<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:57:51.094-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kim's World</title><subtitle type='html'>Word Salad-In the mental health field, word salad (originally from the German Wortsalat) is used to describe the symptom of confused, and often repetitious, language that is symptomatic of various mental illnesses.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>109</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-3801665033186343240</id><published>2007-09-26T14:34:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-26T14:51:59.450-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The 21st night, September...</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;This is the second email I sent to friends over the weekend after the march.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do you remember the 21st night September?&lt;br /&gt;Love was changing the minds of pretenders,&lt;br /&gt;while chasing the clouds away...&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;How many times have I danced in the kitchen with Claire to this song? It's become something of a theme song for us. It was, however especially poignant to think of the words Friday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thursday, September 20 came and went. The buses rolled out of town, leaving a confused town in their wake. Friday night we sat in the football stands and watched our kids play ball. Black and white. The night after the march. The 21st night of September.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Love was changing the minds of pretenders...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Could it be possible that love could change the minds of the pretenders (Sharpton, Jackson)? Could love chase the clouds of hatred away?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think of Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson and I weep for them. They seem to thrive on finding evil. Instead standing for the good things and making heroes of honorable young black men and women, they came here and vilified our town and bestowed heroism upon young men who do not deserve such accolades. Jackson, Sharpton and their ilk pretend to care for their fellow African Americans, I don't see that their actions follow their words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pretenders in the media came here expecting (possibly hoping for) a riot. What they got instead was a peaceful rally. The town of Jena opened it's streets for the marchers and were gracious hosts. The marchers came and protested and were gracious guests. The media pretends to want the truth, yet they report half-truths and twisted facts in hopes of what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;While chasing the clouds away...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;The clouds of fear, the clouds of hate. Love for each other, love for our neighbor, love for the guy two blocks over. That's what will make the clouds go away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Thursday, we as a town took a step in the right direction. The media, the marchers and the world expected us to line the streets spewing evil at the marchers. They were wrong. We did just the opposite. I know people who opened their homes to marchers, I know people who opened their hearts to the marchers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Love was changing the minds...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, on the 21st night of September I sat in the bleachers at Ferriday and made a vow to myself. I will not let the pretenders change me. I will not let the pretenders change who I am. I will however, continue to try to let love rule my actions and my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-3801665033186343240?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/3801665033186343240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=3801665033186343240' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/3801665033186343240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/3801665033186343240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2007/09/21st-night-september.html' title='The 21st night, September...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-396013543527544789</id><published>2007-09-26T14:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-26T14:43:19.429-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thoughts on Sept 20</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;I'm outing myself a bit here. I'm from Jena. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I wrote this as an email on September 19. Isent it to some friends who live out of state and thought I'd publish it here in case anyone still checks in on my blog. It's been pretty awful at times living here and knowing the truth. I've sat an watched news reports and couldn't believe the inaccuracies. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Thankfully the march came and went without incedent. The marchers were very gracious and nice, the people who live here were as well. It was nice to see that 15,000-20,000 people (more people than are in our entire parish) exercise their right to demonstrate. I take heart that it can be done without violence.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;So for those of y'all still reading and checking in on me. Here's my email.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thoughts on September 20&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow there will be more people in Jena than I ever thought possible.Weirdness and wonder.That's the two words that come to mind about tomorrow. I can't imagine what the day will bring, hence the wonder. I can't imagine that I sat on my floor and watched news anchor after news anchor talk about Jena, hence the weirdness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't know what tomorrow will bring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the things I DO know.&lt;br /&gt;- The media has painted a rotten picture of us. I can't help but take it personally.&lt;br /&gt;- I will never again wholly believe what I see on the evening news or read in the paper. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;- I had to reassure my daughter that things will be ok tomorrow. I don't know for sure that they will be ok. I don't like feeling like I've lied to her.&lt;br /&gt;- There ARE racists in this town. Thankfully, they are the minority.&lt;br /&gt;- The boys accused of beating Justin Barker were NOT nice boys who made poor decisions that day. They are thugs. Ask their teachers. Ask their neighbors. Ask the elderly people in their neighborhood that they terrorized. Ask the judges who presided over their juvenile cases.&lt;br /&gt;And lastly, I know:- We will never be the same after this is over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother-in-law will be on duty downtown for the march. I'll be working at one of the hospitals in the parish. My co-workers will be manning ambulances at the courthouse tomorrow. I have friends who are law enforcement officers and will be on duty tomorrow. I'm worried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pray for a peaceful day. I pray for safety.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also pray that the stupid redneck white people all get flat tires and have to stay home. I pray that the violent people all get horrific diarrhea and have to stay home. I pray that those with evil intentions get lost and end up right back where they started.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also pray for the safety of those who are coming. Some genuinely believe that the Jena 6 have been wronged. They are misinformed, but their hearts are in the right place. Some of those coming truly care for their fellow man and want to make a difference. They don't know they've been lied to and misled. It should give us some glimmer of hope that people can care enough to attempt to make a difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pray for the young men who committed this crime. They are the center of a storm. Hopefully at some point, they will admit their culpability in the creation of that storm. However in the mean time, I pray for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pray for the Barkers. Tomorrow will be difficult for them I'd imagine. They have been much more stoic than I think I could have been. I pray for their continued strength.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been difficult to see my town portrayed as a haven of racism. It's been difficult to hear the misinformation and sometimes downright lies about Jena and the Jena 6.&lt;br /&gt;I have to believe that when the day is done tomorrow, somewhere there will be a blessing. I can't believe that all this has been for nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, tonight and tomorrow, please keep us in your prayer and thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;K&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-396013543527544789?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/396013543527544789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=396013543527544789' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/396013543527544789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/396013543527544789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2007/09/im-outing-myself-bit-here.html' title='Thoughts on Sept 20'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-115501432515802147</id><published>2006-08-07T22:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-07T22:18:45.173-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've been such a sack of poo when it comes to blogging. I've been working trying to get the bills paid and when I finally get home I just crash. What time I have, I spend with Mike and Lullah (and the cats.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things are ok with Mike and I. There are times it's still weird. Last week was particularly bad. We weren't able to pay as much on the bills as usual. I had taken off to go to camp with Lullah and hadn't been able to work. It'll be a long time before he completely forgives me and I just wish it would happen yesterday. Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The summer has sucked. Lullah and I usually lay around in the pool and watch movies. We didn't even open the pool. It needs a new liner and Mike said we couldn't afford it, so it's just kinda out there looking sad and green.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had been on contract with the hospital. I worked 12 hour shifts Wednesday and Thursday one week, then 12 hour shifts Monday, Tuesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday the next. With the drive time (an hour either way) it ends up being pretty exhausting. Thankfully, we have really seen a dip in the bill total. Maybe when we get it all paid, I'll come clean with y'all too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just embarrassed and mad at myself about the whole thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah's 16th birthday was last week and I've been feeling so guilty that we couldn't do her party and presents like had envisioned since she was born. Car with a bow, huge cake, new dresses- not an MTV episode worthy party- but something pretty cool. Instead-no car, small cake, just family at the party.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To all of y'all who drop in, even though I've been slacking, thanks for checking in on me. I'm trying to get my life back in order. It's slow going, but at least it's going!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-115501432515802147?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/115501432515802147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=115501432515802147' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/115501432515802147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/115501432515802147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/08/ive-been-such-sack-of-poo-when-it.html' title=''/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-115095167318045940</id><published>2006-06-21T21:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-21T21:47:53.200-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One foot in the grave...</title><content type='html'>Mike's aunt died Friday. She was absolutely one the greatest women ever placed on this planet. If I am at any point in my life HALF the kind, gentle, wise, loving person that she was, then I will have accomplished more than I was capable of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However...this post isn't about Aunt Barbara. It's about Lullah. And her innate inability to walk and chew gum at the same time. And her uncanny luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back story... Lullah broke her leg TWICE her fourth grade year. The first time a spiral fracture of her tibia. Thankfully WITNESSED by multiple people and we were NOWHERE on the scene otherwise the child protection folks would have been on us within minutes of our hitting the ER doors. The second a small fracture on the lower end of the bone she sustained after she fell down...while walking. She's a bit clumsy, in case you were wondering. A wonderful dancer, but walking...well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y'all she fell into an open grave Sunday afternoon. Feet first. It was raining and suddenly her umbrella went South. How much therapy are we going to have to cover now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was another funeral after Aunt Barbara's and the funeral home had dug both graves and put a piece of plywood over the second grave to keep the rainwater out. Lullah and her cousin started to walk across it to get to Aunt Barbara's gravesite. Zach made it across. Lullah-swish.&lt;br /&gt;She managed to catch herself so she didn't hit bottom. If she had she would surely have been injured. Thankfully, she's just bruised and a little scratched up. (her ego and her feet and legs)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's had a great sense of humor about it. Thank goodness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and y'all sister girl never lost her heels.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-115095167318045940?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/115095167318045940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=115095167318045940' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/115095167318045940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/115095167318045940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/06/one-foot-in-grave.html' title='One foot in the grave...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114783207741305142</id><published>2006-05-16T19:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-16T19:15:38.666-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I had a revelation...</title><content type='html'>I absolutely hate my frigging yard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It really wasn't a revelation, I've been aware of this fact since we bought the damn house six years ago. The first summer I trimmed hedges was my first clue that a professional landscaper was NOT involved in the planning. We hauled off 6 truckloads of limbs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that was only the back row of hedges.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If let go, my back yard turns into a jungle. Well, we sorta let it go last summer. I spent all day trimming hedges. I freaking hate hedges. I'm seriously thinking that concrete would be &lt;em&gt;realllllly&lt;/em&gt; pretty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a happy note...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We restrung my clothes line yesterday. I have line dried sheets tonight. YES!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114783207741305142?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114783207741305142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114783207741305142' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114783207741305142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114783207741305142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/05/i-had-revelation.html' title='I had a revelation...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114749193431413913</id><published>2006-05-12T20:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-12T20:48:40.610-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tears...</title><content type='html'>I cried at work today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My patient had dressing changes ordered every 4 hours. For me-10am, 2pm and 6 pm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had done this patient's dressing change for the third time in as many hours. As I was putting on the &lt;em&gt;last&lt;/em&gt; piece of tape, the surgeon came in and said "oh good, I need to look at that". So, we took it off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From 10 am until 6 pm I change said dressing 5 times. The last four times from 2:00 pm until 6:00pm. Let me add that it hurt the patient like hell every time I had to do it.  AND she never bitched about it once.  We've been doing dressing changes on her for 18 days and she never bitches about it EVER. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cried at work today.   Like a big ole tit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the midst of my afternoon around 5ish, Lullah called &lt;em&gt;completely &lt;/em&gt;pissed off. She made Mastery instead of Advanced on the first part of the graduate exit exam. Honors day was Tuesday and for the first time ever, she didn't get a trophy for all A's. She got the A-B certificate. And she's still upset about her ACT scores from April, so I think this just put the candles on her cake. She is entirely too worried about her test scores. She's a sophomore for pete's sake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any advise to help prevent ulcers, hers AND mine, will be greatly appreciated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*btw-in my opinion, she did very well on the ACT (especially for a sophomore).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114749193431413913?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114749193431413913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114749193431413913' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114749193431413913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114749193431413913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/05/tears.html' title='Tears...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114740952995089555</id><published>2006-05-11T21:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-11T21:52:09.963-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh, how I hate to get up in the morning...</title><content type='html'>I heard that song on XM this morning in the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's 11:50 pm right now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My alarm is set for 4:30am.  I have to work tomorrow 7a-7p and I'm &lt;strong&gt;WIDE&lt;/strong&gt; awake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know how much tomorrow is going to blow?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Irving put it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh how I hate to get up in the morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114740952995089555?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114740952995089555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114740952995089555' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114740952995089555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114740952995089555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/05/oh-how-i-hate-to-get-up-in-morning.html' title='Oh, how I hate to get up in the morning...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114714263983697753</id><published>2006-05-08T19:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-08T19:43:59.856-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Home again, home again...</title><content type='html'>the gates of hell stayed closed today apparently. Today did suck, but not as much as I was afraid it would. I got home about 20 minutes ago. I left the hospital at 8:15, later than I'd like, but not too horrible. I go back for more tomorrow. Yippee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got yelled at by a patient for not letting her leave the floor to go to the gift shop and "look around".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FYI Mrs. ______ ...the staff isn't supposed to let you leave the floor without a doctors written order. It ain't my fault. It's hospital policy. I'm not just being a bitch. Oh, and you're REALLY not supposed to leave the floor if you're on BLOOD THINNERS!!!! aaaargh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And after you've yelled at me, crying like you're a five year old isn't going to change my mind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114714263983697753?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114714263983697753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114714263983697753' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114714263983697753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114714263983697753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/05/home-again-home-again.html' title='Home again, home again...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114688035291284478</id><published>2006-05-05T18:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-05T18:52:32.926-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just an egg...</title><content type='html'>Mike's grandmother that passed away last Saturday was 98. She'd have been 99 in December. She outlived two husbands and two of her six children. She'd lived home alone until two years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Picture a grandmother. What a stereotypical grandmother looks like. Cotton housedress, wire rimmed glasses, grey bun, a jar of peppermint sticks on top of the refrigerator (the yummy soft kind). Now you know what Mawmaw looked like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last summer she was still living home, Mike's parents went out of town. It somehow got left to us to go gather the eggs from her henhouse and close the coop door at night. I told her I thought it was sad to take the only thing the poor hen owned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's just an egg," she said, "and really that's all any of us have. Just an egg."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not quite sure what the wisdom was, but there ya go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just an egg, grasshopper.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114688035291284478?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114688035291284478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114688035291284478' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114688035291284478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114688035291284478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/05/just-egg.html' title='Just an egg...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114680564216709286</id><published>2006-05-04T21:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-04T22:07:22.183-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life 7a-7p...</title><content type='html'>I am off until Monday! Hip hip hooray!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had two, count them TWO days in a row that DIDN'T suck! It makes me very nervous for Monday. God help me if next week is &lt;em&gt;anything&lt;/em&gt; like last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week I was: puked on, called a cocksucker, a lazy bitch, a useless sack of shit (these are the nicer things I was called), bled on and peed on and had a patient die. All before 8 am, last Monday. I didn't leave the hospital until after 9pm. Tuesday, Friday and Saturday-not much better. Yeah, I was seriously considering a change in career. Last week sucked in ways I had never before considered work sucking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Mike's grandmother died early Saturday morning and her funeral was Sunday. I was reaaaaallly glad last week finally ended.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday was a little hectic. I didn't leave the hospital until 8pm. Today, I actually left at &lt;strong&gt;7:14pm.&lt;/strong&gt; The gates of hell must be scheduled to open at 6:44am next Monday. That's the only explanation I can think of.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114680564216709286?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114680564216709286/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114680564216709286' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114680564216709286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114680564216709286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/05/life-7a-7p.html' title='Life 7a-7p...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114653764633910647</id><published>2006-05-01T19:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-01T19:40:46.356-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The aftermath...</title><content type='html'>How do you regain someone's trust?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had justified my lies by telling myself that Mike would leave if he knew the truth. The lie almost caused my marriage to crumble. I created the very thing that I was terrified would happen. I'm ashamed that I had so little faith in Mike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He seriously considered divorcing me. The first weeks after the truth about the bills were horrible. But things have gotten better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have went back to work full time. Fate stepped in and the agency that I work for offered me a 13 week contract that guaranteed a minimum of 36 hours per week. I took it. We actually got money BACK this year from the IRS. For now, I bring home every receipt and we go over it. The first few weeks, Mike went on every shopping trip with me. Superfluous purchases are a thing of the past for now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We sit and pay the bills together twice a month. Paying the bills was an act of torture for me before. I would have anxiety attacks after I finished. I felt like it was black and white proof that I was a terrible person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things are better. The debt is slowly disappearing. I actually feel semi-ok about myself again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what the next few months will hold, but I do know that I am finally NOT a big fat liar anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114653764633910647?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114653764633910647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114653764633910647' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114653764633910647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114653764633910647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/05/aftermath.html' title='The aftermath...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114257566575763292</id><published>2006-03-16T22:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-16T22:08:15.906-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a liar...</title><content type='html'>and now Mike knows it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came clean about the credit cards. He's so mad at me right now that he can't even look me in the eye. It's horrible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He says he isn't sure he can stay married to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My world has fallen apart. And it's my fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't even have the words to express how I'm feeling right now. I flip flop between complete despair and overwhelming anxiety.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to just run away. I never wanted to be this person. I never wanted to be a liar. And yet, here I sit. In my lies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate myself so much right now, I can't stand me. How can I expect him to ever forgive me? I'm not sure he ever will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pray, almost constantly, that somehow he will be able to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please pray for us too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114257566575763292?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114257566575763292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114257566575763292' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114257566575763292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114257566575763292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/03/im-liar.html' title='I&apos;m a liar...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114196770035676541</id><published>2006-03-09T21:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-09T21:15:00.383-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blue.</title><content type='html'>To channel Holly GoLightly-I have got a case of the reds. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blue doesn't cover it.  I am morose and anti-social.  I am terrifically unpleasant feeling lately. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm overwhelmed.  I'm sad.  I'm aggravated.  I'm just in an all around shitty mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I don't see the clouds lifting in the very near future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114196770035676541?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114196770035676541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114196770035676541' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114196770035676541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114196770035676541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/03/blue.html' title='Blue.'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114102753538613546</id><published>2006-02-26T23:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-27T00:05:37.250-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh the drama...</title><content type='html'>I'm at a loss. I was prepared for raising a teenager to include varying degrees of sarcasm, rebellion, barfing in the tomato bushes and just generally being treated like an idiot savant. I wasn't prepared for the real heartbreak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah's best friend is one of the funniest kids I know. She can inevitably make you laugh. I should add, a talent held in very high regard in our household. She can also be one of the meanest kids you'd ever want to be around. Almost to a sociopathic level. When they were little she would do things just to  be mean. She once hid one shoe of every pair of Barbie shoes that Lullah had, in her borderline OCD manner, lined neatly in her Barbie supplies.  When I confronted her she said she did it because she " felt like it and I knew she'd freak out". This is also the friend that this summer slept with Lullah's ex-boyfriend(she was 14 at the time) and then while we were on vacation stole Lullah's boyfriend. Try explaining to an overwraught teenager that she will eventually be ok. (not an easy task) They didn't speak for almost 4 months except when absolutely necessary. Lullah was miserable. She cried herself to sleep 3-4 nights a week during this period. The girl finally came to her and made a heartfelt apology. The sun shone, the wind blew, the angels sang and Lullah's world righted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some background on the friend. Her family life is a little skewed. There have been a number of major health issues with her parents in the 6 years. Her mom was in a coma, her dad was diagnosed with a major degenerative disease. I suspect there are financial issues as well.  Prior to their fight this summer we had to go get the friend because her older sister was threatening suicide (apparently not the first time). I also suspect that the girl has an eating disorder, bullimia, I think. A few weeks ago, the friend called our house hysterical. Her mother and sister had gotten into an argument and the mom told them she was going to kill herself and promptly left the house. She was gone almost half a day, until the sheriff's office finally contacted her and threatened to hospitalize her if she didn't go home. She has also since then told the dad that she will eventually leave and they won't be able to find her. My point is, this girl's life is a mess.  Her behavior is not completely a suprise.  Our house has been a haven for her. She spent more time here than at home until very recently. We're the stable part of her life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today the friend called Lullah and told her that she'd had sex with her new boyfriend and then later that night one of their other friend's boyfriend had tried to "get" with her, but she'd rebuffed him. Turns out that was a half truth. She didn't actually rebuff the second boy. Lullah is pretty upset. Her exact words were "I can't be her friend, she's a slut and a liar".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mom in my head screamed "yeeeees". The freaked out depressed suicidal teenager in my head said "that poor girl is crazy just like you were".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want Lullah around this girl, period. She has broken my child's heart and trust. I've had to hold Lullah too many nights while she sobbed over a lost friendship because of this girl. I don't like her anymore. I don't want her in my house. I don't want her in my car. I don't want her in my yard. I don't want her in my daughter's life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, my heart breaks for the girl at the same time. She is spinning out of control and her family is standing by and letting it happen. I remember the spin. I understand why she's going so nutso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I may be being heartless, but I've made the decision that we've done what we can for this poor girl. I have to make sure that Lullah is ok. And she is &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; ok right now. I can't tell Lullah that she can't hang out with this girl. That's a recipe for disaster. But, I can make sure that I will be too busy to carpool the other girl around town. I can also make sure that Lullah has alternate plans that don't include the other girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I a horrible human being? Am I as evil as I feel?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want her out our lives. I want the toxicity gone. I want Lullah to have friends that support her, that are honest and have some scruples. I didn't realize that was going to be a tall order to fill.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114102753538613546?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114102753538613546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114102753538613546' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114102753538613546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114102753538613546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/02/oh-drama.html' title='Oh the drama...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114064661673504193</id><published>2006-02-22T14:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-22T14:23:23.906-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Diva Mom's reminder...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://redneckdiva.blogspot.com/"&gt;Redneck Diva's&lt;/a&gt; mom sent her a letter I thought I'd share with y'all. Her post prior to the letter will explain if you're confused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If more of us remembered our worth, our Mom's wouldn't have to remind us. Thank goodness for Diva moms that do the reminding anyway!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Kristin:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;I hope Rich Optometrist doesn’t read “blogs”. If he does I will have to start going to Lens Crafters. (ha)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;I know just how you feel. It never fails that when you feel you look your worst, your run into people who “appear” to look their best. Most likely this morning neither person could even tell you what you had on last night.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;You may wear New Balance shoes (do those come from Wal-Mart? My kids will NEVER wear that brand) (again ha) and not have on make-up, but YOU WERE THERE…………..that is what counts. Do you think Sam cares if you have on make-up? NO, because you are beautiful to him anywhere and at anytime because you are his mother and he loves you unconditionally.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Chances are even if you had been dressed to the hilt and had on your tiara, you would have probably still felt inferior. You know why? Because you allow people to make you feel that way. We are all equal in God’s eyes and are all basically the same inside. It is just that we all have different “shells” on the outside. My shell now comes with gray/white hair, but the old gal is still 18 on the inside. She may not be dressed for the prom today, but she still likes to dance.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Daughter of mine, never, I repeat, NEVER let other people make you feel inferior. You are a wonderful person and an absolutely terrific Mom and I know for a fact that Abby, Sam and Kady would not trade you for any beauty queen in this universe. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Because after all, you know how to make Goop out of cornstarch.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;I love you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Mom&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Told y'all she rocked.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114064661673504193?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114064661673504193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114064661673504193' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114064661673504193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114064661673504193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/02/diva-moms-reminder.html' title='A Diva Mom&apos;s reminder...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-114058746147054170</id><published>2006-02-21T21:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-21T21:52:09.860-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alas, I am here...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;Well, I'm quite sure you were all incredibly jealous of my &lt;em&gt;romantic&lt;/em&gt; Valentine's dinner. Popsicle and I had a lovely time. Poor Mike had made an overnight trip to Dallas, so cheesy poofs with the cat it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually had dinner with Mike's parents and his grandmother. Glenn Dale fried catfish (yumminess) and I couldn't turn it down. My mom and I had been painting the bathroom, so I was NOT interested in cooking. Glenn Dale's catfish are always wonderful. Plus Mama Frenchie and her two best gal pals were going to be there and they are always a hoot to hang out with. Lord, if they ever start telling tales on one another! They did tell us some dirty jokes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After 6 years the bathroom and bedroom are DONE! I feel like an enormous burden has been lifted. I cannot put into words how much I loathed that damn wallpaper. I love hanging out in my room now. It's like a cocoon. We still have some tweeking to do. A new towel rack and TP holder for the bath and a new light fixture for the bedroom and a slipcover for the blue beast. I hate the way recliners look, but I love the way the feel. Comfort wins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now the proud owner of an extremely snotty nose. I have managed to fend off a cold the last week or so. Until last night. Around 11pm I started sneezing and I haven't stopped. I tried to play it off to sinuses and allergies. I don't think I can kid myself anymore. I feel like I ran into a wall. But, I made a trip to Wal-Mart after po-ke-no tonight and picked up 2 boxes of Puff's Plus Lotion so maybe my nose will survive. And some Nyquil liquicaps are in my very near future. Ah, blissful medicated sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I washed clothes today and I will fold tomorrow. Not much of a to do list, but I bet I can get it done. I will probably have to vacuum too, Buttercup is shedding like crazy! The carpet flick isn't keeping up. I'll go broke buying replacement pads. Aside from the laundry and possible vacuuming, I plan on slugging it up tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-114058746147054170?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/114058746147054170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=114058746147054170' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114058746147054170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/114058746147054170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/02/alas-i-am-here.html' title='Alas, I am here...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113989854326512046</id><published>2006-02-13T22:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-13T22:29:03.310-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bonding with my cat...</title><content type='html'>Me and popsicle are enjoying some Sam's Choice Cheese Puffs. I have to say, they are super yummy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just thought I'd share.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113989854326512046?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113989854326512046/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113989854326512046' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113989854326512046'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113989854326512046'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/02/bonding-with-my-cat.html' title='Bonding with my cat...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113947229630638560</id><published>2006-02-09T00:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-09T00:30:15.406-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Damned Seven...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://northendgirl.blogspot.com/"&gt;NorthEndNique &lt;/a&gt;tagged me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rules are that you must list the seven songs you are &lt;em&gt;most&lt;/em&gt; into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they aren't any good, but they must be songs you are really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they are listening to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to tag anyone, because as I've stated before...I suck. And, there are too many of y'all that I'd like to know y'alls answers to this particular meme. So, if ya ain't too busy let me know what y'all are jamming to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) September-(Earth, Wind and Fire) This has been a pretty constant song for quite awhile. It's Lullah and my special song. We dance around like complete idiots to it at least once a week. Usually more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2)Looking at the World From the Bottom of a Well-(Mike Doughty)- first, it's a kickass song. Second, he's my cousin. Third, somedays I feel like I'm at the bottom of a well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3)California Love-(Tupac)- I just love this song. Period. Always have, always will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4)Bullet with Butterfly Wings-(Smashing Pumpkins)-lately I've been a little down. This definitelyely a pissed-off-at-the-world-because-it-sucks-song&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5)Bitchin Camero-(The Dead Milkmen)-this is a favorite from waaaay back. I heard it on XM the other day for the first time in forever and now I can't get it out of my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6)Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend-(Marilyn Monroe)-Lullah is doing a solo for recital to it and we've been listening to it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7)Boondocks-(Little Big Town)-I don't want to admit it, but I like it. Lullah watches CMT in the morning and the video is cute too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told y'all I had ADD. That's a crazy mix of genres. I've also been listening to the Biggie Smalls CD "Life After Death" a lot lately.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113947229630638560?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113947229630638560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113947229630638560' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113947229630638560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113947229630638560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/02/my-damned-seven.html' title='My Damned Seven...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113947207060497480</id><published>2006-02-08T23:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-09T00:01:11.300-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Before and after...</title><content type='html'>In case y'all thought I was &lt;em&gt;kidding&lt;/em&gt; when I said I had butt ugly wallpaper in my bedroom I thought I'd share some before pictures with you. I have had this monstrosity since we bought our house 6 years ago. And my entire bathroom is covered in this mess as well. Except it has the ever so lovely paisley border &lt;em&gt;all the way around the room. &lt;/em&gt;Yay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/WallCloseUp.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/200/WallCloseUp.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/RoomBefore2.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/200/RoomBefore2.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/RoomBefore1.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/200/RoomBefore1.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I managed to strip the paper off and repaint last week. Hooray! &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tada&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; the results are...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/After3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/200/After3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/After1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/200/After1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/After2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/200/After2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Lullah informed me that the paint was the color of poop. I told her it was a warm color. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;She tactfully stated, "Yeah, well, poop &lt;em&gt;is&lt;/em&gt; warm."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;You probably noticed the odd shine. I accidentally got semi-gloss instead of satin finish. A friend was in the paint store with her baby and we were visiting. I have ADD, and ordered the wrong thing. I was about half way through the second wall and was wondering why the paint was taking so long to dry. It kept staying shiny. Duh. I'm going to live with it for awhile and see if I hate it. At any rate, it's WAAAAAY better than the paper.  I'm getting a slip cover for the baby blue recliner.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;If any of y'all have that paper and love it, I apologize. But I was concerned that it was so busy I would eventually start having seizures.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Next week, Mom and I are tackling the bathroom. Poop green. Might as well go with a theme.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113947207060497480?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113947207060497480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113947207060497480' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113947207060497480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113947207060497480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/02/before-and-after.html' title='Before and after...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113920514327998378</id><published>2006-02-05T21:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-05T22:25:57.230-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I ain't dead...</title><content type='html'>well, yet anyway. I've been painting and (blech) working! However, I have missed posting. So here's a quick one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://mamakbear.blogspot.com/"&gt;MamaKBear &lt;/a&gt;tagged me! Here goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Four jobs I've had:&lt;br /&gt;Sonic Car Hop&lt;br /&gt;Sales Clerk in the linen department&lt;br /&gt;DJ&lt;br /&gt;Nurse&lt;br /&gt;2. Four movies I can watch over and over:&lt;br /&gt;Monty Python and the Holy Grail&lt;br /&gt;To Kill a Mockingbird&lt;br /&gt;Some Like it Hot&lt;br /&gt;Harvey&lt;br /&gt;3. Four favorite books:&lt;br /&gt;To Kill a Mockingbird (I wanted to be Atticus' kid SOOOOO bad)&lt;br /&gt;Bridge to Teribithia (the first book that really impacted my life)&lt;br /&gt;Olivia (made me blow soda out my nose)&lt;br /&gt;Slaughter House Five (because, honestly, there were parts that&lt;br /&gt;TOTALLY confused me)&lt;br /&gt;4. Four places I've lived:&lt;br /&gt;Colorado (I was 6 months old)&lt;br /&gt;Mississippi&lt;br /&gt;Alabama&lt;br /&gt;Texas&lt;br /&gt;5. Four TV Shows I love:&lt;br /&gt;Gilmore Girls&lt;br /&gt;Grey's Anatomy&lt;br /&gt;Monk&lt;br /&gt;CSI&lt;br /&gt;6. Four Places I've Vacationed:&lt;br /&gt;New York City (my favorite)&lt;br /&gt;Disney World (2nd favorite)&lt;br /&gt;Disney Land (last family vacation before my parents split)&lt;br /&gt;San Antonio TX(I was maybe 7 and I STILL remember the Alamo&lt;br /&gt;7. Four of My Favorite Foods:&lt;br /&gt;Fried Pork Chops&lt;br /&gt;Mike's Mom's french fries&lt;br /&gt;My Mom's pecan pie&lt;br /&gt;Mike's hamburgers&lt;br /&gt;(I jokingly say that if Mike and I ever divorce, part of the settlement will include his hamburgers and his Mom's fries)&lt;br /&gt;8. Four Sites I Visit Daily: Like I just go to &lt;em&gt;four&lt;/em&gt;! (and like the Miss America pagent-in no particular order)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mikedoughty.com/blog/"&gt;Mike Doughty &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://mamakbear.blogspot.com/"&gt;MamaKBear&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://hillbillymansion.blogspot.com/"&gt;Hillbilly Mansion&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://angryblackbitch.blogspot.com/"&gt;Angry Black Bitch&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;9. Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now:&lt;br /&gt;ASLEEP&lt;br /&gt;NYC&lt;br /&gt;Riding a rollercoaster with Lullah and Mike&lt;br /&gt;At a spa&lt;br /&gt;10. Four People I'm Tagging:&lt;br /&gt;Noone this time. Y'all are safe. For now!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113920514327998378?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113920514327998378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113920514327998378' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113920514327998378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113920514327998378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/02/i-aint-dead.html' title='I ain&apos;t dead...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113858818609457960</id><published>2006-01-29T18:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-29T18:29:46.426-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You are what you eat...</title><content type='html'>and I am a PIG! We had the pig roast at Mike's sister's yesterday. I blew my diet, but oh my did I have a good time doing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Appetizers included: Cream cheese with raspberry-chipotle sauce, ginger snaps with strawberry cream cheese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The main event: Much pork was consumed. My brother in law makes excellent baked beans, we had a ton of potato salad. Hershey Kiss pie, coconut pie, cake. And bread.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am foundered. &lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/320/Yummypork.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113858818609457960?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113858818609457960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113858818609457960' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113858818609457960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113858818609457960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/you-are-what-you-eat.html' title='You are what you eat...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113846147038491327</id><published>2006-01-28T07:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-28T07:23:34.940-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Saturday, so why am I up so early...</title><content type='html'>I have been up since 7 am. What. The. Hell? I have already cooked breakfast (bacon,eggs and toast thank you very much), washed one load of clothes, vacuumed &lt;em&gt;and&lt;/em&gt; made a Hershey Kiss pie for petes sakes! God I hope this doesn't become a trend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been a little out of sorts this week. Mike went to Dallas Monday and didn't get home until Wednesday. I don't sleep worth a damn when he's gone. Part of the problem could be the 5' 5" 15 year old that sleeps with me when he's gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I have to give myself a pat on the back. I cleaned out my bedroom and closet while he was gone. I am embarrassed to admit that I took 6 bags of clothes and a box of shoes to a local clothes closet. And I still have a closet full of clothes. It's ridiculous. My resolution is no new clothes for quite awhile. Or shoes. I had shoes I haven't even worn yet!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom got me a new comforter for Christmas and I plan on painting next week. Fingers crossed. We've been in our house for over 6 years and I still have the ugliest wallpaper in my bedroom and bathroom. It's a weird paisley and striped affair. In lovely hues of black, white, mauve (yes, MAUVE) and that 80's blue color. I think it was called smoke blue. It's pretty bad.&lt;br /&gt;I truly hope by this time next week it's GONE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a day of super yumminess planned. We're going to Mike's sister's house for a pig roast this afternoon.(the reason for the pie making) Yep, I knew there was a reason I liked living in the sticks. I will probably be stuffed by 8:30 tonight. At least that's the goal.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113846147038491327?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113846147038491327/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113846147038491327' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113846147038491327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113846147038491327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/its-saturday-so-why-am-i-up-so-early.html' title='It&apos;s Saturday, so why am I up so early...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113797379968062442</id><published>2006-01-22T15:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-23T15:05:07.050-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blogging for Choice...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/blog_for_choice_day_small.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/320/blog_for_choice_day_small.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.prochoiceamerica.org/index.cfm"&gt;Roe V. Wade is 33 today&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am 35. I have never known a time when I didn't have the right to choose what happens to my body. It's a reality that I never thought about. It never occurred to me as a teenager that I would ever NOT have that choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was 18 and a freshman in college when I found out I was pregnant. I sat on the bed in my dorm room trying to rub the pink off the end of my EPT stick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had never wanted children. I had never wanted to get married. I was reasonably sure I would be horrible at both of them. So I sat and tried to remove the hot pink proof that I had screwed up. My life, Mike's life, my parents' life, Mike's parents' life and some nameless faceless baby's life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called Mike and told him the news and called my family doctor and made an appointment the next day to verify the results. I told the receptionist that I thought I had a urinary tract infection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next afternoon I sat in the exam room and cried with Dr. Mauterer who has known me since I was a baby. I went home to tell my mom and step-dad. Mike was on his way home at the same time to tell his parents. There has never been a time in my life that I was more ashamed. I had let everyone down, including myself, and I knew it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike's grew up in a family that went to church twice on Sunday and once on Wednesday and when the opportunity arose they went in between. They are southern Baptists.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike and I were the subject of a tremendous amount of gossip. Both of our families are well thought of in their communities and the grape vine was on fire. Mike was a "good" boy. The whispers were difficult at times. When you walk into a room and conversation stops it's not a great feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whisperers are the very people who will stand on a soapbox and proclaim that they are Pro-life. These are the people who would snicker at me in the grocery store. The people who made comments intended to wound to my mother and mother-in-law in saccharine voices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was fortunate to have a family that loved and supported me throughout my pregnancy. Mike's family showed us the same love and support. We were very lucky. We had a great support system to fall back on. Not every women is that fortunate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know the fear that an unplanned pregnancy creates. I know what it feels like to know that you have forever altered the course of your life and your family's. I know what it feels like to lie in bed and cry because you are suffocated by the events in your life. I don't know what it's like to feel that and not know that I can change it. I don't know what it's like to be powerless in that situation thanks to Roe v. Wade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did not have an abortion. I had Lullah. A choice&lt;em&gt; &lt;/em&gt;I have honestly questioned. Did I do the right thing? Should I have given her up for adoption? Should I have had her at all? I have so many failures on my Mommy report card. But the truth is this. I would die for her. I cannot imagine my life without her. I cannot fathom a world without her in it. So I think I did the right thing. My life is different than I planned, but I'm very happy in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made the choice to continue my pregnancy and keep her. Against some people's advice. There was my ob-gyn who wanted me to give her up for adoption. My friends who said I would be ruining my life. The voice in my head that said I would be a wretched parent. But &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;made that choice. There was no one but me who had any right &lt;em&gt;to &lt;/em&gt;make it. I am still terrified by the decision I made. I am sometimes still sure that I have screwed up everyone's life. That burden is mine. Just like the burden of pregnancy was mine and mine alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm now the mother of a teenage daughter. Should the time come and she face an unplanned pregnancy I pray that she doesn't face a world without options. I pray that she never knows the terror of having no control over her own health care. I'm not so sure about the certainty of that anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113797379968062442?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113797379968062442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113797379968062442' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113797379968062442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113797379968062442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/blogging-for-choice.html' title='Blogging for Choice...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113783217562551519</id><published>2006-01-21T00:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-21T00:29:35.626-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Well, I thought it was today...</title><content type='html'>I left today headed to the yearly gyno appointment. An hour away. I was going in to eat lunch before the appointment and called home and checked the voice mail. I had 1 new message.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;This is Robin, from Dr. Gyno's office calling to remind Kim that we have her scheduled for a 1:30 appointment Monday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IT'S MONDAY!!!!!! AAAAAAGH! I drove an hour to go to an appointment I &lt;em&gt;don't even want to keep&lt;/em&gt; that isn't for 3 days. One day shot to hell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the upside, I bought my camera. (my first digital, I'm driving Mike and Lullah nuts).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113783217562551519?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113783217562551519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113783217562551519' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113783217562551519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113783217562551519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/well-i-thought-it-was-today.html' title='Well, I thought it was today...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113783144622713783</id><published>2006-01-21T00:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-21T00:18:26.940-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Take the damn thing already...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Cookie2.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/320/Cookie2.1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; &lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;I got a digital camera today with my birthday money and was playing with it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;This is Cookie, our only female cat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;She was a pretty much &lt;em&gt;over&lt;/em&gt; the picture taking by this point.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113783144622713783?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113783144622713783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113783144622713783' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113783144622713783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113783144622713783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/take-damn-thing-already.html' title='Take the damn thing already...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113705208058787998</id><published>2006-01-11T23:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-11T23:50:38.706-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Mike's brother went to a lawyer yesterday and began the process for getting a divorce. They will file and serve my sister-in-law the papers Friday. It's so sad to think of a marriage ending. Even more so when it's someone you love. They have a Covenant Marriage so it will be year before the divorce is final.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart just breaks for her. I don't think she's going to take this very well at all. At the same time, Mike's brother has been so mistreated, for so long that I'm almost relieved for him. She has been abusive (mostly verbally) the entire time they've been married. It had escalated in the last year or so. He'd been begging her to go to counseling with him for almost a year and she refused. One of the saddest parts is she's extremely insecure and she pushed him into the very thing she was afraid of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just sad all around.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113705208058787998?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113705208058787998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113705208058787998' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113705208058787998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113705208058787998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/mikes-brother-went-to-lawyer-yesterday.html' title=''/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113705113065515468</id><published>2006-01-11T23:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-11T23:36:49.873-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleep...</title><content type='html'>will I ever actually get enough sleep?  It's 1:30 am, I've been up since 6am.  I'm not sleepy!  I'm tired, but there is no way I could actually go to sleep.  Do you &lt;em&gt;know&lt;/em&gt; how much that sucks?  If anyone has suggestions I am open for anything.  HELP!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113705113065515468?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113705113065515468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113705113065515468' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113705113065515468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113705113065515468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/sleep.html' title='Sleep...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113695937530324393</id><published>2006-01-10T21:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-11T23:32:52.223-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Where are you Christmas?</title><content type='html'>In boxes in my dining room. That's where. But, I'm looking on the bright side. At least it's in boxes. After all the stuff that happened this weekend with Mike's brother, I haven't had time to put everything in the attic. But the goal is to have it all up and away by the weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the lighter side of life. After a disheartening weekend, we got a major laugh. Lullah and her boyfriend got stuck coming home Sunday. They were turning around on a road(gravel) and the BF's truck couldn't get traction to finish the turn. She had to call Mike to come and pull them out. She was mortified. We have, of course, been making parking references and teasing her mercilessly. The BF was embarrassed too. The best part, was my Mom and step-Dad were on their way over for supper. So they knew about it too. We're a heartless bunch. I figure we'll get at least 2-3 months of teasing out of this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had planned on trying to get in 2 work shifts this week, but it ain't looking promising. Dance tomorrow night (an hour away). Thursday, orthodontist appointment since Lullah's bottom retainer has detached and is flopping around in her mouth. Friday, Lullah dances at the ballgame. Saturday, girl scout cookie training and my cousin's baby shower. Sunday, fall out in the floor. I don't know how people that work full time do it all. I am amazed and humbled. Truly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike and I are jet setters in case y'all didn't realize it. We've planned our lives around TV viewing this week. Yesterday, today and tomorrow PBS is airing &lt;a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/countryboys/"&gt;"Country Boys"&lt;/a&gt;. It's a documentary about two teenage boys in rural Kentucky. David Sutherland is the director. He's also the director of the HBO documentary "The Farmer's Wife" which we loved. Mike's going to tape the final episode for me since I won't be home. "Country Boys" has been heartbreaking and inspiring and sad and just really good. It definitely makes me see the blessings my life has been filled with.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113695937530324393?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113695937530324393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113695937530324393' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113695937530324393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113695937530324393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/where-are-you-christmas.html' title='Where are you Christmas?'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113678181054537178</id><published>2006-01-08T20:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-08T20:45:28.846-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Heaven and hell...</title><content type='html'>Last week when my dad called to see if I'd go to his friends funeral with him we had an interesting conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Dad: IF there is a heaven, I'm sure I'm going.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Me: Really?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Dad: yeah, because I've never hurt anyone. Ever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Me: silence&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Dad: In my whole life I've never hurt anyone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Me: Really?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Dad: Except maybe your mom, during the divorce. But that ended up for the best.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Me:uh huh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Dad: I've actually helped a lot of people and done a lot of good.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Me: well, I don't think you get into heaven by doing good deeds.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Dad: well if that's not the way, then I don't know how.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;I have always known that my father is narcissistic. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;He once told me that "all this mess about needing a savior is a load of crap. And besides, I've never sinned". Mike laughingly suggested to me that perhaps Dad had never heard of the ten commandments. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;He honestly believes that he has never hurt anyone. He was so earnest when he told me that mess. I sometimes wonder if he isn't a little sociopathic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;He and my mother divorced when I was around 9 after mom refused to stay married and for him to have a mistress. I realize that some couples are able to have open relationships. My mom isn't one of those folks. He emotionally abused her for years and the affair was the final straw. I have never wanted my parents to be back together. They were toxic on a good day. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;His version of events is much different. My mother was jealous and shrewish. She wasn't as smart as he was and so they are incompatible. She drove him to the affair. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;I have rarely doubted that my dad loves me. I have often doubted that I was important to him. Missed recitals, missed ballgames, missed visitations, missed school programs. The list is boring. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;When I was 15 and attempted suicide, I overheard my mom on the phone telling him that he had to come to the hospital. My mom had to make him come to see me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;When I was 19, I called to tell him that I was pregnant. His only question was "when are you getting married".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;When I was 7 he beat me with a belt for not getting him a fresh beer and telling him I thought he was drunk. I had buckle marks on the back of my legs for over a week.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;I'm really glad he's never hurt anyone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113678181054537178?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113678181054537178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113678181054537178' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113678181054537178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113678181054537178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/heaven-and-hell.html' title='Heaven and hell...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113662673553266454</id><published>2006-01-07T01:38:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-07T02:13:25.643-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A week I'm glad is over...</title><content type='html'>This week has not been one I'd care to repeat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For one, Lullah went back to school which always sucks. I've attended two funerals. I went back to work last night (blech). And while I was at work, I called home and my brother-in-law left his wife. I'm not going to share the details of that. I'm just hoping they work things out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I'll talk about the funerals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first was on Wednesday for a man I didn't even know. My father and he were pool shooting and beer drinking buddies of the highest order. Dad was pretty upset by the man's sudden death so he asked me to attend the funeral with him. The deceased was a member of the local Indian tribe. He was a single man with no children, but had numerous nieces that had taken care of him through the years. They served as pall bearers. Dad said that the man had always said a "woman brought me into the world, women can take me out of it". So they did. It was actually touching to see. Parts of the funeral were in his tribe's language. It was beautiful to hear. As one of the songs played was ending, a giant hawk screeched and came gliding from over the treetops. It banked over the pavilion and flew away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second funeral was Thursday. Johnny was 41. We'd known each other since I was in 5th grade and we moved into his town. He was a little older than me, but our Mom's are good friends and we knew each other through them. His wife also taught at Lullah's school and was friends with some people I'd went to high school with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Johnny's first kidney transplant was at age 16. He'd done well with it until about 2 years ago and had to start dialysis at that time. About a year ago he had another transplant and had been doing very well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was the kind of person who was always happy. He never complained. He spent 3 days a week hooked up to a dialysis machine, had been through multiple surgeries and yet when you'd ask him how he was doing his answer was always the same. "Pretty good, can't complain."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of October, he and his wife took their son to a petting zoo for a day out. While there, Johnny was infected with a bacteria that eventually became a systemic infection. He became septic and spent weeks in ICU until he died on the 2nd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The funeral was standing room only. When the pall bearers carried him out of the sanctuary to the cemetery, his son held the front handle and helped. He had asked him mom if he could "help the men to take his Daddy outside".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Johnny's wife is 32. She's a widow with a 6 year old. His parents have lost their youngest son.  His son has lost a father that he will probably not remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I've been to entirely too many funerals lately. Is this what becoming an adult is going to be? Attending funerals or wakes? I've started to recognize cemetery names and know people buried in them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left work feeling like I didn't do everything I wanted to do for my patients. There is never enough time. There are too many patients and not enough of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister-in-law just left about an hour ago. I had no sage words of wisdom for her. Her pain is palpable. There's nothing I can do to assuage it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just feel like this week has been about nothing but loss and feeling helpless.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113662673553266454?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113662673553266454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113662673553266454' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113662673553266454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113662673553266454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/week-im-glad-is-over.html' title='A week I&apos;m glad is over...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113662673527127713</id><published>2006-01-07T01:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-07T01:40:26.483-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fear Friday</title><content type='html'>My fear this week is that I'll screw up at work and accidentally kill someone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113662673527127713?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113662673527127713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113662673527127713' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113662673527127713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113662673527127713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/fear-friday.html' title='Fear Friday'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113643463198641390</id><published>2006-01-04T20:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-04T20:17:12.010-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas pictures...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know Christmas has come and gone, but I thought I'd share my Christmas trees with y'all since I &lt;em&gt;finally&lt;/em&gt; got my Christmas pictures developed. I'm a procrastinator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My camera died at Mom's or I'd have a picture of hers too. We used Lullah's disposable one and it's not done yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the living room tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/tree3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/tree3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;This is Lullah's Barbie tree. She decorates is herself with Barbie stuff.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Santa started bringing her a Barbie ornament for Christmas when she was about 3. We're going to have to upgrade to a bigger tree soon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Tree.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/Tree.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;These are the three pencil trees that I put special ornaments on. They are my favorite.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/tree2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;And this is Mike and popsicle helping decorate.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/mikepopcicle.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113643463198641390?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113643463198641390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113643463198641390' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113643463198641390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113643463198641390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/christmas-pictures.html' title='Christmas pictures...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113626781497821190</id><published>2006-01-02T21:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-02T21:56:55.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A friend sent these pics to me...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/albino%20deer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/albino%20deer.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/albino%20deer2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/albino%20deer2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; it's an albino deer from Florida.  The couple that found him orphaned turned him in to the Wildlife and Fisheries folks.  But I thought he(she?) was mighty cute.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113626781497821190?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113626781497821190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113626781497821190' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113626781497821190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113626781497821190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/friend-sent-these-pics-to-me.html' title='A friend sent these pics to me...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113618166860950274</id><published>2006-01-01T21:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-01T22:01:08.626-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I wonder why...</title><content type='html'>I can't shake this blech feeling. Maybe it's post holiday stress. I spent way too much money (that I didn't have to spend), I ate way too many calories (that I didn't need to consume), I'm irritated that school starts back in the morning. I'm just blech.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We actually had a very good holiday. Even Christmas with my Dad was ok. I'm usually a mess when I have to spend extended amounts of time with him, but suprisingly we had a great holiday visit. My uncle (by marriage) was extremely drunk and inappropriate at times, but even that didn't spoil the evening. I'm always nervous at my Dad's. You never know how the evening is going to turn out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike's cousin and her three boys left this evening heading back to Texas. They are 16, 12 and 6. The 16 year old stayed with us Friday and Saturday night. He and Lullah treat one another more like siblings than cousins. They enjoyed getting to hang out. Oh, and Lullah has a new boyfriend (as of Saturday). We actually like him, he's not bad (for a 15 year old boy).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I plan to start dieting tomorrow. I have to shed a few pounds. I am starting to feel icky. And I wonder if the extra weight isn't part of the blech. About 90% of the time I'm pretty ok with how I look, but that other 10% is a bitch. Those are the days that I wish the damn mirrors would explode. I hate those days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to Slimfast and Curves y'all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113618166860950274?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113618166860950274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113618166860950274' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113618166860950274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113618166860950274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2006/01/i-wonder-why.html' title='I wonder why...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113572654908067224</id><published>2005-12-27T15:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-27T15:35:49.306-08:00</updated><title type='text'>We survived...</title><content type='html'>We started Christmasing on the 23rd and finished last night. Whew!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to Mike's parents on the 23rd. It's always fun. In addition to our regular presents we exchange dollar gifts. The rules are you have to buy a gift for everyone (except yourself) and it cannot cost more than a dollar. We have more fun buying and exchanging these gifts than we do all of the others. Mike and Lullah always take a day the week before Christmas and go buy their dollar gifts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah raked in the gifts as usual. I always end up getting her more than I'd planned on. It's easy to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got my Chanel No. 5 stash replenished, so I'm happy. And I smell nice too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I plan to give y'all a better update later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope everyone had a great holiday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113572654908067224?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113572654908067224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113572654908067224' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113572654908067224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113572654908067224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/12/we-survived.html' title='We survived...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113522707491166918</id><published>2005-12-21T20:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-21T20:51:14.913-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gilmore Girls and baking...</title><content type='html'>The last few days have been spent in a purchasing haze.  I took my car in for repairs and Lullah, my mom and I spent the day finishing purchasing Christmas presents.  Now I have to wrap them all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah and I baked today.  Magic Bars and sausage balls.  Yum.  We delivered them to some friends, her "not-a-boyfriend" guy friend, and Mike's parents.  Now we are going to sit down for a Gilmore Girl frenzy.  Season 5, yaaaaay!  We're sad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113522707491166918?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113522707491166918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113522707491166918' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113522707491166918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113522707491166918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/12/gilmore-girls-and-baking.html' title='Gilmore Girls and baking...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113502761218280798</id><published>2005-12-19T13:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-21T20:47:18.930-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not very sweet at all...</title><content type='html'>Yesterday morning sucked. Lullah came into the kitchen and asked for some orange juice because her blood sugar was low. She was shaky and pale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After 16 ounces of orange juice we checked her blood sugar. It was 34. SHIIIIIT! was the word that my mind was screaming. We get nervous when it gets below 70. We treat it immediately if it's below 65. 34 is seriously low. Seizure low. Holy crap low. I managed to stay calm and got the glucagon injection just in case she actually seized. She was shaking all over, she does this weird head jerk thing when she's super low. It's extremely scary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After more orange juice and some graham crackers she was finally 90. She was also nauseated and exhausted. When she gets low it completely wipes her out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once the crisis had passed she said to me "I hate this shit."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I concur.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113502761218280798?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113502761218280798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113502761218280798' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113502761218280798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113502761218280798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/12/not-very-sweet-at-all.html' title='Not very sweet at all...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113449853726601208</id><published>2005-12-13T09:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-13T10:28:57.326-08:00</updated><title type='text'>diabetes sucks...</title><content type='html'>I've been so frustrated the last few days that I can't hardly see straight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week we got a letter from Lullah's endocrinologist with her lab results. Her HgA1C was 9.6%. It's a test that measures a persons average blood sugar for the last 3 months. Her blood sugars are NOT in control. The results for the last 3 visits (we go every 3 months) have been about the same, in the 9% range. The target goal is 7% or less.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is, I'm pretty sure she &lt;em&gt;isn't&lt;/em&gt; taking her insulin like she's supposed to. I think she randomly chooses her doses. She takes minimum of 4 shots a day. Her morning dose is an intermediate acting insulin(NPH) mixed with a sliding dose of a fast acting insulin(Humalog). She takes a sliding dose of the fast acting insulin at lunch and supper. She takes a long acting insulin(Lantus) at bedtime. She's supposed to decide the sliding dose based on the number of carbs she's going to eat. I think she's shorting the dose. In addition, she isn't taking the amount the MD prescribed for her am NPH or the evening Lantus dose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been a long time since I've felt this helpless. She has to be the one responsible for her diabetes care, but she's not doing well. If I take over, she's going to end up resenting me for it. Also, I can't be the one to take care of her everywhere she goes. She's not 8 anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talked to her Friday night about the serious consequences of not getting her levels in control. Blindness, kidney failure (ending up on dialysis), amputation, heart disease. We've talked about it before, but not in depth because we didn't want to instill fear or hopelessness in her. But the reality of diabetes is that if you don't take care of it, you WILL end up with some really serious health problems. There's no maybe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a 15 year old, I guess those things seem like scary bedtime stories. But, for me the monster waiting in the dark is very real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike thinks she's in denial. That she's trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. If she does just what she's supposed to do and doesn't think about diabetes then, she's just like all the other kids. He's probably right. I also think she's afraid of her blood sugar getting low and acting foolish or having a seizure in front of everyone.   Which also goes back to wanting to be normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so afraid and helpless right now that I feel like I can't breathe. I HATE DIABETES!!!!!!!!! I am being irrational, I know. This is a manageable disease and things could always be worse, but I'm so pissed about the whole mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate the bruises on Lullah's stomach from the shots, I hate that there isn't a cookie in my house, I hate the tiny specks on Lullah's fingers from the fingersticks, I hate the box of insulin in my refrigerator, I hate that every purse we buy Lullah needs pockets for her damn meter, I hate that food is a major topic of discussion at least once a day at my house, I hate the bottle of used syringes in my kitchen, I hate the look that people get on their face when the find out she has diabetes, I hate the food police that question her when she's eating something they think she shouldn't. I hate it. I just do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I don't know what to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113449853726601208?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113449853726601208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113449853726601208' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113449853726601208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113449853726601208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/12/diabetes-sucks.html' title='diabetes sucks...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113401595016457529</id><published>2005-12-07T20:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-07T20:25:50.180-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My week is crazy...</title><content type='html'>so here's one of my favorite Calvin and Hobbs cartoons.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/CalvinSnowman1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/CalvinSnowman1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love Calvin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113401595016457529?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113401595016457529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113401595016457529' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113401595016457529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113401595016457529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/12/my-week-is-crazy.html' title='My week is crazy...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113380714195346414</id><published>2005-12-05T10:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-05T10:25:45.026-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Dad called this morning...</title><content type='html'>and he was telling me about a funeral he attended Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of his friend's sister lived in the 9th ward in New Orleans and had been missing since the flood. She had decided to not evactuate. Like a lot of people, she'd evacuated before for what had ended up being a false alarm. And like a lot of people she felt the levees would be fine. Noone had heard from her since the night before the hurricane. Her son had went back about a month ago to look for her again, but found no sign of her. The family was in limbo and worried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A week ago, they went back and did a more thorough check. They found her remains in her attic. She most likely drowned there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't imagine a death like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the midst of all the rhetoric and finger pointing that's happening down there we can't forget that real people died. There are still people searching for their loved ones.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113380714195346414?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113380714195346414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113380714195346414' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113380714195346414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113380714195346414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/12/my-dad-called-this-morning.html' title='My Dad called this morning...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113367022851782260</id><published>2005-12-03T20:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-03T20:40:44.466-08:00</updated><title type='text'>aaah, Saturday...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love lazy Saturdays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week has been crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister-in-law came over most of Monday and all of Tuesday for my help with an English paper. (I may one day blog about that, but for now let me just say...I've got some issues with the English class).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After she left Monday I started to put lights on the Christmas tree. It fell on my head. The stand was kaput. I made a flying trip to town (an hour away-no stands here that were big enough) for a new one. Picked Lullah up after dance line practice, dropped her home and went to play practice.(I'm Jeanette in "The Last of the Red Hot Lovers") Mike took her to dance class and picked her up (whew). Got home, we fixed the tree. Then I found out I only had one strand of lights for a gigantic tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tuesday the SIL was here until 5:15pm. I left her here and went to the local WalMart. I had to be at practice at 6. After practice I once again started decorating the tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wednesday is dance class for Lullah (an hour away).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thursday was dress rehearsal for the play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday was the town Christmas parade (I did the music for the dance line, the high school cheerleaders, the jr. high school cheerleaders and the dance studio that Lullah dances at). I left the parade and went for our first play performance. Home at 10:15 after stopping by Popeyes for a biscuit. Oh and the ex-danceline sponsor is a charter member of our local community theatre. Yeah, she was there. It was weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So...&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Buttercup2.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I love lazy Saturdays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then &lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;L&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc66;"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;U&lt;/span&gt; got the crap kicked out of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poopoo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Buttercupasleep.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/200/Buttercupasleep.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buttercup is seriously depressed now. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113367022851782260?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113367022851782260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113367022851782260' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113367022851782260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113367022851782260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/12/aaah-saturday.html' title='aaah, Saturday...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113346278580813196</id><published>2005-12-01T10:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-01T10:49:28.056-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This always makes me laugh...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/dancingkitty.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/dancingkitty.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:180%;"&gt;The &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5340773590415301685"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:180%;"&gt;Dancing Kitty&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:180%;"&gt;. I love him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113346278580813196?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113346278580813196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113346278580813196' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113346278580813196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113346278580813196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/12/this-always-makes-me-laugh.html' title='This always makes me laugh...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113342003884510357</id><published>2005-11-30T22:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-01T02:13:46.716-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I guess I should apologize...</title><content type='html'>I guess I should apologize to everyone, because apparently I suck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bitchphd.blogspot.com/2005/11/my-radical-married-feminist-manifesto.html"&gt;BitchPhD&lt;/a&gt; has posted her "radical-married- feminist-manifesto". It has stirred considerable debate. At last check there were over 200 comments. Wow. I think she's stirred the pot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I adore BitchPhD. She makes me think, she makes me laugh. Both accomplishments I value greatly. I completely enjoy BitchPhD's blog and found myself nodding in agreement with her post on numerous points. I also read the article she's blogging about(it can be found &lt;a href="http://www.alternet.org/story/28621"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;) and found myself doing the same. The article and Bitch's blog entry take on the issue of educated women opting out of the work force.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's my problem. I consider myself a feminist. I've come to the realization that there are probably alot of other feminists who would disagree and say that I am not. The article BitchPhD references kinda smacked me in the face with that fact. The stay-at-home-mom debate is apparently alive and well and I guess I'm on the wrong side of the argument. After reading the article, I felt extremely marginalized and diminished. Isn't that one of the things the women's' movement had hoped to end? Maybe since it's another women doing the marginalizing it's ok. (I'll stop being sarcastic now.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm happy with my life. I'm essentially a stay-at-home-mom. I work as a contract nurse so I schedule work when I want to, otherwise I'm a SAHM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't &lt;em&gt;end up&lt;/em&gt; a SAHM. I wasn't coerced into staying at home. I am not a SAHM under duress. I realize the financial ramifications of my being a SAHM (which is one of the points the article seems to focus on).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is this...&lt;br /&gt;I am tired of having to justify myself to other people. This decision was made by ME. I am NOT wasting my potential (as a family member attempts on a regular basis to convince me). I am not holding back the women's movement (as the article made me feel I was doing). And I am not sitting at home on my laurel's watching Oprah (as a women in Wal-Mart inferred yesterday).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have done both full time work and been a SAHM. I worked full-time when Lullah was a baby and helped my husband finish college. I took a year off after he graduated because we knew it was a temporary placement and Lullah started a half day Kindergarten program at the same time. We were also living 3 1/2 hours away from anyone we knew. When we moved to a more permanent place, this time 7 hours away from our family, Lullah started a full day school program and I went back to work full time. Our lives stayed this way until her diabetes diagnosis. At that time, I became a SAHM to take care of her needs. It wasn't a difficult decision. I'm a nurse, Mike is an engineer. Who was better suited to take care of things?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were able to move closer to our families eventually and at that time I once again went back to work full-time. A health crisis with Lullah precipitated another status change. My boss (a woman) told me "you have to decide which is more important, your job with us or Lullah." I decided. After the crisis abated, I was back to work full time until the last two-three years. My schedule and Lullah's has become much fuller and Mike is traveling more. And so I have worked part-time. Next year when she gets a drivers license, that will change. But for now, I can't work full-time and be the kind of mother, wife, daughter, friend and woman I want to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am tired of other women beating me down because I'm a stay at home mom. Not just "feminists" either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman in Wal-Mart (I had considered her a friend) said "it must be nice to not HAVE to work." Among other things. I didn't bother to point out that almost every stick of furniture in my house is second hand, my husband's truck is 7 years old, umm I was in the clothing department of Wal Mart (not Saks). We ain't exactly living a jet set lifestyle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The family member (an aunt) probably 90% of the time pointedly asks "when are you starting back to school". The implication is that until I am, I'm wasting time and taking up space.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm tired of it y'all. Call me crazy but I thought the women's movement was about choice. Individual choice. Guess I was wrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113342003884510357?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113342003884510357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113342003884510357' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113342003884510357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113342003884510357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/12/i-guess-i-should-apologize.html' title='I guess I should apologize...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113324614118333652</id><published>2005-11-28T22:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-28T22:35:41.243-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A decision to make...</title><content type='html'>I have throughout my life been on and off various anti-depressant medications. Specifically zoloft, serzone and lexapro. Not at the same time. :-) At present I am unmedicated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first time I took an anti-depressant (zoloft) was sometime in the early 90's. I wasn't overly impressed with the results. I felt somewhat better, but I couldn't pinpoint that is was actually the medication. When I titrated off of it, I didn't notice it being gone. Of course, back then I was a bit of a mess all the time so how would I have known the difference. I just wasn't as sad as I had been.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time I was on medication was about a year ago. My depression seems to do that. It cycles. I'll feel ok for a year or so, then wham! Out of the blue, I don't. The last time I was beginning to have suicidal thoughts before I finally admitted I'd better do something. I'd been off any kind of medication for about 3 years at that point and I just didn't want to go back to a daily regimen again. I take daily medication for a hypothyroid and I have a terrible time remembering to take &lt;em&gt;it&lt;/em&gt;, I didn't want to add another pill to forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 2 months ago, I realized I wasn't feeling right. My mood was labile. I don't want to be around people (a sure sign-I love socializing). My insomnia is way worse than usual. All signs that the ship is arriving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, I just don't want to take anything. Partly because I'm lazy, partly because... well I just don't. I know it's crazy, but I want to just get better. I want to do it on my own. I want to just be...normal. I HATE taking medicine. Of any kind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At any rate, I'm trying to decide whether to call the doc and get a new scrip for something. Or wait and hope it passes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113324614118333652?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113324614118333652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113324614118333652' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113324614118333652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113324614118333652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/decision-to-make.html' title='A decision to make...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113324717489939333</id><published>2005-11-28T21:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-28T22:57:21.453-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My furry boys...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Yet another adorable picture of his Highness Buttercup.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Buttercup2.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/320/Buttercup2.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Buttercup2.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;color:#993399;"&gt;And introducing-Popsicle the Wonder Cat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Popcicle.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Popcicle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/320/Popcicle.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;And Rollo the Magnificent.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Rollo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/320/Rollo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are a little blurry because I took them with my cell phone. I don't have a good pic of my furry girl, Cookie. Maybe soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113324717489939333?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113324717489939333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113324717489939333' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113324717489939333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113324717489939333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/my-furry-boys.html' title='My furry boys...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113297884802825389</id><published>2005-11-27T22:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-27T22:32:51.503-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Post-Thanksgiving Post</title><content type='html'>The final Thanksgiving meal is done. Whew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanksgiving is a weird holiday for me. My mom never made too much of a thing of it. I can remember seeing TV families celebrating. The dad carving the turkey at the table. Do people &lt;em&gt;actually &lt;/em&gt;do that? Ours was always electric knifed and plattered on the table, ready to consume. The TV families always seemed odd to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanksgiving was of course about the food and being thankful and all that crap. But what Thanksgiving &lt;em&gt;really &lt;/em&gt;meant (and means) to me is the day CHRISTMAS STARTS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once the dishes were done and put away the real fun began. Down came the ornaments, down came the tree (artificial-real ones are too messy and make me &lt;em&gt;itch &lt;/em&gt;like a mofo). This was the official kick off to Christmas at my house. Wheeeeeeeeee!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Mom decorates for Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was Martha-ing up the joint &lt;em&gt;before&lt;/em&gt; there was Martha. The women will decorate anything that will hold still long enough. And it is always beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Mother's tree is always the most beautiful tree I've ever seen. When we were kids, it was covered in ornaments that we'd made or picked out. It was still gorgeous. My mom was the first person I knew who used clear lights. She was the first person to use solid colored lights. When multicolored lights were back in vogue-she was a year ahead of everyone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she "changes" her tree Mom doesn't go to the local Hobby Lobby and buy a Christmas Tree Kit. She goes everywhere. She will sometimes use some things she already has on hand and add to them. She usually picks up things at different places. Including the grocery store. She never spends outrageous amounts of money either. She says that'd be silly, since she'll want to change everything in a year or two anyway. Gotta love her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my Mom's house at Christmas. We lived in a trailer when I was a kid and I remember thinking that our house was the prettiest one in town at Christmas. It was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Mom and step-Dad live in a beautiful log house now. By the time my Mom finishes this year it will look like a magazine. They came over this evening and we had Thanksgiving with them. After the dishes were in the dishwasher, we started on my trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah had put her tree up Thanksgiving afternoon (it's extremely pretty and &lt;em&gt;very &lt;/em&gt;pink). So we put the one in the living room together and the three tiny trees in my dining room together. We'll finish the decorating tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom had a stroke one October evening 5 years ago. You would never know it if you saw her on the street today. That Christmas was the only year that she has't completely decorated her house. Lullah and I broke in and put the tree up while she was at physical therapy. But it wasn't the same. I just can't do the things my Mom can do with floral wire, greenery and some balls. Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So on this and every Thanksgiving one of the things I am thankful for is Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Mom is still here to help me get &lt;em&gt;my &lt;/em&gt;Martha on and I see sparks of her ability in Lullah every year. I love Thankschristmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113297884802825389?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113297884802825389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113297884802825389' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113297884802825389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113297884802825389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/post-thanksgiving-post.html' title='Post-Thanksgiving Post'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113280457351263533</id><published>2005-11-23T19:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-23T19:56:13.526-08:00</updated><title type='text'>November 24, 1997</title><content type='html'>November 24, 1997 Lullah was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes. The Monday before Thanksgiving.   Tomorrow is her anniversary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Probably part of the reason I don't particularly enjoy Thanksgiving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mike (the hubby) was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes January 15, 1992.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My birthday. I don't particularly enjoy my birthday anymore either.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113280457351263533?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113280457351263533/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113280457351263533' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113280457351263533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113280457351263533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/november-24-1997.html' title='November 24, 1997'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113272513833474199</id><published>2005-11-22T20:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-22T21:52:26.130-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Birth control woes...OR a ring-a-ding-ding.</title><content type='html'>I went on the pill at age 15. I remained on it until I got pregnant with Lullah. No one had bothered to school me to the fact that antibiotics pretty much make your BCPs about as effective as Tic-Tacs. But I digress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In 1993 I began searching for an alternative method of birth control. I was getting lazy about taking my BCP at the same time every day. I occasionally missed pills. Waiting for my period was stress my broke 22 year old ass didn't need. So, after dismissing Norplant as an option and my MD poo-pooing my questions about IUDs, we settled on a new medication on the market. Depo-Provera. A shot. Every 3 months. That was something I could definitely do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I LOOOVED Depo. It worked wonderful. I was a little nauseated the first 2 weeks after my initial injection, but that was it. Oh, and joy of all joys-NO period. I didn't have a period. EVER. Yay! I was very pleased with Depo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have remained on Depo except for 2 brief intervals. Both were caused by out of state moves. I wanted time to find a good gyno and so I briefly went back on the pill until I could do so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last January at my regular yearly lady visit, my gyno informs me that he'd like to take me off of Depo. Apparently it can cause irreversible osteoporosis. I had a bone scan done and things were pretty much ok, but he still wanted me off the shots. And so, once again I became a pill packing mamma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y'all I HATE birth control pills. I can't remember to take the damn things. When I do remember, I have to take 2, sometimes 3 at a time. Then of course I'm pukey. I hate the cutesy packaging. I hate the little tinfoil circle thing left after you push them out. I hate them. Hate them. Hate. Them. I just do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which brings me to yesterday. After, yet again,tensely waiting on my period to arrive.   I was officially in search of a new method of birth control.  Hooray.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called the gyno office asking about a prescription for the BC patches. The nurse was very sweet but apparently, they will kill you. They have an increased incidence of blood clots. She suggested the new &lt;a href="http://nuvaring.com"&gt;NuvaRing&lt;/a&gt; (the site has cutesy music, blech).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, I'd try just about anything. I'm sick of waiting with bated breath for my period. I'm sick of the whole pill mess. So, after asking a few questions about it. I said ok. She said they'd call it in for me. ( I of course also checked out what info I could find on the internet)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trip to the pharmacy to pick up my new NuvaRing. You could feel this semi-hard ring thing through the foil envelope. Weird. Get home, open sesame and there it is. The clear O-ring that caused the Challenger to explode. A clear, baby sized version of those stupid plastic bracelets I wore en masse in 8th grade. A small plastic shower curtain ring. Weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read instructions. I have to say, I especially love the cartoon lady squatting, laying and standing with one leg precariously raised. I chose a cartoon lady to emulate (I won't tell which) and plunged forward. Pun intended. Weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far so good. I was a little queasy within about an hour of placement, but that comes and goes. I figure that will eventually go away. But I'm hopeful. The nurse said I can manipulate my periods with the ring, so that I skip a period if I want. I plan on doing just that. Plus now I can make all sorts of Lord of the Rings references to freak out the H.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, I'd love to see the first memo regarding the ring. Did somebody say "hey, a plastic ring! I bet women would TOTALLY put a plastic ring in their vaginas?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, the discussions about color had to be funny. You know some ass suggested pink. "Cuz girls like pink".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third and this is my main point. Why in the hell did I have be the one to stick ANYTHING anywhere? It's a poor beaten dead horse, I know. But it pisses me off that the responsibility for birth control lands pretty much in my FEMALE lap. Don't get me wrong, the H has suggested and he will probably eventually have a vasectomy. But in the meantime, why do &lt;em&gt;I&lt;/em&gt; have to put something in my body that puts me at risk for stroke, heart attack, blood clots and god knows what else?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is the only birth control option for men a condom? It ain't right. It just ain't right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my opinion when we talk about women's reproductive rights this is an issue we must address. You can't lay the entire responsibility for PREVENTING pregnancy in my lap and then tell me that if I screw up and &lt;em&gt;don't&lt;/em&gt; prevent a pregnancy I have no more say in the matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm pro-choice. For a lot of reasons. The search for new birth control just reminded me of one of the reasons.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113272513833474199?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113272513833474199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113272513833474199' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113272513833474199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113272513833474199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/birth-control-woesor-ring-ding-ding.html' title='Birth control woes...OR a ring-a-ding-ding.'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113265484728029697</id><published>2005-11-22T02:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-22T02:21:40.833-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lullah Gulfport MS</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/ClaireonthebeachGulfportMS.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/ClaireonthebeachGulfportMS.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Three summers ago.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113265484728029697?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113265484728029697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113265484728029697' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113265484728029697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113265484728029697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/lullah-gulfport-ms.html' title='Lullah Gulfport MS'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113265377562191777</id><published>2005-11-22T01:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-22T02:25:02.586-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Insomnia and memories...</title><content type='html'>My family has been going to Gulf Port, Mississippi since I was 12 years old. We would spend a week at the end of June. We've stayed at the same place each time. That place is now gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read the post on thatfarmgirls site and couldn't help but think of the changes that Katrina has wrought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Orleans and Gulf Port are intertwined in my memories. We would usually go and spend the day in New Orleans while we were on the Gulf (that's what we always called the week we were there, our week on the Gulf).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like most families, we have vacation traditions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;We've only missed one summer going to the Marine Life Oceanarium. We always went to Haagen dazs at least once. I had Key Lime pie at least once. We'd walk on the beach at night at least once. We bought peanuts to feed the squirrels. We ate fried shrimp until we thought we'd never want shrimp again.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Oceanarium is destroyed.&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/Oceanarium.1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pool you see in the middle left is where Lullah swam with a dolphin. The largest circle was the main dolphin tank. Lullah saw her first baby dolphin there. This was where the sea lion gave her a smooch on the cheek. He didn't survive. He was one of the sea lions you may have seen on the news coverage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;The mall where we ate ice cream is gone. Our favorite place for shrimp po-boys is gone. It's all gone.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Every inch of Beach Boulevard holds some memory for me. I'm just a tourist and my heart breaks everytime I think about it. The people of the Gulf have received such a devastating loss. I cannot imagine their grief. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It's been weeks since Katrina hit. Things will never be the same, but they will be ok. Maybe even better. In the coming year and probably the next few years, the Gulf coast and New Orleans area will need help. Financial, spiritual and emotional. Please don't forget what Katrina left in her wake. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113265377562191777?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113265377562191777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113265377562191777' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113265377562191777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113265377562191777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/insomnia-and-memories.html' title='Insomnia and memories...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113264240989688154</id><published>2005-11-21T22:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-21T23:00:27.543-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thoughts and tears</title><content type='html'>New Orleans holds a weird and special place in my life. I have truly wonderful memories of New Orleans. I have memories I'd rather not have. It is at once a mythical magic place and I place I wish I'd never heard of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to &lt;a href="http://thatfarmgirls.blogspot.com/2005/11/time-after-time.html"&gt;thatfarmgirls &lt;/a&gt;blog this evening and found the following and cried:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;There's not a working clock in this entire city. This morning I went on my walk and the big clock by St. Patrick's Church on Camp said it was 2:30, as I walked on the Whitney clock said it was 11:15 and by the time I hit the French Quarter a clock there told me quite firmly that it was 6:00 o'clock.I'm not really surprised at this' New Orleans has always had a problem with time. Time is not linear here. This is a city where people live in two-hundred-year old houses, have wireless Internet and use 600-year-old recipes while singing 60's songs to their newborns. Time is more of a mental game in New Orleans, you can pick the year you liked the best and stay in that year for the rest of your life here and no one says a thing. You can talk about your great-great-grandparents as if they were still alive and talk about your neighbors as if they were dead, we all understand.Time marches to its own drunk drummer here. This morning as I walked into the Quarter on Chartres, a woman ran out of a cafe to greet me, "Hey dahlin" she yelled as she hugged me, "Where ya been?" I looked at her and realized it was one of the exotic dancers from the smaller establishments on Chartres. Over the years I'd become friendly with several of the dancers as I would take my morning walk, we'd smile, wave, exchange pleasantries. This morning I realized that even though I had said hello to this woman three times a week for four years, I didn't know her name. I smiled, hugged her back and told her how badly I felt that I never knew her name and she laughed "Dahlin, you know my name, it's Baby!" Time to laugh out loud.Twenty minutes later as I walked up Royal from Esplanade on my way out of the Quarter, a dark sedan stopped in the street right by the Cathedral and all four doors opened at once. I was twittering with curiosity when the driver hopped out, ran to the other side and escorted a smiling Lindy Boggs out of the car. Before I could stop myself I'd yelled out, "Hey Lindy, good to see ya!" Mrs. Boggs, accustomed to such raffish behavior, smiled and yelled out "Hey yourself" as she waved, laughed and headed to church, surely thinking it's time to pray for better manners for the likes of me.We're dealing with a lot of time issues these days, time to meet the insurance specialist, time to call FEMA, time to put out the refrigerator, time to get a new refrigerator, time to decide whether to stay in New Orleans or head elsewhere, time to register the kids for school, time to sell the house, time to buy the house, time to find a job, time to leave a job, time to figure out the rest of your life.Could we maybe, while dealing with all those time issues, take a minute and remember? Remember that there was a time when all of this was different, there was a time when slaves were sold in Napoleon House, a time when Mid City was considered the country, a time when people staged sit ins downtown, a time when there was no McDonalds or Wendy's or even Popeye's, a time when the Quarter burned, a time when people spoke French or Spanish, a time when the Opera House was open, a time when this was all uninhabited, a time when your refrigerator worked, your house was whole, your neighborhood wasn't flooded and your city wasn't defined by a Hurricane.More than any other city in this country, this is a city defined by the quality of the times people have had here. Maybe it's because it's a port city, maybe it's because of the food, maybe it's because of the heat, but this city remembers everyone who has ever lived, loved and laughed here. People visit us because they can feel the difference as soon as they get here, they can feel how time is honored here, in the time to craft our houses and the time to make a roux. They can feel that the city holds all of our memories, our joys, our sorrows and our triumphs. That any time spent in New Orleans is kept in the breath, air, water and sky of New Orleans. What happens in Vegas may stay in Vegas, but what happens in New Orleans changes the city and its people, minute by minute, day by day, year by year so that we can't help but live in the past, present and future.Time will tell what we will end up looking like, how strong the levees will be, how many houses will be repaired, but we will tell time how strong the people of New Orleans are, how deep our commitments to each other are and that sometimes the best stories are the ones we write for ourselves.Once upon a time in a city called New Orleans...&lt;br /&gt;posted by thatfarmgirl at &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;a href="http://thatfarmgirls.blogspot.com/2005/11/time-after-time.html"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;12:57 PM &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;on Nov 21 2005&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113264240989688154?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113264240989688154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113264240989688154' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113264240989688154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113264240989688154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/thoughts-and-tears.html' title='Thoughts and tears'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113263371771528085</id><published>2005-11-21T20:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-21T23:19:19.796-08:00</updated><title type='text'>And now presenting...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#663366;"&gt;Buttercup!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Buttercupasleep.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/Buttercupasleep.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Buttercup.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/Buttercup.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This is Lullah's cat, Buttercup. He's one big ball of fluffy love. He really is the sweetest cat we own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;She'd broke her leg in 3rd grade and was home bound for 3 1/2 months. We'd been to the doctor and went by the pet supply to purchase some cat food. At the time we only had one cat, Popsicle, so I fed top grade cat food. (Those days are gone by the way). They had a litter of half persian kittens that were free with a $20 purchase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;One sack of Science Diet and a cat toy later, Buttercup was ours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;He sat in her lap pretty much the entire 3 1/2 months. When she finally had to go back to school he was miserable. He still whines for about a week when school starts after summer. I have to leave her door open, because he will think she's in her room otherwise. It is truly pitiful to see 15 pounds of fluff cry at her bedroom door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;We think he's beautiful, but that's just us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;At any rate, we love him. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113263371771528085?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113263371771528085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113263371771528085' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113263371771528085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113263371771528085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/and-now-presenting.html' title='And now presenting...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113245869705816823</id><published>2005-11-19T19:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-19T23:02:58.713-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I got tagged!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://mamakbear.blogspot.com/"&gt;MamaKBear&lt;/a&gt; Tagged me, so here goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rules are as follows:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump everyone up one place; add your blog to the #5 spot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Dzer&lt;br /&gt;Mamalicious&lt;br /&gt;Here's Your Sign&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://mamakbear.blogspot.com/"&gt;MamaKBear's World&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/"&gt;Kim's World&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Next:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Select 5 new friends to piss off. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I'll add these later.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;What were you doing 10 years ago?&lt;/span&gt; Living in Texas. Married with a 5 year old. Hating that she was in school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;What were you doing 1 year ago?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pretty much the same thing as this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Five snacks you enjoy: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;1. Cheese 2. Cheese dip 3. Chocolate anything 4. Oreos 5. Cherry tomatoes &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Amazing Grace&lt;br /&gt;2. Rapture-Blondie&lt;br /&gt;3. On Jordan's Stormy Banks&lt;br /&gt;4. Crazy-Patsy Cline&lt;br /&gt;5. Santa Baby-Earth Kitt&lt;br /&gt;(this is actually a cheat category for me, I have a weird affinity for lyrics)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;1&lt;/span&gt;. Pay off my debts.&lt;br /&gt;2. Put away enough so that can go to any school she wants to.&lt;br /&gt;3. Start a college fund for my nephews and niece.&lt;br /&gt;4. Take my Mom and step-Dad and my in-laws on a really cool vacation.&lt;br /&gt;5. Go back to work, 'cause I've spent the million with 1-4.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Five bad habits: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;1. Procrastination&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Interrupting&lt;br /&gt;3. Nosiness&lt;br /&gt;4. Cursing&lt;br /&gt;5. Beating my self up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Five things you like doing:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;1. Watching Lullah dance&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Spending time with the hubby and Lullah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;3. Reading&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Sleeping (I never get enough)&lt;br /&gt;5. Laughing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Five things you would never wear again:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;1. Jelly shoes&lt;br /&gt;2. Neon socks&lt;br /&gt;3. Parachute pants&lt;br /&gt;4. Those crazy Z-Cavarichi pants that sort of looked like MC Hammer pants.&lt;br /&gt;5. Those sequined, hand painted cotton pant suit things (matching top and pants)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Five favorite toys:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;1. My computer&lt;br /&gt;2. My XM radio (I am officially addicted)&lt;br /&gt;3. From childhood- Barbie&lt;br /&gt;4. Childhood- Easy Bake Oven&lt;br /&gt;5. Childhood- Fashion Plates&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113245869705816823?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113245869705816823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113245869705816823' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113245869705816823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113245869705816823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/i-got-tagged.html' title='I got tagged!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113243910437799988</id><published>2005-11-19T14:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-19T14:25:04.390-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fantastic voyage...</title><content type='html'>One on Lullah's friend turns 16 today. The girls mom rented a limousine to pick the girl, Lullah and another of their friends up at school yesterday. They were completely surprised! It was pretty cool! They had a good time. Debra had bought sparkling something or other for them to sip, we'd also gotten them drinks from Sonic (their favorite place for sodas). The driver drove them around town for a bit then took them to Copeland's, about an hour away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We met them at the restaurant and ate dinner with them. Chocolate martinis for the grown ups, cheesecake for the girls. Yum. Then we all went to see Harry Potter. Coffee after the movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think they had a good day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113243910437799988?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113243910437799988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113243910437799988' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113243910437799988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113243910437799988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/fantastic-voyage.html' title='Fantastic voyage...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113232832102591990</id><published>2005-11-18T07:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-18T07:38:41.060-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New titties etiquette...</title><content type='html'>Lullah had a doctors appointment in Shreveport yesterday. It's almost three hours away, so it's a whole day sort of thing. We spent the night Wednesday and got up Thursday. We shopped a little, ate some really shitty Indian food (is there a good Indian restaurant in Shreveport? If ya know PLEASE share), then went to the MD.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Appointment was at 2:30, we were leaving the office at 4:30. TWO hours later! aaaargh! We went to the SuperTarget (aaaah, life was looking up) and then decided we were starving and wanted mexican. We ended up at the &lt;a href="http://www.superiorgrill.com/shreveport.htm"&gt;Superior Grill&lt;/a&gt;. Yum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We stopped by the bathroom on our way out. We had to go cups and plates so I waited while Lullah went in. A lovely blonde came down the back steps and walked past me. An older man was walking by at the same time and they obviously knew one another as evidenced by the conversation...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Lovely Blonde: HEEEY!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Older man: Hey girl! Lemme see them new titties!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;She pulled her shoulders back at this point and displayed said titties.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Older man: Those look great! How many cc's?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Lovely Blonde gave a number (it was loud, I couldn't hear)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Lovely Blonde: I like them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Older man: yeah, are they hard or soft?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;She pulled her jacket away from the new titties and said&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Lovely Blonde: Feel 'em!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Older man: Those are great! Who did 'em?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Lovely Blonde: Dr. ??? in Alexandria.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;They waved goodbye, he went to the bathroom and she went on through the bar. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think Emily Post would have approved, but it damn sure made me and the Shreveport cop standing next to me laugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113232832102591990?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113232832102591990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113232832102591990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113232832102591990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113232832102591990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/new-titties-etiquette_18.html' title='New titties etiquette...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113232570234934223</id><published>2005-11-18T06:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-18T06:55:02.386-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fear Friday</title><content type='html'>I'm afraid that the world will realize that this &lt;em&gt;is &lt;/em&gt;as good as I can do. That I &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;have&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; lived up to my potential. That I have actually surpassed any reasonable expectations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was one of those kids who was constantly told that I wasn't applying myself by the adults in my life. An aunt recently alluded to the fact that my unplanned pregnancy (Lullah) completely ruined my life (her opinion, NOT mine). That particular branch of my family still pushes me to finish college. EVERY visit at some point comes around to the "when are you going to start back to school" conversation. So now I'm one of those adults who feel like I've somehow let the world down by not "being all I'm capable of".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is, what if this is IT? What if this is as good as I can do? What if I am splattered, smooshed against the glass ceiling of my life? What if everyone &lt;em&gt;realizes&lt;/em&gt; it? What then?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113232570234934223?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113232570234934223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113232570234934223' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113232570234934223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113232570234934223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/fear-friday.html' title='Fear Friday'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113207616012617526</id><published>2005-11-15T09:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-15T09:36:00.200-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc33cc;"&gt;This is what I get for being a smarty pants...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I've been puking for two days.  That's what I get for calling Lullah, Talullah Pukey Pants.  I haven't felt like this in I can't even remember when. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't kept anything solid down since Sunday night.  I'm keeping some Sprite down, but that's it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel icky to say the least.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113207616012617526?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113207616012617526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113207616012617526' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113207616012617526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113207616012617526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/this-is-what-i-get-for-being-smarty.html' title=''/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113185959977933083</id><published>2005-11-12T20:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-13T09:14:38.473-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Veterans Day. (A day late)</title><content type='html'>Last night around 6:30 I stood in a small football stadium. A local pastor said a quick prayer of thanksgiving and asked for the safety of the players during the game. I pledged allegiance to the flag. The band played the national anthem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The community we were in is in south Louisiana near Lake Charles. It was affected by the recent hurricanes. On the drive down, we saw evidence of the destruction wrought on that part of my beloved state. If we had driven further south, we would have been confronted with more destruction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stands across the field were filled to capacity. There were fans three deep lining the fence on both sides of the bleachers. It was a sea of purple and gold. Behind them the temporarily repaired roof of their gym could be seen. It looked like aluminum foil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bleachers on "our side" were also filled to almost capacity. Not just parents and grandparents either. Or just students. Fans had driven 3 hours to support a team that they love and believe in. Some of these people may have children who graduated from the school, some do not. They just wanted to show their support.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stood in the bleachers with my hand over my heart. As the band played I thought about Veterans Day. All over the state of Louisiana the same scene was being played out. Cheerleaders were standing with pom poms over their hearts. Dance lines were standing at attention, hands over their hearts. Young men were standing on the sidelines, their helmets in their left hands, their right hands over their hearts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those boys on the sidelines are around the age that my grandfather was when he joined the army and was promptly knee deep in World War II. Those boys were around the age that my father-in-law who'd never left the state left for a jungle in a country he wouldn't have been able to find on the globe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost every man in my family has been a member of the armed services.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my uncles graduated from West Point. My father volunteered for the Navy. Three uncles served in Korea with the army. One uncle was a marine. Another in the army. My grandfather was in the army.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched the wind catch the flag. It unfurled and whipped in the wind as the band played. Each of us there in that stadium were there because of the sacrifice that our veterans have made. Without them we would live in a different world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That sacrifice continues. We have boys and girls a million miles away. Whether you agree with the war in Iraq or not, they are there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would rather they be here with us, at football stadiums, at their homes, anywhere. Just home.&lt;br /&gt;But they aren't and on Veterans day, we should thank them and any veteran you know for the sacrifices they made and continue to make. Sacrifices so that &lt;em&gt;we CAN &lt;/em&gt;sit in stadiums, in our homes, anywhere. So tell a veteran thank you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113185959977933083?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113185959977933083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113185959977933083' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113185959977933083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113185959977933083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/veterans-day-day-late.html' title='Veterans Day. (A day late)'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113183168756466486</id><published>2005-11-12T13:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-12T13:41:27.593-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tallullah Pukey Pants</title><content type='html'>Lullah woke up yesterday at 6 am projectile vomiting. Lovely. By 10 am the count was 3. She insisted on going to school so she could dance at the football game. I think she just didn't want to give the sponsor ANYTHING to be happy about. She threw up once at school, but fortunately they dismissed school early because of the football game. The venue was 3 hours away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She threw up once more here at the house. I gave 25mg of Dramamine and we left for the game at 2pm. They let her ride with me instead of the bus in case she got sick on the way. Fortunately she made to the game without throwing up. She waited until we got to the field. So I gave her 25mg more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After she'd throw up she'd feel way better for about an hour. I wouldn't have let her go, but they weren't dancing after half-time because the band was leaving. I figured if she got to feeling too awful we could leave. She was absolutely determined to dance. "I'm not giving that woman the satisfaction of seeing me not on the field" was the phrase she used. I probably should have made her stay home, but I think it would have been one of those things that twenty years from now she'd STILL be pissed at me for. I just loaded up lots of Dramamine, juice, wet wash clothes and liners for the trash can we took with us. She's sleeping it off today. So far no puke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the sponsor prayed some kind of hex on us. The girl she treated so badly last Friday had to make an early morning trip to the emergency room for abdominal pain. They thought appendix initially, but it was an inflamed colon. She's ok. She ended up dancing too. So if the sponsor (ex-sponsor) &lt;em&gt;did&lt;/em&gt; put a hex on us. It didn't work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made it home without incident and she threw up once more before bedtime.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113183168756466486?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113183168756466486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113183168756466486' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113183168756466486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113183168756466486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/tallullah-pukey-pants.html' title='Tallullah Pukey Pants'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113168768785319592</id><published>2005-11-10T21:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-10T21:47:15.413-08:00</updated><title type='text'>AAAaargh!</title><content type='html'>On the way to pick Lullah up, she text messaged me ('cause we're just techno savvy like that). The Wind Suits that we asked for at the beginning of the year were in. But the sponsor wasn't giving them to the girls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah gets in the car and doubles over and starts sobbing. Great, loud, sobs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During practice one of the girls asked if the windsuits were in. The sponsor said yes, that she had one of the jackets in the car. She went and got it, put it on and &lt;em&gt;modeled it!&lt;/em&gt; The girls were excited of course and asked if they were getting them after practice. She said no, that the principal had said they were to be put away until &lt;em&gt;next &lt;/em&gt;year because we probably only have one game left. She goes on to say that if THEY had been patient they would have probably gotten them. Lullah (ever tactful) asked how their lack of patience affected the delivery date of the wind suits. The sponsor looked her square in the face and said "if some of the parents hadn't complained to the principal about them not being here yet, y'all would be getting them". "But because y'all can't be patient they are being put away until next year".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was after she had spent the entire practice according to Lullah "staring us down" while they were dancing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She MODELED it y'all. She went to the car, got it out. Oh wait, she had to intentionally put it IN the car first. SHE MODELED IT and then told them...oops sorry y'all need to learn to keep your little impatient selves in check. aaaaaaargh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, I was pissed. The co-sponsor came over to the car to get the "permission slip" for tomorrow signed. I asked her if the sponsor had &lt;em&gt;actually said &lt;/em&gt;the mess above. She kinda frowned and said, yeah. The co-sponsor said that the sponsor neglected to tell the girls that 4 of the jackets were on back order so they wouldn't have been able to get them because of THAT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called the principal and left a message. I was VERY nice. I just gave a short telling of what she had said and said if he had any questions to call my cell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all this I had to go to Sears and buy 2 new tires. $399. I was thrilled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The principal called me and wanted to know what happened. He was pretty appalled. He said that she does not speak for him. What he had actually said was that since &lt;em&gt;she &lt;/em&gt;had not gotten the order in so that the suits could be in sooner that they should hold the suits until next year and the parents could buy them then. He has really been wonderful through all this. I get the distinct impression that he is NOT happy with the way she had conducted herself. After tomorrow, it will be better. His exact words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and I've burned two extra copies of the music for tomorrow's dance. So, in case she "loses" the music we're prepared. She didn't have batteries for the radio at a pep rally this year, so I wouldn't put it past her to "lose" the music.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After tomorrow, it will be better. After tomorrow, it will be better. After tomorrow, it will be better. My new mantra.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113168768785319592?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113168768785319592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113168768785319592' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113168768785319592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113168768785319592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/aaaaargh.html' title='AAAaargh!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113165999387512050</id><published>2005-11-10T13:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-10T13:59:53.886-08:00</updated><title type='text'>nervous me</title><content type='html'>I'm leaving in about 30 minutes to go sit in the parking lot of the high school.  Today is the last practice that the dance line sponsor is going to be oversee.  Her resignation apparently takes affect after today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worry is this...&lt;br /&gt;She makes the girls "try out" on Thursdays for the dance they are performing Friday night.  If they don't know it, they have to sit out.  Not usually a problem, except she has behaved exceptionally poorly toward the girls this week.  Bear in mind also that noone has had to sit out a dance all year.  I am very afraid that she will try to cut some of the girls.  I'm not too worried about Lullah because she choreographed  and then taught the dance, so she &lt;em&gt;should&lt;/em&gt; be okay.  Lord, I hope that woman doesn't try to twist the knife one good last time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113165999387512050?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113165999387512050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113165999387512050' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113165999387512050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113165999387512050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/nervous-me.html' title='nervous me'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113160190491692052</id><published>2005-11-09T21:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-09T22:08:39.600-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yummy!  Or so completely disgusting I am now an anorexic.</title><content type='html'>I was innocently dozing on the couch semi-listening to &lt;a href="http://tvplex.go.com/buenavista/regisandkelly/index.html"&gt;Regis and Kelly &lt;/a&gt;do their schtick.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Jones%20Holiday%20Pack.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/Jones%20Holiday%20Pack.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; They started talking about a holiday pack available at &lt;a href="http://www.target.com"&gt;Target.&lt;/a&gt; Which is only one of my &lt;em&gt;FAVORITE &lt;/em&gt;places in the world.&lt;br /&gt;This is what they were speaking of. The Jones Soda Holiday Pack is according to the Target web site....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;• Complete turkey dinner, zero calories, zero carbs &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;• Gift pack of five, 12-fl.-oz. diet sodas&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;• Turkey and Gravy, Wild Herb Stuffing, Brussels Sprouts, Cranberry and Pumpkin Pie, all in bottles • Yum yum! Just like Mom used to make!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;The site goes on....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tired of the holiday-food hangover? Had enough of the obligatory gluttony? Then it’s time to try the smarter, more intestinally friendly holiday feast. Turkey and Gravy, Wild Herb Stuffing, Brussels Sprouts, Cranberry and Pumpkin Pie—you can have it all! In mouthwatering, savory 12-fl.-oz. diet sodas! While your family’s getting all bloated and uncomfortable, you’ll be sippin’ pretty. Enjoy it any way . . .&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;All this for JUST $9.99!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Regis was DRINKING this swill. Poor Kelly looked like she was going to throw up. I kept thinking this is surely not real stuff. Well, folks it is. And when we went to Target today (as I always do on Wednesday) they had boxes of it for you purchasing pleasure.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I know I've said it before about other things, but I'm gonna say it again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;EW EW EW EW!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113160190491692052?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113160190491692052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113160190491692052' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113160190491692052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113160190491692052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/yummy-or-so-completely-disgusting-i-am.html' title='Yummy!  Or so completely disgusting I am now an anorexic.'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113160166882810080</id><published>2005-11-09T21:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-09T22:13:57.996-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Dance!</title><content type='html'>We got back from "town" about an hour ago. Wednesdays are a long day. Lullah has a hip-hop class in a town that's an hour away. She started last year. We decided to let her take it in addition to the classes she takes here on Mondays after realizing that she would be trapped in a car with me or the husband for an hour commute their and an hour back. He rarely takes her, but it happens. It has actually ended up being some very good chat time. There is NO scenery on the way. Lots of pine trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was a good day. I was a sack of poo and dozed on the couch until about 11:00. The DSL repairman showed up around 11:30. He FIXED THE DSL! Hooray! Y'all it has been such a huge pain in the ass. It will go down at the most random times. The husband especially likes it when he's online playing Call of Duty. He replaced the outside connections, so that may do the trick. We'll see. If we go one whole day without out it going down, we've had MAJOR improvement.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113160166882810080?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113160166882810080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113160166882810080' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113160166882810080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113160166882810080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/happy-dance.html' title='Happy Dance!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113149173493690339</id><published>2005-11-08T15:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-08T15:15:34.950-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A thanks.</title><content type='html'>I want to thank all of y'all that have commented on my recent rants.  I never actually thought ANYONE would read my blog.  I was just a way for me to vent, ramble etc without driving the hubby insane.  So for y'all to take the time to not just read, but actually buck me up and offer words of wisdom and encouragement  has really been a wonderful thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last few days have been the final blow up after a long simmer.  It has been...trying.  Thank y'all for puttin' y'all's two cents worth in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113149173493690339?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113149173493690339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113149173493690339' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113149173493690339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113149173493690339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/thanks.html' title='A thanks.'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113144180661846913</id><published>2005-11-08T01:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-08T01:23:26.616-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Damned DSL!</title><content type='html'>We have got the screwiest internet service.  The DSL was down most of the weekend, except in spurts.  It just randomly goes down very frequently.  It was off ALL day today. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, I was getting kind of crabby.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113144180661846913?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113144180661846913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113144180661846913' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113144180661846913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113144180661846913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/damned-dsl.html' title='Damned DSL!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113144079318062832</id><published>2005-11-07T20:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-08T01:11:03.563-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A day I'm GLAD is over.</title><content type='html'>Lullah called from school and asked me to come and pull her out of class because she needed to talk to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently the danceline sponsor is blaming the uniform snafu on one of the team members and Lullah, absolving the captain of any responsibility in the matter. In addition, the captain found Lullah this morning wanting to know if Lullah had choreographed a pep rally dance. (Lullah is teaching the field dance that she choreographed already).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, Lullah had choreographed every field dance and pep rally dance except 2. That's out of 13 dances. We had previously went to the sponsor and discussed this issue and were told to let the captain "fall on her face" and for Lullah to NOT take care of anymore dances.   A solution I DID NOT approve of at all.  I found it pretty heartless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning Lullah went to the sponsor to discuss the above issues and was told that she and the other girl &lt;strong&gt;WERE &lt;/strong&gt;responsible for the uniform snafu because they had said ANYTHING at all about the tops. Further more, that if the captain told Lullah to take care of the dance then she (Lullah) would be required to do so or she would get demerits. And so, I got a phone call from a tearful Lullah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the school and Lullah told me the above tale. I took her and we went to the office and had a meeting with the Principal and the Assistant Principal. We discussed the above issues, plus a few more. I could tell you everything, but it's be about 6 pages long. Seriously. The least issue being EXTREME disorganization (we miss deadlines, camp clothes aren't ordered etc) to one of the worst being the sponsors outright lying to parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TheP and the AP were both extremely concerned and I honestly felt/feel that they are going to address the issues. They asked that I put my concerns in writing, which I have done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was leaving, one of the other moms was waiting in the office. It was the mother of the other girl being blamed for the uniform mess. This girl is frequently singled out by the sponsor as the cause of pretty much anything that goes wrong with the squad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Lullah and I left the office, the sponsor was coming out of the teachers' lounge. I stopped her and VERY nicely (no REALLY, I was nice) told her that Lullah couldn't do the pep rally dance. She gave me a horrible look and said "It's not my problem anymore. This is my letter of resignation." And walked off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The above mom called me after her meeting. Apparently the sponsor barged into the principal's office while the mom was talking to him and handed him the letter and stood there glaring at the mom while he read it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the mom of the girl from my previous post also made a trip to the school today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sponsor called the squad to the foyer of the school and informed them of her resignation. She told them that this week things would remain the same, but after Thursday they do not have a sponsor. This is technically not true. The co-sponsor hasn't resigned. She was IMHO trying to make them feel bad. One of the girls asked why she was resigning and she said she couldn't say at this time because it might hurt someone's feelings. (Is this woman 2 years old?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y'all I'm at a loss. I truly did not envision this woman resigning. I felt like by taking my concerns to the administration (after I have discussed them with her at different times) that maybe some things would change. I NEVER seen this coming.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113144079318062832?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113144079318062832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113144079318062832' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113144079318062832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113144079318062832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/day-im-glad-is-over.html' title='A day I&apos;m GLAD is over.'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113126014935585031</id><published>2005-11-05T22:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-05T23:00:20.226-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Friday Night Cruelty</title><content type='html'>This has been a weird week that culminated in meanness last night. Maybe it's Halloween. I may be a tad verbose, so if you're in a hurry-skip me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tuesday morning the high school principal arrived to find the square TP'd,a picnic table in the tree in the center of the square and every lock on every door...super glued. He had to climb into a window to get into the school. I am a horrible person, but I secretly laughed. Out loud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They managed to bully and threaten the student body into coughing up some names and eventually 4 boys came forward and confessed. I suspect that there are more boys involved, but these are the only 4 that will own up to it. The boys' parents are going to pay to replace the locks. Two of the boys were starters on the varsity football team and weren't allowed to play at the game Friday. They will also probably be required to attend alternative school for &lt;em&gt;a looong time, &lt;/em&gt;in addition to regular school&lt;em&gt;. &lt;/em&gt;So far, I have no objections. Here's the mean part...they (and their parents) were told that the boys could attend the football game, but would be required to sit on the &lt;em&gt;opposing&lt;/em&gt; team's side. The administration said that our town &lt;em&gt;didn't want or need them on our side&lt;/em&gt;. Two of the boys' mothers told me this. This same administration that last year allowed 4 boys who were arrested for &lt;strong&gt;shoplifting&lt;/strong&gt; and &lt;strong&gt;drug possession&lt;/strong&gt; on a Saturday night to &lt;strong&gt;PLAY&lt;/strong&gt; the following Friday. Apparently "our town" has no problem with this type of activity, but pranks well that's another story. The same administration did &lt;strong&gt;nothing&lt;/strong&gt; when 3 of the basketball girls placed 4 picnic tables on top of the canteen building damaging the roof. Inconsistent, don't you think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other meanness. The danceline. One of the danceline members' grandfather died Thursday(the funeral was this afternoon). At the pep rally the sponsor got onto the girl for using a flag that I made her for her birthday during the pep rally. (She also got onto our girls about 3 football games ago for cheering the team on, but I digress). The girl and her mom decided that she would dance at last night's game anyway. The mom thought it would be a good destraction and it was the last scheduled game. The mom checked the girl out at lunch to go to the funeral home and be with her family. The danceline captain decided to change the uniform that afternoon. She, nor the sponsor called the girl to let her know. She showed up in the wrong top. They live about 25 minutes from the school and had come straight from the funeral home. The sponsor jumped all over the child. Accused her of having an attitude and gave her a demerit. Nice, huh. The mom tried to talk to the sponsor and got yelled at and a finger shook in her face. This exchange occurred next to my car. I'm sure my jaw was in my lap. This same sponsor refused to allow two members to go to tutoring last week. I was present for that conversation as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the weirdness, I was &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;reprimanded&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; for NOT signing the permission slip I have previously ranted about. This remprimand came after I made the comment (AS I was signing the damned thing) that it was "the most on crack thing I've seen in awhile". I was&lt;em&gt; &lt;/em&gt;a &lt;em&gt;little&lt;/em&gt; sarcastic, but still I'm pretty sure that I'm not 6 anymore. Seriously, reprimanded. Told EXACTLY why it was necessary, ad nauseum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the football team got the crap kicked out of them. Friday night sucked.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113126014935585031?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113126014935585031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113126014935585031' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113126014935585031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113126014935585031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/friday-night-cruelty.html' title='Friday Night Cruelty'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113111341715659797</id><published>2005-11-04T05:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-04T06:11:39.436-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Permission Slips</title><content type='html'>I thought I'd share in interesting tidbit with y'all. Lullah is on the danceline as you know. The school requires them to ride a bus to away games. A bus that we have to pay for. That's going to a game that all of the parents go to anyway. But I digress. Here is one of my favorite things about the bus ride. The permission slip. Not for her to ride the BUS, for her to ride HOME WITH ME. That's right. I have to sign and "permission slip and release of liability" for my child to ride with ME!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here it is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I _________,parent/guardian of____________ do desire for my child to ride home from&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;_________________________(list activity and location, i.e. foot ball game at Caldwell &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Parish) on_______________(date) with me. I acknowledge that because the (our) Parish &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;School Board will not be providing this transportation, they have no control over the person &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;providing transportation. I hereby release the (our) Parish School Board from any and all &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;liability associated with the transportation of my child for this trip and do agree to hold the &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;(our )Parish School Board harmless from and and all claims associated with this trip.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y'all read it right. I have to give my daughter permission to ride home with ME!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, if I don't sign this are they going to prevent her from getting in my car? Are they going to physically prevent her from riding with me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, I think it's messed up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113111341715659797?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113111341715659797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113111341715659797' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113111341715659797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113111341715659797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/permission-slips.html' title='Permission Slips'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113099546215321703</id><published>2005-11-02T21:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-02T21:26:13.843-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Got a pain in the ass?  Here's help.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.strangenewproducts.com/2005/10/hemorrhoid-cryotherapy-device.html#links"&gt;http://www.strangenewproducts.com/2005/10/hemorrhoid-cryotherapy-device.html#links&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;a href="http://www.hemorite.com/"&gt;Hemor~Rite Cryotherapy Device&lt;/a&gt; is just the world needed.  Do I put this next to the ice-cubes or the ice cream?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113099546215321703?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113099546215321703/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113099546215321703' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113099546215321703'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113099546215321703'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/got-pain-in-ass-heres-help.html' title='Got a pain in the ass?  Here&apos;s help.'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113087760497167154</id><published>2005-11-01T12:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-01T12:40:05.003-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Now that I've survived...</title><content type='html'>Halloween is over. In case you hadn't noticed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been thinking about it though. I loooove Halloween. I always have. My mom can not stand it. Hates it. For no reason, she just &lt;em&gt;does. &lt;/em&gt;She isn't overly religious so that's not why. She just doesn't like it, at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way home Saturday we drove through a small town near our even smaller town. There were about 6 people holding signs on the side of the road. The signs included...Fall Festivals are a compromise to Satan and my personal favorite Jesus Vomits Lukewarm Christians (how's that for a visual). I can understand people not wanting to participate in Halloween. If it's not your thing, then don't. What I don't understand is the interest in the last few years on whole heartedly bashing those of us who enjoy it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A number of the churches here are vehemently against Halloween. It encourages a curiosity in witchcraft etc. Now, y'all, there ain't exactly a burgeoning coven that I'm aware of here in town. I could be wrong though. I understand that Halloween tends to bring out the idiot in some people (like the kids that superglued the locks at the high school last night). But some of my most vivid memories are Halloween related. I was the best Wonder Women EVER! AND the best Princess Barbie EVER. Thank you very much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lady who made popcorn balls and candied apples was always our first stop. (did everyone have that lady in their town?) She put them on her pool table and would let you pick your own. Y'all I've been to the Guggenheim and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I've seen sunsets and rainbows. I've seen new born babies and new brides. I have seen the fall leaves in all their glory. Y'all get the point. But I have yet to see &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;anything&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; as beautiful as that lady's pool table on Halloween. She turned out the room lights and left the light over the pool table on. Those treats were illuminated from above. Almost, I dare say, a &lt;em&gt;heavenly&lt;/em&gt; light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Halloween will never be about evil to me. It will always be princesses and Wonder Woman. Witches yes, but extremely cute and sweet ones. Or sexy as I've gotten older. Halloween will always be that excitement I felt when we turned up the drive of the pool table house. Snickers bars, peanut butter cups, Halloween carnivals and cake walks. That's Halloween.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113087760497167154?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113087760497167154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113087760497167154' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113087760497167154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113087760497167154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/11/now-that-ive-survived.html' title='Now that I&apos;ve survived...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113082306217638077</id><published>2005-10-31T21:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-10-31T21:31:02.190-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Halloween</title><content type='html'>Considering that I didn't buy the first piece of Halloween candy, we had an ok holiday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got home about an hour and a half ago from a Halloween costume dance.  Lullah and former best friend who is now best friend again went as Paris and Nicole.  Yes, Hilton and Richie.  Yeah, I was thrilled.  Luckily the costumes consisted of a denim mini, cowboy hat, western style shirt and cowboy boots.  Oh and a beanie baby dog.  It could have been worse. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dance was for high school girl scouts and their dates and jr. high girls and their dates.  The membership exec was hoping to recruit some jr. girl scouts.  Their are no girls at the jr. high signed up for a troop.  Alas, I think our efforts won't be successful.  Their were about 6 girls from the jr high there.  One was dressed like a "slutty angel".  The others weren't in costume, thank god.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah and her friends had a good time.  They danced for 2 hours straight. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not a bad way to spend Halloween if you ask me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113082306217638077?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113082306217638077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113082306217638077' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113082306217638077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113082306217638077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/happy-halloween.html' title='Happy Halloween'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113077694574254137</id><published>2005-10-31T08:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-10-31T09:24:32.560-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Glitter Glitter  EVERYWHERE!</title><content type='html'>Lullah and three of her friends spent about 2 1/2 hours last night making signs. The high school football team is tied for second place in our district (an amazing feat). They made about 10 signs, 4 pennants, and tombstones with the schools' we've defeated names and the game scores. They also made treat boxes for the players. We called the head coach and he met us at the field house. They put up a couple of the signs in the locker room and they left the treat boxes in the boys' lockers. They then placed the signs and tombstones in the "square" (where the students congregate at lunch). One of the girls' mom and I drove them to the school. It's been a long time since I helped decorate for a big game. I may never get the glitter out of my carpet. IT IS EVERYWHERE! I found some in my bathroom on the other side of the house! Lullah was philosophical about it-"consider it bling."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113077694574254137?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113077694574254137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113077694574254137' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113077694574254137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113077694574254137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/glitter-glitter-everywhere.html' title='Glitter Glitter  EVERYWHERE!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113052359039137154</id><published>2005-10-28T11:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-28T11:19:50.406-07:00</updated><title type='text'>If I get any lazier...</title><content type='html'>If I get any lazier they will have to put me on a ventilator. I have officially crossed over into DAMN, You're Lazy country.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have spent the last two day, in my pjs. Yesterday I didn't get dressed until 2:30, that's about what I'm shooting for today. I may wait until after I pick up Lullah. We have football game tonight so I will have to beautify for that, so I may just postpone the getting dressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have I mentioned that I also LOATHE house work. I would love to be one of those women that find it therapeutic to clean. Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy the after effects of cleaning.  That pine oil smell and non-dusty glass sparkle is pretty! I just don't want to be the one to get it to that point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, I'm going to clean the bathroom. But I'm doing it in my pjs. So there!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113052359039137154?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113052359039137154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113052359039137154' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113052359039137154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113052359039137154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/if-i-get-any-lazier.html' title='If I get any lazier...'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113047828491801056</id><published>2005-10-27T22:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-27T22:44:44.943-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tylenol Tales</title><content type='html'>My dad went to the MD last Friday am because his knee was bothering him (apparently had been for about a week).  He had an inflamed ligament.  No biggie, but it was hurting.  The MD sent him home with some prescription Tylenol ( I assume Tylenol 3 -it's got codeine in it).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dad calls this morning.  He said he had been taking over the counter Tylenol since last week, 650 mg every 4 hours.  Around the clock.  Oh, my tale gets better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I had SPECIFICALLY told him last week at the football game DO NOT DRINK ALCOHOL when you take tylenol.  Twice, at least.  He told me today that his knee is getting a little better.  I asked if he had been drinking while he was taking the tylenol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"No," says he.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Well make sure you don't, it's dangerous" says I.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Ok, I've just had a beer before bed that's all" says he.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Um, Dad that's drinking"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Well, it's just a couple of beers before bed" he explained.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;*Note that the amount has increased&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Dad, you can't drink and take tylenol. Alcohol is excreted through your liver, so is TYLENOL!"I explained.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Well, three or four beers won't hurt will it?"he asked.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;*Once again, note that our amount has increased&lt;strong&gt;.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now at this point I should let you know these bits of information.&lt;br /&gt;1)My father graduated with honors from college.&lt;br /&gt;(&lt;em&gt;sooo, he isn't stupid!)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2)He once owned a liquor store.&lt;br /&gt;(&lt;em&gt;sooo, he know what alcohol IS)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3)He drinks approximately 3-4 Evan Williams and 7up cocktails per night prior to bed. This after going to the local bar and drinking beer(I'm guessing probably 3-6) every afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;(&lt;em&gt;So I guess 3 beers &lt;strong&gt;IS &lt;/strong&gt;a major slow down in consumption.)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did manage to not beat my head against the wall.  I only hope that he ACTUALLY listened to me and doesn't continue to drink and take the damn tylenol.  The man's poor liver has been abused enough.  The conversation was actually a little longer than my retelling of it, but I honestly don't think he'll listen to me.  I also had to explain that acetaminophen and tylenol are the SAME medication.  I only HOPE that he hasn't been double dosing himself.  Yikes!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113047828491801056?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113047828491801056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113047828491801056' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113047828491801056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113047828491801056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/tylenol-tales.html' title='Tylenol Tales'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113039478643815427</id><published>2005-10-26T23:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-26T23:57:38.466-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Diabetes</title><content type='html'>Y'all may have figured out that Lullah is a diabetic. Or maybe you haven't. The Husband is too. She was diagnosed at age 8 and he was diagnosed at 20. They take between them 8-10 shots daily depending on their blood sugar levels. They each check their blood sugars at least 4 times a day. I once added up the number of injections and fingersticks per year. I wish I hadn't done that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm bringing this up because of a conversation Lullah and I had this evening over supper. We were discussing having babies(see my rant about &lt;a href="http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/teen-pregnancy.html"&gt;teenage pregnancy&lt;/a&gt;). She stated, rather firmly I thought,that she plans to adopt. When I questioned her a little further, she in a round about way alluded that the main reason is she's afraid of what it would do to her blood sugars. And that if she couldn't maintain control what it would do to a baby. She's 15. She's already worrying about shit like that. She worries about dialysis, amputation, blindness. Damn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 2 years ago, we were talking and she said that she went to bed every night afraid that she wouldn't wake up. She said she was afraid she would die. At that time, we were having trouble with her blood sugars getting very low during the night. I would check them every one-two hours most nights. She has had 2 hypoglycemic seizures and the husband has had 1. Thankfully, it has been a while since they've had them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kid was aware of her mortality at age 13, probably younger. She figured out pretty early that life isn't fair. I worry about what that has done to her psyche. She seems ok, and we are one of those disgusting families that "talk about" everything. But still, I worry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the things that is particularly sucky for Lullah (her word) is that she absolutely must be aware of EVERY bite of food that she puts in her mouth and her friends eat like crazy.&lt;br /&gt;One of her best friends eats Little Debbies(PLURAL) like there is no tomorrow. That kid eats crap, it's kinda amazing. Lullah not only is careful about what she eats, she gets a pretty good amount of exercise too. She dances at least an hour per day. Most days much more. Still she battles her blood sugars AND her weight. Her blood sugars are not within the range that we (she, her MD, me and the husband) would like to see them. And the MD has stated that she doesn't need to gain another pound. It really does seem like a war sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you say that will make her feel better? I don't think there is&lt;em&gt; anything&lt;/em&gt; that will.&lt;br /&gt;*Life isn't fair.&lt;br /&gt;*God doesn't put more on us than we can carry.&lt;br /&gt;*What doesn't kill us will make us stronger.&lt;br /&gt;*There are so many things that are much worse.&lt;br /&gt;*There are so many people dealing with things that are much worse.&lt;br /&gt;*You are brave and fabulous and adversity builds character.&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, we've said all of that. And more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, we just trudge on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113039478643815427?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113039478643815427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113039478643815427' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113039478643815427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113039478643815427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/diabetes.html' title='Diabetes'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113035963423615493</id><published>2005-10-26T13:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-26T21:20:48.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>EW EW EW EW!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/cat_box_cake.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/320/cat_box_cake.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cat Box Cake. Recipe can be found &lt;a href="http://makeyourturdshere.blogspot.com/"&gt;here &lt;/a&gt;on todays posting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113035963423615493?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113035963423615493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113035963423615493' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113035963423615493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113035963423615493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/ew-ew-ew-ew.html' title='EW EW EW EW!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113035747527072132</id><published>2005-10-26T13:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-26T13:14:45.440-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rock me like a hurricane!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/Steven%20Segal1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/Steven%20Segal1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Um, yeah.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Feel free to rock it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.stevenseagal.com/mp3.html"&gt;http://www.stevenseagal.com/mp3.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Thank you &lt;a href="http://nervyb.blogspot.com/"&gt;nervyb&lt;/a&gt;, you made my afternoon!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113035747527072132?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113035747527072132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113035747527072132' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113035747527072132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113035747527072132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/rock-me-like-hurricane.html' title='Rock me like a hurricane!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113021547701601322</id><published>2005-10-24T21:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-24T21:44:37.023-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On the bright side!</title><content type='html'>Lullah doesn't have mono.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have, however, truly enjoyed asking her where she acquired an ailment commonly referred to as the "kissing disease".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113021547701601322?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113021547701601322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113021547701601322' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113021547701601322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113021547701601322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/on-bright-side.html' title='On the bright side!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113021364516049224</id><published>2005-10-24T21:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-24T21:14:05.170-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh, damn!</title><content type='html'>Even Scarlett didn't use ALL the drapes.  &lt;a href="http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/go_fug_yourself/2005/10/fugly_trendy.html"&gt;Bobby Trendy&lt;/a&gt; apparently did.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113021364516049224?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113021364516049224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113021364516049224' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113021364516049224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113021364516049224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/oh-damn.html' title='Oh, damn!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113019073328244170</id><published>2005-10-24T14:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-24T14:52:13.290-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Red Ribbon Week</title><content type='html'>It is Red Ribbon week here. It was Crazy Hat Day today at the schools, tomorrow will be Camo Day. Each day is themed. The goal is to prevent drug use.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dance line participated at a drug-free rally this morning at the high school. The drama club put on a skit, the cheer leaders led a drug free cheer. Drugs are bad, m'kay? That was the message.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't help but wonder if the organizers of said events truly believe that they are preventing drug use among teens. Maybe I'm just cynical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The drug use in our small town is astounding. Meth has hit like a bomb. The thing is, it's adults too. The parents of the teens the rally is aimed at are users, makers, suppliers of drugs. Is a silly cheer or skit going to change perception? Is a kick ass dance going to cause someone to drop the crack pipe? I don't think so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you offer a generation of kids who are more aware of the incongruence of the universe at 16 than I was last year? How do we tell them that drugs will kill them when they live life half dead already?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah is for all accounts and purposes the ideal kid. She has a 4.0 GPA, she's number 1 in her class, she's co-captain of the dance line, she's got tons of friends, she's in numerous clubs. She's a girl scout for pete's sake. She's a parents dream. But, she told me the other day that she's depressed and sad a lot of the time. I see it in her friends too. They are mostly honor roll kids, parents married, no major behavioral problems. If the kids who look like they have it together are feeling depressed, how are the kids that are visibly falling apart feeling? How hopeless are they? Somehow I don't think a anti-drug rally is going to alter the course of those kids' lives.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113019073328244170?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113019073328244170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113019073328244170' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113019073328244170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113019073328244170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/red-ribbon-week.html' title='Red Ribbon Week'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113010489988568101</id><published>2005-10-23T15:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-23T15:15:00.456-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Late movies</title><content type='html'>Lullah's girl scout troup (they are now actually called &lt;a href="http://www.studio2b.org"&gt;Studio 2B&lt;/a&gt;) worked at Sonic yesterday in honor of &lt;a href="http://www.usaweekend.com/diffday/index,html"&gt;Make a Difference Day&lt;/a&gt;. They plan to use the money they earned yesterday and donations given until November 3 to help provied a treasure box filled with toys for the St. Jude's Childrens Clinic in Baton Rouge. The clinic had to relocate due to hurricane Katrina. They earned 15% of sales while they were there and also collected donations. We plan on going to Baton Rouge to deliver the toys. It will be an ongoing project for the troup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Sonic, I took Lullah and 3 of her friends to see Elizabethtown. I WILL be purchasing the soundtrack. It was a really good movie. Orlando loses his american accent a couple of times, but other than that I enjoyed it. Of course, I'm in love with Orlando so he could remake The Omega Code (which BTW is one of the WORST movies I have EVER seen) and I'd go see it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got home around 1:30am, so I am now in desperated need of a nap. I'm not going to get to take one, I have gumbo simmering and I can't take a chance that it will scorch. Maybe after gumbo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113010489988568101?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113010489988568101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113010489988568101' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113010489988568101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113010489988568101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/late-movies.html' title='Late movies'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-113010480451506872</id><published>2005-10-23T14:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-23T15:00:04.523-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Brownie Bakin'</title><content type='html'>Lullah and former best friend have made up and are as we speak baking brownies.  They just finished a batch of cupcakes.  Either we have a massive eating disorder in the making (Lifetime movie to follow) or things may end up being ok.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-113010480451506872?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/113010480451506872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=113010480451506872' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113010480451506872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/113010480451506872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/brownie-bakin.html' title='Brownie Bakin&apos;'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112987367390516570</id><published>2005-10-21T00:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-20T22:47:53.913-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crap Thursday</title><content type='html'>Today was a crap day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah has been sick since Saturday. It started Friday night after the football game. She complained that her throat hurt. Since the game was AWESOME (26-27 WE WON) I just thought it was from yelling. She's progressively gotten worse. I took her to the doc today and he thinks she may have mono. GREAT! He doesn't want her dancing at the pep rally or football game tomorrow until all the lab work is in. Do you have any idea how well that fat lady pole vaulted?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah immediately burst into tears. She just mutely sat there crying. Great big fat silent tears. Slowly sliding down her cheeks. It's the last home game. It's a dance she choreographed. To mine and her favorite song (September-Earth Wind &amp;amp; Fire)(actually a medley-Let's Groove Tonight, September and Shining Star). It's the dance she's been saving all season.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn damn damn damn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what I'm going to do. Do I do an ostrich and just hope that she doesn't have mono and let her dance?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and he dropped this lovely nugget-if the mono test is positive she's homebound for 21 days. To a 15 year old that may as well be 21 months. She'd miss the rest of football season, over a month of dance class. She has social stuff going on pretty much every weekend of October and the first of November. Once again damn damn damn!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112987367390516570?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112987367390516570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112987367390516570' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112987367390516570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112987367390516570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/crap-thursday.html' title='Crap Thursday'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112978766185811524</id><published>2005-10-20T00:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-19T22:54:21.866-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Teen Pregnancy</title><content type='html'>Lullah was pissed when I picked her up after dance line practice this afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are 3 girls pregnant at her high school of 250ish students. They are &lt;em&gt;of course&lt;/em&gt; a topic of much discussion. That's what she was pissed about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prior to practice the dance line members were visiting and topic &lt;strong&gt;A &lt;/strong&gt;was the pregnant girls. Apparently they got ripped on by the girls. The general feel was that they (the preggies) should be ashamed, how embarrassed the dance line girls would be if they were in their position, etc. This is a touchy subject for Lullah (and me). I was almost 5 months pregnant when the husband and I got married.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've always been honest about it with Lullah. She knows how hard it was. She knows that I've been the topic of conversations that probably went very much like the one she sat in for this afternoon. One of the things she said was that it pissed her off that no one was gossiping about the fathers of said babies. No one said they should be ashamed or embarrassed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had easy answers for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a perfect world those girls wouldn't be pregnant. It would be slutty for boys to sleep around-not just boys being boys. In a perfect world girls wouldn't revel in one another's misfortune. In a perfect world people wouldn't revel in one another's misfortune.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can tell her is this. Sometimes the road we intended to travel is detoured. What we do on that detour is up to us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112978766185811524?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112978766185811524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112978766185811524' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112978766185811524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112978766185811524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/teen-pregnancy.html' title='Teen Pregnancy'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112978643309368924</id><published>2005-10-20T00:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-19T22:33:53.100-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What Dreams May Come?</title><content type='html'>I've been thinking about Mary's funeral. There wasn't an empty spot in the church. There were around 1000 people that came to the funeral home the night before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my turn comes around, what will my service be like? Will anyone want to come? Will they come out of some sense of obligation? God I hope not. What will people say? I hope they don't say I look good. Will people say to one another on the street-"did you hear? Kim died. Isn't it sad?" Or will they say "who? I can't place her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The truth is I hope they miss me. A lot. I don't want to be replaceable. I want the world to be sad when I'm no longer in it. I know that sounds selfish. But it's the truth.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112978643309368924?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112978643309368924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112978643309368924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112978643309368924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112978643309368924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/what-dreams-may-come.html' title='What Dreams May Come?'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112970489494379929</id><published>2005-10-19T01:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-19T20:09:27.436-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Jesse Metcalf</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/JesseMetcalf4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/JesseMetcalf3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/JessemetCalf33.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/JessemetCalf32.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/JesseMetcalf23.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/JesseMetcalf22.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stole these photos from &lt;a href="http://danasdirt.blogspot.com/"&gt;Dana&lt;/a&gt;. Now, if I can just figure out how to get myself a yard boy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112970489494379929?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112970489494379929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112970489494379929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112970489494379929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112970489494379929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/jesse-metcalf.html' title='Jesse Metcalf'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112969774799329964</id><published>2005-10-18T23:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-18T21:58:14.743-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thinking</title><content type='html'>I've been thinking about friendship lately. Mostly due to the fact that I seem to be losing friends at an alarming rate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since, I've been thinking about friends I thought I'd tell you a little about some of my closest friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah is actually one of my best friends. I know it's corny. But she's one of the funniest and smartest folks I know. She has a unique perspective of the world. She is one of the most forgiving and kind people I know. When I grow up, I want to be more like her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Karen-lives in Alabama, way too far away. She is one of the strongest people I have ever met. Also is beautiful(she thinks she's ugly). She endured a divorce after a 6 week marriage. A few years later she faced her mother's death from pancreatic cancer, a gigantic relationship breakup, her father's attempted suicide, she began nurse anesthesia school, had a liver cancer scare (they removed a lobe of her liver) and her father's remarriage all in ONE year. She was a tower of strength and grace. She's absolutely amazing. Did I mention that she's gorgeous to boot?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother in law- I love her! She is absolutely the most grounded person I have EVER met. She is my moral compass. When I'm unsure of what to do in any situation I think of what she would do. She is North.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom-as crazy as she drives me at times. She really is my friend. I can tell her anything. She has the best shoulders to cry on, lean on and hug on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in this season where I seem to be losing friends to the great beyond, I plan on telling these ladies how I feel. I also plan on telling the friends that I haven't mentioned. I've been blessed with so many people in my life. I feel like I have to let them know how much they mean to me. I encourage you to do the same.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112969774799329964?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112969774799329964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112969774799329964' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112969774799329964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112969774799329964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/thinking.html' title='Thinking'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112969661963298020</id><published>2005-10-18T22:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-18T22:00:13.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Slumber Party</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/slumberparty.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/slumberparty.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Last Christmas my friends and I had a slumber party at Ashley's house. Much alcohol was consumed and much laughter ensued.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each of the women in this picture are special in their own way. Their day jobs include a teacher, a nurse (moi), an accountant, a scrub tech, an account manager, a stay-at-home mom and a decorative painter. Their are 5 divorces, 7 children between us all. One of the women has been arrested for DWI, two have children with chronic diseases, at least two have had/have an eating disorder, some are in serious debt, one has attempted suicide (moi), we all have issues with our parents, one is a step mom(a good one!). I could go on, but you get the picture. We are a hot buttered MESS at times. But, we love each other. Maybe in spite of all the mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I laugh harder with this group of women that I do any other time. They know some of my deepest thoughts and fears and vice versa. We have hurt each other in ways no one else could and we have healed each other. I'm so glad they are my friends. When I count my blessings and name them one by one-their names are on the list. Leah, Ashley, Christy, Misty, Tammy, Andrea. My hot buttered friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112969661963298020?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112969661963298020/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112969661963298020' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112969661963298020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112969661963298020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/slumber-party.html' title='Slumber Party'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112952879042626284</id><published>2005-10-17T01:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-16T23:11:18.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends</title><content type='html'>My friend Karen who lives in Tuscaloosa called this evening. Our friend Gayle is most likely going to die soon. Gayle has two daughters, ages 10 and 3.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had a hysterectomy two weeks ago. The surgeon perforated her bowels during surgery and she became septic. She now is in full blown&lt;a href="http://www.ards.org"&gt; ARDS&lt;/a&gt;.  It's a respiratory syndrome that has about a 30-70% survival rate.  The fact that she developed it after sepsis makes her chances of survival slimmer.  She was an ICU nurse for about 15 years.  Her husband has been an ICU nurse for about 10 years.  Karen said she was alert when they decided to intubate her.  She gave everyone a list of things she wanted them to do after she was gone.  She knew what she was facing.  I can't imagine how scared she must have been. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you believe in a higher power, please ask for his/her/their/its intervention.  For peace, for healing, for a miracle.  If you don't believe, then just send good thoughts and wishes their way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm tired of going to funerals.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112952879042626284?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112952879042626284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112952879042626284' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112952879042626284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112952879042626284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/friends.html' title='Friends'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112930876527196018</id><published>2005-10-14T11:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-14T09:59:00.046-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My kinda war</title><content type='html'>Check the cuteness y'all. Let the fur fly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.kittenwar.com"&gt;Kitten War&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112930876527196018?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112930876527196018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112930876527196018' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112930876527196018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112930876527196018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/my-kinda-war.html' title='My kinda war'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112926941811716791</id><published>2005-10-14T00:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-14T10:26:50.213-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I heart Target</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I love the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://slavetotarget.blogspot.com"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Slave To Target&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; site. I'm sadly addicted to Target. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;When we lived in Alabama the nearest &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://target.com"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Target&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; was 3 hours away. I know it was inhumane.  When we would come home, I would make a pilgrimage to the Target near where we live now (a mere 50 minute drive). My Alabama friends didn't understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 2 years ago my best friend who still lives in Alabama called. She'd been to Target. They finally opened one. She's now a full fledged cult member.  Welcome sister.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112926941811716791?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112926941811716791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112926941811716791' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112926941811716791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112926941811716791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/i-heart-target.html' title='I heart Target'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112926645064832957</id><published>2005-10-14T00:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-14T09:57:36.106-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Fat Man in Suspenders; or A Crazy Mother's Diatribe</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/ClaireandGoldDusters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/ClaireandGoldDusters.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;That's the dance line that Lullah is on. Cuties aren't they? They are all really sweet girls, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cerebral fluid is leaking out of my ears after the day I've had. The assistant principal informed the sponsor after last weeks pep rally that the girls looked "awful" and if they weren't going to put any more effort into their performances then they didn't need to dance. Well, considering that Lullah choreographed said routine, I thought I handled this bit of info rather gracefully. I bit my tongue. Until today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the school. I was honestly hoping he'd been misquoted. He hadn't been. He said that they looked like they had thrown the dance together the day before. Y'all I was at the pep rally. I taped it. I think we saw two different dances. I agree, not one of their best performances, but awful and thrown together- our paths diverge there. He said he expected perfection and excellence. Period. Hmm?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are two girls on the squad that have NEVER had any dance instruction of any kind. There are only 2 girls who are currently in any kind of dance class (Lullah is one of them). You'd think they'd kind of stink, but they don't. Now I don't think many of them are going to be Rockettes anytime soon, but they really do look good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In addition-some of the students have booed them (also the cheerleaders and band) at every pep rally prior to them performing. School spirit ain't exactly high on everyone's list apparently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conversation went something like this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Me- the fact that they get out there at all after that, much less perform well is amazing. Do you give the football team the same "if you aren't going to put 100% effort out" after they lose ?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;*I also mentioned the skill level of some of the girls, they are honestly doing their best*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Him- "no, they have 11 other guys pounding them"&lt;br /&gt;Me-the girls have a people booing them.&lt;br /&gt;Him-that's different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, yeah. It is, it's meaner and pretty damn cruel. And the staff hasn't done anything to stop it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Me- I would think that y'all would applaud the effort the girls put into the dance line. All of them are honor roll students, most do some sort of volunteer stuff. This is how they choose to spend their extra time. Not making loops in town, smoking pot, and staying drunk&lt;/strong&gt;. &lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;*which BTW a lot of the kids here do*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;They practice 2 1/2 hours M-Th. They learn 2 new dances each week. ALL of which except 3 (out of 12) Lullah has gotten music for and choreographed. (while maintaining a 4.0)&lt;br /&gt;Him-well I'll talk to them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y'all the conversation went on like this for about 15 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I also needed to talk to the sponsor about Lullah having to do all of the dances. The actual Captain has taught 1 dance. One some of them had already learned at camp. The other two-one was a camp dance (Lullah taught that one) the other was one that they had choreographed by a local dance teacher for a competition dance at camp. She was up until midnight Tuesday finishing the pep rally dance for this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It just didn't go well either. Her solution was for LULLAH to refuse to do the dance and let the other girl fall on her face. Not to discuss it with the girl herself. Lullah was there and said, "but I'm afraid we'll look bad". The sponsor said "well maybe then she'd take it more seriously" I also wanted tell her that I'd talked to the assistant principal. I was frustrated, but at least we'd talked about it so I felt a little better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I pick Lullah up this afternoon. She's PISSED! He talked to them alright. Told them if they weren't going to put their hearts into it 100% then HE wouldn't let them dance AT ALL. That they were responsible for school spirit. (umm, cheerleaders??) They should have been embarrassed Friday. WWHHHAAAT?!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't even know what to do at this point. Lullah said "he's just a stupid little fat man wearing suspenders" I'm inclined to agree.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112926645064832957?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112926645064832957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112926645064832957' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112926645064832957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112926645064832957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/little-fat-man-in-suspenders-or-crazy.html' title='Little Fat Man in Suspenders; or A Crazy Mother&apos;s Diatribe'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112912755149390324</id><published>2005-10-12T07:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T07:32:31.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I hate late!</title><content type='html'>I worked last night.( 7pm-7am)  The floor I worked is always a extremely hectic so when quitting time rolls around I am ready to go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's my beef.  The day charge nurse on that floor ALWAYS changes the assignments when she gets there.  This means the staff coming on are waiting around to see which patient they are assigned and the staff leaving is waiting to see who is getting their patients so they can give report.  In addition there are about three nurses that are at least 5-to 10 minutes late 99% of the time.  Some days it's more like 20 or 30.     Clock in times are 0638-0708 in the am.  Anything after is considered tardy.   Apparently they are clocking in at some time clock located in an alternate universe.  It totally pisses me off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have an hour commute (if traffic is favorable).  I left the hospital at 7:20.  Got home at 8:30.  Traffic wasn't favorable.  I've been up since yesterday morning.  I'm fried.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112912755149390324?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112912755149390324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112912755149390324' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112912755149390324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112912755149390324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/i-hate-late.html' title='I hate late!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112901482771408425</id><published>2005-10-11T00:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-11T00:13:47.720-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Funerals</title><content type='html'>I went to Mary's funeral today. Sad doesn't begin to cover it. Her poor mom cried literally the entire funeral. It was awful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were probably 300 people at the funeral. The pastor said that over 1000 had came by the funeral home for visitation. I told y'all that she was sweet. Once you were her friend-that was it. The population of my town hovers between 2500 and 3000. That's a pretty awesome percentage of people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pastor mentioned how she was about people. She was almost forgiving to a fault . She treated people better than a lot of them treated her. She was the person who befriended people who the rest of us probably wouldn't want people to know we even knew! She wasn't perfect. She smoked and drank on occasion(which to baptists is a big deal). She'd been divorced. But the overwhelming truth about her was that she was a good and kind person. The world would be a better place if more of us were like Mary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112901482771408425?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112901482771408425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112901482771408425' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112901482771408425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112901482771408425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/funerals.html' title='Funerals'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112892601121439885</id><published>2005-10-09T23:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-09T23:33:31.220-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A friend from high school died.</title><content type='html'>When I changed schools in the 10th grade one of my first friends was Mary.  Her house was the first sleep over after the move.  Her older sister (a Sr. at the time) invited us to most of the cool parties.  She wasn't the prettiest girl at school.  She wasn't the smartest either.  But in truth, she was one of the nicest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We didn't become "best friends".  As a matter of fact, she ended up being on those friends you sometimes hang out with, then end up hardly ever hanging with. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've been out of school for over 10 years now.  I've lived in three states besides Louisiana since graduation.  It didn't matter, when she saw me she always said Hello and asked about the husband, Lullah, my parents.  The thing is, she actually cared about the answers.  Every time.  She'd had a lot go on since school too.  Married, two daughters, a divorce, in school, out of school, gained weight,lost weight.  Her parents house burned down.  Life threw her some pretty big curves.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was killed early Saturday morning.  The truck she was riding in ran off the road.  She was thrown from the vehicle and later died at the local hospital.  The guy driving was drunk.  He left the scene before anyone got there.  She was left there alone.  I hope she didn't know she was alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep thinking that I'm never going to just run into Mary again.  We're never going to laugh about the things the other has heard about former classmated.  We're never going to laugh over the trials and tribulations of raising girls.   I'll go to her funeral tomorrow and then I'll never see her again.  She was 34.  She was a mom.  She had a quick laugh.  She was one of the nicest people I will ever know.  And she's gone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112892601121439885?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112892601121439885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112892601121439885' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112892601121439885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112892601121439885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/friend-from-high-school-died.html' title='A friend from high school died.'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112862753636956188</id><published>2005-10-06T12:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-06T12:43:32.603-07:00</updated><title type='text'>AAAAAAAAAAAAA!</title><content type='html'>My father makes my butthole hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it's extremely cliched, but I can't stand him sometimes. He drives me absolutely NUTS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm an only child. My parents have been divorced since I was 11. They separated when I was 8or 9.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lullah is my father's only grandchild. She will most likely always be his only grandchild as I am done with the child bearing. We live about 20 minutes from his house. August was the last time he came to my house. If I want to see him I have to go there. It doesn't matter if I invite him or not, he's not coming. We've been living here 6years and he's been to my house alone maybe twice. He'll only come if it's an entire family thing. (Preferably just his branch of my family) He thinks my husbands family look down on him and that they're rednecks. He will only come to Lullah's birthday parties if my aunt comes with him. He says my mother and step-father hate him. (Not true BTW)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called him last night to invite him to the football game Friday night. We have two home games left and Lullah dances at them both. He didn't come to any of the games last year. Bear in mind that my husband's parents come to every home game ( they do leave after halftime) and the my mother comes to every home game (the step comes to almost every home game). And my mom makes it to a few away games. My dad always has a reason for not coming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the last home game last year he had said he was coming. He didn't. Lullah came up to the stands after half-time to say hello to the adults. I whispered to her that Papa didn't make it. She looked at me funny and said "oh, I didn't think he really would anyway. You did?" She doesn't even expect him at things anymore. How sad is that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, now to the reason for my rant. He just called me and he has a runny nose and diarrhea. It just hit him suddenly. Why can't he just say-I ain't coming? Then he changes the subject and starts talking about this time he took me to a fancy restaurant when I was 8. About how sweet it was, how the waitresses fawned over me. I remember going, I remember him having a come apart because I licked the butter knife. I didn't mention &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; to him though. THEN HE GETS PISSED BECAUSE I DON'T REMEMBER. He starts trying to make me feel guilt because it was such a wonderful night etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now you know some of the reason my father makes my butthole hurt.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112862753636956188?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112862753636956188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112862753636956188' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112862753636956188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112862753636956188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/aaaaaaaaaaaaa.html' title='AAAAAAAAAAAAA!'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112857082982568528</id><published>2005-10-05T20:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-05T20:53:49.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You're getting sleeeepy......</title><content type='html'>This is my kind of church.  Also the kind the guy that sits in front of me at my church thinks we are already going to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.nappinginthespirit.com/main.html"&gt;http://www.nappinginthespirit.com/main.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess whatever gets you closer to God is good, but they'd probably have to jab me because I snore.  Sometimes loudly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snooze on y'all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112857082982568528?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112857082982568528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112857082982568528' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112857082982568528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112857082982568528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/youre-getting-sleeeepy.html' title='You&apos;re getting sleeeepy......'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112836123850544130</id><published>2005-10-03T10:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T10:40:38.510-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.okcupid.com/politics"&gt;http://www.okcupid.com/politics&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a democrat according to the test.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112836123850544130?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112836123850544130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112836123850544130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112836123850544130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112836123850544130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/httpwww.html' title=''/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112832081079146814</id><published>2005-10-02T23:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-02T23:26:50.800-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Homecoming In My Small Town</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/RunInHomecoming052.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/400/RunInHomecoming05.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homecoming 05. Lulah loves running in with the football team before games.&lt;br /&gt;The homecoming game is a HUGE deal here. Homecoming is a HUGE deal PERIOD here. Hurricane Rita screwed up this year's schedule. We had the game on Thursday and the Pep Rally and Parade on Friday. At least we won. The pep rally would have truly sucked if we hadn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm always curious about other places homecoming activities. I had always assumed that everyone went as nuts as we do here. Apparently not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People here plan their vacations around their reunions. 1yr, 5yr, 10yr, 15yr, 20yr etc. You get the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The festivities usually begin on Thursday with a bonfire (a new tradition),alumni tea at 10am, pep rally at noon, school dismissed and parade at 1:00pm. Every business downtown is decorated during the week in school colors. Balloons and bows everywhere. The parade route winds through town. The lineup is usually as follows. Police escort, cheerleaders, band, danceline, jr. high cheerleaders, jr. high danceline, the three local elementary and middle school cheerleaders, the court, former class floats, high school clubs, current high school classes, the fire truck. Each class has a party after the football game and a family day on Saturday. That Saturday is also &lt;em&gt;"Howdy Neighbor Day".&lt;/em&gt; Yeah, you read it right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Howdy Neighbor Day&lt;/em&gt; is held at the park. Entertainment at the amphitheatre begins around 9am usually and there are craft and food booths set up. If it is an election year we also get politician booths. Last year the danceline had hot air balloon rides. It was pretty cool. Just a up and down trip though. The evening ends with fireworks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's also the only time that traffic is really bad here. &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/1600/RunInHomecoming051.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/570/1356/320/RunInHomecoming051.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112832081079146814?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112832081079146814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112832081079146814' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112832081079146814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112832081079146814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/homecoming-in-my-small-town.html' title='Homecoming In My Small Town'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14838701.post-112818767237269993</id><published>2005-10-01T10:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-01T10:27:52.376-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Southern Football</title><content type='html'>Tallulah is on the high school dance line.  So the husband and I are at every football game.  Every Friday night we now have a plan.  Somewhere to go.  People to see.  I have now officially been to more football games in the last 2 years than I had been to in the prior 32 years total.  Here's the strange thing-I actually enjoy them.  The husband went to maybe 4 when we were in high school and maybe 6 when his brother played.  Crazy huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and we're 5-1.  Kick ass.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14838701-112818767237269993?l=kimsworld1.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/feeds/112818767237269993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14838701&amp;postID=112818767237269993' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112818767237269993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14838701/posts/default/112818767237269993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kimsworld1.blogspot.com/2005/10/southern-football.html' title='Southern Football'/><author><name>Kim</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mKVVjsUWaj0/R_MdR3bGtrI/AAAAAAAAAAw/FvKdth5PeG0/S220/100_1842sepiab.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
