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href="http://www.addtoany.com/?linkname=Id%20Rather%20Be%20Blogging&amp;linkurl=http%3A%2F%2Ffeeds.feedburner.com%2FIdRatherBeBlogging&amp;type=feed" src="http://www.addtoany.com/addfr-b.gif">Add to Any Feed Reader</feedburner:feedFlare><feedburner:feedFlare xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" href="http://www.fwicki.com/users/default.aspx?addfeed=http%3A%2F%2Ffeeds.feedburner.com%2FIdRatherBeBlogging" src="http://www.fwicki.com/images/ui/fwicki_clicklet.png">Subscribe with fwicki</feedburner:feedFlare><feedburner:feedFlare xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" href="zune://subscribe/?Id%20Rather%20Be%20Blogging=http%3A%2F%2Ffeeds.feedburner.com%2FIdRatherBeBlogging" src="https://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/partners/sslchicklets/zune.gif">Subscribe with Zune Marketplace</feedburner:feedFlare><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-8490141182004884521</id><published>2008-07-25T00:01:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-25T10:07:56.122-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humor" /><title type="text">White Powder</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/07/white-powder.html" title="White Powder" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=8490141182004884521" title="11 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/8490141182004884521/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/8490141182004884521" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/8490141182004884521" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Summer sucks.

It sucks because I am in withdrawal...

I have the shakes. Anxiety. Beads of sweat collect on my brow when I realise my ever-diminishing stash will be completely used up way too soon. 

Rationing isn't an option.

Neither is going cold turkey.

I have to find another source.

Somewhere.

Another pusher to fill my dependency.

My need for the White Powder.

At work they know my &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-5257534727143900767</id><published>2008-07-24T00:01:00.018-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T18:49:59.642-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title type="text">If I Never Hear That Song Again</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/07/if-i-never-hear-that-song-again.html" title="If I Never Hear That Song Again" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=5257534727143900767" title="13 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/5257534727143900767/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/5257534727143900767" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/5257534727143900767" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">...it will be too soon.

This happens every time an artist descends on the city for a concert.

In an obvious effort to promote sales, all the radio plays is ONE and only ONE of the featured act's songs over and over.

And &amp;*%^#! over again.

I was ecstatic Kid Rock was finally here last week. Not because I am a fan and eagerly awaiting the show.

Oh no.

It's because I never, ever, ever want to &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-4272246149432753494</id><published>2008-07-21T00:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T00:48:10.284-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="pets" /><title type="text">It's A Bird! It's A Plane! No! It's...</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/07/its-bird-its-plane-no-its.html" title="It's A Bird! It's A Plane! No! It's..." /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=4272246149432753494" title="19 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/4272246149432753494/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/4272246149432753494" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/4272246149432753494" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">...a cat who thinks she can fly.

Or climb walls.

I was awoken at an ungodly hour (Gad. 5 am on a vacation day is simply criminal) by our Ragdoll cat meowing.

Now I don't know if it's characteristic of the breed or just ours, but she is usually nearly mute. Her "meow" is the rarest of sounds, and when she DOES get vocal, she sounds like she has a muffler installed.

It's a nice change from the &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-6422618853897172705</id><published>2008-07-17T18:23:00.022-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-17T20:41:24.772-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title type="text">You Have Happy Day</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/07/you-have-happy-day.html" title="You Have Happy Day" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=6422618853897172705" title="12 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/6422618853897172705/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/6422618853897172705" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/6422618853897172705" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">
Gad I am a cheap date.

Hey, I said "cheap DATE" not "cheapSKATE"!!!

Since I was dining solo tonight, I treated myself to some Japanese takeout before leaving the mall. Chicken Teriyaki with veges and fried rice... mmmmm. Enough food for two meals set me back a measly $ 5.69.

Okay. Maybe I possess an itty-bitty smidgen of cheapskatedness...

Domo Arigato!

As my pleasant but admittedly &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-7667620351162424754</id><published>2008-07-15T07:16:00.044-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T09:54:01.744-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humor" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="blogging" /><title type="text">Five Tips For Humour Bloggers</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/07/five-tips-for-humour-bloggers.html" title="Five Tips For Humour Bloggers" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=7667620351162424754" title="25 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/7667620351162424754/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/7667620351162424754" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/7667620351162424754" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Dammit.

I was tagged "challenged" by Jeff at View From The Cloud who was, in turn cajoled by Brent at The Ominous Comma to:

"Write a funny post that includes an actual and helpful technical blogging tip or educational material helpful to new bloggers."

Crap. Er, I mean, I was honored to be one of a chosen five to participate.

Now I have to admit, I didn't start out as a humour blogger. In &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-7536910404817412161</id><published>2008-07-12T00:01:00.018-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-12T13:11:33.493-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="work" /><title type="text">The Doctor Is In</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/07/doctor-is-in.html" title="The Doctor Is In" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=7536910404817412161" title="19 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/7536910404817412161/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/7536910404817412161" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/7536910404817412161" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">For 15 agonizing years back in the 80's, I was the Office Manager for our Cardiac Program."Agonizing" because I was under the false impression that when we hired adults, they would actually behave like adults.How wrong I was.One of my most important duties apparently, was Staff Psychiatrist.This came as a suprise to me, as upon careful review I couldn't find that listed in my Roles and &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-3966337242873061909</id><published>2008-07-08T00:01:00.015-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T23:38:46.210-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title type="text">Oh Gad. I Really Didn't SAY That, Did I?</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/07/oh-gad-i-really-didnt-say-that-did-i.html" title="Oh Gad. I Really Didn't SAY That, Did I?" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=3966337242873061909" title="24 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/3966337242873061909/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/3966337242873061909" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/3966337242873061909" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">January 1, 1975:

Today I made a new Year's Resolution that I would be a faithful fan of Elton John's. I start my scrapbook today.
Ah, yes. My first full-blown obsession at the ripe old age of 14.... I was crazy for Elton John ever since I heard "Tiny Dancer". Perhaps this is why I have never again made a New Years Resolution.... gaahhhh. 

January 2, 1975:

Am finding it hard to collect things &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-7722566759029789270</id><published>2008-07-04T00:01:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-04T10:15:28.811-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humor" /><title type="text">There's a Remote Chance</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/07/theres-remote-chance.html" title="There's a Remote Chance" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=7722566759029789270" title="24 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/7722566759029789270/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/7722566759029789270" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/7722566759029789270" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">
We have a titch too many remote controls.

Yes, "titch" is too a word.

Okay, maybe not.

This heap are just those I grabbed in a few minutes this morning from our living room and Daughter's game room in the basement.

Given time, I am sure I can unearth even more from old VCRs and video cameras still buried, forgotten and collecting dust in drawers and closets somewhere. 

My laptop had a tiny &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-6541569202937002922</id><published>2008-06-30T00:01:00.016-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-03T08:45:36.586-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="work" /><title type="text">Activate Avoidance Sequence...</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/activate-avoidance-sequence.html" title="Activate Avoidance Sequence..." /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=6541569202937002922" title="27 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/6541569202937002922/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/6541569202937002922" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/6541569202937002922" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">
... now.

There's a new database clerk at work who won't leave me alone.

She's stuck to me like Super Glue.

Oh. Joy.

When she was hired a few weeks back, I was asked to meet briefly with her to do my usual schitck.... you know, introduce myself and let her know that I am the computer geek support person for the Program. Like I do every time someone starts here.

That was the beginning of the &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-1972518254647370385</id><published>2008-06-27T00:01:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T09:49:41.582-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="movies" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humor" /><title type="text">Letting My Imagination Run Away</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/letting-my-imagination-run-away.html" title="Letting My Imagination Run Away" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=1972518254647370385" title="28 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/1972518254647370385/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/1972518254647370385" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/1972518254647370385" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">... at breakneck speed.

Take the other night, for example.




NOT the prime equation for my hyperactive imagination.

It had been a hot day, so I needed to cool down and clean up. Since I was home alone, I went through The Pre-Shower Drill:

Lock and bolt the front door.

Ditto the back door.

Close the windows.

Lock the glass dining room patio sliders.

Lock the bathroom door.
I then &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-593279460008649849</id><published>2008-06-24T00:00:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T07:03:14.844-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="computers" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title type="text">I Rock!</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/i-rock.html" title="I Rock!" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=593279460008649849" title="24 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/593279460008649849/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/593279460008649849" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/593279460008649849" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">"So today's the day, eh?"

"For what?" Daughter mumbled, in-between bites of raspberry &amp; cherry pancakes.

"Today. The day Rock Band comes out for Wii." I informed her, as matter-a-factly as I can, gulping down another swig of peach juice.

"No. Not on a Sunday." Munch. Munch. "I think it comes out Tuesday."

It's 11:40 am and we continue noshing lazily on our traditional Sunday brunch.

"No, &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-7118400779521779665</id><published>2008-06-22T08:57:00.015-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T14:27:39.942-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="work" /><title type="text">Ummm... You DO Know You're Alone, Don't You?</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/ummm-you-do-know-youre-alone-dont-you.html" title="Ummm... You DO Know You're Alone, Don't You?" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=7118400779521779665" title="24 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/7118400779521779665/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/7118400779521779665" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/7118400779521779665" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">There's a new girl at work that, upon first look, seemed nice. And normal.

But only a few days after her hire, the employee who shares an office with her began commenting about this new person's "quirk".

"She talks to herself."

Well, I thought. It could be worse. So she thinks out loud. We all do that at times, don't we? Perhaps the older staff person just wasn't used to sharing her former &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-3992316126276314974</id><published>2008-06-17T07:14:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T16:30:34.653-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humor" /><title type="text">Laughing All The Way FROM The Bank</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/laughing-all-way-from-bank.html" title="Laughing All The Way FROM The Bank" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=3992316126276314974" title="23 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/3992316126276314974/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/3992316126276314974" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/3992316126276314974" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">
Now that we are just weeks away from our last mortgage payment, I am amazed at the telephone calls we’ve been inundated with lately.

It seems that we are prime targets for greedy banks “generously” offering us all kinds of special deals. In recent months, I've received calls from various institutions asking what THEY can do for US.





Home equity loans?
Home improvement loans?
How can we &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-7631940011643179615</id><published>2008-06-14T08:45:00.021-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-14T12:00:12.949-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="weather" /><title type="text">Triskaidekaphobia</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/triskaidekaphobia.html" title="Triskaidekaphobia" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=7631940011643179615" title="20 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/7631940011643179615/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/7631940011643179615" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/7631940011643179615" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">I Has It.

With the week I've been having, it seemed almost poetic that Friday the 13th would be no better.

It was worse. Much worse.

Oh, it started off alright. I drove in early, snagging a prime parking space inside as the weather office predicted a stormy day.  In my office (Room 3013 believe it or not), as I counted down the hours to the weekend, I received a notification to inform my &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-4798566626963011110</id><published>2008-06-11T22:14:00.018-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-11T23:02:25.988-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="work" /><title type="text">My Lucky Day</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/my-lucky-day.html" title="My Lucky Day" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=4798566626963011110" title="24 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/4798566626963011110/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/4798566626963011110" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/4798566626963011110" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">This morning while walking from the parkade into work, I noticed a shiny penny on the ground.

Of course, being the superstitious person that I am, I picked it up and noticed it was dated 2008.

"Cool!" I thought. "My Lucky Day!"

Then a few feet further on, I spotted ANOTHER shiny penny.

"Wow, I'm going to have a REALLY Lucky Day!"

But as soon as I sat down at my desk, the phone calls poured &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-2652346230810495201</id><published>2008-06-09T00:01:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-09T08:32:36.332-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title type="text">Just My Luck</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/just-my-luck.html" title="Just My Luck" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=2652346230810495201" title="21 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/2652346230810495201/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/2652346230810495201" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/2652346230810495201" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">It all started Thursday afternoon; my cellphone would only display The White Screen Of Death. Crap. I encountered this exact same affliction last year, but on a different phone.

So on Saturday I once again returned to the mall to send it in on warranty repair, which ironically, expires on Tuesday. But with a smug smile, the associate informed me that as of last month, they are a Sales Only store&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/IdRatherBeBlogging?a=lZggEI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/IdRatherBeBlogging?i=lZggEI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-5502786491900594488</id><published>2008-06-07T09:00:00.016-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T10:28:56.951-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title type="text">It Was 28 Years Ago Today</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/it-was-28-years-ago-today.html" title="It Was 28 Years Ago Today" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=5502786491900594488" title="19 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/5502786491900594488/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/5502786491900594488" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/5502786491900594488" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Sargent Pepper taught the band to play...

Uh, no. Sorry. Wrong line there, but I couldn't help it. Whenever I say something like that, those Beatles lyrics just naturally follow.

No, 28 years ago it was 1980.

Ronald Regan became President of the U.S.John Lennon was shot Mount St. Helen's eruptedThe U.S. boycotted the Summer Olympics in MoscowSteve McQueen and Peter Sellers diedJake Gyllenhaal &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/IdRatherBeBlogging?a=7ZTc3I"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/IdRatherBeBlogging?i=7ZTc3I" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-6955446807391059473</id><published>2008-06-04T19:38:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-04T22:25:20.467-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title type="text">Think Pink</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/think-pink.html" title="Think Pink" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=6955446807391059473" title="20 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/6955446807391059473/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/6955446807391059473" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/6955446807391059473" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Today was the day I had been dreading for months. 

The day I had been losing weight for.

The day I chose the lightest clothes for.

The day I lost three vials of blood for.

The day of my "quadrannual" physical checkup.

As it happens, it went well.

Um, fairly well.

No, it wasn't too bad...

Okay, it was crap.

I needed an EKG. Palpatations.

I need to lose more weight. No duh!

I need to get&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-3854095978217563007</id><published>2008-06-01T00:01:00.017-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T08:54:42.235-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="humor" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="pets" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Favorite Posts" /><title type="text">Not Tonight, Honey</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/06/not-tonight-honey.html" title="Not Tonight, Honey" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=3854095978217563007" title="37 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/3854095978217563007/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/3854095978217563007" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/3854095978217563007" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Don't give me those big sad eyes, pleading for attention. It won't do you any good tonight.

It's late and I'm tired.

And giving me a massage isn't going to change my mind.... so stop kneading my arm.

I want to sleep. I NEED to sleep!

Get back to the other side of the bed and lay still.

Go on... leave me alone.

Pleeeeze!

Yes, I AM hiding from you under the covers, so that soft neck nuzzling&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-8839716711014794396</id><published>2008-05-28T00:01:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T22:16:58.153-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Wayback Machine" /><title type="text">Set The Wayback Machine to 1995 Sherman</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/05/set-wayback-machine-to-1995-sherman.html" title="Set The Wayback Machine to 1995 Sherman" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=8839716711014794396" title="17 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/8839716711014794396/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/8839716711014794396" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/8839716711014794396" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">
With the arrival of warmer days, I can't help but recall the Spring weekend our family spent at a Northwestern Ontario fishing lodge many years ago. I was organizing a medical conference there so our mini-vacation was gratis.

Daughter was only four, but that didn't stop hubby from wanting to take her fishing off the dock of the Marina. In preparation for the event, he poured over store shelves;&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-5993561335641176723</id><published>2008-05-26T00:01:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T08:59:10.325-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Favorite Posts" /><title type="text">She Gets It From HIS Side Of The Family</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/05/she-gets-it-from-his-side-of-family.html" title="She Gets It From HIS Side Of The Family" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=5993561335641176723" title="26 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/5993561335641176723/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/5993561335641176723" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/5993561335641176723" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Watching my daughter turn 17 this past week, I realize she has developed a lot of the same characteristics as I possess (all GOOD traits, needless to say). 

Ahem.


An affinity for technology.

A love of animals.

The pleasure of reading.
To name a few.

Unfortunately, she has also inherited a certain er, let's call it "idiosyncrasy" from hubby's side of the family.

Yes. Good characteristics &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-2631577219048146228</id><published>2008-05-21T00:01:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T08:59:10.325-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Favorite Posts" /><title type="text">It's Like The Olympics, But Not</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/05/its-like-olympics-but-not.html" title="It's Like The Olympics, But Not" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=2631577219048146228" title="25 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/2631577219048146228/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/2631577219048146228" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/2631577219048146228" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">It's that time again.

Time for my annual physical check-up.  Actually, "annual" is a misnomer.

More like quadrannual* visit to the doctor, as I only seem to drag myself there every four years. (* Okay, I KNOW that's not a real word. But it does sound cool... quadrannual, quadrannual...)

It's kinda like the Olympics.

The first event? The Booking Of The Appointment.

My competition is fierce: &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-2685889619218654104</id><published>2008-05-18T00:01:00.014-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-18T00:05:49.688-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title type="text">Arrr Matey!</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/05/arrr-matey.html" title="Arrr Matey!" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=2685889619218654104" title="21 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/2685889619218654104/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/2685889619218654104" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/2685889619218654104" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">I need an eyepatch.

One I can swiftly swap from left to right.

(Wow, that sounds like a Huey Lewis song...)

No, I didn't poke myself in the eye; but with my previously-stated Deprivation of Spacial Relationships, I am not surprised that would be your first guess.

And I am not THAT much of a Johnny Depp fan that I want to look like a Pirate.

I am trialing new contact lenses. I have worn &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-2957878814499975043</id><published>2008-05-16T00:01:00.021-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T20:39:36.179-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title type="text">Depth Perception</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/05/depth-perception.html" title="Depth Perception" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=2957878814499975043" title="22 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/2957878814499975043/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/2957878814499975043" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/2957878814499975043" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">If you ever came to dinner at my house, there is a 99.999992% chance you will be eating from a plate, bowl or cup that has a chip out of it.

Why is this, you ask? (I am assuming you ARE asking or this will be the stupidest shortest post I've ever written...)

Am I so frugal that I still use really, really old dishware?

Do I loan out my table settings as targets to myopic skeet shooters?

Am I &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6747832045286924202.post-5576383054163781662</id><published>2008-05-13T00:01:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T17:06:01.522-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="celebrities" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life" /><title type="text">Tivo's Twisted Sense Of Humour</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/2008/05/tivos-twisted-sense-of-humour.html" title="Tivo's Twisted Sense Of Humour" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6747832045286924202&amp;postID=5576383054163781662" title="21 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/feeds/5576383054163781662/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/5576383054163781662" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6747832045286924202/posts/default/5576383054163781662" /><author><name>Maureen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01797167028822330935</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">
A most unexpected thing happened while watching our recorded version of the Survivor finale on Sunday.

Something that had my daughter in stitches as I screamed in horror.

Yeah, go ahead; tease me now about reality shows... 

I fully admit to being a Survivor fan since the first season. I've even met two Survivor All-Stars; Ethan Zohn (winner of Survivor Africa) and Jenna Morasca (winner of &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
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