nbsp;enjoy so I have kinda put blogging aside. I am slowly trying to pick it up again. I am also in the process of starting my own business, which by the way I&amp;nbsp;am very excited about. I will be opening up a day care inside my home. I figured at this point in life it's a good time to kinda branch out and do my own thing with the way the economy is going. I also have decided to home school my&amp;nbsp;children the next up coming school year.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;This year have been rocky thank goodness the school year is almost over. I think we all could use a break from all of the craziness that have been going on around the world. Part of my reason for deciding to home school is my son, he have been acting a donkey this year and&amp;nbsp;all seven of&amp;nbsp; his teachers have called me throughout the year. On top of it, he have been slacking a lot and his grades are not where they should be. The other part of me deciding to home school&amp;nbsp;is&amp;nbsp;every time I watch the news I hear a story about some one in the school system abusing&amp;nbsp;children sexually or pysically. I am also tired of seeing the violence of students killing or miss treating other students. I have noticed the other the kids are the worse it is getting.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;I know the end times are coming and I want to take advantage of every opportunity I have to enjoy my family. I know soon things are going to get rough, I know I can't shelter them for ever but I want to be able to protect them&amp;nbsp;for the little time I have with them.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Excited for every opportunity GOD has already given me and for what is to come.&amp;nbsp;I am grateful and will&amp;nbsp;take advantage of it in a good way.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/qlH0IsxhNUY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/6456018057198769728/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/its-been-while-since-ive-blogged.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/6456018057198769728?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/6456018057198769728?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/qlH0IsxhNUY/its-been-while-since-ive-blogged.html" title="READY" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/its-been-while-since-ive-blogged.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE4ARXk8cCp7ImA9WhBVFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-1518992693427241052</id><published>2013-04-20T21:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2013-04-20T21:02:24.778-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2013-04-20T21:02:24.778-07:00</app:edited><title>Speechless</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;I was looking out of my window just the other day and out of know where I saw a semi and a little car collide. I got up from my chair and ran outside. I walked up to the scene and saw two young girls screaming &lt;strong&gt;my baby! my baby!&lt;/strong&gt; That's when I started to panic and ran up to the semi where the guy was standing near by. The door to the rig was open and debri was everywhere. I started going through it frantically trying to look for the missing child. I couldn't find it anywhere. I walked back up to the girls and asked are you sure there was a baby because I couldn't find it any where.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;One of the girls spoke and said yes there was a baby put it's dead my sister poisoned it. I said well where is the body she said one part we ate the other is missing. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;em&gt;Thank goodness this was only a dream&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/vsjRH6WONFM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/1518992693427241052/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/speechless.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/1518992693427241052?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/1518992693427241052?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/vsjRH6WONFM/speechless.html" title="Speechless" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/speechless.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8DRXw-fip7ImA9WhBWFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-7892827354388748218</id><published>2013-04-09T18:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2013-04-09T18:54:34.256-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2013-04-09T18:54:34.256-07:00</app:edited><title>A Good Christian</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;Sometimes for me being a good Christian is a lot of hard work.&amp;nbsp;You basically have to deny yourself and re create yourself into the image of Christ, or close to it. You have to watch how you walk and talk. Control your thoughts and actions, be loving kind,&amp;nbsp;humble, patient and live in this world but not be apart of it. Your body is suppose to be clean of anything harmful. You&amp;nbsp;need an&amp;nbsp;intimate relationship with god. Your eyes and ears have to be open at all times to receive messages from him. My brain hurts just typing this information down.&amp;nbsp;When my kids and husband urk my last nerve the last thing on my mind is LOVING and KIND. My brain drifts off to butt kicking or go as far as choking to sleep, if you know what I mean.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;God is so good and I&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;am so grateful for his son Jesus who died on the cross for my sins. I love him&amp;nbsp; more everyday. I can't wrap my head around what Jesus did on the&amp;nbsp;cross for me that sad but beautiful day.&amp;nbsp;I&amp;nbsp;sometimes have battles in my mind because I want to live earthly knowing you can't live in the way of this world and serve god with a clean heart; but I also want to have this relationship with our&amp;nbsp;father god as well. I know the more I read, study and pray he will guide me down his&amp;nbsp;path.&amp;nbsp;But I also know I have to make choices eternal life which leads to heaven or earthly living which leads to hell.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&amp;nbsp;I say yes to Jesus and eternal life and no to earthly living and hell.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/zSwJ3JAcJqQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/7892827354388748218/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-good-christian.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/7892827354388748218?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/7892827354388748218?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/zSwJ3JAcJqQ/a-good-christian.html" title="A Good Christian" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-good-christian.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMGSX08fip7ImA9WhNVF0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-7009401804326085731</id><published>2012-12-28T18:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-12-28T18:33:48.376-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-12-28T18:33:48.376-08:00</app:edited><title>This Christmas</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;This Christmas my family came from out of&amp;nbsp; town and stayed with us for four days. I knew before they arrived it was going to be challenging and tried to encourage one of them to stay home. Of course it didn't work and the one came anyway. The one I am referring to is my aunt. I only have one word to describe&amp;nbsp;her. LOONY!!! I told my family before they got here they were going to sleep downstairs. We brought a mattress down from one of the beds and blew up an air mattress. My aunt is a WIDE woman so of course the air mattress went down to the ground first night.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She ended up sleeping on my sofa&amp;nbsp;the whole four nights. I was sure by the time she left I would have a BIG dent in it. She didn't cook nor did she clean. She didn't go half on food, drink, toilet tissue or paper towels. She hogged the living room TV. Every time the kids wanted to play there game she would say; I don't want to watch you play no game I'm watching TV. She talked soo much, and she hogged my house phone. All of her friends girls and boys were calling my house. It didn't even make since for me to answer my own house phone because it was never for me. When she couldn't find it, she would go into crack head mode until she found it. She had to have the phone. She was lost without it. She came down the my mother and my sister. I told my mom my aunt was not welcome at my house again. She really got on my last nerve.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Is it safe to say my aunt was the house guest from HELL!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/yMunIiLjz6o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/7009401804326085731/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/12/this-christmas.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/7009401804326085731?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/7009401804326085731?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/yMunIiLjz6o/this-christmas.html" title="This Christmas" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/12/this-christmas.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C08NRng4eip7ImA9WhJUF0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-4620509220642025753</id><published>2012-09-15T13:44:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-09-15T13:44:57.632-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-09-15T13:44:57.632-07:00</app:edited><title>Fake People</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;Fake people think they are smarter then others. They wear a mask and think fast. They walk around with a smile on there face but in the inside they are&amp;nbsp;fighting trying not to blow there cover. When you have a person around for so long you can sort of tell if they are real or fake. They always show signs. It's up to you to read them and figure it out. Some of us have fake people in our families. Those are the ones that really stand out like a sore thumb. The ones that are&amp;nbsp;around for gain. They laugh in your face and talk about you behind your back. They lie cheat and steal but swear to you in your face they love you and are there for you if you need them.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;em&gt;Fake people should be pointed out to let&amp;nbsp;them know they are not fooling anyone but themselves. They should be told to keep it moving&amp;nbsp;because&amp;nbsp;they are poison and are only around to destroy the lives of others. If your life have been messed up because of a fake person hold your head up and don't let it steal your joy because then they win. Instead be happy they are no longer a&amp;nbsp;part of your life and start slowly picking up the pieces. Life is about experiences and life lessons.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;LESSON LEARNED!!&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/rbA1ZczVYPE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/4620509220642025753/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/09/fake-people.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/4620509220642025753?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/4620509220642025753?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/rbA1ZczVYPE/fake-people.html" title="Fake People" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/09/fake-people.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D08FQXoycSp7ImA9WhJQF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-5525890486533692465</id><published>2012-07-31T18:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-07-31T18:50:10.499-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-07-31T18:50:10.499-07:00</app:edited><title>GPS on crack say WHAT!</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;I had to take my daughter to the dermatologist an hour away from my house because I live in the woods. The ride there was smooth up until we arrived at the corner of our destination. The gps told me once&amp;nbsp;I make my left turn my destination is straight ahead. That doesn't tell me anything. I was lost and confused. Was&amp;nbsp;I suppose to go two streets down or three. Was my destination on the left or right. I thought the purpose of a gps was to be specific.&amp;nbsp;When we arrived at the light I noticed the light was green but traffic was moving really slow.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Since traffic was moving slow I decided to call the doctors office to find out how much further I had to travel after my left turn. I got one word in and noticed the po po pull up right beside me. I was thinking great I'm going to get a ticket for&amp;nbsp;talking on my phone while driving even though I am&amp;nbsp;in a lane of none moving traffic. He said to me do you see that car in front of you? I said yes,&amp;nbsp;then he said the reason that car is not moving is because it broke down that's why the yellow lights in the back are flashing.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;I should have been honest with the guy and told him I was lost. I had know idea where I was going. I just knew I had to get there and that my gps was on crack. Maybe he would not have talked to me like I was in kindergarten.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/Z2gq8XVMCB4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/5525890486533692465/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/07/gps-on-crack-say-what.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/5525890486533692465?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/5525890486533692465?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/Z2gq8XVMCB4/gps-on-crack-say-what.html" title="GPS on crack say WHAT!" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/07/gps-on-crack-say-what.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0IGRXg8eCp7ImA9WhJQEks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-2530654777197482291</id><published>2012-07-25T18:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-07-25T18:18:44.670-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-07-25T18:18:44.670-07:00</app:edited><title>TOL</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;Tonight at church the music director told us to open the book of hyms and turn to page 600. I see those books all the time and keep walking because I already know what kind of songs are in them. I said to myself here we singing these old songs from the 50s and 60s that are slow and boring. They started to&amp;nbsp;sing and right away I was lost. That song was over and he said please turn to page 230. I thought we were done.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Yet again lost. I just gave up and started flipping through the book and found songs like how great is our god, you're worthy of my praise, god of wonders, our god reigns, open the eyes of my heart and beautiful one. I don't know if any of these songs were songs from back in the day and people of this time remade them or if they update those books every few years but I was like man why didn't they sing any of these songs.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
THINKING OUT LOUD!!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/ohpq6wvz_Ak" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/2530654777197482291/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/07/tol.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/2530654777197482291?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/2530654777197482291?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/ohpq6wvz_Ak/tol.html" title="TOL" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/07/tol.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YNRHcyeyp7ImA9WhJQEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-5529624564724274459</id><published>2012-07-25T08:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-07-25T08:46:35.993-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-07-25T08:46:35.993-07:00</app:edited><title>Crazy Lady</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;My daughter and her friend have been trying to plan a play date for a week. I told her friend to talk to her mom to see if it was ok and to get back to me. Yesterday after five weeks of basketball practice and five games I finally met her.&amp;nbsp;The&amp;nbsp;woman is weird. Me not meeting her after all this time was probably a good thing.&amp;nbsp;As soon as she sat next to me and opened her mouth I just knew... She was so hyper and loud and wouldn't shut up. The woman told me her whole life story in a matter of forty five minutes.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;When she finally took a break from talking I changed the subject to the girls play date which was the reason for me meeting her in the first place.&amp;nbsp;Her ten year old is my daughters play date. We switched numbers and addresses and I told her I would take both girls after the game to my house and bring her daughter back before dark. Before I could get away from crazy lady she asked me if I could handle another kid because her five year old would be upset that her sister was invited&amp;nbsp;and she wasn't.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She then went on to say she work lots of&amp;nbsp;hours and her eighteen year old babysits both girls and she need a break. She knew I had a younger daughter&amp;nbsp;so you know she threw it in there by saying it would be great for all four girls to hang out &amp;nbsp;together. I&amp;nbsp;just gave her the look. You know the look that you give crazy people when they say crazy stuff and you have know idea what they are talking about.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;I guess&amp;nbsp;some people can read through that look because she said to me that she wasn't going to pressure me into taking this stranger&amp;nbsp;child that I don't know but for me to think about it and get back to her.&amp;nbsp;I am still trying to figure out where these crazies come from and&amp;nbsp;if they have some kind of mark some where on there bodies warning the normal folk to turn the other way when we see them coming.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/3RgXOtPxPHM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/5529624564724274459/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/07/crazy-lady.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/5529624564724274459?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/5529624564724274459?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/3RgXOtPxPHM/crazy-lady.html" title="Crazy Lady" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/07/crazy-lady.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEAGRH85fCp7ImA9WhVbEU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-1226365077660806299</id><published>2012-05-27T09:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-27T09:38:45.124-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-27T09:38:45.124-07:00</app:edited><title>Memorial Day</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;Saturday my mother in law called to let us know that she will be doing a two and a half hour trip from her house to ours with her husband to spend memorial day with us. She also said she would be departing at 7AM. What the heck who does that? It's two hours away not 24. So that puts her getting her at 10AM. That's what time we get out of bed. Tonight we are all going to bed super early so that we can wake up at 7. By 10 the house will be clean hair and teeth brushed and cloths on our backs.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;I am&amp;nbsp;also cooking lunch/dinner. I&amp;nbsp;prepped my meat Friday night. When I wake up all I have to do is pop it in the oven. I am always kind of nervous cooking for her because they are weird about&amp;nbsp;what they eat. I guess it's because they are old.&amp;nbsp;They have only eaten my food a few times so I am freaking out about the flavor and what it's going to look like. Last time they did a visit we had no sofas. I am happy they will have a nice cushion to put there butts on instead of hard chairs, so that is a plus.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;A few weeks ago my son was running a bath and forgot about it, the tub flooded. As a result; the&amp;nbsp;bathroom floor flooded out into the hallway, onto the carpet, into the vents downstairs and onto the kitchen floor. There was so much water my husband had to poke holes into the ceiling to drain it. I told him he had to fix those holes before his mom came. He working on that yesterday. He still have more work to do today.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;He is suppose to be working now but fell asleep on the sofa. I&amp;nbsp;think it's about that time to give him a wake up call. We have to be in bed by 8.&amp;nbsp;We have no time to waste.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/ysCAIV98ivw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/1226365077660806299/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/05/memorial-day.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/1226365077660806299?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/1226365077660806299?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/ysCAIV98ivw/memorial-day.html" title="Memorial Day" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/05/memorial-day.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D04HQnw9eyp7ImA9WhVUEkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-457989846291532976</id><published>2012-05-17T13:18:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-17T13:18:53.263-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-17T13:18:53.263-07:00</app:edited><title>Kat and Lucy</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;Hey guys as you know by now I have to inner MES. Half Kat half Lucy. Since you guys know a little about me I want to fill you in on Lucy. Lucy doesn't come out much but when she does, she can be a bit on the (DUH I didn't know) side. The thing that she think is so cool about herself is that she can say and do things without getting in trouble.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;You wont her about her everyday but she will be around and when she does just be ready for what ever comes. Trust me it will be fun&amp;nbsp;so be on the look out for... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Lucy!!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/krrkb6KMUhk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/457989846291532976/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/05/kat-and-lucy.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/457989846291532976?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/457989846291532976?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/krrkb6KMUhk/kat-and-lucy.html" title="Kat and Lucy" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/05/kat-and-lucy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QMQH09eyp7ImA9WhVWE0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-989302785026663860</id><published>2012-04-25T10:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-25T10:36:21.363-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-25T10:36:21.363-07:00</app:edited><title>Every One Dream Of Beautiful Hair</title><content type="html">&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;I THOUGHT&amp;nbsp;!!!&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/KsSpyXG1D1M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/989302785026663860/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/04/every-one-dream-of-beautiful-hair.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/989302785026663860?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/989302785026663860?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/KsSpyXG1D1M/every-one-dream-of-beautiful-hair.html" title="Every One Dream Of Beautiful Hair" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MnafegbP70Q/T5gzdgWcqqI/AAAAAAAAAI4/_KVUU3os97A/s72-c/florida-satellite-image-m.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/04/every-one-dream-of-beautiful-hair.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IDR3s6eCp7ImA9WhVXGUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-2622441337118093146</id><published>2012-04-20T10:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-20T10:06:16.510-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-20T10:06:16.510-07:00</app:edited><title>O No She Didn't</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;&amp;nbsp;What the heck is up with people on facebook or just I say certain people on&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;facebook. I have a&amp;nbsp; friend on FACEBOOK that post about two to three times a day. Some of her post interest me and some don't. My friend&amp;nbsp; have over 1,000 friends and get upset when her friends don't comment or like her status. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Hear is what I think.&amp;nbsp;First of all&amp;nbsp;let's be real,&amp;nbsp;everybody knows NO&amp;nbsp;matter how many friends you have not all of them will like or comment.&amp;nbsp;Second&amp;nbsp;of all not all of the&amp;nbsp;people in your list are really your friend. Most of them are your friend to&amp;nbsp;find out what you are talking about so they can twist it around and tell there friends that&amp;nbsp;are&amp;nbsp;in&amp;nbsp;there friends&amp;nbsp;list and talk about you. Females like to talk.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;They say girl did you see what so and so put on facebook now she know she wrong for that. Sometimes they will get BOLD and put it on your page. When a female comment on your status and talk about&amp;nbsp;you, you know she crazy and it's time to hit the delete button.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;I have heard the saying&amp;nbsp;guys&amp;nbsp;don't gossip&amp;nbsp;as much as girls.&amp;nbsp;For years I thought that was true until I sat down to listen to a group of guys chat. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&amp;nbsp;Back&amp;nbsp;to my&amp;nbsp;friend, she should be happy with the comments and likes she get,maybe shorten her friends list and&amp;nbsp;MOVE ON.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/iYMP0aZzAxg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/2622441337118093146/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/04/o-no-she-didnt.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/2622441337118093146?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/2622441337118093146?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/iYMP0aZzAxg/o-no-she-didnt.html" title="O No She Didn't" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/04/o-no-she-didnt.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQNR3c_cCp7ImA9WhVQGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-2887435903751522843</id><published>2012-04-09T10:26:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-09T10:26:36.948-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-09T10:26:36.948-07:00</app:edited><title>Dude Go Away</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;I don't get to watch TV much in my house so when I do I try to catch up on all of the shows that I missed. Last night I was watching one of my shows and my husband came in and started talking to me. At first I started going along with&amp;nbsp;the conversation and answered him back every time he would speak. I was starting to get behind on my show so I turned to the TV and he kept talking. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Mt husband is the type of person that love to talk and could have like three conversations all at the same time. My brain don't function that way. I'm slow,&amp;nbsp;he was already on the third conversation. I&amp;nbsp;was still stuck at the first one trying to figure out what he&amp;nbsp;was&amp;nbsp;talking about not really listening and trying to figure out what I missed on the show all at the same time.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;He never stopped talking so I looked at the TV and just said YES to everything he said. To him I think he though I was really paying attention because he just kept talking. Finally I told him Ok Dude I Get It! and just like that he shut up&amp;nbsp;and went away so basically I sat through all that for nothing.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/L5pYOkUD9J0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/2887435903751522843/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/04/dude-go-away.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/2887435903751522843?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/2887435903751522843?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/L5pYOkUD9J0/dude-go-away.html" title="Dude Go Away" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/04/dude-go-away.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YNSHY4cCp7ImA9WhVQGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-5199456997889755433</id><published>2012-04-09T10:06:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-09T10:06:39.838-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-09T10:06:39.838-07:00</app:edited><title>Get Me To The Church On Time</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;Last Sunday pastor was informing us on Easter Sunday. Letting us know that is was going to be a good service and that the church would have new visitors. I was telling my husband that we had to be there early so that we could have seats because even on a normal Sunday the church is always full. I told him that we&amp;nbsp;should&amp;nbsp;go&amp;nbsp;to bed early Saturday night&amp;nbsp;so we could wake up good the next morning.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Friday came I picked out everybodys&amp;nbsp;cloths for Easter Sunday and told myself that I would iron them later. Later ended up being Easter Sunday. I set the clock for 7AM&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Saturday night and went to bed At 2AM. Sunday&amp;nbsp;morning&amp;nbsp;I got out of bed at 7:40 to start ironing. The kids was excited to look at there baskets,at 9:30 my baby girl woke up and we did the baskets. Service started at 10:30 it takes us 30 minutes to get there. Everyone was dressed and ready to go at 9:30 except baby girl.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&amp;nbsp;It was 10:08 by the time we was all ready.&amp;nbsp;When we&amp;nbsp;headed out the door I noticed baby girl didn't have shoes on her feet nor could I find them and to top it off she had dried up snot all over her face. Before I noticed all of this from a distance she looked great. We loaded up all the kids in the car and my&amp;nbsp;husband decided we wanted to put air in the tires. While he&amp;nbsp;was in the garage putting air I found baby girl shoes put them on her feet cleaned her face looked at her legs and she was ashy. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;After looking in the car for the lotion and putting it on,my husband chased the dog around the garage so he could put her in the kennel until we came back and then we was off to church. We got there at 10:45,&amp;nbsp;I&amp;nbsp;dropped baby girl off at her class and saw dried up snot once again. We were already late so I left her like that and told her teacher not to worry she&amp;nbsp;was gross but not sick its just allergies and off to service we went.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/ZPitEygF9h0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/5199456997889755433/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/04/get-me-to-church-on-time.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/5199456997889755433?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/5199456997889755433?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/ZPitEygF9h0/get-me-to-church-on-time.html" title="Get Me To The Church On Time" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/04/get-me-to-church-on-time.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEGQH07eyp7ImA9WhVQE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-5871601721842533988</id><published>2012-04-01T13:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-01T13:53:41.303-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-01T13:53:41.303-07:00</app:edited><title>How I Roll</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;As I was getting&amp;nbsp;our cloths ready last night for church I decided I wanted to look pretty and chose to wear a dress to church. On the norm I go to church in jeans and sneakers because I can sit how I want I can just put my hair in a pony tail and really not comb it and I don't have to paint my toe nails or scrap the dead skin off the back of my feet.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;When I go dressy all of that goes out of the window. I have to style my hair the night before shave my&amp;nbsp;arm pits,&amp;nbsp;cut my toe nails, paint my toe nails and yes scarp the crust off my feet. On top of that I have to wear heels. I don't even know how to walk in heels so to me this is way to much work just to wear a dress or even dress pants. I said to myself it's only one day not a big deal. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;I think we stood up today in church more then ever. And on top of that can I just say &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;I FELT A BREEZE!!!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/eU3Jekn9cms" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/5871601721842533988/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/04/how-i-roll.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/5871601721842533988?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/5871601721842533988?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/eU3Jekn9cms/how-i-roll.html" title="How I Roll" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/04/how-i-roll.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0ADR3c-fSp7ImA9WhVRFkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-533623255476236180</id><published>2012-03-24T22:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-24T22:02:56.955-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-24T22:02:56.955-07:00</app:edited><title>For Mac</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;Went to office depot the other day to buy some norton for my computer, on the box it said FOR MAC. I went home tried to load it and it wouldn't do anything. I called office deopt and told them I was bring it back because it was defected. Took it back and exchanged it for another one :) the same exact one.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Took it home loaded it and nothing. I was starting to think my cd drive was messed up and I started&amp;nbsp; imagining I heard a weird noise come from it that I never heard before. I called norton told them I had a program that was Mac for computer protection and he said to me do you have mac? I said Mac what is that I never heard of that. He said ma'am you need Mac to run this program.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Here's what I think. The man behind the counter should have said to me. Do you have Mac? Then I would've said what is that? He would've told me&amp;nbsp;what that is we both would have figured out that was the wrong program for me he would've walked&amp;nbsp;me to what I needed&amp;nbsp; my program would've worked and everything would be ok. But because my sales person didn't tell me what I needed I now have to do a&amp;nbsp; third trip to office&amp;nbsp;depot that is thirty minutes away from my house&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;DAMN SALES PEOPLE!!!!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/925F9wANKE8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/533623255476236180/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/for-mac.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/533623255476236180?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/533623255476236180?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/925F9wANKE8/for-mac.html" title="For Mac" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/for-mac.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4DQXg8cSp7ImA9WhVSFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-5177395729469287079</id><published>2012-03-11T12:42:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-11T12:42:50.679-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-11T12:42:50.679-07:00</app:edited><title>She Did It Again</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;My husband went out of town on Friday and wasn't going to back in time to get my daughter off the bus. He wrote a letter to her teacher letting her know she would be a bus rider. I told my daughter before she left that morning to make sure she was on the bus because there would be know one in parent pick. That was one reminder: Second reminder she had a note.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;At the end of the day I walked to the bus stop to meet her. I see everybody get off the bus except my daughter and the bus&amp;nbsp;drove off. I asked one of the kids if they saw my daughter and they told me they saw her in parent pick up. This was like the third time she did this. This time I really had know car to get her and I had know idea what to do. I was upset, I called my husband&amp;nbsp; to let him know what was going on even though he could do absolutely nothing.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;I called my niece to ask for a ride to get her and I see her getting off of a bus at the end of the road. Not sure how she was able to get on this bus and&amp;nbsp;not sure what the route of this bus really is. The only thing I was sure of was that she missed her bus. My husband told her next time she is a bus rider he was going to pin the note to her shirt and drop her off at school and have her wear it so she wouldn't forget. My daughter is in fourth grade there is know way I'm letting him stick a note to her shirt. He's Nuts....&lt;/em&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/A4Gjwe1F97c" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/5177395729469287079/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/she-did-it-again.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/5177395729469287079?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/5177395729469287079?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/A4Gjwe1F97c/she-did-it-again.html" title="She Did It Again" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/she-did-it-again.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkANR3s-fCp7ImA9WhVSEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-635889135920720259</id><published>2012-03-06T20:33:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2012-03-06T20:33:16.554-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-06T20:33:16.554-08:00</app:edited><title>I Had A Dream</title><content type="html">&lt;em&gt;I had one of the craziest dreams ever. My friend came over with her sister pounding on the front door screaming in a very frantic voice telling me that there was a bat in her house that came in through a window and she wanted me to go over to get rid of it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;As I was walking outside of the door to follow her I saw my husband a few feet away helping the neighbor fix his car.&amp;nbsp;At first&amp;nbsp;I told my kids to stay inside and not to come out but after felt bad and told them they could come out but to stay right in front of the door.&amp;nbsp;As I am telling them this a group of boys walk up to them and start pounding my son in the face. I started screaming for my husband but he didn't come nor did he answer.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;After they pounded on my son they went after my daughter. I told&amp;nbsp;them both to run for there life inside the house into there bedrooms and lock the doors.&amp;nbsp;I tried to wake up from this dream a few times but couldn't wake up. I felt some one standing over me opened my eyes and my daughter was in front&amp;nbsp;of me. Not sure what that dream meant but it shook the crap out of me.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;THANK GOODNESS&amp;nbsp;IT WAS ONLY A DREAM&lt;/em&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/MlIZBBs-jqg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/635889135920720259/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/i-had-dream.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/635889135920720259?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/635889135920720259?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/MlIZBBs-jqg/i-had-dream.html" title="I Had A Dream" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/i-had-dream.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D08CQnk_cSp7ImA9WhVTGU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-380205201111417394</id><published>2012-03-04T16:04:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2012-03-04T16:04:23.749-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-04T16:04:23.749-08:00</app:edited><title>The Pet</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;My son have this thing with him that drives me nuts. Every time he passes by me,he rub the top of my head like I am some kinda pet. I told him to stop petting me because I am not a dog. If he pet me one more time&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"&gt;IT"S ON!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/L2GBH-jCuls" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/380205201111417394/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/pet_04.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/380205201111417394?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/380205201111417394?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/L2GBH-jCuls/pet_04.html" title="The Pet" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/pet_04.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0EAR349eCp7ImA9WhVTGU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-8435698676073122191</id><published>2012-03-04T16:00:00.002-08:00</published><updated>2012-03-04T16:00:46.060-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-04T16:00:46.060-08:00</app:edited><title>Not Kool</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;I dropped my two daughters off at church, then it was my sons turn. They go to different churches but right next door to each other. I started walking towards the church doors with my him and&amp;nbsp;he said to me, where are you going? I said it's a little early so I'm going to walk with you to youth. He said mom no other kids parents are walking them,&amp;nbsp;this is so embarrassing. I guess walking with me through the church wasn't kool because we ended up outside walking to class through the back of the church.He says to&amp;nbsp;me mom I see kids go away. He pushed me into the bushes right outside the church doors.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/Eyip0qibeqI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/8435698676073122191/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/not-kool.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/8435698676073122191?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/8435698676073122191?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/Eyip0qibeqI/not-kool.html" title="Not Kool" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/not-kool.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YHRX4zfip7ImA9WhVTGU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-4619149138690359301</id><published>2012-03-04T15:52:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2012-03-04T15:52:14.086-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-04T15:52:14.086-08:00</app:edited><title>Cover Yo Mouth</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;We had to go out of town to pick up some furniture and decided to spend one night at my mother in laws house. She was excited that we were coming to visit because she don't see the kids much. I knew once we got there I was going to be bored so I started planning what I was going to do when I got there. When we&amp;nbsp;arrived she said to me I have this movie that I have been wanted to see but I want to see it with you guys so after dinner we will watch it. (I was thinking yay can't&amp;nbsp;wait yeah right!)&amp;nbsp;I was really thinking there goes my plan right out the window. We sat down to eat dinner and she start talking guess what? Food started flying, flying right out of her mouth across the table. CAN I JUST SAY GROSS. Then she said I cooked alot of food so you guys can have seconds. Did she really expect us to still have an appetite. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/loHwkim8iiM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/4619149138690359301/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/cover-yo-mouth.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/4619149138690359301?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/4619149138690359301?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/loHwkim8iiM/cover-yo-mouth.html" title="Cover Yo Mouth" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/cover-yo-mouth.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcHQX44fip7ImA9WhVTGU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-7019968892188538140</id><published>2012-03-04T15:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-03-04T15:00:30.036-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-04T15:00:30.036-08:00</app:edited><title>Morning Breath</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;It's 8am went to bed at 4am woke up at 7:30 to my husband screaming from down stairs ROOMS TO GO IS HERE. It took me a second to realize what he said. I totally forgot they were coming. I told my son not to open the door. I jumped out of bed a fast as I could to get dressed. Poor guy was at the door for a few minutes before&amp;nbsp;I opened. When I opened the door I backed as far away from him as I could because I didn't brush my teeth and my breath was FONKY. My husband left to take my daughter to school. I was hoping he came back really fast because I wanted&amp;nbsp;to make as least contact with this guy as possible. It felt like forever for my husband to get back. As soon as I heard him open the door I ran upstairs to brush and never came back down.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/CsivsGC4Il8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/7019968892188538140/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/morning-breath.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/7019968892188538140?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/7019968892188538140?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/CsivsGC4Il8/morning-breath.html" title="Morning Breath" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/03/morning-breath.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEACQXw5eCp7ImA9WhRbGU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5897201328679302829.post-91188657248713805</id><published>2012-02-09T19:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-02-10T21:06:00.220-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-10T21:06:00.220-08:00</app:edited><title>OMG</title><content type="html">Kasidy and I decided to walk and meet my daughter at the bus stop today. Kasidy decided she wanted to take the dog. On our way Kasidy had another melt down, it got so bad I had to turn around dragging the poor dog to get her home fast to walk back to the bus stop before the bus made it there. Kasidy kicked and screamed the whole way home. Thank goodness this time Kyra was on the bus. Yesterday I told Kyra I would go with her on a mile walk after school today. I told Kasidy she could go BUT only if she behave. She made a show because she wanted to take one of her dolls and a shoe that was for her when she was a baby to put on her doll. I told her the shoe was to big for the doll and that the shoe would fall off. I also told her I was not going to hold the shoe or the doll going or coming back. So I gave her the rules. YEAH RIGHT. We get half way down the road and Kasidy gets upset because we made a right turn and she wanted to go left. She started balling whining and screaming. I told her to walk in the grass because the street was busy and she got louder. I let her vent and for a second it was quite, then she starting crying and screaming saying she wanted me to paint her nails and had yet another a melt down. This is like the third melt&amp;nbsp;down in one day. Is there a age limit to PMS. I don't know where that came from not one time today or this week did I tell her I was going to paint her nails. She drove me nuts she cried and screamed the whole time going on the walk. I think she screamed and cried so much that she wore herself out because she was quite the whole way home. But I ended up holding the shoe and my oldest daughter ended up with the doll.&amp;nbsp;I told her she is not allowed to go on anymore walks.&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~4/i7rtx7xhaI4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/feeds/91188657248713805/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/02/omg.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/91188657248713805?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5897201328679302829/posts/default/91188657248713805?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/MxpGM/~3/i7rtx7xhaI4/omg.html" title="OMG" /><author><name>Angelique</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10020123467909094378</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://crazykparker.blogspot.com/2012/02/omg.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>
