<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203</id><updated>2024-09-01T07:36:28.685-07:00</updated><category term="older women"/><category term="Facebook"/><category term="love"/><category term="menopause"/><category term="1960&#39;s"/><category term="PDA"/><category term="age"/><category term="emotional cheating"/><category term="relationships"/><category term="romance"/><category term="sex"/><category term="sex appeal"/><category term="women"/><category term="Annette Benning"/><category term="Baby boomers"/><category term="Bad emotions. universe"/><category term="Bob Dylan"/><category term="Casey Abrams"/><category term="Death"/><category term="Gidget"/><category term="Golden Globes"/><category term="Herbal Essence Shampoo"/><category term="Hollywood"/><category term="Junior High School"/><category term="L&#39;Oreal"/><category term="Modern Family"/><category term="Mom&#39;s on Facebook"/><category term="Mother&#39;s Day"/><category term="Mothers"/><category term="New Year"/><category term="Osama Bin Laden"/><category term="TV shows"/><category term="Viagra"/><category term="Wonder Years"/><category term="Yardley"/><category term="aging"/><category term="anger"/><category term="circumcision"/><category term="condolences"/><category term="couples"/><category term="emotional strength"/><category term="empty nest"/><category term="fashion"/><category term="female Viagra"/><category term="foreskin"/><category term="funny"/><category term="grandchildren"/><category term="grandkids"/><category term="grandmother"/><category term="grown up"/><category term="haircolor"/><category term="heaven"/><category term="humor"/><category term="image"/><category term="insomnia"/><category term="leap of faith"/><category term="life changes"/><category term="life lessons"/><category term="ma&#39;am"/><category term="nostalgia"/><category term="orgasm"/><category term="privacy"/><category term="rapture"/><category term="rediscover yourself"/><category term="resolutions"/><category term="romantic"/><category term="self esteem"/><category term="seventy"/><category term="sexy"/><category term="sleepless"/><category term="snooping"/><category term="social media"/><category term="tears"/><category term="twitter"/><category term="voice of a generation"/><category term="women in their fifties"/><category term="writing"/><title type='text'>Coming of Age...Again</title><subtitle type='html'>Beautiful young people are an act of nature. Beautiful Boomer age people are a work of art!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default?redirect=false'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>89</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-7934404773315675898</id><published>2011-07-15T07:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-15T07:05:56.872-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gone Fishing</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGYUWaKdUfivEGCWStE0pldNJxYrsCQXvzFXihBDMqjzuEi6eZCH4qp-1zjBPMKJ2UjP8qCD_AnDZ-P3bRov7pvTjQLil2x40NHuLgT5iJ4pTpL8i360eYZiXUuhBRmIZhz803Scy1Rw/s1600/gonefishing.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;226&quot; width=&quot;259&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGYUWaKdUfivEGCWStE0pldNJxYrsCQXvzFXihBDMqjzuEi6eZCH4qp-1zjBPMKJ2UjP8qCD_AnDZ-P3bRov7pvTjQLil2x40NHuLgT5iJ4pTpL8i360eYZiXUuhBRmIZhz803Scy1Rw/s320/gonefishing.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I have spent the vast majority of my adult life helping other people through the worst times in their lives. &lt;br /&gt;
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Now I&#39;m asking the universe for a little payback. I need it to be my turn now to change things up and to be able to follow my passion full time.&lt;br /&gt;
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Until then I&#39;m taking the summer off. Gone fishin. Well I don&#39;t fish but I do write and I&#39;m taking the summer off to work on that.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/7934404773315675898/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/07/gone-fishing.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/7934404773315675898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/7934404773315675898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/07/gone-fishing.html' title='Gone Fishing'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGYUWaKdUfivEGCWStE0pldNJxYrsCQXvzFXihBDMqjzuEi6eZCH4qp-1zjBPMKJ2UjP8qCD_AnDZ-P3bRov7pvTjQLil2x40NHuLgT5iJ4pTpL8i360eYZiXUuhBRmIZhz803Scy1Rw/s72-c/gonefishing.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-8261440895921052894</id><published>2011-07-05T01:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-05T01:54:13.277-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="circumcision"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="foreskin"/><title type='text'>Foreskin Foreclosure?</title><content type='html'>Sorry ladies, no pic for this post! &lt;br /&gt;
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Now back to the subject at hand : D. I couldn&#39;t resist! I&#39;m weak like that. Oh yes, the San Francisco circumcision debate. I wouldn&#39;t call it a great debate because it&#39;s all much ado about, sorry guys, nothing. The real question is why am I writing about it? It&#39;s not exactly in the spirit of this blog.&lt;br /&gt;
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In our generation, the baby boom boys were circumcized more often than not. It was years and years before I ever saw an uncircumcized penis. Guys, in a extremely unscientific survey of ten women of various ages I have to tell you that we find the circumcised penis more esthetically pleasing. So I guess if we can torture ourselves with things like waxing to please you, what&#39;s a little skin?&lt;br /&gt;
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I can already hear the anti circumcision crowd screaming about the pleasure factor. Evidently foreskin has nerve endings so they might be missing out. Unless you could do a side by side test I don&#39;t think you can say circumcised men are missing anything. Oh hell, guys have it pretty easy when it comes to orgasms. Sorry guys but I can&#39;t feel bad for you on that one!&lt;br /&gt;
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Then there is the ridiculous claim that foreskin is more pleasurable for a woman. Added friction. Ha! We really would prefer a good pair of hands to added friction.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
On a real scientific level, other than a condom, circumcision is a way to protect people from getting AIDS as the virus likes to live &quot;under the hood&quot;  it also impacts Cervical Cancer as well.&lt;br /&gt;
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There has been talk of people suing because they were circumcized without their consent! Well okay, then it will be funny if there is a ban and a Jewish guy sues the federal or state government for pain and suffering because he was forced to wait till he was of age! Lets just say that pain levels are different at 8 days versus adulthood. Leaving it at that because all the guys reading this are now cringing and holding on to their nether parts!&lt;br /&gt;
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If parents choose not to circumcise their sons I&#39;m okay with that. I&#39;m just not okay with banning something because some guys have issues with their manhood! So once again you can say I&#39;m pro choice!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/8261440895921052894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/07/foreskin-foreclosure.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/8261440895921052894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/8261440895921052894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/07/foreskin-foreclosure.html' title='Foreskin Foreclosure?'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-7431826795273495483</id><published>2011-06-29T05:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T01:43:16.560-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Bad emotions. universe"/><title type='text'>The Yellow Line</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWF5Orz84IV4z6FnRGL-_IrjkO2gaKZkxaG1956p6Ojrq54d_b54YTDF1FiXGOYbycXL3-0UBbPGGHROHWDGmS_3V2vgP5iGYpZtNtK8j6kD_GrrU01yNLeZpOXlbW1RTHN_jAFfoH90/s1600/wellesley_station_inbound_subway_train.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;214&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWF5Orz84IV4z6FnRGL-_IrjkO2gaKZkxaG1956p6Ojrq54d_b54YTDF1FiXGOYbycXL3-0UBbPGGHROHWDGmS_3V2vgP5iGYpZtNtK8j6kD_GrrU01yNLeZpOXlbW1RTHN_jAFfoH90/s320/wellesley_station_inbound_subway_train.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m standing at the edge of a train station leaning forward to see what train is coming down the track. Got the visual? Now let me ask you this question. Have you ever gotten into it with your family, friends or husband/boyfriend or wife/girlfriend in such a way that you can&#39;t make it stop? You begin to feel like a dolphin caught in a fishing net and the more you struggle the worse it gets.&lt;br /&gt;
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So what does all this have to do with a train? Well I look st the train tracks as my life and the on coming train as more crap coming straight at me because of course I&#39;m leaning over and into its path. That is until a small voice inside said &quot;Step behind the yellow line.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
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I was in a situation where nothing I was doing was working out. My thoughts were always going to the worst scenario and when that happens whatever the &quot;thing&quot; you&#39;re in doesn&#39;t go away. It can&#39;t. The &quot;thing&quot; takes on a life of its own. It doesn&#39;t matter that you were not the cause of it or even that you were right.&lt;br /&gt;
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I realized that I wanted to make things right again. By &quot;right&quot; I mean in balance or in harmony and what I was doing was just not working. So I made a decision to get out of the way. I decided to step aside and let the universe do its thing without my help. Whenever I got it in my mind to &quot;help&quot; things along I would just breath and not act on the emotion. I gave it a month.&lt;br /&gt;
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The month isn&#39;t over yet but I&#39;m not caught in the net anymore. I&#39;ve had a few times where I&#39;ve had to &quot;breath&quot; but it is better than hyperventillating and filling my lungs with bad emotions that lead to bad actions. In the mean time, at least I&#39;m not getting hit by any oncoming trains!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/7431826795273495483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/yellow-line.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/7431826795273495483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/7431826795273495483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/yellow-line.html' title='The Yellow Line'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEWF5Orz84IV4z6FnRGL-_IrjkO2gaKZkxaG1956p6Ojrq54d_b54YTDF1FiXGOYbycXL3-0UBbPGGHROHWDGmS_3V2vgP5iGYpZtNtK8j6kD_GrrU01yNLeZpOXlbW1RTHN_jAFfoH90/s72-c/wellesley_station_inbound_subway_train.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-5285422462520667114</id><published>2011-06-22T02:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-22T05:58:31.766-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="image"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="self esteem"/><title type='text'>In Whose Image?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYggP78wAvOathgn8CNlXbTBJbm9p-2Bdhbj4laQLfOXPIJVtc0DkdSbsewnx2bbg-5L0ZRQkeJK5XIAzyfhADJey20JLv9V5uK8MvYbHe5T0VIkrOt9tSMn_fn0qAYwraLNQa1t7KRo/s1600/istockphoto_2156539-empty-golden-frame-with-clipping-paths.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;261&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYggP78wAvOathgn8CNlXbTBJbm9p-2Bdhbj4laQLfOXPIJVtc0DkdSbsewnx2bbg-5L0ZRQkeJK5XIAzyfhADJey20JLv9V5uK8MvYbHe5T0VIkrOt9tSMn_fn0qAYwraLNQa1t7KRo/s320/istockphoto_2156539-empty-golden-frame-with-clipping-paths.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I was getting dressed to go out. Nothing fancy so there was no outfit planned for the occasion. So I get dressed and I look in the mirror and it just wasn&#39;t flattering. We&#39;re supposed to leave in a matter of minutes. I want to have fun and not let my clothes ruin my evening so I asked the man in my life if we had 5 minutes because I wanted to change clothes. He took a deep breath and I changed my outfit in less than five minutes!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So nu, what is the big deal? This kind of thing happens everyday in every part of the world except for nudist colonies and there I&#39;m guessing the woman would just choose to stay in! The deal is that woman are so tied in with their physical appearance. Much more than men. Case in point, my husband. He knows this happens to women but being a man he doesn&#39;t get it on a molecular level. I don&#39;t think even the most metrosexual man would get it. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My issue is really with myself or rather myself as I think the world values and or judges me. I realize that the reality is a little different. Instead of a long dissertation about me it&#39;s probably more like, &quot;she gained a little weight&quot; or &quot;she used to be so thin&quot;. Then for those who don&#39;t know me it&#39;s  &quot;so that&#39;s his wife..hmmm&quot;. We all know that as we age we are checking other people out to see how they are aging. It&#39;s like a measuring stick where you are either above the notch that say&#39;s &quot;she didn&#39;t age so well&quot; or below &quot;damn how did she keep that body.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know men get judged but not to the extent that women do. I think as women age we are judged by a harder to attain standard of beauty because it is a younger standard of beauty. The irony in all this is that I am the definition of low maintenance. I can&#39;t tell you the date of the last manicure I had because it has been that long. So how do these feelings surface for someone who would rather be doing other stuff than primping?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One answer, and it would be true, is that I have a little more vanity than I like to admit. However I do not have a lot of shoes no matter what my husband will tell you! I&#39;m pretty sure these gremlins called negative feelings come out when I lose my balance. It happens when the scales of my self esteem weigh in too much on the low side. As the name suggests this esteem comes from none other than our selves. We can give and we can take away from our esteem.&lt;br /&gt;
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Over time I  have discovered just how much I tied my image, the outer wrapping, to my weight because I was always the skinny one. No diets and I could wear anything. I forget the akwardness and yearning for a few curves when I&#39;m in the midst of one of these funks. In my funkadelic mind trip I rocked! Pair that with societal standards and you know it&#39;s not going to end well.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t have a magic solution. I changed my outfit but that doesn&#39;t always work. Breath. Have a glass of wine. Tell your bad vibes to go fuck off. Hang with the people that love you. Look at the judgementalists as if *you* are judging *them* and then walk away laughing. Okay so you&#39;re really laughing at yourself. On second thought skip the laughing if you are by yourself! Choose one or all of the above. The wine goes well with any of them, red or white. While you&#39;re busy with your plan the feeling will pass. They always do. Wine helps!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/5285422462520667114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/in-whose-image.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5285422462520667114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5285422462520667114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/in-whose-image.html' title='In Whose Image?'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYggP78wAvOathgn8CNlXbTBJbm9p-2Bdhbj4laQLfOXPIJVtc0DkdSbsewnx2bbg-5L0ZRQkeJK5XIAzyfhADJey20JLv9V5uK8MvYbHe5T0VIkrOt9tSMn_fn0qAYwraLNQa1t7KRo/s72-c/istockphoto_2156539-empty-golden-frame-with-clipping-paths.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-9213060365127949502</id><published>2011-06-19T06:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-19T06:50:04.806-07:00</updated><title type='text'>School&#39;s Out For Summer!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8pUpbIxfbfPf8IJglzcePpBYKoFZSBlTbNY_fZ2RNTBlsWSdQ5HWmA0piDVYKlW5-Vbeg9zSzNTIbDhD654ErW8M-dQZGGHxX5uu68nzAuw8qK_V4Bt9SMP7tq48EXWlq7wYTiwLGsk/s1600/kids-running-out-of-the-school-300x267.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;267&quot; width=&quot;300&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8pUpbIxfbfPf8IJglzcePpBYKoFZSBlTbNY_fZ2RNTBlsWSdQ5HWmA0piDVYKlW5-Vbeg9zSzNTIbDhD654ErW8M-dQZGGHxX5uu68nzAuw8qK_V4Bt9SMP7tq48EXWlq7wYTiwLGsk/s320/kids-running-out-of-the-school-300x267.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
The path I take to a blog post is quite often not a straight line. Case in point, the words you are reading right now. It all started on a bright sunny day when I took my dog out for a walk. I saw two girls that were probably junior high school age walking down the street. Something about them reminded me of me at that age. It was like looking at myself and my best friend when we were oh so cool.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As I watched them walking in a way that only young teenage girls can, it struck me how little thought we as teens, gave to older people that walked in that teenage way before us. At thirteen you assume that any one older was simply always that way. You can&#39;t imagine what they might have been like as teenagers themselves because it never occurs to you to try. Which is okay since I think that&#39;s where the swagger comes from! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So I was going to write about that. In fact I was sitting at my computer when a cool breeze blew across my face and it triggered a memory. I&#39;m back in school and it is the end of June. Like the last couple of days left to school. Tests have been taken. Assignments handed in. No one is really listening. Not even the teachers. Especialy the teachers? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Can you remember that feeling? You could smell the freedom just around the bend. For me freedom smelled like suntan lotion and freshly cut grass and candy all mixed with the slight smell of bug juice or maybe it&#39;s insect repellent! Visions of me and the summer love I was finally going to have danced in my head. How powerful was that feeling of anticipation? Jumping into two months of anything can happen fun!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As adults we go on vacations. We don&#39;t even have to wait for summer to do it. And yet, what I would give to bottle that feeling as the last minutes tick by on the last day of the school year! I&#39;d add to it those first moments of freedom when the bell finally rings and you are out the door!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/9213060365127949502/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/schools-out-for-summer.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/9213060365127949502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/9213060365127949502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/schools-out-for-summer.html' title='School&#39;s Out For Summer!'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8pUpbIxfbfPf8IJglzcePpBYKoFZSBlTbNY_fZ2RNTBlsWSdQ5HWmA0piDVYKlW5-Vbeg9zSzNTIbDhD654ErW8M-dQZGGHxX5uu68nzAuw8qK_V4Bt9SMP7tq48EXWlq7wYTiwLGsk/s72-c/kids-running-out-of-the-school-300x267.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-3995901415117243320</id><published>2011-06-13T11:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-13T11:29:19.449-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life lessons"/><title type='text'>A Tale of Two Stories</title><content type='html'>With age sometimes comes wisdom. The key word here is sometimes. Sometimes you gain it from a story told by someone else. I&#39;ve heard my fair share of stories, as you can imagine and these two are among my favorites. I&#39;m reciting them from memory and while I may have more wisdom, the words may not be the exact words of the storyteller so if you&#39;ve heard the story told a little differently, well, life is like that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
THE ESKIMO STORY&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PyA7Mg-ITHHu4hGvigIc2qklXc6xVjnBEMAsoPjprb2rxwutu2u4iUL_28P2lOEbsBxOyo6IpoE2-4aoZm-_DA6GxhwsajRv9ERfYEJnKgjopSmo2JUtA2wtXOr1hAuNffm5AHJOa6Q/s1600/Eskimo.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;200&quot; width=&quot;141&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PyA7Mg-ITHHu4hGvigIc2qklXc6xVjnBEMAsoPjprb2rxwutu2u4iUL_28P2lOEbsBxOyo6IpoE2-4aoZm-_DA6GxhwsajRv9ERfYEJnKgjopSmo2JUtA2wtXOr1hAuNffm5AHJOa6Q/s200/Eskimo.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Two guys are sitting in a bar in Alaska and they&#39;re talking. After a while the conversation turns to religion. Seems that one of them was a believer, and the other was an atheist.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The atheist tells the believer &quot;You know I gave your God a chance to prove himself to me but he didn&#39;t.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;Oh really, how so?&quot; asked the believer.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;Well I&#39;m driving alone in the middle of nowhere. It was getting dark and my car breaks down. I left my car to go look for help and a blizzard starts. Before long I was totally lost. I was freezing and quite sure I was done for. In that desperate moment I fell to my knees, looked toward the heavens, and said &quot;God, if you&#39;re really up there, prove it to me. Save me from this horrible death.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The believer looks puzzled. &quot;I don&#39;t get it. How can you still not believe. I mean, you&#39;re here. God must have answered your prayers.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
To which the atheist replied, shaking his head &quot;No, it was some fucking Eskimo that found me and took me back to safety!&quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
LEO&#39;S STORY FROM THE WEST WING&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhs2IVZAQkGWdS3wnt-YNpl271RSS62PB4yVfMbgiRLDHq-YY78h6jKNp-LYWoQTj-zJje794w5B3BD73xqRK1ydLLpU2TrhIHzVDhdMZYFWqMPOMIGy5pc7AVYBo7olcUgaflvVEnnpc/s1600/Leo.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;80&quot; width=&quot;80&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhs2IVZAQkGWdS3wnt-YNpl271RSS62PB4yVfMbgiRLDHq-YY78h6jKNp-LYWoQTj-zJje794w5B3BD73xqRK1ydLLpU2TrhIHzVDhdMZYFWqMPOMIGy5pc7AVYBo7olcUgaflvVEnnpc/s400/Leo.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Preface: You don&#39;t have to know who Leo is or to have ever seen The West Wing to enjoy the story.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This guy&#39;s walking down the street when he falls into a hole.The walls are so steep he can&#39;t get out. A doctor passes by and the guy shouts out &quot;Hey you, can you help me out?&quot; The doctor writes a prescription and throws it down the hole and moves on.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts out &quot;Father I&#39;m down in this hole, can you help me out?&quot; The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down the hole and moves on.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then a friend walks by. &quot;Hey Joe,it&#39;s me, can you help me out?&quot; And the friend jumps in the hole.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Our guy says &quot;What are you stupid? Now we&#39;re both down here!&quot; The friend says &quot;Yeah but I&#39;ve been down here before and I know the way out.&quot;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/3995901415117243320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/tale-of-two-stories.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/3995901415117243320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/3995901415117243320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/tale-of-two-stories.html' title='A Tale of Two Stories'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PyA7Mg-ITHHu4hGvigIc2qklXc6xVjnBEMAsoPjprb2rxwutu2u4iUL_28P2lOEbsBxOyo6IpoE2-4aoZm-_DA6GxhwsajRv9ERfYEJnKgjopSmo2JUtA2wtXOr1hAuNffm5AHJOa6Q/s72-c/Eskimo.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-6711983056496912934</id><published>2011-06-11T07:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-11T07:21:24.609-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="leap of faith"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love"/><title type='text'>Take a Flying Leap!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4c3HapmDt_dIoq0SKGe-iXHEmbQ4aHO5SQgo2bX5dweYNU6dsFT2Vof3Fv3VlcdUhCclcZAbg8xBRsW2Ds03r_37rgHtUBxnj0DlIZV4OprF3RN2erskIDdHwWwNI0Fpz7NnHbdfrOEg/s1600/skydive.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;197&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4c3HapmDt_dIoq0SKGe-iXHEmbQ4aHO5SQgo2bX5dweYNU6dsFT2Vof3Fv3VlcdUhCclcZAbg8xBRsW2Ds03r_37rgHtUBxnj0DlIZV4OprF3RN2erskIDdHwWwNI0Fpz7NnHbdfrOEg/s320/skydive.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Love is a leap of faith. Yes, even at this age. Our age. In fact it&#39;s almost a bigger leap than the first time you told someone you loved them. Actually when I think about it the leap is the same because you are stepping out into unknown territory. Will you fall into the abyss or will you land with both feet on solid ground?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That&#39;s the thing about love. When you&#39;ve been at this crazy thing for a couple of decades (give or take!) you accumulate a lot of stuff. Most people would call it baggage. So while that first time in your life when you say &quot;I love you&quot; is really scary what you are afraid of is the unknown. As you gain experience what you are afraid of is not unknown. You&#39;ve seen the boogey man&#39;s face. In other words you know all the ways that you can be hurt. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Should we take this leap of faith? Even if we know now what we didn&#39;t know then? There&#39;s no way around the leap. I think we all may be just a little crazy. We are willing to leap tall buildings in a single bound for something we can&#39;t actually see or touch in the most basic physical sense. Love lives somewhere between the physical world and the dream world. It&#39;s  beautiful and it&#39;s messy but it is &quot;what it&#39;s all about!&quot; (great wisdom can be gained from doing the Hokey Pokey)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m not any different than most people. I&#39;ve had my share of bruising when I haven&#39;t nailed the landing. In a long lasting relationship you will probably have to jump more than once and the longer the relationship the scarier it gets. I think they make you jump off a higher cliff!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So do you jump? How the hell do I know?! I just finished telling you about all my bruises. But me? I jump!  &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
PS To Whom It May Concern, Thanks for catching me!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/6711983056496912934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/take-flying-leap.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/6711983056496912934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/6711983056496912934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/take-flying-leap.html' title='Take a Flying Leap!'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4c3HapmDt_dIoq0SKGe-iXHEmbQ4aHO5SQgo2bX5dweYNU6dsFT2Vof3Fv3VlcdUhCclcZAbg8xBRsW2Ds03r_37rgHtUBxnj0DlIZV4OprF3RN2erskIDdHwWwNI0Fpz7NnHbdfrOEg/s72-c/skydive.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-7253430133747076373</id><published>2011-06-07T01:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-07T01:34:37.486-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="menopause"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="romance"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="romantic"/><title type='text'>It&#39;s Not Rocket Science</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjOSO_3GDfpuZQKNZS1Kt7C4zwXJ78rmHacFH7ok5cdciwS5Ksx4r9rzTji7MuE3vRLnhcV9XmON4bjVvsHci-FI15wwz9gWD3WaOyPDIJOdiaEre3ZWkjmK_Xmh-TQbZrG3r7VdeVS4/s1600/planets.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;200&quot; width=&quot;158&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjOSO_3GDfpuZQKNZS1Kt7C4zwXJ78rmHacFH7ok5cdciwS5Ksx4r9rzTji7MuE3vRLnhcV9XmON4bjVvsHci-FI15wwz9gWD3WaOyPDIJOdiaEre3ZWkjmK_Xmh-TQbZrG3r7VdeVS4/s200/planets.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Are men from Mars and if so are they taught to bullshit there? Oh women bullshit too but there is one thing that men bullshit about way more than women. No, it&#39;s not cheating! Everyone will lie about cheating if their backs are to the wall. I can&#39;t speak to the statists of which sex cheats more and frankly I don&#39;t care to speak to statistics period. They are just so manipulative! What I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt is that men are the almost exclusive users of the following line in one form or other.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;You know me, I&#39;m not a romantic.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;I don&#39;t do romance.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;I don&#39;t know how to be romantic.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I could go on but it would just get me pissed off. It&#39;s a lazy ass lie. Sometimes guys use it to cover up in case their efforts are deemed not good enough but the rest of you? Seriously? Why not just admit the truth? You are either taking someone for granted or you&#39;re just not that into her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Here&#39;s why I&#39;m not buying the &quot;I&#39;m not a romantic&quot; line. It&#39;s not always about the grand gesture, however, if the moment calls for it, you would have had to be living under a rock not to see how it is done. Are there not enough movies or TV shows out there? You tube is filled with great examples. If you don&#39;t need visible instruction then look at facebook or twitter. Its out there. But then, you (guys) knew that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then there is romance where a Hollywood moment isn&#39;t needed. Ironcally those little moments can be more powerful than the fully orchestrated kind. Can you buy her a present out of the blue? Just a little something like her favorite candy bar. Can you hold her hand while you&#39;re just watching TV? Can you tell her she is beautiful? &quot;You look &quot;nice&quot; doesn&#39;t cut it. In fact the word &quot;nice&quot; shouldn&#39;t even be part of your vocabulary if she is the one.  Can you call her for no reason? Can you brag about her? Whether it&#39;s her painting or her total geekness with computers? Of course the key is that she somehow overhears it! In short, can you just man up?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Someone once told me&quot;I&#39;m not much of a romantic and you know that.&quot; Then he wrote me a love letter. He went out of his comfort zone and he told me how he felt. He was *that into me.*&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Romance is not the remedy for screwing up. Not screwing up again is what you need to do! Romance is a thing you do 365 days not just on Valentines Day or birthdays and anniversaries. Romance isn&#39;t hard. In fact when you really love someone it&#39;s like breathing. You do it without thinking and you do it all the time.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/7253430133747076373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/its-not-rocket-science.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/7253430133747076373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/7253430133747076373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/its-not-rocket-science.html' title='It&#39;s Not Rocket Science'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjOSO_3GDfpuZQKNZS1Kt7C4zwXJ78rmHacFH7ok5cdciwS5Ksx4r9rzTji7MuE3vRLnhcV9XmON4bjVvsHci-FI15wwz9gWD3WaOyPDIJOdiaEre3ZWkjmK_Xmh-TQbZrG3r7VdeVS4/s72-c/planets.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-6501557113704754711</id><published>2011-06-05T03:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-05T03:40:07.120-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wake Up and Smell the Coffee</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjILG7sHzTgDRxAFzYgJkKXrthq57lvkiqd7MQNryPhfjZubdyJWck6Syxd8t_WMTM4EVPcRMRv4L0ej4xp50VFJRckQfhyphenhyphenM1HOfyyZ-jrWSNQQeBMXDvljTXZI560YunJ9JPXG9RAcII/s1600/59629105_life_cereal_box_answer_2_xlarge.gif&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;231&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjILG7sHzTgDRxAFzYgJkKXrthq57lvkiqd7MQNryPhfjZubdyJWck6Syxd8t_WMTM4EVPcRMRv4L0ej4xp50VFJRckQfhyphenhyphenM1HOfyyZ-jrWSNQQeBMXDvljTXZI560YunJ9JPXG9RAcII/s320/59629105_life_cereal_box_answer_2_xlarge.gif&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I was talking to a friend of mine, a doctor, about a sad case he is dealing with. Basically for this patient midlife looks to be around twelve. We started talking about how we should live our lives because you know...you never know. Then as my conversations tend to go we took a left turn as I started to talk about the years I spent raising my kids.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well maybe I didn&#39;t really hang a louie. I was telling him that the years I spent raising my kids were kind of a blur. A mind numbing blur. It isn&#39;t that I don&#39;t have any memories, it&#39;s that I don&#39;t have any memories of me. I wasn&#39;t me. I was the mother of thing one and thing two!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have sweet memories of my kids as they grew up. They made me laugh as often as they made me pull out my hair! That was a PSA in case one of my kids read this or someone thinks I&#39;m a bad mother!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I just remember that when my kids were old enough to go out and live their lives it was like a fog lifted. I began to feel like me again. The me at this end of the adventure realized that now it gets important to do the things that make me happy and less of the things that don&#39;t. I still clean but it&#39;s not a priority. I still go to work but I&#39;m less invested in the politics and more interested in having fun while &quot;the man&quot; pays me. I listen to music, watch TV like crazy, I devour books and most of all I write. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yawn. They&#39;re contagious so go ahead! I mean yadda yadda yadda what is the point here which is the equivalent of &quot;are we there yet?!&quot; from any family trip taken anywhere in the world said by every kid in the world at least once but probably more!Here it is, our final destination. It may be impossible to change the dynamic of what happens to your life while you&#39;re raising your kids unless of course you can hire enough help so that *you* aren&#39;t actually raising them! However once that fog lifts take the advice of some wiseguy or rather wise guy and &quot;enjoy this moment because this moment is your life.&quot;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/6501557113704754711/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/wake-up-and-smell-coffee.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/6501557113704754711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/6501557113704754711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/wake-up-and-smell-coffee.html' title='Wake Up and Smell the Coffee'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjILG7sHzTgDRxAFzYgJkKXrthq57lvkiqd7MQNryPhfjZubdyJWck6Syxd8t_WMTM4EVPcRMRv4L0ej4xp50VFJRckQfhyphenhyphenM1HOfyyZ-jrWSNQQeBMXDvljTXZI560YunJ9JPXG9RAcII/s72-c/59629105_life_cereal_box_answer_2_xlarge.gif" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-4373529649860078764</id><published>2011-06-01T08:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-01T08:04:55.028-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="anger"/><title type='text'>See Red!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViBjzgR3Sgt_U8YSxuT4ZnmaG8n1b0IcPyURZZQRqAinIXtpwfeCNfyQMdEcb2MXOG2qMNwjOcXLsMz5zcMq2gHKm6-fso7b-QYOJSAjEABB_6nAnDjKe74YBSxI_uUjedBU-xLns4oQ/s1600/Prayer-For-Anger-300x200.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;133&quot; width=&quot;200&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViBjzgR3Sgt_U8YSxuT4ZnmaG8n1b0IcPyURZZQRqAinIXtpwfeCNfyQMdEcb2MXOG2qMNwjOcXLsMz5zcMq2gHKm6-fso7b-QYOJSAjEABB_6nAnDjKe74YBSxI_uUjedBU-xLns4oQ/s200/Prayer-For-Anger-300x200.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t do anger well. The I&#39;m not gonna take it any more kind. I&#39;m working on it. While I am firmly rooted in the late sixties/early seventies WoodStock generation I think something of the fifties seeped into my irrigation system. Well at least the image of women in the fifties. What? Life isn&#39;t like a sitcom? Hell at this point in time does it really matter why I don&#39;t do anger well? The bottom line is still the same.&lt;br /&gt;
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It&#39;s not as if I&#39;m a shrinking violet when it comes to letting it out. Those would be my daughters exact words. &quot;As.&quot; &quot;If.&quot; I do upset and I do frustrated and while they may appear very much like anger they are not. If they were the same I wouldn&#39;t be writing this and Webster&#39;s would be shorter by one word.&lt;br /&gt;
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Now anger comes in different sizes and different shades of red. I&#39;m not talking about the kind that is like the path of a giant tornado. Not the kind that pops your bloodvessels so your eyes turn red like the devil&#39;s. I&#39;m talking about the garden variety red gardenia kind. It&#39;s when someone, your friend, your boss, your colleague or your guy does something that makes you mad. Not every little thing they do but that one thing that was wrong and thoughtless. &lt;br /&gt;
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See red. Be angry. Not upset or hurt. You may feel those things too but let yourself get angry. I prefer my anger to come with a steel look in my eyes and a quiet voice. The yelling thing is never as effective. You yell and then you cool off and then they rinse and repeat. I rarely can achieve this quiet kind of anger but I&#39;m working on it.&lt;br /&gt;
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I think I have been afraid of anger. Maybe they won&#39;t like me anymore. Even I know that&#39;s just stupid. Ha! And you guys are taking advice from me! These moments are not about being &quot;the bigger person&quot; which usually means backing down. These moments are about saying &quot;hey I&#39;m worth it so pay attention.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
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Don&#39;t apologize for being angry. Let them apologize and when that happens, just like that, let it go!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/4373529649860078764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/see-red.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/4373529649860078764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/4373529649860078764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/06/see-red.html' title='See Red!'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViBjzgR3Sgt_U8YSxuT4ZnmaG8n1b0IcPyURZZQRqAinIXtpwfeCNfyQMdEcb2MXOG2qMNwjOcXLsMz5zcMq2gHKm6-fso7b-QYOJSAjEABB_6nAnDjKe74YBSxI_uUjedBU-xLns4oQ/s72-c/Prayer-For-Anger-300x200.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-8728596806931837802</id><published>2011-05-30T11:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-30T11:17:17.743-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kindness</title><content type='html'>It started as my Facebook status. Well it started before that but a writer needs to know at what point to start a story. Otherwise we&#39;d be back all the way to my birth on that glorious fall day! There was no Facebook then however, like that needed to be clarified! My Facebook status simply said &quot;kindness is highly underrated.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
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As you can see there is no picture with this post. Kindness is one of those things that you can&#39;t hold in your hand like an object. It has no physical form yet we all know it when we see it. When we need it and there is none around we feel it as keenly as we do when it comes to us unexpectedly.&lt;br /&gt;
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I was thinking about who I was before I wrote that status update. One of the first things that came to my mind was kind. Seems like such an insignificant thing. When we describe someone, lets say we&#39;re setting up a blind date, do we ever use the word kind? If we&#39;re bragging about our kids it&#39;s almost always about the college they got accepted to, the award they won or the job they got. Who brags about how kind there kid is? How about our partners, spouses or significant others? We describe them as really hot, or funny, or smart or all of the above. Uh kind? Maybe sweet as in he is so sweet to me he ____fill in the blank. &lt;br /&gt;
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If you&#39;re kind you&#39;ll never have to worry if your kids will be their if you ever need them. They don&#39;t teach that at Harvard. Education is a good investment. So is kindness. Be kind so that when you have to make that call at 3am because your world is falling apart, someone, a friend, is going to pick up. If you love someone then be kind and handle their feelings with care. One day you&#39;re up and you&#39;re holding a royal flush and  then one day... you&#39;re not.&lt;br /&gt;
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Being kind is priceless because it costs nothing and means everything.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/8728596806931837802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/kindness.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/8728596806931837802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/8728596806931837802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/kindness.html' title='Kindness'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-5630401095044452209</id><published>2011-05-28T00:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-28T00:41:05.555-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="heaven"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="rapture"/><title type='text'>Rapcha This</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69CSc1FdPovJYslFPdmEuGbCyT54cvM-VVdbw4qfWlg9_T4SqdIfQ3v05s5Vcpy15H5MIXfXgJHvjECLOpWBybnchLT6m8Jfnq146NjlrRl_KwluTSV6IN2a1NniyxcfyDk10r8vfyhg/s1600/cloud_angel_copy.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;200&quot; width=&quot;142&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69CSc1FdPovJYslFPdmEuGbCyT54cvM-VVdbw4qfWlg9_T4SqdIfQ3v05s5Vcpy15H5MIXfXgJHvjECLOpWBybnchLT6m8Jfnq146NjlrRl_KwluTSV6IN2a1NniyxcfyDk10r8vfyhg/s200/cloud_angel_copy.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I waited till all the rapture jokes died down to ponder this notion of the rapture. Actually not the rapture itself, but heaven. I mean, what&#39;s in it for me?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We&#39;ve all thought about what heaven must be like. In my heaven I could walk in really high heels as if I were barefoot and Manolo Blahniks don&#39;t cost anything! Eating your favorite dessert would actually give you a slimmer body! All the pets I have had the privelege to own would be there for me to pet. On an intellectual level there would be all these amazing people you could meet. Think of the concerts!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Wait! Slamming on the breaks! The one thing we won&#39;t have in heaven is a corporeal body. So none of the examples I gave would be possible. In fact if you think about it, it would be rather like hell. Fabulous shoes with no feet to put in them. The scrumchious desserts but no way to eat them! No hands to pet my dogs.  There I am standing, or rather being, next to Moses and he doesn&#39;t even know I&#39;m there! So. no Jim Morrison playing to a sold out crowd goes without saying. &lt;br /&gt;
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Our ideas about what heaven should be like would in fact be hell on well, heaven. Which leads me to understand two things. The reason we don&#39;t know what happens after death is not because it&#39;s some big members only secret. It&#39;s because we can&#39;t imagine not having a physical form. Even ghosts, when we imagine them, have some kind of physicality. So the afterlife should be left until after. Until then, go buy some shoes!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/5630401095044452209/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/rapcha-this.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5630401095044452209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5630401095044452209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/rapcha-this.html' title='Rapcha This'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69CSc1FdPovJYslFPdmEuGbCyT54cvM-VVdbw4qfWlg9_T4SqdIfQ3v05s5Vcpy15H5MIXfXgJHvjECLOpWBybnchLT6m8Jfnq146NjlrRl_KwluTSV6IN2a1NniyxcfyDk10r8vfyhg/s72-c/cloud_angel_copy.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-5439656827442377513</id><published>2011-05-26T04:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-26T04:34:12.528-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Bob Dylan"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="seventy"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="voice of a generation"/><title type='text'>The Times They Are A Changing</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH3GnMx-wuHkFcyrQev8nDvxTbSW10iLauA2ph1JgVoYDWUilNHKWoP7iIgGKzQaNFfxMMYcCuOYcFc-YH0rPn2AtBxB4bCj0WLMCx-b3RHuhMBVG3CyJIkVpEeaMG5UA_5hunhjTHCgg/s1600/bob-dylan-art-print.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;319&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH3GnMx-wuHkFcyrQev8nDvxTbSW10iLauA2ph1JgVoYDWUilNHKWoP7iIgGKzQaNFfxMMYcCuOYcFc-YH0rPn2AtBxB4bCj0WLMCx-b3RHuhMBVG3CyJIkVpEeaMG5UA_5hunhjTHCgg/s320/bob-dylan-art-print.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Bob Dylan turned 70 this week. He has slightly less than two decades on me. Was that vague enough? In any case Bob isn&#39;t a baby boomer himself but he was a voice of our generation. One of the greatest voices. His lyrics stand the test of time and whether he was solo, with The Band or The Travelling Wilburys he is always relevant.&lt;br /&gt;
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If your gonna have to turn seventy, and we all will (sorry for the rude awakening), than how kickass is it to be seventy and have lived the life he did. I don&#39;t think he led a magical life. No one does. We all have our personal pain to live through and demons to live with. Oh let me just say it. He&#39;s seventy fucking years old and he has coolness that Justin Beiber will never achieve! How do I know? I know!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So I tip my hat to you Bob old man. Good job! You are who you were meant to be!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/5439656827442377513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/times-they-are-changing.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5439656827442377513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5439656827442377513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/times-they-are-changing.html' title='The Times They Are A Changing'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH3GnMx-wuHkFcyrQev8nDvxTbSW10iLauA2ph1JgVoYDWUilNHKWoP7iIgGKzQaNFfxMMYcCuOYcFc-YH0rPn2AtBxB4bCj0WLMCx-b3RHuhMBVG3CyJIkVpEeaMG5UA_5hunhjTHCgg/s72-c/bob-dylan-art-print.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-5674571136472486594</id><published>2011-05-20T02:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-20T02:20:22.389-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="insomnia"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="menopause"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="sleepless"/><title type='text'>I Want It Bad</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lhms69CrJwGfULFDvWhyUJAX_IPFmYOk8L9HeHKJsm6mkIRrhOjOMA3TwN87pPUtO1yOhOt_qu8T_RGshiz6GM3LHOkUhS9WXsx8b7wCSCaK8Fahxp5foRk0TyzL-H8uOy2NIZy7uFc/s1600/Woman+sleeping_1.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;300&quot; width=&quot;300&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lhms69CrJwGfULFDvWhyUJAX_IPFmYOk8L9HeHKJsm6mkIRrhOjOMA3TwN87pPUtO1yOhOt_qu8T_RGshiz6GM3LHOkUhS9WXsx8b7wCSCaK8Fahxp5foRk0TyzL-H8uOy2NIZy7uFc/s320/Woman+sleeping_1.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Birds do it, bees might do it. My cat does it and so does my dog. Teenagers are great at it. My husband does it without me! So why can&#39;t I get any?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Alas the big S has eluded me. Tantalizing, rejuvenating, pleasure giving, life reaffirming sleep! I used to be good at it. I&#39;ve acheived what I refer to as death sleep. Sleep so deep that the world could end and I wouldn&#39;t know it. Sleep so deep that crawling out of my subconscious to reach my conciousness is like crawling out of a collapsed Chilean mine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The one thing I don&#39;t want is to sleep like a baby. Whoever coined that one was never an owner of a tiny human. In fact probably never in the vicinity of one at night. So no I do not want to wake up every few hours during the night although it would mean that at least I had fallen asleep at some point.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sleep eludes me on a regular basis. Maybe Morpheus misses the hormones that used to travel my bloodstream. Sleep left when they did. My only problem is that they are never coming back, so am I meant to be Sleepless in Seattle for life? I&#39;ve tried the Kama Sutra of sleeping positions. I&#39;ve tried what is the viagra of sleep dysfunction which is a sleeping pill. It works but to take one every night is just so Valley of the Dolls. I&#39;d be happy to stay out all night like a teenager because I&#39;m awake anyway but everyone I want to party with is sleeping!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sigh. I guess I&#39;ll have to wait till I reach old age, like old old age not chipper old age. Then I&#39;ll be falling asleep even when I&#39;m not supposed to!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/5674571136472486594/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/i-want-it-bad.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5674571136472486594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5674571136472486594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/i-want-it-bad.html' title='I Want It Bad'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0lhms69CrJwGfULFDvWhyUJAX_IPFmYOk8L9HeHKJsm6mkIRrhOjOMA3TwN87pPUtO1yOhOt_qu8T_RGshiz6GM3LHOkUhS9WXsx8b7wCSCaK8Fahxp5foRk0TyzL-H8uOy2NIZy7uFc/s72-c/Woman+sleeping_1.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-610521965859139982</id><published>2011-05-17T01:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T01:38:52.953-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="emotional strength"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="tears"/><title type='text'>Like A Rock?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuefbrhM877TcCrIR5SuPHCl5g5wbQsCcLvhY3Y1LvteQj3yH566w5DtGijCmO08G2MnvERVZzaQ5nYVvm5OO1GECqBYnXNUFJjyjySas71EcBKrQuG0RLpuQb8OKJjQwpX3AY6xA5ma4/s1600/rock.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;286&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuefbrhM877TcCrIR5SuPHCl5g5wbQsCcLvhY3Y1LvteQj3yH566w5DtGijCmO08G2MnvERVZzaQ5nYVvm5OO1GECqBYnXNUFJjyjySas71EcBKrQuG0RLpuQb8OKJjQwpX3AY6xA5ma4/s320/rock.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
What makes a person strong? I mean we&#39;re always making statements about how strong someone is. We make the opposite statements too. Like, &quot;she&#39;ll never be able to handle it&quot; or &quot;he&#39;d just fall apart if he ever found out.&quot; Can you really tell who is strong and who isn&#39;t? Is it all based on how a person looks on the outside? I ask this seemingly out of the blue question because I wonder if people think I&#39;m strong. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I recently had some shit come down the pike that is my life and as I was dealing with it I got teary eyed. Okay, I got red eyed snotty nosed get me a tissue quickly, is what I would call it if I was telling the truth but I&#39;m not so lets just say I was Hollywood tragicly beautiful as tears streamed down my face that wasn&#39;t, I repeat was not, scrunched up! Do the tears make me weak?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I cry at sad movies and at those commercials that pull at your heartstrings. I cry when I see someone I care about in emotional pain. A complete stranger can bring tears to my eyes if I see them hurting. Some of you would call me a cry baby! My emotions are right there on the surface.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After a long rant that took place in my head I realized that despite what you see I am actually the Arnold Shwartzenegger of strength in the face of a shit filled pike! I can deal with it. I&#39;m not afraid of it. Just. Like. The. Rest. Of. You. You don&#39;t get from there to here without having to deal with &quot;stuff&quot;, stuff that sucks, and yet we all do it. That&#39;s strength. How we do it is in the end inconsequential. Question asked and answered your honor! Tears aren&#39;t about weakness. Look what water in a stream can do to a large rock in it&#39;s path. Over time the water wears it down. My tear ducts are just in better shape than other peoples!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/610521965859139982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/like-rock.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/610521965859139982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/610521965859139982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/like-rock.html' title='Like A Rock?'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuefbrhM877TcCrIR5SuPHCl5g5wbQsCcLvhY3Y1LvteQj3yH566w5DtGijCmO08G2MnvERVZzaQ5nYVvm5OO1GECqBYnXNUFJjyjySas71EcBKrQuG0RLpuQb8OKJjQwpX3AY6xA5ma4/s72-c/rock.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-215574227706425986</id><published>2011-05-14T03:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-14T03:00:55.805-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Facebook"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="PDA"/><title type='text'>PDA On Social Media- Too Much or Not Enough?</title><content type='html'>A&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcAW8-AvyybG4KAQDlixjpTcVRw0oVH0J6d44d7papjokiu8KrVpZg4uUl0sj9oKYd00mNvDiHZphXGnYW1Gxrsux1C1T_NrPkNeoO1SK9MfPiUJ7ZObloH-lAhGHn6d0ymPB8pqEegw/s1600/say_anything_poster.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;238&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcAW8-AvyybG4KAQDlixjpTcVRw0oVH0J6d44d7papjokiu8KrVpZg4uUl0sj9oKYd00mNvDiHZphXGnYW1Gxrsux1C1T_NrPkNeoO1SK9MfPiUJ7ZObloH-lAhGHn6d0ymPB8pqEegw/s320/say_anything_poster.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
s previously threatened, oh I mean promised, I give you the other side of Social Media PDA. Not the stalkerish/people looking for love in all the wrong places kind. Not the harmless &quot;I need an ego boost&quot; kind either. This time it&#39;s about the happy couples.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Avatars, or profile pics are one of the places couples show their coup;ehood. Instead of just a pic of the profile owner it&#39;s a pic that includes their significant other. It is my unscientific opinion that more women d this than men and more young lovers than older ones. It&#39;s something that is really not an issue unless you are jealous of said person for having someone or having someone that you want! I don&#39;t want to be known as so and so&#39;s mother or so and so&#39;s wife. I want to be known for me and I really do love &quot;so and so&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then we have the declarations of love. They are the equivalent to a soliliquy said under your beloveds balcony. They are you in the middle of the street where your beloved lives, holding a boom box over your head while it plays a love song. They aren&#39;t love letters because a love letter is private and a lost art if you ask me. Oh right, you didn&#39;t ask! When someone uses a facebook status to write about how they feel about their wife/husband, girlfriend/boyfriend or lover what they are really doing is declaring to all within their realm that they have found &quot;the one&quot;. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I think the most important thing is still to tell the person you love, that you love them. Even more important are actions because without them words are meaningless no matter how often you use them. Still I think if you really love someone then you should use social media to say so. Just remember less is more. If it&#39;s your go to thing you will cause legions of followers to have a little stomach content start to rise up causing them to gag! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When I see it done right it makes me happy for the people involved. I&#39;ve always been a romantic at heart. A little PDA can go a long way. Choose your words wisely.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/215574227706425986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/pda-on-social-media-too-much-or-not.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/215574227706425986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/215574227706425986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/pda-on-social-media-too-much-or-not.html' title='PDA On Social Media- Too Much or Not Enough?'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcAW8-AvyybG4KAQDlixjpTcVRw0oVH0J6d44d7papjokiu8KrVpZg4uUl0sj9oKYd00mNvDiHZphXGnYW1Gxrsux1C1T_NrPkNeoO1SK9MfPiUJ7ZObloH-lAhGHn6d0ymPB8pqEegw/s72-c/say_anything_poster.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-8898442754162627249</id><published>2011-05-06T07:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-06T07:51:43.590-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Mother&#39;s Day"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Mothers"/><title type='text'>Momma Mia?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YPp7YZtUEAZVxFXlP2K3Igbvzcn38EYDbQ5AqVV5wZd9BOkcy3kpl6O9Hj0k41mDP7WQkhxmCjxBUZ6RDHFcZCfJjaJT8YIxYnxJokd9-FAUKQL0JM-z5KPTGaGJuo8raVYkAd9Nz8I/s1600/florence.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;156&quot; width=&quot;120&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YPp7YZtUEAZVxFXlP2K3Igbvzcn38EYDbQ5AqVV5wZd9BOkcy3kpl6O9Hj0k41mDP7WQkhxmCjxBUZ6RDHFcZCfJjaJT8YIxYnxJokd9-FAUKQL0JM-z5KPTGaGJuo8raVYkAd9Nz8I/s200/florence.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36u3-I_hVA1JYl3v4SydLCI4eEtz-ee7IZ55CXJDLAVz6Jl-zyQVZ4sw6OrQO3aPoTGpVBmRh4icHoCmWWuMfZhN6nTxIcrKUvr3PbwskUE7549_RmoMVFHjlHafLXLWT25c1e71Jegk/s1600/Peggy+Bundy.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;150&quot; width=&quot;200&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36u3-I_hVA1JYl3v4SydLCI4eEtz-ee7IZ55CXJDLAVz6Jl-zyQVZ4sw6OrQO3aPoTGpVBmRh4icHoCmWWuMfZhN6nTxIcrKUvr3PbwskUE7549_RmoMVFHjlHafLXLWT25c1e71Jegk/s200/Peggy+Bundy.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
For this Mother&#39;s Day I&#39;d like to state for the record &quot;I am not my mother!&quot; We all have that fear. Well those of us who are of the mother gender type. If you are a guy and fear becoming your mother you might want to invest in a little therapy. Otherwise there will be a Movie of the Week with your name on it.   &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I didn&#39;t fear becoming my mother until I had kids and started experiencing the insanity kids can bring out in the formerly very sane. I used to be sane. The realization of this fear arrives the day your kids frustrate the crap out of you and you suddenly hear your mothers voice and words coming out of your mouth! I believe I looked around the room to see if she was there. I looked again to make sure no one noticed because *that* was never going to happen again. Okay well not until the next overwhelmingly frustrating moment.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My younger daughter taught me to let go of my frustration. Not on purpose mind you,  but she taught me a valid lesson. I just took a while to learn it! I spent many years convinced I had done something in a past life and this was kharma coming to bite me in my reincarnated butt. What I learned the hard way is that we, as parents are really not in control. Not like we like to think we are. It&#39;s nature versus nurture and I am on nature&#39;s side. Mother nature, the ultimate Mom knows what she&#39;s doing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My daughter was going to be a wild child who became an almost responsible adult and it had almost nothing to do with what I did and did not do for her. My other daughter was never going to be kamikaze wild even if I totally ignored her. Once I accepted each of them for who they were a lot of the frustration left. Well most of it left. A sink full of dirty dishes can still bring it out in me! I&#39;m only human.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The best advice I can give to any young mother out there is that all you can do is love them and if you can live through it you will get to the day where they actually thank you! Of course that doesn&#39;t mean they want to be you any more than I want to be my Mom. But hey, you take what you can get!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/8898442754162627249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/momma-mia.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/8898442754162627249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/8898442754162627249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/momma-mia.html' title='Momma Mia?'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YPp7YZtUEAZVxFXlP2K3Igbvzcn38EYDbQ5AqVV5wZd9BOkcy3kpl6O9Hj0k41mDP7WQkhxmCjxBUZ6RDHFcZCfJjaJT8YIxYnxJokd9-FAUKQL0JM-z5KPTGaGJuo8raVYkAd9Nz8I/s72-c/florence.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-2450714472516903415</id><published>2011-05-02T09:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-02T09:40:36.313-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humor"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Osama Bin Laden"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twitter"/><title type='text'>Mission Accomplished..Really!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6e_jr5ybzPoZLjHWDOSxps26zAiu9hcGWD93cLNvPOZlO3ypEgcoy1t-6L4QbYWTJhssLo1pE_V5dOh12eH_NA8891JsOqnFF9LJ4a5QJV8OH4ddkQWWA8YHEjcjo5shYbcbWiRnYvEE/s1600/FDNY+.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;184&quot; width=&quot;400&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6e_jr5ybzPoZLjHWDOSxps26zAiu9hcGWD93cLNvPOZlO3ypEgcoy1t-6L4QbYWTJhssLo1pE_V5dOh12eH_NA8891JsOqnFF9LJ4a5QJV8OH4ddkQWWA8YHEjcjo5shYbcbWiRnYvEE/s400/FDNY+.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Since Osama Bin Laden stole my blogaversary thunder, well the little of it that there was, I thought it only fitting to talk about the guy who is himself a baby boomer! So lets have some fun at his expense. I give you the best (tweets,status updates and snark) of the worst (Osama, like d&#39;uh!)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Seems the Brits of the BBC made just a little typo- Obama dead appeared on their online page!&lt;br /&gt;
Although FoxNews didn&#39;t do any better as the heading under the anchor read Obama Bin Laden dead!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Following in those footsteps I give you &quot;Burn in hell...Oksana Baiul!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;I&#39;m sorry...but as far as I&#39;m concerned it&#39;s all rumor until Sarah Palin confirms it!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;It looks like he was pretty prepared for that 3:00am phonecall after all!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;Apparently Obama&#39;s birth certificate was Bin Laden&#39;s last horcrux!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;They just chuck his body and I have to keep 3 years of tax records?!!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The best tweet on the topic---&gt; &quot;Can you believe those idiots still think I&#39;m living in a cave? What? They&#39;re right behind me, aren&#39;t they? #Osamaslastwords&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then of course you have this guy who unknowingly live tweeted the whole thing! &lt;a href=&quot;http://twitter.com/#!/ReallyVirtual&quot;&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I guess he got his 15 minutes of fame!Oh and he now has 50,000 plus followers. Before this he had 2000!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So to steal a few of the lyrics from the very appropriate Lily Allen song join me in saying to Osama &quot; Fuck you...Fuck you very much!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks everyone and don&#39;t forget to tip your waitresses on the way out!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/2450714472516903415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/mission-accomplishedreally.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/2450714472516903415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/2450714472516903415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/mission-accomplishedreally.html' title='Mission Accomplished..Really!'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6e_jr5ybzPoZLjHWDOSxps26zAiu9hcGWD93cLNvPOZlO3ypEgcoy1t-6L4QbYWTJhssLo1pE_V5dOh12eH_NA8891JsOqnFF9LJ4a5QJV8OH4ddkQWWA8YHEjcjo5shYbcbWiRnYvEE/s72-c/FDNY+.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-8920767649219124839</id><published>2011-05-01T08:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-01T08:04:15.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It&#39;s My Party!</title><content type='html'>Time to move the notch over one on my belt. I have a years worth of posts I need to fit under this belt. That&#39;s really not much in blog years! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So raise your glass and I offer this toast:&lt;br /&gt;
Here&#39;s to you&lt;br /&gt;
And here&#39;s to me&lt;br /&gt;
Oh to hell with you&lt;br /&gt;
Here&#39;s to me!&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-SJ5SRd1stWPy5ZfRxD1vaiS7X1dCIP7mh1bAis9uhXmN6Ge3f44-3t5hrcSGAWQgED8kREdzG0B3gp-53phwe17MS5_8ws6W9Xhip-LfmhyphenhyphenTgof4Ega7zGJ7-8VbTltmjuPuy5fvbw/s1600/dbpix-champagne-glass-toast-articleInline.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;200&quot; width=&quot;100&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-SJ5SRd1stWPy5ZfRxD1vaiS7X1dCIP7mh1bAis9uhXmN6Ge3f44-3t5hrcSGAWQgED8kREdzG0B3gp-53phwe17MS5_8ws6W9Xhip-LfmhyphenhyphenTgof4Ega7zGJ7-8VbTltmjuPuy5fvbw/s200/dbpix-champagne-glass-toast-articleInline.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/8920767649219124839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/its-my-party.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/8920767649219124839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/8920767649219124839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/05/its-my-party.html' title='It&#39;s My Party!'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-SJ5SRd1stWPy5ZfRxD1vaiS7X1dCIP7mh1bAis9uhXmN6Ge3f44-3t5hrcSGAWQgED8kREdzG0B3gp-53phwe17MS5_8ws6W9Xhip-LfmhyphenhyphenTgof4Ega7zGJ7-8VbTltmjuPuy5fvbw/s72-c/dbpix-champagne-glass-toast-articleInline.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-5089113892036199636</id><published>2011-04-30T05:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-30T08:03:08.600-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Facebook"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="PDA"/><title type='text'>PDA on Social Media-Part One</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iGvUZzlHbl77X605Zz2lcLytogwFIN22UgoGcOLE3uib4W-PWFsw0sEQSInxzyF74wTqE7xE7tLwSslqbnC4vr7Ov3CAtKMAr72x9q5V3E0t2UAfKHdbcrkRGbp9UuX_t_LphBSLY5s/s1600/facebook_logo.png&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;200&quot; width=&quot;200&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iGvUZzlHbl77X605Zz2lcLytogwFIN22UgoGcOLE3uib4W-PWFsw0sEQSInxzyF74wTqE7xE7tLwSslqbnC4vr7Ov3CAtKMAr72x9q5V3E0t2UAfKHdbcrkRGbp9UuX_t_LphBSLY5s/s200/facebook_logo.png&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
It could also be titled Online Flirting. PDA or public displays of affection are part of the social media world. Affection is always a good thing right? Rhetorical question, no answer required. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Facebook opened up a can of worms as it seems it is *the* place for PDA blunders. The newsfeed contains not only what you put out as your status but also what you wrote on someone elses status, wall or photo. It&#39;s there for the world to see. Well your circle of &quot;friends&quot; anyway. The news is filled with human interest stories of facebook leading to divorce and breakups because someone was facebook stupid. Carrying on a facebook affair on someones wall is the definition of dumbass. Having an affair is equally so but at least the facebook stupidity contributed to my entertainment!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m less interested in those using facebook as a dating service and if you&#39;re single then it&#39;s all fair game. I&#39;m always interested in my fellow travelers, yeah you guys who have been traveling as long as I have been. Seems some of us use Facebook to stroke or maybe stoke our egos. Egos are like that, they need to be cared for and fed. Facebook works like a feedbag. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You&#39;re in your room or office or a cafe. It&#39;s you and your computer screen. That combo seems to free people up from their inhibitions and lets them say things they might not face to face. Pair that with the fact that you are once again in touch with old classmates from the angst ridden teen years. Except now you have less angst and hopefully polished your people skills. Now it&#39;s time to play a little game I like to call Yeah I Still Got It. Doesn&#39;t matter if you never had it,everyone gets to play.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A funny line with a double entendre thrown out on occasion to someone you used to date or had a crush on is no biggie because the key word is occasion as in not all the time. We all need to feel like we did when we were kids once in a while. Just don&#39;t cross the line.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
These are things you will find if you cross over to the other side of the line-&lt;br /&gt;
1.Suggestive pictures- doesn&#39;t matter how good you really do look after all these years and it&#39;s not just a girl thing. I&#39;ve seen guys do it too.&lt;br /&gt;
2.Constantly commenting on *everything* someone&#39;s status says. I don&#39;t care how witty your comments are it just screams &quot;Get a life!&quot; and borders on stalking.&lt;br /&gt;
3 If s person is married you might not want to constantly bring up some fun time that was had so long ago. Not that you could threaten a good marriage but more out of respect for the spouse who might see it. Once (if you must) is more than enough.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is also a flip side. If someone compliments you on how good you look it doesn&#39;t have to mean they want you! If they have fond memories of some good times, they are not necessarily looking for a repeat now! Most of it is just some good old fashioned fun. Get over yourself. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This is the side of social media PDA I like the least. I love me a little PDA from those that knew me as a skinny awkward kid. So bring it every once in a while...please. I do get sad for those who seem to need it so much. It means that what they&#39;re getting in real life is not what they need. At this point in life it&#39;s time to learn how to get what you need. You won&#39;t find it on anyones Facebook page. It&#39;s kinda like we&#39;re all coming of age... again! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
TO BE CONTINUED</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/5089113892036199636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/04/pda-on-social-media-part-one.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5089113892036199636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5089113892036199636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/04/pda-on-social-media-part-one.html' title='PDA on Social Media-Part One'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iGvUZzlHbl77X605Zz2lcLytogwFIN22UgoGcOLE3uib4W-PWFsw0sEQSInxzyF74wTqE7xE7tLwSslqbnC4vr7Ov3CAtKMAr72x9q5V3E0t2UAfKHdbcrkRGbp9UuX_t_LphBSLY5s/s72-c/facebook_logo.png" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-4476423191735173828</id><published>2011-04-20T01:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-20T01:58:30.972-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Seriously?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlIYUIUGpiIuanpduHqHiBaSNT9JGDLT-VpHRLkR3a8FOrF2MM5FRP7bvEjogy5UMhs1Iyt7QgZ0HEZBDzGvkdFWxO7wqID7VxGSs3cfeB7NFgwThX7g_SH_QGjmMbQTsPXJpgI0PZ1hw/s1600/8460454-a-homemaker-get-ready-to-wash-dishes-with-little-enthusiasm.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;214&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlIYUIUGpiIuanpduHqHiBaSNT9JGDLT-VpHRLkR3a8FOrF2MM5FRP7bvEjogy5UMhs1Iyt7QgZ0HEZBDzGvkdFWxO7wqID7VxGSs3cfeB7NFgwThX7g_SH_QGjmMbQTsPXJpgI0PZ1hw/s320/8460454-a-homemaker-get-ready-to-wash-dishes-with-little-enthusiasm.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I could drink milk or OJ straight from the carton with the best of them if I drank either. I have taken off my clothes and left them in a heap by my bed like any man child, except I&#39;m not a man. Dust does not scare me and neither do the dust bunnies hiding under my bed. They are actually very quiet. I miss the days when we had a platform bed and couldn&#39;t have bunnies. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Basically you get the picture. I was thankfully born when women were allowed to be more than the sum of their housework because otherwise I would have had to marry rich so I could pay someone to do it. Keeping this in mind you would then be pretty amused at my new mantra I keep repeating as I wander around the house doing whatever it is I&#39;m doing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not a day goes by where you don&#39;t hear me mutter to myself &quot;seriously?&quot; It happens when I approach a sink full of dishes that has an empty dishwasher right next to it. It also happens when the dishwasher is full but not run. Sometimes the dishes are being run but the counter is clearly not wiped. There is of course my favorite &quot;seriously&quot; which is said above a stage whisper when the sponge is left in the sink all wet and not rinsed off. That goes for the small rag, well the small expensive microfiber cloth I use to clean the countertops. I love to find it in the sink not rinsed out and hung to dry. &quot;SERIOUSLY?!&quot; My all time fav however is that piece of paper that has fallen on the floor that no one picks up! I watch as they repeatedly walk by it. If I see it they have to see it. Then when I&#39;m truly amazed that the paper is still there on the floor I mutter &quot;seriously?&quot; to no one in particular and then I pick it up.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So seriously folks, where did I go wrong? That&#39;s really the issue here. Granted, I&#39;m not a neat freak. They sense that the way dogs sense fear. My brother in law and his kids would never do the aforementioned and I think I know why. My sister in law is a neat freak but that alone is not enough. I know many a neat freak who silently suffer as they clean other peoples messes. The missing element is fear. I did not properly instill fear in my clan. Now it&#39;s too late. Now it&#39;s just me yelling and them thinking &quot;Yeah okay, get it out of your system and then you&#39;ll calm down and we can go back to normal!&quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh the humanity! It&#39;s complicated as they say in Facebookese! Or rather I&#39;m complicated. I hate cleaning. Yet ironically some things seem to bother me disproportionately. They say the first step is recognizing you have a problem. Oh wait... that&#39;s for bigger issues than this one! It may be too late for me but if you&#39;re just starting out remember to instill fear or be ready to pick up after people the rest of your life, Seriously!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/4476423191735173828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/04/seriously.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/4476423191735173828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/4476423191735173828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/04/seriously.html' title='Seriously?'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlIYUIUGpiIuanpduHqHiBaSNT9JGDLT-VpHRLkR3a8FOrF2MM5FRP7bvEjogy5UMhs1Iyt7QgZ0HEZBDzGvkdFWxO7wqID7VxGSs3cfeB7NFgwThX7g_SH_QGjmMbQTsPXJpgI0PZ1hw/s72-c/8460454-a-homemaker-get-ready-to-wash-dishes-with-little-enthusiasm.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-7844944899652521132</id><published>2011-04-08T03:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-08T05:20:51.989-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="emotional cheating"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="privacy"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="snooping"/><title type='text'>The Case of the Snoop Dogg and the Tell Tale Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZteqKJRYpcF5mAyV-kK8YiDjXO1uM9dfIpKkBdvpSJuurqaKzSv2K7rfbPnJ7-7pgmz8F4zp2VN138pnc-qvmygU1UooAep0LQThUSPKD7WhuWGMQZoQ_oeH6nrfnvqQ-mYagT-1KCM/s1600/sherlock-holmes.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;141&quot; width=&quot;200&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZteqKJRYpcF5mAyV-kK8YiDjXO1uM9dfIpKkBdvpSJuurqaKzSv2K7rfbPnJ7-7pgmz8F4zp2VN138pnc-qvmygU1UooAep0LQThUSPKD7WhuWGMQZoQ_oeH6nrfnvqQ-mYagT-1KCM/s200/sherlock-holmes.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
To look or not to look? I was recently at a round table discussion. Well it was lunch with friends from work and the table we sat at was indeed round! The panel consisted of only those of the female persuasion. Ages varied from over the hill, on the hill and just starting to climb the hill! Three Sadie Sadie married ladies, one divorcee, one single gal and one who can best be described as &quot;it&#39;s complicated&quot;!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So what is it that we should look at or not? Well it&#39;s not the eclipse although it can be just as damaging and wearing sunglasses will not help. It&#39;s all about partners who may or may not be on the prowl. Cheating. So what is a sane person to do? I&#39;ve only known two divorces close up that involved a cheating spouse. In neither case where there the cliched lipstick on the collar or a hotel room key carelessly left in pants pockets and then thrown in the laundry.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In most cases it seems to start with a feeling. Something&#39;s not right but since you can&#39;t put your finger on it you shake it off at first. After a while you find it harder to ignore the signs of something gone awry. Pecks instead of real kisses. I love you is no longer part of the lexicon. Neither is sex which is truly a barometer of a healthy relationship. Dr Ruth would be so proud of me! Efforts in clothes or perfume go unnoticed. Basically whatever you do goes unnoticed. In the comment section of your life there are none. Not even a thumbs up &quot;like&quot; comes your way. They may still ask how was your day but when you start talking there are never any questions or comments that show a real interest. It&#39;s small talk. Very small talk.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Examples of a disconnect abound. In one case my friend had all the signs of a disconnect but she never got the chance to figure out what to do with it. She quite by accident ran into him where he should not have been. Ooops there it is! My other friend had only suspicion  to go on so she decided to go look.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She looked at his emails, in his briefcase, and the phone bill because there were constant calls for him when it was clearly family/couple time like at 10pm on a Friday or Saturday night. I can&#39;t remember if she suffered through the cliched hang up when she answered the phone. She couldn&#39;t afford a PI so she followed him. In the end she found what she was looking for. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So the question was simple. Do you invade someones privacy to confirm a suspicion when your heart is a stake? I said no. No looking. &quot;But he&#39;s making a fool out of you&quot; was the dissenters reply, almost like a Greek chorus. Surprisingly the non marrieds were all for the looky loo in this situation. Us married and was married were split. I was clearly in the minority.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So why shouldn&#39;t someone look? You invade someones privacy when you do that and if that isn&#39;t stating the obvious I don&#39;t know what is! Even liars have a right to their privacy. The bottom line is that they&#39;ll still be liars and they will still have broken your heart. You&#39;ll just know about it a little later. When you&#39;re clinging on for dear life you can still hang on to that thing called integrity.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Instead, use your words. What&#39;s wrong with asking the other person? Give them a chance to come clean. Yeah it&#39;ll hurt but we are all adults and eventually the hurt will lessen and you&#39;ll get to move on to something better. Some of the panel rightfully stated that you might not get an honest answer. Some people are chicken and some people want the best of both worlds. Some people don&#39;t want to upset the kids no matter how old they are. They would rather torture you! Yet in the face of this strong argument I stood firm.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Don&#39;t look. Not at what&#39;s not meant for you to see. I believe the universe eventually works in your favor and you will get to see the truth whatever that truth may be. Not all the signs I talked about are specific symptoms of cheating only. They are definitely symptoms of relationship malaise. So what do you do if you don&#39;t find the truth or maybe you feel you&#39;ve been waiting too long and you are tired of the pain? There seem to be two options. Try again. Be loving. Put yourself out there in ways you held back out of fear. Never regret loving someone. Door number two is simply opening your clenched fist and letting it go. Then walk through the door and close it behind you.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/7844944899652521132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/04/case-of-snoop-dogg-and-tell-tale-heart.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/7844944899652521132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/7844944899652521132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/04/case-of-snoop-dogg-and-tell-tale-heart.html' title='The Case of the Snoop Dogg and the Tell Tale Heart'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZteqKJRYpcF5mAyV-kK8YiDjXO1uM9dfIpKkBdvpSJuurqaKzSv2K7rfbPnJ7-7pgmz8F4zp2VN138pnc-qvmygU1UooAep0LQThUSPKD7WhuWGMQZoQ_oeH6nrfnvqQ-mYagT-1KCM/s72-c/sherlock-holmes.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-7422969894091243776</id><published>2011-04-04T09:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-05T14:44:35.079-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Turkey Day?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn6yYNkwtTxqXsX8PVlMfwV3qf8CUcJ04Wn92-ER-OUF2lvOaQHwHodXt1WGpyTowkLpfIS7rv7Nzr7xtwBW80i9EVn6Fr5PtHTq3EJBkbotO9ZT6HbyKvtb1RydXFUF1cUn7jaeDjPaY/s1600/wilbur-ugly-turkey.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; height=&quot;200&quot; width=&quot;200&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn6yYNkwtTxqXsX8PVlMfwV3qf8CUcJ04Wn92-ER-OUF2lvOaQHwHodXt1WGpyTowkLpfIS7rv7Nzr7xtwBW80i9EVn6Fr5PtHTq3EJBkbotO9ZT6HbyKvtb1RydXFUF1cUn7jaeDjPaY/s200/wilbur-ugly-turkey.jpg&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I was brushing my teeth, or washing my face or maybe I was putting on my makeup. It all happened so fast I can&#39;t remember the details but there it was. Well I think it was. I certainly heard the gobble gobble of the turkeys in my ear.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I may have a waddle. That little bit of loose skin at the junction where your neck meets the base of your head under the chin area. Yes,I cowrote Grey&#39;s Anatomy. Not the show people,the actual book on anatomy! The whole bit about &quot;the junction&quot; where neck meets head was a giveaway right? I&#39;m a technical nerd that way. Okay, even I can&#39;t say that with a straight face, or write it for that matter!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Members of the jury, I know what I saw, even if it was for just a moment. I may not always see it although I try to recreate the moment. I wonder if there is a difference in mirrors. You know how some mirrors make you look heavier? Maybe some show waddle even if it&#39;s barely there. But I know what I saw! I also know better than to ask the one dearest to me because he ain&#39;t stupid. I&#39;ll ask the question and what he will hear is &quot;Does this outfit make me look fat?!&quot; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In the meantime I keep touching my neck. Maybe I should learn to tie a scarf in all sorts of decorative ways. Turtlenecks in summer? Could be a new trend. Could also be stupid! Some days this aging thing is just not fair. I think if you&#39;ve made it this far there should be some kind of reward. A physical one. Life is backwards! That and waddles belong on turkeys unless you&#39;re married to Richard Fish!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/7422969894091243776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/04/thanksgiving.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/7422969894091243776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/7422969894091243776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/04/thanksgiving.html' title='Turkey Day?'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn6yYNkwtTxqXsX8PVlMfwV3qf8CUcJ04Wn92-ER-OUF2lvOaQHwHodXt1WGpyTowkLpfIS7rv7Nzr7xtwBW80i9EVn6Fr5PtHTq3EJBkbotO9ZT6HbyKvtb1RydXFUF1cUn7jaeDjPaY/s72-c/wilbur-ugly-turkey.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-5730024164082281272</id><published>2011-03-28T02:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-29T02:08:47.847-07:00</updated><title type='text'>&quot;A Poem is a Naked Person&quot;- Bob Dylan</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur=&quot;try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}&quot; href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRUmxGrF_jPnc62iuUgi0aFiKfQZXMUdzRx_PmAzncw7n89EnoRYDoQ3gEq5cQ0o2R2ZgXj0SKwQ7vaCDjh6JW-3hEVrBe3WmnpXip8jBa8iSbdBB05fcm84-qK9x5VxSMvsG6cWdR8g/s1600/diary_open_520.jpg&quot;&gt;&lt;img style=&quot;float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 190px;&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRUmxGrF_jPnc62iuUgi0aFiKfQZXMUdzRx_PmAzncw7n89EnoRYDoQ3gEq5cQ0o2R2ZgXj0SKwQ7vaCDjh6JW-3hEVrBe3WmnpXip8jBa8iSbdBB05fcm84-qK9x5VxSMvsG6cWdR8g/s320/diary_open_520.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot;id=&quot;BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589426231285812450&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found a journal of poetry I had kept that my sixteen year old self wrote. It was filled with my words and those of others that I appreciated at the time. What an eclectic taste I had. I had poems from Laurence Furlenghetti alongside poems by Erica Jong and Susan Polis Shutz who was a feminist shlock meister from the late 60&#39;s/early 70&#39;s. I wrote down great lyrics from Bob Dylan the master alongside lyrics to some sappy Diana Ross hit from back then when she was making hits. How could I love both the truly worthy and the crap of the crop? My answer is a number. Sixteen. All I can say is that at least I had the sense to recognize some of the greats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reading my own poetry was a kick. I tried to remember who I was writing about or what event in my life was happening that led me to write. I couldn&#39;t always remember. It&#39;s funny because a lot of what I wrote was crap! No other way to describe it. Those poems will never see the light of day but I thought I would share a few of the good ones or rather the ones that are not embarrassingly god awful! It&#39;s nice to be able to look back and glimpse who I once was so I figured I would lock the car doors and take you along for the ride. Not all at once. Just some short trips so no need to scream &quot;Are we there yet!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This poem I wrote about a friend who would spend time with me writing poetry. She gave me the idea for the journal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Murky water colored sea&lt;br /&gt;India inks with pen&lt;br /&gt;Life lines on a page&lt;br /&gt;Guitar strings&lt;br /&gt;Cries from the depth&lt;br /&gt;With flower blue eyes that tell stories&lt;br /&gt;Time passes&lt;br /&gt;Smoke curling upward&lt;br /&gt;Coffee consumed&lt;br /&gt;Fragility&lt;br /&gt;Soft soul&lt;br /&gt;Like a Raggedy Ann with I Love You written on her heart</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/5730024164082281272/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/03/poem-is-naked-person-bob-dylan.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5730024164082281272'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/5730024164082281272'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/03/poem-is-naked-person-bob-dylan.html' title='&quot;A Poem is a Naked Person&quot;- Bob Dylan'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRUmxGrF_jPnc62iuUgi0aFiKfQZXMUdzRx_PmAzncw7n89EnoRYDoQ3gEq5cQ0o2R2ZgXj0SKwQ7vaCDjh6JW-3hEVrBe3WmnpXip8jBa8iSbdBB05fcm84-qK9x5VxSMvsG6cWdR8g/s72-c/diary_open_520.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7121922473819431203.post-2571717919113030776</id><published>2011-03-24T01:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-08T08:25:21.953-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love"/><title type='text'>Love Means Never Having to Say You&#39;re Sorry</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur=&quot;try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}&quot; href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKwd627zuOMJGyRpiFxePCPqXCt14RTWQ7iWP0L3u0iQinjFLCxYJIsbEqv9HHDRa-2qQnGQnZIVAoaSQ3sq2xKIXxc6Zx6qBtHwZ7AwQaZ_PMwmNIH7Vtf5Mf-MEOrdYtRRHF0WrqI4/s1600/Love+Story.jpg&quot;&gt;&lt;img style=&quot;display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 317px;&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKwd627zuOMJGyRpiFxePCPqXCt14RTWQ7iWP0L3u0iQinjFLCxYJIsbEqv9HHDRa-2qQnGQnZIVAoaSQ3sq2xKIXxc6Zx6qBtHwZ7AwQaZ_PMwmNIH7Vtf5Mf-MEOrdYtRRHF0WrqI4/s320/Love+Story.jpg&quot; border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot;&quot;id=&quot;BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587592159846253794&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
What is this thing called love we all seem to believe in yet it&#39;s not a thing that you can actually see and touch. In fact, how interesting that most people believe love exists without question, but the same can&#39;t be said for the big guy God. We can&#39;t see God anymore than we can see love. I&#39;m not going to go all biblical on you, just a random observance of mine. I started to think about love after all my posts on sex and Rock and Roll. You know, all you need is love!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Someone I came across some years ago, described what love is in a way that I liked. He said that you first need to imagine that you are like a house. You might invite someone over that you don&#39;t know very well. They stay in the living room where you offer them a little refreshment while they visit. Someone you like a lot might get a quick tour of the house and they can come into the kitchen while you prepare some snacks. Someone you love, you let wander around your house unchaperoned. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But what is it about a person that we love, and makes us love them? I&#39;ve been doing it for 30 years now! He has wandered this old house and he has stayed! So I love him for that. As I started thinking about it I realized that some of why I love him has to do with me me me! I love that I can feel safe in his arms. I love that he knows the crazy and still loves me.  I love that he really wants me to be happy. You see what I mean? Me&lt; me, me!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So this intrepid reporter ( blogger doesn&#39;t have the same ring to it) decided to think about the other non me related things that make me love him. He is addicted to TV. He loves to read. He would prefer to stay home and hang out than run from thing to thing. He has a snarky sense of humor but never needs to shock you to be funny. He has the discipline to write a book. His discipline with working out/eating right while admirable can sometimes get on my nerves aka jealousy. Family is number one. When the kids need him just to be there, he&#39;s there! He does the dishes AND washes the floor. He is great at political debate. His eyes. His love of animals. The touch of grey in his scruffy beard. Well in all fairness that&#39;s new. So you see, love grows over time!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Maybe love does mean never having to say your sorry, although there is a man in my life who will tell you that if I said that then I would be full of shit! Ah well, it&#39;s a great line from a great movie about a love that is fierce. Maybe love isn&#39;t meant to mean something. It&#39;s meant to be felt.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/feeds/2571717919113030776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/03/love-means-never-having-to-say-youre.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/2571717919113030776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7121922473819431203/posts/default/2571717919113030776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://comingofageagain.blogspot.com/2011/03/love-means-never-having-to-say-youre.html' title='Love Means Never Having to Say You&#39;re Sorry'/><author><name>Carol</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00094104323970345270</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHCwq4ARHm1oAeXaV7vQZvIpydbbfaaJ8-McQOixtQnW9PLclTSx9J_8cXYGbYFKrW_RP3nuQNHSNYZJ17GWInT-aIVAp_4WAfE4WcI0Dz0lihI-6-JRa06Dq6jAm8A/s220/carol.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKwd627zuOMJGyRpiFxePCPqXCt14RTWQ7iWP0L3u0iQinjFLCxYJIsbEqv9HHDRa-2qQnGQnZIVAoaSQ3sq2xKIXxc6Zx6qBtHwZ7AwQaZ_PMwmNIH7Vtf5Mf-MEOrdYtRRHF0WrqI4/s72-c/Love+Story.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>