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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;C0AGRX0zeSp7ImA9WhRUFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551</id><updated>2012-01-24T14:48:44.381-07:00</updated><category term="randomness" /><category term="Reviews" /><category term="bucket filler" /><category term="soundtrack sunday" /><category term="top 10 tunes" /><category term="wordless wednesday" /><category term="Cooking" /><category term="Sunday Devotional" /><category term="random 10" /><category term="concerts" /><category term="Tuesday Trailers" /><category term="moxie" /><category term="health" /><category term="Note to Self" /><category term="u2" /><category term="open letter" /><category term="rant" /><category term="Books" /><category term="Actual Conversation" /><title>Crazyland: Tales From The Motherboard</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>1857</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/crazylandblog" /><feedburner:info uri="crazylandblog" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><link rel="license" type="text/html" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/" /><logo>http://creativecommons.org/images/public/somerights20.gif</logo><feedburner:emailServiceId>crazylandblog</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0AGRXozcSp7ImA9WhRUFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-5954349140259950506</id><published>2012-01-24T14:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-24T14:48:44.489-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-24T14:48:44.489-07:00</app:edited><title>Pixie Lott</title><content type="html">&lt;iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OGo1V89feFY" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;

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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/1ir1-nzSmnQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/5954349140259950506?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/5954349140259950506?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/1ir1-nzSmnQ/pixie-lott.html" title="Pixie Lott" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/OGo1V89feFY/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2012/01/pixie-lott.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YEQng9cCp7ImA9WhRUEEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-10124888565396474</id><published>2012-01-20T11:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-20T11:45:03.668-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-20T11:45:03.668-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="top 10 tunes" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="random 10" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="randomness" /><title>Random Randomness and Then Some Tunes</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;"Think of what would happen to us in America if there were no humorists; life would be one long Congressional Record."&amp;nbsp; -- Tom Masson&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Word.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KFBnfsDAhzM/Txmrv1Oc5SI/AAAAAAAAFxk/uEDMkmdqIW4/s1600/elisa+job.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KFBnfsDAhzM/Txmrv1Oc5SI/AAAAAAAAFxk/uEDMkmdqIW4/s320/elisa+job.JPG" width="208" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;me laughing, because dang. I'm funny. &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
One of the qualities that I value most in people is their sense of humor. If you have one, I probably heart you. If you don't we probably aren't friends.There is value in being able to bust-a-gut laugh with someone-- it bonds you and is the best anti-depressant around.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Besides, the more you laugh the younger you look. Serious. I read it on the Internet, so it must be true.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How boring would life be without people who see the irony in life and happily point it out? Sure. Life is hard, sad and all that other depressing crap. But, it's also funny. You just have to look for it, but it's there. Pinky Swear.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
Moxie is trying to kill me slowly. She loves my diet coke more than I do and I feel like a mean old ogre every time I yank it out of her hands. Truthfully, I have a problem sharing with her. Not because she drinks it all (she does) but because she likes to take the lid off my McDee's cup and then PLAY WITH THE ICE. In the Diet Coke.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
People. That is just plain old nasty.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Who knows where those hands have been.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Actually. I do. That's why I am a mean old ogre when it comes to my Diet Coke.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mama Don't Share Well.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
I got buckets of emails and texts from people asking about "The Stalker."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes I had one.&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
No. It was not a traffic ploy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
(although note to self: that would be a good idea. start working on a fictional series ...) &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes I am fine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
No they haven't tried to kill me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes I did send TWO cease and desist letters &lt;strike&gt;telling &lt;/strike&gt;asking them to leave me alone. The last one seemed to have done the trick. It was rather forceful and held all sorts of promises of what we could and would do to them if they did not stop immediately.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It may have even included a threat about a horse-head in their bed, too.&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Or not.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Man. I'm glad Jefe is an Attorney and not a Garbage Man. That brain of his has come in handy more times than not.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SbHWzLkX2W8/TxmwAQVhcbI/AAAAAAAAFxs/K9uOzTOwNCA/s1600/becareful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
I have found myself reflecting on the friends that I have been blessed with in my life. A lot of them have come and gone, but there have been a core group of women that have stood by me-- through thick and thin-- and I don't know what I would do without them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Good friends are ones who are willing to call you on your crap, and then help you stand up and be better. Those are the friends that I have surrounded myself with. They know my stuff, and still love me anyway.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's been an interesting case study for me this past year. I would be honest in telling you that 2011 was absolutely the worst year of&amp;nbsp; my life. And, when I confided to some of my friends while I was going through it-- it was interesting to me the ones who stuck around and helped pull me through and the ones who quickly bailed. The ones I thought would be the stalwart ones were the ones who bailed, and the ones who stayed are the ones who have become my rocks... my true friends.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My blogging friends-- Caroline, Veronica, Melissa and Julie are my 
rocks. They would send gobs of emails-- bouncing them back so fast it 
was like watching a tennis match on speed-- that just kept me laughing. When you put those four women together the things they come up with never cease to amaze me-- they should write for SNL-- they are that funny. And twisted.&amp;nbsp;
They see things clearly and always have my back.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I suppose trials in your own life really define who your true friends are. To say I was surprised -- and frankly heartbroken-- at the ones who chose to leave my life would be lying. I trusted them with information and when it was no longer an "easy road", they moved on to bigger, better and brighter pastures.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That sort of hurt. A lot.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
However. What it did do was create better friendships. And it taught me that not everyone cares. Most are just curious. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SbHWzLkX2W8/TxmwAQVhcbI/AAAAAAAAFxs/K9uOzTOwNCA/s1600/becareful.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="206" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SbHWzLkX2W8/TxmwAQVhcbI/AAAAAAAAFxs/K9uOzTOwNCA/s320/becareful.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
The other night Moxie looked at Jefe and I and said: "I really want a TV in my room." I sort of mumbled under my breath, not intending for her to hear, Dream On.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She did hear, and took that statement quite literally.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"OK. I also want a baff-tub and a fridge to put all my own sodas in."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She's a dreamer that kid.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And, I like it. A lot. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
Have a swell weekend peeps. It's mighty warm around these parts and I likes it. Mucho.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Catch ya on the flip-side!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;ol&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Winner Is - Devotchka&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Windows Are Rolled Down (Live) - Amos Lee&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Hannah&amp;nbsp; - Ray LaMontagne &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Iris - The Goo-Goo Dolls&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Christmas Song (Live) - Dave Matthews Band&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron &amp;amp; Wine &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Rest - The Temper Trap&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;The Grid - Crystal Method&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;I'm An Animal - Neko Case&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Medicine - Grace Potter &amp;amp; the Nocturnals&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ol&gt;
&amp;nbsp;Bonus: Fade Into You - Mazzy Star &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;h2 class="title"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
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&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1aSbKvm_mKA" width="420"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;

&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Before I die I want to not just SEE a flash mob, but I want to be IN one, too. 

&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/742g1cRCZnY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/1727478567937126804?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/1727478567937126804?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/742g1cRCZnY/bucket-list.html" title="Bucket List" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/1aSbKvm_mKA/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2012/01/bucket-list.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUHQXc9fSp7ImA9WhRVGU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-3928088079116430202</id><published>2012-01-18T10:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-18T10:20:30.965-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-18T10:20:30.965-07:00</app:edited><title>Wordless Wednesday</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4FVhtelRl-M/Txb-IRvYVLI/AAAAAAAAFxU/AB7pH_xHEP8/s1600/censorsopa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="456" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4FVhtelRl-M/Txb-IRvYVLI/AAAAAAAAFxU/AB7pH_xHEP8/s640/censorsopa.jpg" width="640" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="https://www.google.com/landing/takeaction/"&gt;Click here to go sign the petition being sponsored by Google to tell congress to stop Internet Censorship.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If you want to read more about SOPA or PIPA head on over to &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://mashable.com/2012/01/18/sopa-dark-ages/"&gt;Mashable&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; and check out their detailed post. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UhqpenJgGMc/Txb-ktmF8II/AAAAAAAAFxc/ZyS4F_fRgS8/s1600/censorship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="512" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UhqpenJgGMc/Txb-ktmF8II/AAAAAAAAFxc/ZyS4F_fRgS8/s640/censorship.jpg" width="640" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;a href="http://bit.ly/ldsvineyard " target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i663.photobucket.com/albums/uu355/mormonmommyblogs/Vineyard_700x100_0021.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16498551-3928088079116430202?l=wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/9K8BzW0lYNs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/3928088079116430202?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/3928088079116430202?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/9K8BzW0lYNs/wordless-wednesday.html" title="Wordless Wednesday" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4FVhtelRl-M/Txb-IRvYVLI/AAAAAAAAFxU/AB7pH_xHEP8/s72-c/censorsopa.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2012/01/wordless-wednesday.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUYASXYzeSp7ImA9WhRVGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-904717901354093049</id><published>2012-01-17T12:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-17T12:05:48.881-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-17T12:05:48.881-07:00</app:edited><title>Another Portlandia Moment</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/x5haDL78AJE" width="560"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Jefe and I discovered &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ifc.com/shows/portlandia?utm_source=google&amp;amp;utm_medium=cpc&amp;amp;utm_term=portlandia&amp;amp;utm_campaign=Media%20Ad_Portlandia"&gt;Portlandia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; during the holidays. It is seriously one of the weirdest yet funniest shows we have ever watched and we can't seem to get enough of it! It's full of the best one-liners since the old days on SNL. Which makes perfect sense, seeing how it's produced by Lorne Michaels and has tons of SNL actors in the skits. It's just high quality SNL -- making fun of quirky things in society.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Take for instance this skit on ordering at a restaurant. The waiter is hell-bent on telling them every single thing they can find on the menu, which we found hysterical. The facial expressions of Fred's character makes me snort every time I watch this. Which is a lot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I think what makes this show so freaking funny is the fact that its a parody on life. Every where we go now Jefe and I find ourselves looking at each other and then busting a gut because hello! Was that a Portlandia moment? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Take, for example, my experience at the Apple Store recently. It was a culinary fest of satire.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
People. All&amp;nbsp;

I wanted was to buy a cover for my iPad.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That's all.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just a simple little cover.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The Apple employee had something totally different in mind. He sat me down at the little desk and proceeded to parade in front of me all the covers available to man-kind.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Now here we have a darling green one that has this cute little dangly-thinger. I think of all the covers we have this one says TECH GIRL the most."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes he did.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He totally said that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My eyes started glazing over and I looked to Jefe for help and saw that he was mouthing "Crazy Craigs Guac Tacs" at me, which made me start to laugh.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The parade continued.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was pulling more and more covers out, faster and faster and my head was starting to spin from the whirlwind of iPad covers flashing in front of my eyes. It was like an iPad Rave happening in front of my face. I could hardly focus my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Really. I just wanted a simple iPad cover, not the millennium falcon version of iPad covers. Is that too much to ask? Just a cover. Get in. Get out. Get on with your life. An iPad cover. Nothing more. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Finally I told him that I really liked the one my girlfriend &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://welcometomychaos.com/"&gt;Veronica&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; bought so I would go call her and come back later and get the one she bought. I told him that I knew she had done all the research and I was&amp;nbsp; content with being a complete copy-cat and not screaming "Tech Girl" every time I took my iPad out.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He promptly asked me her full name, did some typing on the computer and said "Aha! I know exactly which one she bought!" 

And I had my magic iPad cover that was just like Veronica's.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After enduring 20 minutes of the epic iPad cover parade.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And Jefe laughing because Hello. &lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;That &lt;/i&gt;was a &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ifc.com/shows/portlandia"&gt;Portlandia &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;moment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;a href="http://bit.ly/ldsvineyard " target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i663.photobucket.com/albums/uu355/mormonmommyblogs/Vineyard_700x100_0021.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16498551-904717901354093049?l=wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/uQIQCyNiw84" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/904717901354093049?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/904717901354093049?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/uQIQCyNiw84/another-portlandia-moment.html" title="Another Portlandia Moment" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/x5haDL78AJE/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2012/01/another-portlandia-moment.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcBRngyfSp7ImA9WhRVFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-5680528337158911446</id><published>2012-01-13T15:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-14T16:00:57.695-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-14T16:00:57.695-07:00</app:edited><title>Random Randomness and Then Some Tunes</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;“To me, it's a good idea to always carry two sacks of something when you walk around. That way, if anybody says, Hey, can you give me a hand? You can say, Sorry, got these sacks. - Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy (Saturday Night Live)”&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This week has been a crazy whirl-wind adventure. From the kids puking to me puking to me being possessed, yet again, by James Earl Jones. I always thought it would be awesome to have him narrate my life, but now that he's taken up residence once again inside my lungs, I'm thinking that really he's just a needy little bugger.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The only thing I hate more than me puking is other people puking. See I'm a sympathy puker. I hear someone puke and immediately I'm joining the puke fest. So imagine the fun that's been my house this past week.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The kids puke. I puke. The kids puke. I puke.The kids puke. I puke.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Round and round we go, like a merry-go-round.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Which, btw makes me puke.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
I'm working on a post about my favorite apps from 2011. This year I increased my photography apps by two folders-- making it 4 folders that I have of apps that I can edit photos, make collages and even turn the photos into comic strips. I love photography and I love my iPhone-- so mixing the two together is nirvana for me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Cgovv8jWETM" width="560"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am digging this song big time. It's an arrangement of Coldplay's Paradise. I have had it on continuous loop for the past couple of days. I love hearing artists remake popular songs... just hearing them take a popular tune and then remaking it into something totally  new is fascinating to me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
I'm doing the 365 on Instagram again this year and I'm having a blast! I love documenting my life one photo at a time. I went through a phase where I was driving over a bridge every day at the same time, so I took a picture at the top of the bridge every day-- at sunset. It's such a fun way to document your life and goes beyond the basic scrapbook stuff. Which, btw, I have outgrown.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
 I used to love to scrapbook and would get together with my friends in Illinois on a weekly basis to scrapbook... but once I found blogging I decided this was more my cup of tea. And then all the various other platforms of capturing your stories and photos have captured my interest.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Here is the past weeks photos:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X7WBA025huU/TxH_shxa3AI/AAAAAAAAFxM/IAjfZDSwLWE/s1600/week+in+review.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X7WBA025huU/TxH_shxa3AI/AAAAAAAAFxM/IAjfZDSwLWE/s400/week+in+review.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
 Jefe and I have a rule that when we go out to eat together we have to eat at a new restaurant. Which is super fun, but can be a pain too. Especially when you have a favorite restaurant that you like... But broadens your horizons and creates super fun memories.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yelp is our new best friend. Wherever we are we can pull up Yelp and get suggestions on places to eat and what's good at each place. I have to say that Yelp is one of my favorite Apps-- I just wish it would list where there was free WIFI and would let you post your review straight from your phone and not have to log in via an actual computer.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This past week we tried two new restaurants &lt;a href="http://www.thesonoragrill.com/"&gt;Sonora Grill &lt;/a&gt;and &lt;a href="http://www.patsbbq.com/"&gt;Pats BBQ&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am a Mexican Food junkie and Sonora Grill was fantastic. I absolutely LOVED the coconut rice-- I would eat there again just to have a giant heaping portion of that rice. So. Dang. Good. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Their chips were awesome! They are hand made tortillas that you can break up yourself. The tortilla lady makes over one thousand tortillas a day. We had two baskets of tortillas while tasting all the different types of salsa they offered. It was a great environment and the booths were different and cozy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Iu9rG1EHxYE/TxH_pC3hnYI/AAAAAAAAFxE/Qh6Ryd4L_us/s1600/patsbbq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Iu9rG1EHxYE/TxH_pC3hnYI/AAAAAAAAFxE/Qh6Ryd4L_us/s1600/patsbbq.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.patsbbq.com/"&gt;Pats BBQ&lt;/a&gt; was totally different than what we had expected. It was a total hole-in-the-wall and down a dark, scary alley. Which is the perfect combo for making a great eating experience.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm dying to go back when its warmer and eat on the patio. They have blues bands on a regular basis and it has a super cozy feeling. We had a blast listening to the band playing and trying all the flavors of BBQ Sauce. I think I would get a bigger helping of the Jambalaya next time I go. It was to die for good! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The other fun part was Pats was featured on &lt;a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/diners-drive-ins-and-dives/index.html"&gt;Diners Drive-ins and Dives&lt;/a&gt;. They have a wall of photos and I was ogling over Guy when the owner came over and asked if I wanted my picture taken next to it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Need not ask me twice to get my picture taken. We chatted the owner up for a while and decided we needed to come back when a &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ELh9h_jx8k"&gt;different band&lt;/a&gt; is playing. And when it's warmer outside.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
Friday the 13th.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Are you superstitious? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Me? Not so much.&lt;br /&gt;
 &lt;br /&gt;
{as she throws salt over her shoulder.}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
 That's it peeps. Have a good weekend. I see lots of sleep in my future so I can get rid of this dirty little squatter that has taken up residence in my lungs. Here's hoping he moves out faster this time around versus last time. Last time I ended up with pneumonia and a sinus infection. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Take it easy and keep your nose clean.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Catch ya on the flip side!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
1. Love Gone Crazy - John Nemeth&lt;br /&gt;
2. Tripping Billies - Dave Matthews Band&lt;br /&gt;
3. Beat It (2008 Remix) - Michael Jackson &amp;amp; Fergie&lt;br /&gt;
4. Amsterdam - Coldplay&lt;br /&gt;
5. Beautifully - Jay Brannan&lt;br /&gt;
6. Don't Know Why - Norah Jones&lt;br /&gt;
7. One - U2&lt;br /&gt;
8. Born Free- Kid Rock&lt;br /&gt;
9. Ghosts N Stuff - Deadmau 5&lt;br /&gt;
10. Sweet Disposition - The Temper Trap&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Bonus: All For You - Janet Jackson &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/MWjPB4M_CkA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/5680528337158911446?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/5680528337158911446?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/MWjPB4M_CkA/random-randomness-and-then-some-tunes.html" title="Random Randomness and Then Some Tunes" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/Cgovv8jWETM/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2012/01/random-randomness-and-then-some-tunes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEANQXcyfyp7ImA9WhRVFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-6943867113064418998</id><published>2012-01-12T14:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-14T14:33:10.997-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-14T14:33:10.997-07:00</app:edited><title>Can't Wait to See These Flicks</title><content type="html">&lt;iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/IyaFEBI_L24" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;

&lt;iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/G0k3kHtyoqc" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;

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&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;a href="http://bit.ly/ldsvineyard " target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i663.photobucket.com/albums/uu355/mormonmommyblogs/Vineyard_700x100_0021.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16498551-6943867113064418998?l=wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=H0SWeRaeS8s:pb3cPAkV0PQ:63t7Ie-LG7Y"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?d=63t7Ie-LG7Y" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=H0SWeRaeS8s:pb3cPAkV0PQ:4cEx4HpKnUU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?i=H0SWeRaeS8s:pb3cPAkV0PQ:4cEx4HpKnUU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=H0SWeRaeS8s:pb3cPAkV0PQ:F7zBnMyn0Lo"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?i=H0SWeRaeS8s:pb3cPAkV0PQ:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=H0SWeRaeS8s:pb3cPAkV0PQ:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=H0SWeRaeS8s:pb3cPAkV0PQ:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?i=H0SWeRaeS8s:pb3cPAkV0PQ:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=H0SWeRaeS8s:pb3cPAkV0PQ:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?i=H0SWeRaeS8s:pb3cPAkV0PQ:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/H0SWeRaeS8s" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/6943867113064418998?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/6943867113064418998?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/H0SWeRaeS8s/cant-wait-to-see-these-flicks.html" title="Can't Wait to See These Flicks" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/IyaFEBI_L24/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2012/01/cant-wait-to-see-these-flicks.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcMQX44eip7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-1935568793471065025</id><published>2012-01-10T14:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:14:40.032-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:14:40.032-07:00</app:edited><title>Quit Stalking Me</title><content type="html">When I was doing my blogging conference, I had a speaker confide in me that she was being cyber-stalked. She was getting daily emails, and comments from someone who "stalked" her blog and had decided that they had a personal vendetta against my friend. I was horrified because my friend was one of the nicest people I had ever met.&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M7U84fPAF50/Twyiao_B1wI/AAAAAAAAFwk/g7kjciArjVs/s1600/cyberstalkers.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M7U84fPAF50/Twyiao_B1wI/AAAAAAAAFwk/g7kjciArjVs/s1600/cyberstalkers.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
The stalking had gotten so bad -- and threatening -- that my friend actually reported it and took full advantage of all the cyber stalking laws that are in place. She worked closely with her local police and they actually got the FBI involved to track down her stalker.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The stalker thought they were crazy smart and "hiding" their identity online while surfing my friends blog, leaving nasty comments and sending harassing emails. But, when you are crazy smart-- or know crazy smart people-- there are a myriad of ways to track people. Even when they &lt;i&gt;think &lt;/i&gt;they are hiding their IP Address. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My friend was terrified to actually come to the conference and speak. I can share all this now because the conference is a thing of the past-- but we went to extreme lengths to make sure that she felt safe. Including having an undercover officer there so that if her stalker showed up (she knew who the stalker was at this point) my friend could be protected and the stalker would be arrested.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I remember at the time thinking that this was extreme and that "normal" people don't get cyber stalked. Especially "normal" people who write about their family or their "weird" religion.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have always been pretty careful about never mentioning my children and their real names on my blog. I went to extreme lengths for years to never even give out MY name. I know that for a long time it was a big deal and that people were on personal quests to figure out my real identity.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I "came out", so to speak, because of the &lt;a href="http://www.casualbloggerconference.com/"&gt;Casual Blogger Conference&lt;/a&gt;. And frankly? That caused me copious amounts of trepidation. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not so much.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm all over the radio and TV these days and I can't hide behind my Motherboard moniker any longer. I mean, who would take that seriously? No one. However, I still have gone to great lengths to protect my children. Their mother may be comfortable living her life out-loud on the internet, but they should not have to. Not unless they choose to do so.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I get all sorts of "hate email" on a pretty regular basis. Which I find ridiculous that someone will take the time to write emails about how much they hate my blog (its usually in reference to &lt;a href="http://www.mormonmommyblogs.com/"&gt;MMB&lt;/a&gt;). The first time it happened I was heart broken. Then I read an article by another blogger on how she handles the negative comments and emails: On a weekly basis she prints them all out and runs over them with her car. Over and over again. I decided to give it a try and I couldn't believe how empowered that little action made me feel. Now when I get those nasty emails, my skin is thick enough that I can just hit delete.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have been the victim of cyber-bullying numerous times as well -- people writing nasty blog posts about me, ripping me to shreds in other people's blog comments or blog forums, as well as just stalking my blog and leaving nasty comments. In the past I just hunker down, surround myself with my closest friends and dig deep. I have found that it usually takes a week or so for the hurricane to move on and focus elsewhere.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's happening again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Only this time?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am &lt;b&gt;NOT&lt;/b&gt; going to back down.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am fully aware of who the person is that is stalking my blog on an &lt;i&gt;obscenely &lt;/i&gt;regular basis. The stupid emails have not ceased and this time I will not back down. I have asked numerous times for this person to stop... even going so far as to send a Cease and Desist Letter written by my Attorney Husband.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They have chosen to not desist, but rather increase their stalking. I am completely prepared to utilize &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://le.utah.gov/%7Ecode/TITLE76/htm/76_05_010605.htm"&gt;any&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; and&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt; &lt;a href="http://le.utah.gov/%7Ecode/TITLE76/htm/76_09_020100.htm"&gt;every&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; law avaliable to me to make this person leave me alone. I am ready and willing to pursue this the fullest extent of the law. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You have been warned. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/rKdDfZjUM2A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/1935568793471065025?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/1935568793471065025?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/rKdDfZjUM2A/quit-stalking-me.html" title="Quit Stalking Me" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M7U84fPAF50/Twyiao_B1wI/AAAAAAAAFwk/g7kjciArjVs/s72-c/cyberstalkers.png" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2012/01/quit-stalking-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C08MQXo9eyp7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-2297682194487309872</id><published>2012-01-08T12:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:44:40.463-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:44:40.463-07:00</app:edited><title>Sunday Devotional</title><content type="html">&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/gWQ5dPeixdw" width="560"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;

&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was in a focus group that helped refine this idea and I am absolutely thrilled with the final outcome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/1GptfXFnC8U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/2297682194487309872?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/2297682194487309872?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/1GptfXFnC8U/sunday-devotional.html" title="Sunday Devotional" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/gWQ5dPeixdw/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2012/01/sunday-devotional.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C08NQH06fip7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-1917977848281056916</id><published>2012-01-07T11:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:44:51.316-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:44:51.316-07:00</app:edited><title>The Hunger Games</title><content type="html">&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;center&gt; &lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OgssLmsOa2s" width="560"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt; &lt;/center&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2009/04/book-review.html"&gt;When I read this book the first time&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;, I sat down on my couch and literally did not move until I finished it. It was griping and absolutely fantastic. It is one of those books that you think about for days afterwards. Only me? I couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks after I finished it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Collins did such a fantastic job building up the horror of the games. She gives you just enough information in the book and then lets your imagination fill in the gaps. She understands that your imagination can create something much more disturbing than what she can with words. She does it brilliantly. She handles this tough subject perfectly, and again, lets the readers imagination run amuck.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I find the book to be a fascinating comparison with today's society that is frankly shocking. I freaking loved this book and this series is one of my all time favorites -- coming in a very close second to Harry Potter. Although the last book in the series left me feeling highly unsatisfied.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am so excited to see this movie... especially after seeing the trailer and then hearing one of the songs from the movie.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YFEDTtKaFzU" width="560"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Taylor Swift has done an &lt;u&gt;amazing&lt;/u&gt; job with this song-- Safe &amp;amp; Sound. Its haunting and depicts the horror of the games, and yet the innocence of the children perfectly! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The internet is all a-buzz with who they think the song is written for... Some say its Katniss singing to Primrose as she sacrifices herself as the Tribute; Others say its regarding Peeta &amp;amp; Katniss' realtionship during the games. My thoughts as I heard it the first time was that this song was for Katniss &amp;amp; Rue. It just fits. Those two girls had a beautiful friendship and the song is haunting...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I speculate that this song will be played when Katniss is holding Rue as she dies.What do you think?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/Qq3SFcm4CMM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/1917977848281056916?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/1917977848281056916?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/Qq3SFcm4CMM/hunger-games.html" title="The Hunger Games" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/OgssLmsOa2s/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2012/01/hunger-games.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04EQXozfCp7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-8401830738880337745</id><published>2011-12-30T14:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:45:00.484-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:45:00.484-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="top 10 tunes" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="random 10" /><title>Random Randomness and Then Some Tunes</title><content type="html">&lt;span class="sqq" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;“Somebody told me it was frightening how much topsoil 
we are losing each year, but I told that story around the campfire and 
nobody got scared” - Jack Handy&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I hate scary movies. Like really hate them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My family loves them. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How did I end up with a bunch of weirdos that like to get scared? ON PURPOSE? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I guess I'm just a giant scaredy-pant-boo-wah-baby because even Moxie can sit through this stuff and not get completely wigged out. Me? Not so much.  And to be totally honest,  it's not like we're over here watching Horror Flicks or anything. We're talking Goosebumps people.GOOSEBUMPS. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes. I totally get scared from Goosebumps. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Don't judge. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Would it be completely sacrilegious if I told that I am freaking glad that Christmas Vacation ends this weekend and the kids are heading back to school on Monday? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Because I totally am. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I find myself being plagued by the boogity-boogity when I admit that little nugget, too. Don't get me wrong, I love my kids like crazy. "They are my world."  They are also hell-bent on killing me. I am slowly drowning in a sea of their crap that is strung from one end of the house to other. Once they head back to school the house can stay clutter free for six hours a day while they are off enlightening their minds with french and algebra. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Truthfully, I have a hard time relating to women whose entire existence is to simply take care of their children. When I hear them talking about how much they love having all their kids at home with them (making messes) it does not compute. When they talk about how excited they are for summer, I find myself wondering what is wrong with me... because that thought brings on panic attacks. I just don't get it. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't, by any means, begrudge their lifestyle choice either. I just don't get it. I need that extra stimulation and frankly a reason to get up in the mornings. My kids home all day does not offer me the necessary umph  to drag my sorry rear out of bed every morning. Getting them off to school? Me going to work? Yes. Those are the types of things that force me to get up in the morning. Everyone hanging out, making messes? Not so much. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neither choice is more right than other they are just different ways of doing things. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;*****&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/AVmq9dq6Nsg" width="560"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Portlandia.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Watch it.  &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You'll thank me later. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;"you can put a bird on it and call it art!"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{ Snort.}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Jefe and I have a little game that we like to play and it always starts the same way - with me sending him a text asking &lt;i&gt;"when you coming home cause I don't know when"&lt;/i&gt;, his response is always the same &lt;i&gt;"I don't know when, but we'll get together then yeah. You know we'll have a good time then." &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We then spend the next however long shooting obscure song lyrics back and forth at each other-- and the one that receives the text has to send back another line from the song. The more obscure the lyrics are the better. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The most recent ones we threw around?  &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Jefe&lt;/b&gt;: two trailer park girls go round the outside&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Me&lt;/b&gt;: testing "attention please" feel the tension soon as someone mentions me."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{ name that song. ready. set. go.}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's crazy fun. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm not really sure how it all morphed into what it has, but me likey. A lot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
It's going to be a mellow New Years around these parts and I'm glad. We're gonna hunker down, watch stupid movies-- or maybe a Mt Everest Marathon-- eat bacon wrapped water chestnuts and ring in the new year as a family.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Should be loads of fun.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Unless the teenagers decide they need to do their own partying... then not so much.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Catch ya on the flip side, peeps! &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;ol&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;Trip Through Your Wires - U2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;Jails &amp;amp; Bombs - Amos Lee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;#41 - Dave Matthews Band&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;With Or Without You - U2&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;Oxford Comma - Vampire Weekend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;Just Like Heaven - The Watson Twins&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;No Such Thing - John Mayer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;Spectrum - Florence &amp;amp; The Machines&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;Shake Down on Ninth Street - Ryan Adams&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;Baby Blue - Dave Matthews Band&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ol&gt;
Bonus: Bad Things - Jace Everett, True Blood Soundtrack&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/3XRK0Dh3y2g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/8401830738880337745?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/8401830738880337745?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/3XRK0Dh3y2g/random-randomness-and-then-some-tunes_30.html" title="Random Randomness and Then Some Tunes" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/AVmq9dq6Nsg/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/12/random-randomness-and-then-some-tunes_30.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04FQX0_eip7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-3293796501997993164</id><published>2011-12-27T12:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:45:10.342-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:45:10.342-07:00</app:edited><title>That One Time I Lost My Ever Loving Mind</title><content type="html">I almost didn't make it through the holidays.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Seriously. I was like &lt;i&gt;*thisclose*&lt;/i&gt; to dying one night. Not because someone tried to punch me (that was my manager they punched) but because I lost it and went all Postal on a customer.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I did. I totally flipped right out. Hard.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I bit her head off, chewed it up and spit it out for breakfast. I nearly went back for seconds when the crazy zombie left me and I saw a ray a sanity shining brightly in the distance.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Most people tell you to walk towards the light, but me? I ran for it, people. RAN.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
On Christmas Adam (December 23rd) I was pulling my 6th consecutive night shift when a lovely group of carolers showed up to serenade us.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iP1k4RcXVyM/TvoS9_gWytI/AAAAAAAAFwc/P5_2mVOxLJo/s1600/Charlie+Brown+Merry+Carolers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iP1k4RcXVyM/TvoS9_gWytI/AAAAAAAAFwc/P5_2mVOxLJo/s320/Charlie+Brown+Merry+Carolers.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Awww. That's so nice, right?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not really.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It was nice for about five minutes-- which is how long it took them to finish their repertoire of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, We Wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday Baby Jesus.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
(totally not kidding)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I would have been happy with the first run through... maybe even the third. But after an hour of their singing?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not so much.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was not feeling it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not one little bit. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I had visions of my high school choir teacher, Ms. J, dancing through my head waving her stubby little finger and pointing it heaven ward while screeching "You're flat. You Are Flat! SOMEONE IS FLAT!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then the key changes people. Oh My Word. THE KEY CHANGES.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They were not intended, but they happened. &lt;i&gt;Every. Single. Measure.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt; they were in a different key. And the harmonizing to Happy Birthday Baby Jesus? It made my inner wolf howl.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It was horrid and I had to stand right next to them. ALL NIGHT LONG.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They had parked their tiny little rears in the vestibule making the songs echo throughout the store. Every time someone came into the store -- or left-- they would start at the beginning of their repetoir and sing at the top of their ever loving off-key lungs.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Over and over again. Round and round we went. Rudolph; Merry Christmas; Happy Birthday Baby Jesus. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Off Key. Different Keys. AT THE SAME TIME.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Holy Cow. I was dying a slow and painful death. My eye twitch was in full blown twitch overload mode and no matter what I did I could not stop it from twitching. And there was nowhere I could go in the store to hide.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I actually offered to empty garbage and organize the dock just to get away from the noise.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I felt myself slipping into a sea of madness when some woman came through my line (which was 30 minutes long) and said "How fun! You get to listen to carolers!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It was right then and there that I completely snapped.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;"If they don't stop singing right this very second I'm going to go punch them all in the face because HOL. EEE. COW! &lt;b&gt;THEY FREAKING SUCK!&lt;/b&gt;"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She just looked at me like I had completely lost my mind.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And lets be honest: I did.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I mean who freaks out about carolers? Uhh. Me. That's who.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I scared her, too.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Apparently A lot. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She left my line, went to the vestibule and whispered to the girls serenading us. They looked at me all horrified like, picked up their stuff and promptly left.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I felt guilty for about half a second until I heard the most beautiful sound ever: Silence.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Finally.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Peace and Quiet.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And that's where it happened. In the middle of the silence: My heart grew and I could feel myself starting to be all festive like. I knew it was true when I softly started to&lt;b&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwHqhTr2URI&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;hum.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/dwHqhTr2URI" width="420"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Happy Holidays, Peeps. We made it. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/gOwIlhAMg9M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/3293796501997993164?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/3293796501997993164?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/gOwIlhAMg9M/that-one-time-i-lost-my-ever-loving.html" title="That One Time I Lost My Ever Loving Mind" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iP1k4RcXVyM/TvoS9_gWytI/AAAAAAAAFwc/P5_2mVOxLJo/s72-c/Charlie+Brown+Merry+Carolers.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/12/that-one-time-i-lost-my-ever-loving.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04FSH0_eSp7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-4845560131284861131</id><published>2011-12-16T11:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:45:19.341-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:45:19.341-07:00</app:edited><title>Random randomness and Then Some Tunes</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;If you ever have to steal money from your kid, and later on he discovers it's gone, I think a good thing to do is to blame it on Santa Claus. - Jack Handy 
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BjGGT1OWPBk/TuuGyct-OaI/AAAAAAAAFv4/eUYUGNnQqx8/s1600/satan_claus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BjGGT1OWPBk/TuuGyct-OaI/AAAAAAAAFv4/eUYUGNnQqx8/s320/satan_claus.jpg" width="238" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
I've been working the &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhtdO2YqQOo&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;Night Shift&lt;/a&gt; six nights a week for the past six weeks and seriously people? It's doing two things to me: Killing me slowly. And feeding me with never ending stories of how insane and totally possessed people have become.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I kid you not.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I go to work every night wondering what crazy stupid things are going to happen and if we'll make it through a shift without the police being called or being threatened with bodily harm.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes. Bodily Harm.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am seriously considering taking pepper spray to work with me from now until New Years when people become less possessed by Satan. Which, if you look closely, Satan and Santa have the same exact letters-- just in a different order.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Coincidence? I think not. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I will happily hold my pepper spray up as I greet each new customer "Can I interest you in a Schmoles Card tonight?" then when they start to get nasty and yell at me, one little puff will put them back in their place.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And I'll end up in jail.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Which would be safer than Schmoles during the holidays.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have several stories in draft that I'm working on for your reading enjoyment that hopefully will be finished by this weekend.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just remember employees have no control over the lines, people, and threatening to punch them in the face because the lines are TOO LONG is not a viable option. You just might find yourself being pepper-sprayed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
#justsayin&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
I have realized there are some things that I know for sure are true and they will never change. Not in a million years. No matter how much I try.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
1. I &lt;strike&gt;hate&lt;/strike&gt; &lt;strike&gt;despise&lt;/strike&gt; &lt;i&gt;loathe &lt;/i&gt;The Christmas Shoes song with the passion of thousand burning suns. I also hate synthesizer Christmas Songs that have obnoxious echos in them. &lt;br /&gt;
2. Blinking, flashing, spastic Christmas lights on houses, trees -- inside or out-- make me want to lay down and have a grand mal seizure. Add it to synchronized music? I die. &lt;br /&gt;
3. Blow up Santa, Reindeer's, Snowmen or Penguins with scarfs are &lt;i&gt;Just. Not. Right.&lt;/i&gt; And seeing them littering lawns make me want to punch people. &lt;br /&gt;
4. Pink Flamingos with Scarfs wrapped around them does not make them Christmas decorations. It makes them look more stupid than they were sans the scarfs. &lt;br /&gt;
5. My kids make me want to overlook all these irritants. Simply because they think they're cool. And it makes them laugh. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
****&lt;br /&gt;
The other night I was chatting up a teenager at the register that was there with her Dad. Apparently they had been talking about schooling, because as they left my register the Dad said to his daughter "See? A college education is important. You don't want to end up working as a cashier at Schmoles do you?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know, right? I was floored, too.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I hollered out to them "I have a college education!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The Dad looked horrified-- which he should be.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I mean, WHO in their right mind does that?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If I have learned one thing working at Schmoles its this: Too many people are willing to throw other people under the bus to make themselves feel better. You have no idea why a person is where they are-- be kind people. &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Be Kind.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; And, don't assume. Or use them as an example to teach your children because more than likely YOU'LL end up being the example and a more poignant teaching tool for your kids-- on how NOT to be.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yeah. Think about that one.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
I haven't done any Christmas shopping yet. Not one ounce. Not one present. Not one single gift. Not even a single treat has graced my oven.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I feel like the Human version of The Grinch. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Here's hoping I can get it done this weekend. I woke up sick again this morning. It's all those freaking late nights at Schmoles, combined with customers threatening to knock me into next week because we're too crowded that's made me sick again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't have time to be sick again.Or the energy. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Cross your fingers and toes I can pull it together long enough to buy some presents. That's my Christmas wish-- energy long enough to do the shopping at 1am.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
That's all she wrote this week.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Have a good week, and smile people. Espeically to those who are working in the stores. This time of year is brutal and it really makes a person question people, and their integrity. I can't believe how this holiday, which is really about &lt;b&gt;Christ&lt;/b&gt;, has become such a glutenous holiday where people try to out-do each other. And can treat complete strangers who are helping them absolutely horrid, then turn around and tell their kids that some of the stuff they are buying is for the homeless shelter, because "We have to be nice to strangers." while berating you because they had to wait too long.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not that it's ever happened to me. Or has it?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*****&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Catch ya on the flipside, peeps.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Here's hoping I survive these last Nine Days.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Pray for me. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;ol&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Silent Night - Mariah Carey&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Rest - The Temper Traps&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Bartender (Live) - Dave Matthews Band&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Gone Away From Me - Ray LaMontagne&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Daydreamer - Adele&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Believe Me Baby, I Lied - Trisha Yearwood&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;I Will Survive - Cake&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Oh - Dave Matthews Band&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Closer To Love - Mat Kearney&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Running To Stand Still - U2&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ol&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;
Bonus: September - Earth, Wind &amp;amp; Fire &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/O4CRhnug2Qw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/4845560131284861131?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/4845560131284861131?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/O4CRhnug2Qw/random-randomness-and-then-some-tunes.html" title="Random randomness and Then Some Tunes" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BjGGT1OWPBk/TuuGyct-OaI/AAAAAAAAFv4/eUYUGNnQqx8/s72-c/satan_claus.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/12/random-randomness-and-then-some-tunes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04HQnkzcCp7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-5499993730369279885</id><published>2011-12-08T08:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:45:33.788-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:45:33.788-07:00</app:edited><title>You Can't Fix Stupid</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A5vJ1Vq7m4k/TuD2V9YwUPI/AAAAAAAAFvc/J5yo1Z-QdlM/s1600/stupid-questions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="222" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A5vJ1Vq7m4k/TuD2V9YwUPI/AAAAAAAAFvc/J5yo1Z-QdlM/s400/stupid-questions.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The majority of my working years have been with the public in some sort of customer service capacity. For the most part I like working with people simply because I can chat with them. I love talking with people and I love the challenge of making a complete stranger laugh.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
However, the years and years of working with the public has taught me one simple truth: You Can't Fix Stupid. And, boy howdy. People are stupid. And, not just stupid, but STOO-PID.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
People have lost their ever-lovin' minds when it comes to questions. 
Now, I know the teachers out there are going to say "There's no such 
thing as a stupid question . . . " But, honey, I'm here to tell you that
 you're wrong.&amp;nbsp; TOTALLY wrong.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There are stupid questions and I get asked them on a &lt;i&gt;very. regular. basis.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Take for instance the lady who asked me -- while I was standing behind the cash register -- if I was working (never mind the lanyard AND giant name badge I had on).&amp;nbsp; I quickly responded "&lt;i&gt;Nope. I'm just waiting for the register to open so I can steal the money."&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp; Or the guy who asked me last night "&lt;i&gt;Do you sell clothes here?&lt;/i&gt;" I looked at him and then did a Vanna White hand move across the store while replying "&lt;i&gt;Nope. Only tires&lt;/i&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Or what about the snotty lady that walked in just as we made our announcement that we were closed, picked out an entire basket of clothes and the proceeded to ask if she 
could try them all on... &lt;i&gt;"Would I mind not closing my register, waiting and letting her try them all on?"&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My response?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;"Yes I mind and No you can't. We're closed."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She looked 
horrified. But seriously? We WERE closed. Who does that? Answer: Someone 
who thinks they are &lt;i&gt;entitled&lt;/i&gt;, that's who.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I roll my eyes so many times during my shifts that I'm actually worried that they're going to get stuck in the back of my head. Just like my mother warned. In my defense: I &lt;i&gt;have &lt;/i&gt;to roll my eyes or else I pipe up with snarky comments that I'm worried will get me fired.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Like the quips I dished out on Black Friday to the people who were waiting in the 2.5 hour line at Schmoles. Granted. 2.5 hour lines totally blow, but that doesn't give you a right to be nasty, people.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Take, for instance, the man who tried to rip me a new one about how incompetent I&lt;b&gt; &lt;/b&gt;was and that I wasn't hurrying the lines a long quickly enough... he kept going on and on about my inabilities, and the unprofessionalism of Schmoles... That's when I held up my hand to him and said &lt;i&gt;"Seriously Dude? I do &lt;b&gt;not &lt;/b&gt;get paid enough to be talked to like this."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Later that same night another lady went OFF on me about how long the lines were, and that "Wal-mart was working people through ten times faster than we were." I was sort of stunned into silence (such an odd feeling for me) because really? Wal-mart has twenty times the registers and is ten times bigger than Schmoles. I held back and simply smiled and said "&lt;i&gt;I'm sorry. We're doing the best we can."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt; &lt;/i&gt;She piped up about how that wasn't good enough and maybe we should buy more registers for black Friday (what? who says that?). That's when I temporarily lost my mind and said &lt;i&gt;"No one &lt;u&gt;made&lt;/u&gt; you come shopping at 2am-- you could have stayed at home in bed. Like a &lt;/i&gt;normal &lt;i&gt;person."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She responded resolutely with a hearty NO! She LOVED shopping Black Friday, it was just that our lines made her crazy.&amp;nbsp; "&lt;i&gt;You love shopping black Friday?" &lt;/i&gt;I said.&lt;i&gt; "Huh. You could've&amp;nbsp; fooled me."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know. I should be fired.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Do not pass go - Fired.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Do not collect $200&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You're F-I-R-E-D.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Fired.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But they won't. Not today anyway. Because truthfully? I say what everyone is thinking. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
People &lt;i&gt;are &lt;/i&gt;stupid.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And mean.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And act entitled. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Customers try to bully their way into getting what they want-- and are super rude and mean to employees in their quest for acquiring more stuff. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Pretty much every night I have to tell the manager &lt;i&gt;"Listen. If someone complains about me and says that I was rude, here's what I said and why . . . " &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Whenever I start the conversation out like this, the managers start to laugh and reply with variations of "&lt;i&gt;Oh Boy. I can't wait to hear what you said &lt;/i&gt;this &lt;i&gt;time"&lt;/i&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Besides I &lt;i&gt;am &lt;/i&gt;right.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't get paid enough to be treated like dirt.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
No one does Be &lt;i&gt;warned&lt;/i&gt;: I will call you on it. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And, if you ask me a stupid question? I'll totally give you a stupid answer.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Pinky Swear. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/ObLZEGnM7bU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/5499993730369279885?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/5499993730369279885?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/ObLZEGnM7bU/you-cant-fix-stupid.html" title="You Can't Fix Stupid" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A5vJ1Vq7m4k/TuD2V9YwUPI/AAAAAAAAFvc/J5yo1Z-QdlM/s72-c/stupid-questions.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/12/you-cant-fix-stupid.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04BQHk_eSp7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-6712416761893953328</id><published>2011-12-05T17:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:45:51.741-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:45:51.741-07:00</app:edited><title>A Post About Nothing</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A3XJ8qrqVxY/Tt1quFA60yI/AAAAAAAAFvU/ZzfnnYSWEBk/s1600/i-have-nothing-to-say.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A3XJ8qrqVxY/Tt1quFA60yI/AAAAAAAAFvU/ZzfnnYSWEBk/s320/i-have-nothing-to-say.gif" width="312" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
At my "job" last week, one of the people I was interviewing talked about how his blog was "about nothing" --&amp;nbsp; like Seinfeld. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I liked that thought a lot because it aptly describes my blog. It really IS a blog about nothing. Only not as popular as Seinfeld.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The things that people thought were touchy to discuss on Seinfeld, they did in veiled ways.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I've tried doing that, but frankly, I'm not as good at it as Seinfeld, so I'm left talking about silly things like &lt;a href="http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/10/sponge-bob.html"&gt;SpongeBob&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2011-11-28T10:15:00-07:00"&gt;Celebrity Rehab&lt;/a&gt;. Which, isn't a bad thing, because those really are important things that I think about. A lot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, they aren't necessarily what has been consuming my thoughts for the past several months.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What has been consuming my thoughts is, as my friend &lt;a href="http://ifyougiveamomamoment.blogspot.com/2011/12/im-fine-how-are-you.html"&gt;Erin&lt;/a&gt; put it, &lt;a href="http://ifyougiveamomamoment.blogspot.com/2011/12/im-fine-how-are-you.html"&gt;not blog approved&lt;/a&gt;. And when what you &lt;i&gt;really &lt;/i&gt;want to talk about isn't approved, you are left with nothing to blog about.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hence the post about nothing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I can exercise my writing muscles and try to write veiled posts about what I'm really thinking and feeling. Boy howdy that's hard. A good writer can write about something that is bothering them in a way that everyone can relate to-- and have those who are reading think that what is on your mind is the same as what's on theirs.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't think I have mastered that skill yet.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Life is actually really good right now. I feel like I should be knocking on wood every time I think that thought, too, because I'm just waiting for the next bomb to drop. Logically I know that isn't going to happen, but I've lived my life for the past elevenity-billion years with that mindset. It's a hard thought process to kick to the curb. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This past year has quite literally been one of the hardest years of my life. I have thought that in the past, but I can confidently say that THIS year is the big one. The life changer. Twenty-eleven kicked my trash. That's been the life changing year for me. Some of the crap from this year is not my fault, and some of it is. That's how life is, you know. A two way street. No one is completely innocent and until you can accept your role in how things are, nothing can change. Ever. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I feel like things are finally changing. For the better. And, boy howdy am I glad. It's exhausting trying to pretend all the time that life is good when in reality you feel like its been in the crapper.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, that takes us away from the fact that this post is actually supposed to be about nothing. And that this &lt;i&gt;nothing&amp;nbsp; &lt;/i&gt;has the potential to be something that is amazeballs &lt;i&gt;good&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;a href="http://bit.ly/ldsvineyard " target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i663.photobucket.com/albums/uu355/mormonmommyblogs/Vineyard_700x100_0021.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16498551-6712416761893953328?l=wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=NisfaBuHbCI:IRocVTNZ-W4:63t7Ie-LG7Y"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?d=63t7Ie-LG7Y" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=NisfaBuHbCI:IRocVTNZ-W4:4cEx4HpKnUU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?i=NisfaBuHbCI:IRocVTNZ-W4:4cEx4HpKnUU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=NisfaBuHbCI:IRocVTNZ-W4:F7zBnMyn0Lo"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?i=NisfaBuHbCI:IRocVTNZ-W4:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=NisfaBuHbCI:IRocVTNZ-W4:qj6IDK7rITs"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?d=qj6IDK7rITs" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=NisfaBuHbCI:IRocVTNZ-W4:V_sGLiPBpWU"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?i=NisfaBuHbCI:IRocVTNZ-W4:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?a=NisfaBuHbCI:IRocVTNZ-W4:gIN9vFwOqvQ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/crazylandblog?i=NisfaBuHbCI:IRocVTNZ-W4:gIN9vFwOqvQ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/NisfaBuHbCI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/6712416761893953328?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/6712416761893953328?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/NisfaBuHbCI/post-about-nothing.html" title="A Post About Nothing" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A3XJ8qrqVxY/Tt1quFA60yI/AAAAAAAAFvU/ZzfnnYSWEBk/s72-c/i-have-nothing-to-say.gif" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/12/post-about-nothing.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04CRH4zcCp7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-6458419321159789246</id><published>2011-12-01T17:35:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:46:05.088-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:46:05.088-07:00</app:edited><title>Not So Wordless Wednesday - On Thursday</title><content type="html">I have this new gig that I am involved with, and while it's been sucking up a lot of my time, I have to say that I am crazy excited about it! And, Oh So Happy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I spent the last two days filming for it and when I get the all clear, you peeps will be the first ones to get the low-down. 

Until then, here is a little sneak peek of what I've been up to.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And, yes thank you. I AM crazy funny! Here's my proof: I cracked Jay McFarland, from KSL Radio's The Browser up! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xdGxjwOHEP8/Ttgco-pM3OI/AAAAAAAAFtk/kgo6XSjrWHU/s1600/techsavvy1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xdGxjwOHEP8/Ttgco-pM3OI/AAAAAAAAFtk/kgo6XSjrWHU/s320/techsavvy1.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nFBF9bxKvO8/TtgcrFLZdWI/AAAAAAAAFts/8h5JnBbQ1Sw/s1600/elisa+job.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nFBF9bxKvO8/TtgcrFLZdWI/AAAAAAAAFts/8h5JnBbQ1Sw/s320/elisa+job.JPG" width="208" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
I also cracked myself up, too. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wYiN4mA4qzM/Ttgcs5hzTsI/AAAAAAAAFt0/kQSsXRK8ETs/s1600/elisa+tech2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="216" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wYiN4mA4qzM/Ttgcs5hzTsI/AAAAAAAAFt0/kQSsXRK8ETs/s320/elisa+tech2.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OF6D3RPGlQs/TtgcwXURLvI/AAAAAAAAFt8/n61zwxya4M8/s1600/techsavvy3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OF6D3RPGlQs/TtgcwXURLvI/AAAAAAAAFt8/n61zwxya4M8/s320/techsavvy3.JPG" width="234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Me watching some pretty sweet Tech stuff. You can't see the tears, but there were tears. LOTS of tears! &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nXSXnBQTjKg/Ttgc0N7qlDI/AAAAAAAAFuE/nyxSZO6lS2U/s1600/techsavvy1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lNAUeBFBDP0/Ttgc3KqbpJI/AAAAAAAAFuM/junw2paHgGE/s1600/mmb+tech.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lNAUeBFBDP0/Ttgc3KqbpJI/AAAAAAAAFuM/junw2paHgGE/s320/mmb+tech.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Me chatting with Chup from the infamous Cjane Blog&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
and one of my newest favorite bloggers- Heather from Family Volley! &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OsL5NLW9Gpo/Ttgc5dXk1SI/AAAAAAAAFuU/TIJNTGyNgIo/s1600/mmb+tech2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OsL5NLW9Gpo/Ttgc5dXk1SI/AAAAAAAAFuU/TIJNTGyNgIo/s320/mmb+tech2.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
DeNae and I looking Swanky Hot.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Shut the front door!!&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Brandon Mull (author of Fablehaven) put his arm around me!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
ACK! I'm never taking another shower again.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
At least until tomorrow that is! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/1RZcug_Jwz4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/6458419321159789246?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/6458419321159789246?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/1RZcug_Jwz4/not-so-wordless-wednesday-on-thursday.html" title="Not So Wordless Wednesday - On Thursday" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xdGxjwOHEP8/Ttgco-pM3OI/AAAAAAAAFtk/kgo6XSjrWHU/s72-c/techsavvy1.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/12/not-so-wordless-wednesday-on-thursday.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04DSH88eip7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-207938064844619432</id><published>2011-11-28T10:15:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:46:19.172-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:46:19.172-07:00</app:edited><title>The Most Wonderful Time of The Year?</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5okLpa9EmQ/TtPHyhR2PWI/AAAAAAAAFss/iedvRm9wHDw/s1600/grinch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5okLpa9EmQ/TtPHyhR2PWI/AAAAAAAAFss/iedvRm9wHDw/s400/grinch.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
I sort of hate this time of year.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I do.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I really hate it. Like A lot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Let me explain...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Moxie is a pretty easy going kid. She will sit at her desk next to mine and "work" as long as I need to work. She has baskets of old scrapbook paper, glue sticks, staplers and tape galore to entertain her. It's actually quite fun, because she'll start singing along with the music and frankly? The kid has pipes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She knows all the words to Pump Up The Kicks, Someone Like You and I Gotta Feelin'. When the latter comes on, she actually has to get up into the window seat of the office and dance for me. It totally cracks me up-- this little three year old go-go dancer shakin' her bon bon for all the world to see.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Lately, however, she has been watching all sorts of "shows" on TV. I use that term loosely because really what she's watching are the friggin' toy commercials. If she could have 24 hours straight of toy commercials, the kid would be in hog heaven.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She'll come running into my office screaming "Mama! Come see! COME SEE!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The first couple of times, I freaked out because she's never done that before. I went running to see what all the hysteria was about... The Barbie Princess Castle.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The next time it was because of a Team Umizoomi Christmas Special. IN TWO WEEKS.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The next time? Dora was celebrating Christmas with all her peeps, and Moxie wanted to go. Like G-O NOW.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is no explaining to a three-year old the ins and outs of marketing and toy commercials. She just &lt;i&gt;does. not. get it.&lt;/i&gt; At All.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So as long as the TV is on, I have to be prepared to be pulled to the Television to witness the beauty of every single toy commercial and Christmas show preview that is aired.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Every. Single. One.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
All the live long day. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's horribly painful.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I even went so far as to "break" the TV so that it wouldn't work and all she could do was hang with me and work her crafting magic. But, then she found the "me-rote" and away we went on the Merry-go-round ride of never ending Christmas commercials. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's killing me, this magical time of year. If I have to hear one more time "Can I has that for my birthday? Will Santa bring it for my birthday?" I think I may go postal.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I just smile, nod and say "Yes. Santa will totally bring that for your birthday." And then walk away. Because really? How else do you stop the madness?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just smile and nod, peeps. Smile and nod.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There's only twenty-eight more days of this toy madness.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The most wonderful time of the year? I think not. It blows, yo. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/yloHAiU4JKI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/207938064844619432?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/207938064844619432?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/yloHAiU4JKI/most-wonderful-time-of-year.html" title="The Most Wonderful Time of The Year?" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5okLpa9EmQ/TtPHyhR2PWI/AAAAAAAAFss/iedvRm9wHDw/s72-c/grinch.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/11/most-wonderful-time-of-year.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04NRH48eCp7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-2211507874045968150</id><published>2011-11-15T12:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:46:35.070-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:46:35.070-07:00</app:edited><title>Cobwebs</title><content type="html">When I have pressing work items that need to be done, I procrastinate and clean my house. I clean like a crazed mad woman who is on a mission to rid the world of uncleanliness.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's strange that I do that, with regards to my work, because when I have pressing items that need dealing with in my personal life? I retreat and hide. I stop cleaning. I stop cooking. I stop functioning. I stop &lt;i&gt;being&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That has been me for the last eleven months -- Retreating and hiding from my personal life, hoping it would somehow just fix itself or go away. And as such, my life became littered with dirty cobwebs. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eclsWWCSJc8/TsU6rgF6ouI/AAAAAAAAFq8/QuFqMoMqaDg/s1600/cobwebs+on+gate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="192" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eclsWWCSJc8/TsU6rgF6ouI/AAAAAAAAFq8/QuFqMoMqaDg/s400/cobwebs+on+gate.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
I suspect that everyone has cobwebs in their lives that need dealing with. Most people are probably very good about&amp;nbsp; cleaning out the corners of their lives-- riding themselves of those obnoxious webs.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Others of us -- like me-- have a tendency to ignore the cobwebs until they have completely taken over and you can't see the windows for the doors.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have spent the last three months trying to clean out my cobwebs, and it has been an arduous task. Sometimes I felt like throwing in the towel saying &lt;i&gt;"I give up! These damn cobwebs win. They have conquered me and there is no hope for ever seeing the light of day." &lt;/i&gt;And then other times I catch a glimpse of sunlight, radiating through my cobwebs, and I can see that it is beautiful mess. Beautiful in a different way. Maybe even a better way. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My friend asked me recently why I hadn't been writing on my personal blog, and when I explained she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said &lt;i&gt;"I understand. You &lt;u&gt;have&lt;/u&gt; to clean out those cobwebs. It will be worth it in the end."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know she's right. It's just really hard and a very dirty process-- getting all these damn cobwebs cleaned.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And, just when I think I have found them all, I turn around and find six more over the window of my soul that somehow I had missed before. And the process starts all over again. However, this time? I'm not giving up until I have cleaned every nook and cranny and purged those webs.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I realize that I will have to continually clean my nooks and cranny's to keep those pesky webs from popping back up. That's a new thought process for me and something I never realized before-- that I have to do &lt;i&gt;continual, constant maintenance&lt;/i&gt;. If I had only realized that years ago, I could have saved a lot of time, energy and tears.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I look at my four little monsters and I desperately do not want them growing up with my cobweb mess.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I want them to get their own, dirty cob-web mess.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I want them to have learned from watching me and their Dad try to clean out our cobwebs and then translate that into skills for cleaning out their own mess ... &lt;i&gt;when &lt;/i&gt;the time comes. Because it will. Of that I'm certain. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am realizing more and more that its not ever a matter of &lt;i&gt;if&lt;/i&gt; but &lt;i&gt;when&lt;/i&gt; those pesky cobwebs show up. Everyone, at some point or another, has to deal with them or else they run the risk of losing everything.&amp;nbsp; If&amp;nbsp; my kids can see and learn how to effectively rid their lives of the unwanted webs now then they will be light years ahead of the rest of us.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And maybe they will be better equipped to teach their children how to effectively de-cobweb their lives without having to experience some of the pain that comes when you have to learn the process the hard way. One can only hope. It seems like it would be easier to learn this process when you have no other people depending on you rather than trying to navigate it with a family. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
See that? It's me trying to look on the bright side of things. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IKTfaXM17JY/TsVP-bH0KvI/AAAAAAAAFrM/02F5mNy8FXY/s1600/rainbow+over+my+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IKTfaXM17JY/TsVP-bH0KvI/AAAAAAAAFrM/02F5mNy8FXY/s320/rainbow+over+my+house.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
During one of my darkest hours recently, my cute neighbor took this picture, posted it on Facebook and then called me to tell me about. I was occupied with the ugly cry when she called, so I let her call go to voice mail.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She had no idea the waters I had been navigating, or the demons I had been wrestling but her message was simple and directly from God: &lt;i&gt;"I walked out in my garage this morning and I saw the most perfect rainbow going right over your house. I had the most peaceful feeling come over me, as if to say Everything is going to be alright, and I wanted you to know that."&amp;nbsp; &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I cried the ugly cry even harder as I listened to that message. Twice.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It was exactly what I needed to hear and to know -- that He was aware of the cleaning I had been doing and that He was on board with the decisions I had made. That was the gentle push forward that I needed to remember... Remember how to clean. How to cook. How to function. How to &lt;i&gt;be. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And, we &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;will&lt;/b&gt; &lt;b&gt;be &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;OK.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Of that I'm certain. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/t2o7R4wzHhU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/2211507874045968150?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/2211507874045968150?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/t2o7R4wzHhU/cobwebs.html" title="Cobwebs" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eclsWWCSJc8/TsU6rgF6ouI/AAAAAAAAFq8/QuFqMoMqaDg/s72-c/cobwebs+on+gate.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/11/cobwebs.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcASXwyfCp7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-3622536605450576341</id><published>2011-11-09T11:38:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:47:28.294-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:47:28.294-07:00</app:edited><title>Procrastinators Unite</title><content type="html">&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/477263801/" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="480" src="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/89157267592685948_xQPmaCFz_c.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="line-height: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/477263801/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="float: left; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;div style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;"&gt;
Source: &lt;a href="http://designeriphone.tumblr.com/post/401213888/the-work-you-do-while-you-procrastinate-is" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;"&gt;designeriphone.tumblr.com&lt;/a&gt; via &lt;a href="http://pinterest.com/elisascharton/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank"&gt;Elisa @&lt;/a&gt; on &lt;a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank"&gt;Pinterest&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
I have some pretty major things I have to get done.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Like Today.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They HAVE to be done. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And those things are causing me copious amounts of stress.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So instead of buckling down and just getting my shiz done,&amp;nbsp; what do I do? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I play on Pandora, Facebook and Pinterest.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If that little poster is correct, then what does that say about &lt;i&gt;me&lt;/i&gt;?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{sigh}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I guess I better buckle down and get my shiz together. The day's a wasting and I have to work tonight.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh. Wait.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I just saw the most amazeballs &lt;a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/89157267592661322/"&gt;dress on pinterest &lt;/a&gt;that I I need to pin.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
(i want it &lt;i&gt;so bad &lt;/i&gt;for the show I'm taping next week).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrlhawRComo"&gt;Oh and this song?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Best song EVER! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I need to like it on Pandora.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And push it to Facebook. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
THEN I'll get my work done.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Later.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
'Gator. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/KSomTg4LS7U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/3622536605450576341?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/3622536605450576341?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/KSomTg4LS7U/procrastinators-unite.html" title="Procrastinators Unite" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/11/procrastinators-unite.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcBSX0_eip7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-7086126825523250814</id><published>2011-10-26T17:07:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:47:38.342-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:47:38.342-07:00</app:edited><title>Sponge Bob</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lUDq1YHKZGw/TqiIySUiJkI/AAAAAAAAFmk/uWquClG1pmA/s1600/spongebob1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lUDq1YHKZGw/TqiIySUiJkI/AAAAAAAAFmk/uWquClG1pmA/s1600/spongebob1.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Someone was recently telling me how much they hated Sponge Bob Square Pants.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"&lt;i&gt;He's evil. Awful. Gross.&lt;/i&gt;" &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Really? He's a &lt;i&gt;cartoon&lt;/i&gt;. A CARTOON. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She was getting so exercised, explaining all the reasons why Sponge Bob needs to be boycotted.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Over a cartoon?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't get it. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Me?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I pink puffy purple sparkly heart LOVE Sponge Bob. He's freakin' hysterical. More often than not, I'll find myself mid giggle and realize I am the &lt;i&gt;only &lt;/i&gt;person in the room watching this cartoon. &lt;i&gt;And, I like it.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I listened to this lady bag on the evils of Sponge Bob and it made me want to slap her, and then stab my eyes out with hot needles.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Who gets so worked up about a cartoon that they want to launch a boycott? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{eye roll}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then I realized something:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I just don't think I can be friends with someone who doesn't like Sponge Bob Square Pants.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He's funny. Like me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I recited this conversation to&lt;b&gt; &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thebinghamdiaries.com/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Caroline&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/a&gt;and she said &lt;i&gt;"Well. I can tell you TONS of reasons why Sponge Bob is the perfect role model for our kids" &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
(you can totally hear her saying that, can't you?)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
1. He has a job (for hell's sake).&lt;br /&gt;
2. He is a loyal friend.&lt;br /&gt;
3. He never speaks mean to his friends.&lt;br /&gt;
4. He always try's to find the positive side of things.&lt;br /&gt;
5. He's a hard worker.&lt;br /&gt;
6. He's a helper. And a giver (that's two?)&lt;br /&gt;
7. He is super positive.&lt;br /&gt;
8. He's not afraid to try anything.&lt;br /&gt;
9. He's a good listener.&lt;br /&gt;
10. He loves his peeps. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And really? Aren't those just the basic life lessons that everyone wants their kids to learn? So what if they come in the form of a bright yellow sponge? Who also happens to be freaking funny? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's all about having a sense of humor,&amp;nbsp; I guess.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Or the lack there of. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And this my friends is why&lt;b&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.thebinghamdiaries.com/"&gt;Caroline&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; is one of my best friends and the crazy neighbor lady isn't.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sponge Bob.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's what real people watch. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;a href="http://bit.ly/ldsvineyard " target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i663.photobucket.com/albums/uu355/mormonmommyblogs/Vineyard_700x100_0021.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16498551-7086126825523250814?l=wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/tI5HPCtB3WM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/7086126825523250814?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/7086126825523250814?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/tI5HPCtB3WM/sponge-bob.html" title="Sponge Bob" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lUDq1YHKZGw/TqiIySUiJkI/AAAAAAAAFmk/uWquClG1pmA/s72-c/spongebob1.gif" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/10/sponge-bob.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcCSHc7eip7ImA9WhRVEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-40919842476551374</id><published>2011-10-06T08:30:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T14:47:49.902-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-10T14:47:49.902-07:00</app:edited><title>My Autumnal Ritual</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3EuTpxnmPfg/ToyP-V3JrAI/AAAAAAAAFmU/X7loyoW8hp0/s1600/fall+mountain+colors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3EuTpxnmPfg/ToyP-V3JrAI/AAAAAAAAFmU/X7loyoW8hp0/s400/fall+mountain+colors.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Every year about this time I get this insatiable craving for country music. It's actually really bizarre because any other time of the year, that crooning makes my eye twitch kick into over drive. And yet when that cool breeze comes floating in and I see my mountains littered with color, I find myself hankering for Rascal Flatts, Carrie Underwood, Trisha Yearwood and Faith Hill.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I even have separate pre-set country stations in my car that are used ONLY in Autumn.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I add Pandora Stations at the end of September and by the beginning of November I have deleted them all, returning to my usual listening habits.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have vivid memories of my college friends and I taking many a road trip in September and October, which makes me wonder if that is why I always listen to country this time of year? We made day trips to St George, Jackson Hole and even one time flew to Portland to see a friend and then drove all the way back to Utah-- listening to Country the entire way.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In October.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It could also be that during the Fall while Jefe was in Law School I would take the kids on weekly --usually daily-- drives or field trips. I didn't like to drive the country roads in the winter, so I would get my "fix" until the first snow fall,&amp;nbsp; which was typically the first week of November. Then I would stay put for the long and dreary winter. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The cold weather makes me want to sing and honestly? My vocal chords seem to really dig these country tunes. They have deep, sultry sounds that my gravely voice can easily find the harmony to. I have my favorite ones that I've put on a disk and when I have a lot of errands to run or some distance to cover, I pull that baby out and sing to my hearts content.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For me, signing is cathartic. Healing almost. And, it makes me feel good. Alive even.&amp;nbsp; A lot can happen in 3.5 minutes when you're singing a song. You're whole outlook can change in those few short minutes. That's the power of music. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Moxie has started crooning with me and it totally melts my heart. When I look in the rear-view mirror and see her sitting in her seat belting out the tunes it knocks me flat. Then add into the mix her copying my idiotic dance moves while we do our errands? I'm out cold. She is her mother's daughter, that's for sure. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Her Dad commented about how she was singing at the top of her lungs one time with him: "Not only does she sing every single song that comes on the radio, she also knows all the words and inflections, too. And her pitch? Dead on."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes. She &lt;i&gt;is &lt;/i&gt;my child and that makes me feel all sorts of sparkly happy inside.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/wYtmRyzmSfs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/40919842476551374?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/40919842476551374?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/wYtmRyzmSfs/my-autumnal-ritual.html" title="My Autumnal Ritual" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3EuTpxnmPfg/ToyP-V3JrAI/AAAAAAAAFmU/X7loyoW8hp0/s72-c/fall+mountain+colors.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-autumnal-ritual.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0MESH44fip7ImA9WhdUGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-165933779262263439</id><published>2011-10-05T08:36:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-10-05T08:36:49.036-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-05T08:36:49.036-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="wordless wednesday" /><title>Wordless Wednesday</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LrIj2xu2aJQ/ToxrE_UDw9I/AAAAAAAAFmQ/ss5L0tR-Le4/s1600/rainbow+over+my+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LrIj2xu2aJQ/ToxrE_UDw9I/AAAAAAAAFmQ/ss5L0tR-Le4/s400/rainbow+over+my+house.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Perfect Rainbow over my house.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
Taken with iPhone&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
no editing done&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/6o1FmhJp1HA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/165933779262263439?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/165933779262263439?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/6o1FmhJp1HA/wordless-wednesday.html" title="Wordless Wednesday" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LrIj2xu2aJQ/ToxrE_UDw9I/AAAAAAAAFmQ/ss5L0tR-Le4/s72-c/rainbow+over+my+house.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/10/wordless-wednesday.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUMRnc5eip7ImA9WhdVGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-5150197845757303922</id><published>2011-09-24T13:13:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-09-24T13:41:27.922-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-24T13:41:27.922-06:00</app:edited><title>Random Randomness and Then Some Tunes</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="mc"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;"It is well to remember that the entire universe, with one trifling exception, is composed of others." -- John Andrew Holmes&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hello my long lost friends. How have you been? I have been MIA from blogland... well, really from&amp;nbsp; &lt;i&gt;life &lt;/i&gt;lately. Oh how I have missed you, though. I would think about you every day, and actually compose things that I wanted to tell you in my head. But, when the time came to actually sit down and transcribe what I had perfectly composed in my brain... The words had evaporated.&amp;nbsp; I could taste them, lingering in my mind and taunting me with their flavor. It's a frustrating feeling, the one of not being able to write what is there, just out of your reach.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
However, there have been life events recently that have awoken my muse with a fury and the fountain is over flowing. So to speak. I am hopeful that I will find myself writing on a more consistent basis...sharing the stories that make up the minutia of my life. And, lets be frank: The stories I share make you feel better about your life because you can say "Well, at least I wasn't as dumb as Elisa and &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2010/04/birds-eye-view.html"&gt;didn't take a shower&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; with the blinds open for the whole world to see."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You're welcome.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;*****&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have had two people whom I love dearly die this past week. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One -- &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/deseretnews/obituary.aspx?n=monte-j-brough&amp;amp;pid=153752893"&gt;my Uncle Monte&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt; -- was unexpected. But then, not really. He was old and lived a full, righteous, authentically beautiful life. He married Jefe and I. I think that was the highlight of the ceremony for me, truthfully. Having someone who has known me my whole life take the time out of their life to marry me and Jefe. He gave us words of council... and encouragement.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He always made time for his family... even silly nieces like me. When I would be downtown, I would drop by his office unexpected, and he would always stop what he was doing to visit with me. He would always take my calls when I would call. He made me feel like I was important to him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When I was single, and my Father was commuting to work in Seattle, I was sort of big, giant hairy mess. I needed council from a Priesthood leader, and I turned to my Uncle Monte. He took a lot of time out of his busy schedule to be the Father figure in my life. Not because my own father didn't want to, but because he was unable to. He filled in... Daddy Daughter activities; priesthood blessings; and just being there for our family to call upon when Dad wasn't home. He counseled me and helped me make some key, critical decisions.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My cousin and I flew by our 19 and 20 year old selves-- solo-- all the way to Hong Kong to visit him. Yes. We have a very close family, and that has always been a source of great comfort for me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have always felt a bond with him because his birthday was the day before mine. I &lt;b&gt;never&lt;/b&gt; forgot it, I just wish I would have acknowledged it more... actually &lt;i&gt;told &lt;/i&gt;him that I always remembered his birthday.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;*****&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The other death this week was my sweet cousin, &lt;a href="https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=103538859755074&amp;amp;id=100002968813303"&gt;Jenifer&lt;/a&gt;. She was 36 years &lt;i&gt;young&lt;/i&gt; and it's just not right that she's not here any longer. She was vivacious, and boy howdy! That woman LOVED life. She lived it Out Loud, Authentically, and With Purpose. She taught me about unconditional love-- she loved and excepted everyone. Warts and all.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have been watching her Facebook page over the past several days, and seeing the comments from her friends shows me the scope of influence this woman had with people. There are comments after comments about how she made people feel. And really? In the final analysis, that's all we have. How we make others feel when they are in our presence. She figured it out, and she became the master of making others feel good. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I had the privilege of babysitting her oldest son for several years before I moved to Chicago. She would drop him off at the butt-crack of dawn and then when she would pick him up, we would sit around in my apartment and BS until the cows came home. My word, that girl had a great sense of humor! We would start laughing, and hearing her laugh would make me laugh even more. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W-VSun-3SUM/Tn4mWwDf84I/AAAAAAAAFmM/LZgINzgmX0o/s1600/jen+and+diet+coke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W-VSun-3SUM/Tn4mWwDf84I/AAAAAAAAFmM/LZgINzgmX0o/s320/jen+and+diet+coke.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
There is only one person who rivals me in my Diet Coke addiction, and that would be Jen. I suspect they found Diet Coke pumping through those beautiful veins of hers. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I adore Jen and Her Mother, Jan. They look more like sisters than they do Mother and Daughter. They had a bond-- a friendship-- that I have tried desperately to duplicate with my own daughters. Only time will tell if I have been able to follow their example. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
These deaths have left my emotions open, exposed and raw.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am feeling lots of&amp;nbsp; things and some of them are things that I had long forgotten. There have been several times over the past few days when I have felt my thoughts being guided --influenced almost. It has left me wondering if these two critical, key players in my game of life have been visiting and whispering things in my ear. Things to me to help me &lt;i&gt;remember&lt;/i&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It wouldn't surprise me one little bit if they had.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
***** &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
These deaths have left me wanting to live my life authentically, with purpose and out loud. No more waiting for this or that to happen so I can start living...&amp;nbsp; When you see someone younger than you die, it reminds you that life is indeed &lt;i&gt;too &lt;/i&gt;short to sit around waiting for life to happen to you. YOU have to make life happen. And, I intend to do just that. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I suppose that is what death does. It makes you contemplative about life
 and the things you are doing and the things (people) you are 
neglecting. You start remembering. For me, these deaths have left me wanting to try a little harder to be a little better. A little more connected and little more &lt;i&gt;there&lt;/i&gt;... a little more &lt;i&gt;present&lt;/i&gt;... and a lot more connected to the ones that I love. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;*****&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Have a great weekend, peeps. I have major family time scheduled for the next three days. It will be wonderful to see everyone again, I just wish it were under happier circumstances.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Catch ya on the flip side. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;ol&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Just Like Heaven - The Watson Twins&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Let Me Go Home - Camera Obscura &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Except The New Girl - Chris Isaak &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Let It Be Me - Ray LaMontagne&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Some Unholy War - Amy Winehouse&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Don't Stop Believin' - Journey&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Treat Me Right - Grace Potter &amp;amp; The Nocturnals &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;So Damn Lucky - Dave Matthews Band&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Tennessee Sucks - Ryan Adams &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Why Can't He Be You - Norah Jones&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ol&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Bonus&lt;/b&gt;: Times Like These - Kid Rock&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/crazylandblog/~4/L-COqq6jsvo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/5150197845757303922?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16498551/posts/default/5150197845757303922?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/crazylandblog/~3/L-COqq6jsvo/random-randomness-and-then-some-tunes.html" title="Random Randomness and Then Some Tunes" /><author><name>Elisa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17255980370281345632</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="29" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lbgfxfwxKQY/TtgfCjtoCFI/AAAAAAAAFug/Bd3rK28enw0/s220/photo.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W-VSun-3SUM/Tn4mWwDf84I/AAAAAAAAFmM/LZgINzgmX0o/s72-c/jen+and+diet+coke.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2011/09/random-randomness-and-then-some-tunes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IGRns-fSp7ImA9WhdVFEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16498551.post-3239219914623024316</id><published>2011-09-19T16:30:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-09-19T16:32:07.555-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-19T16:32:07.555-06:00</app:edited><title>Running</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d40shwGr0fs/TnfCa86TbuI/AAAAAAAAFmI/UgpYdbOGfQ0/s1600/running.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d40shwGr0fs/TnfCa86TbuI/AAAAAAAAFmI/UgpYdbOGfQ0/s320/running.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
I went running for the first time in a couple of weeks on Friday. I was surprised with a couple of things that happened.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
First, my body completely and totally rebelled. It had only been a week or so of utter laziness, and yet my body was completely willing to revert back to that lazy stage.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Revert ALL the way back.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It was horrifying actually to see how quickly I lost my endurance.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
However, the amazing thing that happened was when I started running, and I could feel those endorphins kick in, along with my amazeballs playlist that I have slowly crafted started blaring in my ear.&amp;nbsp; I felt this little feeling starting to grow. That feeling kept growing until I found myself grinning from ear to ear, which then made me giggle.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It felt &lt;i&gt;good &lt;/i&gt;to be pounding that pavement again, and I suddenly realized I had missed that solo time with me, my tunes and my thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I actually smiled for quite a while, as I pounded that pavement,&amp;nbsp; and at one time I realized -- because the city workers had stopped to stare-- that I was singing at the top of my lungs. Yes. I was totally singing &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yd8jh9QYfEs&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;Rhianna's Don't Stop the Music&lt;/a&gt; at the top of my lungs-- complete with hand actions.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Don't judge.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Or laugh.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It felt &lt;i&gt;great&lt;/i&gt;.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It took me slightly longer than usual to finish my run, but I felt amazing. And happy. In fact, if I knew how to do a front hand spring, or a back hand spring, or hell even a cartwheel, I totally would have. That seemed like the perfect punctuation to how I felt at the end of my run. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am totally shocked to see myself write this next sentence but my gosh peeps, I love running. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am still really sucky at running, but here's hoping that I will eventually be able to run a solid 30 minutes-- straight, without stopping to slowly die.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I can honestly say that running is something I'm not naturally good at... &lt;i&gt;Exercise &lt;/i&gt;is not something that I am naturally good at; however, that being said, I am willing to work and try until I &lt;i&gt;am &lt;/i&gt;good at it. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I guess that's what life is all about, learning that you can do hard things... things that you are not naturally good at. Just because you sort of suck at something doesn't mean you don't try. It just means you do what it takes to get to where you want to be.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Even if it means you have to run. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
Come here.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
No. Closer. Closer. Come on... Closer. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Seriously, a little closer, please. I don't want everyone to hear what I'm going to tell you.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
{looks around}&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
I love watching &lt;a href="http://www.vh1.com/shows/celebrity_rehab_with_dr_drew/season_5/series.jhtml"&gt;Celebrity Rehab.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know, right?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have pontificated about how I hate reality TV and how I rarely watch TV.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
 And, that's true, too. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
However,&amp;nbsp; the one show that sucks me in like a teenage boy getting high on helium is the train wreck of &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.vh1.com/shows/celebrity_rehab_with_dr_drew/season_5/series.jhtml"&gt;Celebrity Rehab&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Once I start I just can't stop.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm not sure what it is about that show that I love.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Maybe its seeing famous people falling apart in front of my very eyes. Watching their lives unravel... It's a sad thing, watching someone's life fall apart and I feel slightly guilty for being glued to the screen to see it happen. But, I just can't stop my self.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know, I know.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That's TOTALLY unhealthy and sick and not right on so many levels,&amp;nbsp; but for some reason, I just can't stop myself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Seeing Gary Busey-- which, incidentally, &lt;a href="http://wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/2008/11/hallelujah-its-not-dude-this-time.html"&gt;&lt;b&gt;I was told by some random website&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/a&gt;should be my doppelganger (wth?)-- be a complete tool is therapeutic somehow. I'm not sure why, but it is. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If I flip on the TV in the middle of the night, and Celebrity Rehab is on, I'm a goner. A complete 100% goner. I have to watch the entire marathon and cannot stop until there are no other shows on. I won't even change the channels on the commercials because I don't want to miss one single minute of the train wreck.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is nothing that can make you feel better about your life than watching talented, famous, wealthy people completely fall apart. Watching that makes you realize that your life? The one you feel like is slowly drowning you?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yeah, that one.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It doesn't suck &lt;i&gt;that &lt;/i&gt;much.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.wheredidiputthat.blogspot.com/"&gt;© 2005-2011 Crazyland:Tales from the Motherboard, All Rights Reserved&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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