tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87517458554379278112024-03-05T21:24:30.820-08:00Okay AllisonBig Mouth strikes again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.comBlogger163125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-58830648785796331042014-02-05T09:08:00.002-08:002014-02-05T09:08:30.707-08:00Get A Job. Sha Na Na Na!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I think we can all empathize with the job hunt nightmare. It seems like recently, and especially among my Pizza Sisters, that unemployment/job search/disappointment seems to be a recurring theme. No, we're not sitting around watching Mob Wives, cradling a Hot n' Ready (I WISH)...but instead ripping our hair out everyday over meaningless interviews, endless applications and a lot of doors being slammed in our faces. As a sidebar, I hate Craigslist.<br />
<br />
Maybe you can tell me something. I recently interviewed for what I would call a glorified Denny's. I had FOUR interviews for a management position (is that normal?!?!?!), one that would probably pay me less than serving there. The main concern of this employer: my plugs and tattoos. Okay, I get it. But we're not selling stocks and bonds here...this is a hamburger joint. The crew wears t-shirts and jeans. I have two bachelors' degrees and over eight years of experience. I can wear long sleeves and flesh-toned plugs. In fact, no one even noticed my ears until some tiny "Juno the Caseworker" manager pointed it out between Virginia Slims. I'm sorry Juno, I know you hate me because I had to explain what the word "clandestine" meant to you. Holy shit. <br />
<br />
However, is this what is important to employers? Should it be? I see EIGHTY PERCENT of people (mostly women) sitting in these cattle-call style, "group interviews" and all of them are wearing...jeans. Granted, most are presumably younger than I am, but some I know are in my age range and above. Is it ridiculous of me to be astounded by this phenomena? When I was in management, if someone even approached us to APPLY in jeans, we would kindly note that and turn them away. Something about the seriousness of wanting a job, so you look presentable...<br />
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Don't get me wrong. I do not go into interviews wearing a leather vest and leggings, with my hair completely spiked and huge gauges in my ears. I look like Mary Fucking Poppins. No one could ever guess I have A tattoo, let alone...I don't know how many anymore. No one notices my ears, unless they look with a magnifying glass. I would assume they would use said magnifying glass on my resume, but alas.<br />
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So today, just like every day, I applied to a couple jobs that I know I am WAY overqualified for, but assuredly I will not get. I also applied for jobs I have no idea how to do, also...won't get. People that have interviewed me have actually said, <u><b>"You might want to leave your education off of your resume from now on."</b></u> WHAT THE HELL??? I ain't too proud to beg either. I interviewed at Pick Up Stix...and they were "concerned" about my ears as well. "Hi, here's your fried wontons...Oh? My ears? I'm sorry you're suddenly going to leave without paying?!?!" NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. <br />
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I have applied at all "freak-friendly" environments, Target...etc. I live in the middle of urban sprawl central, so there's no cute art district or "fun shops" to work at. Even though this is Southern California, people are rigid as hell about appearance in the workplace. <b>DAMN YOU PORTLAND.</b> I can't wait to move...in the meantime, I can't even get Starbucks to call me back. I am this close to jogging down to the Jack in the Box on the corner and throwing myself onto the counter. No, maybe not for a job this time...but maybe just for some french toast sticks.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-33825979950073748922014-02-04T10:02:00.000-08:002014-02-04T11:00:31.985-08:00Lies My School Told Me <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I was never cool in school. I lived
in a constant state of fear. I, like so many other children of this
Generation Cusp (as I am calling it), where we are neither X nor Y, and
certainly not cool enough to be apart of Generation Me, was told that in
order to succeed, we had to go to college. <br />
<br />
<div>
If you did not go to college, it seemed, you might as
well apply at McDonald's, because that would be all you could hope for.
No one mentioned learning trades, or perhaps testing the waters by
working part-time and actually enjoy being eighteen instead of crying
into a phone-book sized college application and trying to decide what
crappy essay prompt you would respond to. College was my only way out
of my mundane town, and on to a more "intelligent" form of life, or so
my teachers told me. I had to go. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Not just any college, mind you. You had to attend a
university. You could start at community college, but wouldn't it be
more fun to travel states with your irritating family and explore school
options you may or may not get into? That way, when you get really
attached to a school and they don't accept you, you can go ahead and
sneak a few more sips from that vodka bottle in the den.<br />
<br />
I had to go to Pepperdine. I'm not really sure why. My
mother worked with someone whose daughter had gone there. He spoke of
the place like it was Disneyland. It looked a lot more like <i>90210</i>, and felt much more like <i>24 Hour Party People</i>,
but it was where I was going to go. We toured other schools, I remember
me liking UC San Diego and then all of a sudden there I was, in a dorm
room with someone who had intense body odor and a boyfriend that looked
like Rumpelstiltskin. <br />
<br />
Oh, and did I mention I didn't realize how insane the Christian
element is there? I knew it was private but I was unaware I would be
required to attend "convocation" a.k.a. church, where I would hear guest
speakers wax poetic on such ridiculous topics as, "recovering from
homosexuality" and "reformed prostitute shares her story with God." We
were graded on our attendance. I took four "F"s, one for each year it
was required. I could not get out of there fast enough.<br />
<br />
Almost eleven years and two bachelors' degrees later, I am
unemployed. I have never been able to reach this echelon promised to me
as I signed those Stafford Loan documents, so many years ago. I have
never worked above a mid-management job, and for most of my adult life I
have been a waitress. That's right, I paid ninety thousand dollars to
wait tables.<br />
<br />
It's not for lack of trying either. I interviewed with many
"big companies" and was even offered an art direction job with Forever
21 and Urban Outfitters...until they ran my credit and background. Of
course I had a lot of debt, I had just graduated from college. Of
course I got in trouble for vandalism, I am a GRAFFITI ARTIST, that's
why you wanted to hire me...because I was "edgy"? Well sadly,
apparently your credit and a misdemeanor arrest from fifteen years ago
can effect your job performance, or so they told me.<br />
<br />
So explain this to me. I can't get a "better" job until I am
more qualified. I cannot become more qualified without experience, and
as an adult I can't AFFORD the time for an unpaid internship. I can't
pay for graduate school, and the idea of incurring more debt just to
reach out to this further dangling carrot seems futile. <br />
<br />
I cannot work somewhere to gain this experience or these illusive
"qualifications" without clearing my background, again, which costs
money I don't have. I want to better myself, but the loans I took out
to do so keep me from ever being able to save any money to further my
path. What do I do? <br />
<br />
Well, I did what everyone seems to be doing: I worked just to get
by. I waited tables for almost eight years, because no matter how I did
the math, that job was more lucrative than any 9 to 5 I was offered. I
worked all day and all night, something I was told I would never have
to do, if only I made the right choices. Well, I have made a few new
choices.<br />
<br />
I walked out of my job as a waitress I am not looking back. I
am not going to "fall back on" what I believe is a mere crutch. I am
not cleaning up one more pile of mashed crackers ground into a cheaply
made carpet. <br />
<br />
<div>
I have decided to freelance full-time, and I am going to
get my teaching credential. There are no certainties to life, and I
think that is a lesson that needs to be taught.</div>
<div>
I want
to educate our youth, especially our young women. I am afraid that
this "path to success" is not a guarantee. I want to make sure they
know no one is going to hand them a job when they walk off that college
graduation platform. I want them to think for themselves, and pursue
their dreams, whether they include college or not. I want them to see
all the options of this beautiful world, and perhaps dabble in a few
before committing to a life lead by defaulted loans and "what ifs." </div>
<div>
Most of all, I want them to make sure they go through a
screening process before choosing a college roommate. I can still smell
mine to this day, hoping it's not the lingering air of my own
disappointment.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-74239775901591382642014-02-03T08:11:00.001-08:002014-02-03T08:11:17.174-08:00Heart Shaped Pizza<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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No, this isn't a DIY...you fools. Yes, I'm back! Do you love the new design? Have you missed me? I missed you. While I have been gone, a lot of things have happened, many elements of my life have changed. I'm not going to get into all that now. It's boring, and I'm already a little depressed over the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman. Seriously, if you know anything about me at all, you will know I loved that man more than life. I'm not going to get into all that now, either. I want to talk about pizza.<br />
<br />
Yes, we all love it in the literal sense. To me, the combination of two of my primary food groups: bread and cheese, is a match made in heaven. Pizza is delicious, often cheap, incredibly versatile and pairs well with sauce. What more could you ask for?<br />
<br />
Well, something awesome happened recently, and in a way...I have pizza to thank. I made one awesome friend, one superhero of a girl with a heart of gold and razor-sharp wit. Yes, it was like looking into a mirror...black glasses, totally hilarious, super smart and babe power to the max! Pardon my modesty. Our Wonder Twin powers united. <br />
<br />
We decided to create a new hashtag, a body positive, yummy, beautiful hashtag, that has absolutely changed my life, and my way of thinking. <b>#PIZZASISTERS4LYFE </b>became our brainchild, after many meals of the delicious beast, my BFF and I were waxing nostalgic on all our favorite ways to enjoy pizza. Then it hit us. Dude. This could be a THING. Fast forward to one awesome photo challenge, over <b>TWO HUNDRED TAGGED PICTURES AND VIDEOS</b> and <b>most importantly</b>, I have had the privilege of meeting some of the most beautiful, friendly, encouraging, intelligent and clever women in this world. I consider all of them friends, not just Pizza Sisters. <br />
<br />
When a sister is down, we bring them up. I can speak from experience. When I'm bumming out on something stupid, I just check the hashtag and crack twenty ribs from all the hilarity. Whenever I feel alone...I know someone has been there before and is more than willing to chat. Hell, we even send each other gifts, help promote business ventures and encourage each other as much as we possibly can. <br />
<br />
I just want to say thank you. First to my <b>RFL</b>, for without whom I could not have drug my head out from under my sad, pizza-less rock, to return to you all and become the writer I know I can be. Second, to my Pizza Sisters. I know this is just a small slice, but I have a whole huge pie of <b>LOVE</b> coming your way.<br />
<br />
For those of you following @biggirlsdontbuy, our little IG clothing store/swap...I will be posting some radness this afternoon, so stay tuned! In fact, please message me if anyone is interested in getting in on the action. <br />
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<b>ALSO, CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS NEW LAYOUT?!?!?! RAD!</b></div>
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<b>I am in the process of getting some sposnor action together, please email me for details!</b></div>
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I'm glad to be back. Thank you for having me.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-8352164165974877322013-10-17T08:46:00.001-07:002013-10-17T08:46:13.499-07:00Yes, I AM ALIVE!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Hey guys! Sorry about my absence, but due to recent illness, job change and personal issues, I have had no choice but to take a hiatus from this space. If I did not email you a tracking number for an IG purchase yesterday or this morning, that means it will ship tomorrow morning, and you will receive your tracking number then. If you live in Canada, I gots all your weird customs paperwork, in case something goes wonky. </b><br />
<br />
<b>I am lucky enough to be going through a re-design right now, so the things to come are going to kick some serious ass. Thank you for always being supportive and patient. Trust me, it will be worth it.</b><br />
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<b> </b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-75009732355312922732013-10-04T08:10:00.000-07:002013-10-04T08:10:18.453-07:00Currently Coveting: Savage Seeds <div style="text-align: center;">
<b>I have found my Mecca, and it is <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/SavageSeeds">Savage Seeds. </a></b></div>
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<b>I have been rather depressed lately, due to the fact that I am experiencing a little bit of what I am calling, "The First Month Blues", where I feel completely alone and inadequate in a new city. I did not express to anyone how my new job was going, because to be perfectly honest, it was a struggle. I just did not feel like I belonged there at all. Many servers will tell you that you are, "either cut out for fine dining, or not." </b></div>
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<b>Well, guess who isn't? Me. I'm going to leave it at that, because I need my job. I decided I had to find something else to supplement my income, so I started trolling the old Craigslist like a champ. Okay, let it be known: THERE ARE NO JOBS IN LONG BEACH. Unless you are qualified to be the city comptroller, or a sheet metal installer...good luck. </b></div>
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<b>So I clicked on Orange County, because, let's face it, this whole mish-mash of LA sub-entities are all </b></div>
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<b>different things to different people, like...the border between Santa Ana and Costa Mesa starts...where exactly? The first posting I saw was for my old job, where I worked about sheesh, five years ago? It was within the same chain, just in an OC location. I almost had a heart attack. I trained their GM, and he kicks ass. I could not dial the phone fast enough. Today I brave the bus ride I know will become my life, and I don't care...I have a lot of looming to do. Tonight, I will sign the papers that make me a part of a place I love, and people I have missed. Wish me luck. </b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-72778393256032912252013-10-03T08:19:00.001-07:002013-10-03T08:19:22.255-07:00The Asphalt Crew<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWXOyKZmAPpT26pWCK6mRMhTYuCU550cR7DVZYAkSR8B1YVF3lNbNwtcBw4XRcWW14F8l4ayP1J0uhrBP6mQhdN-AwAALFkCw9rs5-WgSYx5CCOI8siOkiStj6Sln2-nXAgXgjuiJhg300/s1600/asphalt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWXOyKZmAPpT26pWCK6mRMhTYuCU550cR7DVZYAkSR8B1YVF3lNbNwtcBw4XRcWW14F8l4ayP1J0uhrBP6mQhdN-AwAALFkCw9rs5-WgSYx5CCOI8siOkiStj6Sln2-nXAgXgjuiJhg300/s1600/asphalt.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Welcome to my lovely home.</b></td></tr>
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<b>One thing that blogging has taught me is that I am not "cool." I mean, I already knew this to an extent, but man this place will put you on "The Asphalt Crew" faster than you can say "outfit post." What's The Asphalt Crew, you ask? Oh please, let me tell you.</b><br />
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<b>The Asphalt Crew was so named due to the area of my high school, where certain kids hung out, and this area happened to be in front of the library, covered in...you guessed it, asphalt. My high school cost something ridiculous like three million dollars to build (in 1994, that was a lot of money, kids) and we had a million places to chill and enjoy breaks. These guys wanted the coldest, most sunless area available. They also coveted the giant asphalt step, which formed a semi-circle around their camp.</b><br />
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<b>They had no real "leader" but if I am going to say they were guided by a young gentleman named "Dave" who fancied doing random accents during class, and was known to wear a cape. I think his dad was the Mayor. I don't know, I just know his dad looked MORTIFIED every time he had to see Dave in our theater productions, and his exit always seemed rather...quick.</b> <br />
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<b>Dave was a real chick magnet for the Asphalt Ladies, which seemed to be in a smaller population than the guys. Go figure. I remember one of his conquests was a very unique Jewish girl, who was wrought with guilt over her parents being displeased with dating outside her religion. The only reason I know this was I was subject to her incessant wailing during fifth period English. I guess Dave had the nerve to ask if her family ever put up a Christmas tree, "just for the season." Yeah, you're toast Dave. Or should I say matzoh?</b><br />
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<b>Between Dramatic Dave, Matzoh Madness and a whole other cast of characters (literally), we who enjoyed the comforts of the quad were constantly entertained. There was the time "Tad" decided to twist his body into the shape of a pretzel, and walk around during the middle of a rally held in the amphitheater. The rally was to keep us drug-free. I'm pretty sure he did about ten whippets before the assembly. He was carted off like a war protester, surrounded by applause.</b><br />
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<b>I had a lot more interaction with these folks than most. Being borderline "Asphalt" myself, (my humor and sarcasm barely allowed my presence amongst the semi-popular crowd) I was sneaking off to the library a lot, to check out fiction. They were always in my theater or drama workshops, annoying our teacher. I could not make up the fact that one time I heard it announced by "Angela", a very clingy and over-sharing student, "My mom gets all the blackheads out of my ears using these," a la, Ralph Wigam. She was holding a wad of bobby pins we needed for wigs. I almost threw up. </b><br />
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<b>They were also in pretty much EVERY FUCKING PLAY, even if they had NO PART. I would get irritated that when they didn't get cast, they wanted to be backstage, you know, "just to help out." They wore all black on these nights, even though none of them were on sets, backstage or lighting. It was almost like they expected one of us to go down, and if they were wearing just the correctly angled style of beret and black turtleneck, we would run to them like our savior.</b><br />
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<b>I don't need to tell you that never happened. </b></div>
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<b>So, fast forward to now, where I basically am seeing this whole Asphalt Crew as a metaphor for my own life. I recently decided to re-design my blog, and nothing has left me feeling more like a stranger in a strange land. Originally I asked a "big-blogger" to do it, because I liked her work. I can't get the "big blogger" to look at my blog, or even follow me on IG. So how are they going to glean any kind of idea what the blog is about, let alone what I represent. I mean, I know I don't represent much more than being a crass bitch but...I know I wont blow half my paycheck on someone who only emails me to ask about paying, but has no interest in getting to know me. Like a loser, I even asked them to follow me on IG. I tried to friend request them. Nope, too busy getting free clothes and then complaining that you have too many.</b></div>
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<b>Other "big bloggers" have blown me off countless times, even when I just leave a comment on their blog, or send them a friendly email to say I am a fan. I know these people are busy but it seems they can make time to respond and acknowledge other "big bloggers." The best is when you buy something from them and they tell you they are "swamped" and it takes nine months. LOVE THAT. If someone was giving me free clothes, shoes, bags, used gerbil cages...shit I would be grateful for ANYTHING. I might be "swamped" putting it all away, but puh-lease. </b></div>
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<b>I don't get it. Maybe it's karma for all the hours spent staring at "Angela" picking her nose.</b></div>
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<b>Do I need to blog about nail art? Is it important for you to see the inside of my make-up bag? Should I do an outfit post everyday? Do you want me to review some concealer I got for free, but that you will never be able to afford? Do you want me to show you how to make a peanut butter muffin with a mini-pumpkin pie inside? Do you want to learn to make a felted cover for your iPad? If you do, I can recommend a blog for you, TRUST ME.</b></div>
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<b>I am proud to be a part of The Asphalt Crew of the blog world. I don't want to be like anybody else. I have found a designer that actually cares about ME. Hell, we're even friends! </b></div>
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<b>I am now going to do ten whippets and then twist myself into a pretzel shape and roll around Downtown. See ya there! I'll be the one putting my fist through all the chalkboard art. </b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-88684836248399744022013-10-02T13:43:00.001-07:002014-02-03T07:43:16.944-08:00Q and A <div style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u>1. What's the first thing you do when you get up?</u><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">My three furry babies make sure I don't sleep in, they need to pee, STAT! I am usually wearing an outfit that could be confused for a cheap Halloween costume, screaming at my dogs not to tangle me into a broken leg, all while attempting to be a "good citizen" and pick up "gifts" left by my dogs. Most of said "gifts" smell like Chernobyl. </span></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>2. What is the 3rd picture on your phone? Share it! </b></span></span></u></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQaZuECskz7VUAr-ycNGINAXY_00MvowuwULb44QI5xfHJKTD7eBXmp2LY-LsfqANlDrtMn3V11FZsU7o5frYLlQUsBfbSQeFq-ZTn4gLmWNgDZxyCLu6_zfBm9BgBkLhITaMiOPiPz56/s1600/huey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQaZuECskz7VUAr-ycNGINAXY_00MvowuwULb44QI5xfHJKTD7eBXmp2LY-LsfqANlDrtMn3V11FZsU7o5frYLlQUsBfbSQeFq-ZTn4gLmWNgDZxyCLu6_zfBm9BgBkLhITaMiOPiPz56/s1600/huey.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>This is from a party at Brittany's house. This picture changes lives.</b></td></tr>
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GIRLS (okay I know that's not coming until January, but I care about nothing else), OF COURSE American Horror Story, Mad Men, Grimm...</span></span></div>
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Breaking Bad. I just don't get it, I'm sorry. I feel like saying that means I am going to be killed. I also loathe nail art, maxi dresses and wedge sneakers. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicIqmUmWGxqSlmDeAYFvTdkB0sTBwr805neRlUBG6sBFXk7kV40AMlX0AGVlVb5hS0vQdRj57D3CQU8IUfqrhRrEgx1Dr4rReBIgE7gW1OWPCSp4fy4R98Q4feXVXfsnxfhJu_h9czZDJI/s1600/kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicIqmUmWGxqSlmDeAYFvTdkB0sTBwr805neRlUBG6sBFXk7kV40AMlX0AGVlVb5hS0vQdRj57D3CQU8IUfqrhRrEgx1Dr4rReBIgE7gW1OWPCSp4fy4R98Q4feXVXfsnxfhJu_h9czZDJI/s1600/kids.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>YAY, THREE DOGS AND ONE CAT!</b></span></span></div>
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Chivo was my first resuce pup, found abandoned in a dumpster behind an AM/PM. I think he is a chihuahua/poodle mix. I saved him and his brother (whom I adopted out), and nursed him back to health. He was literally at death's door. He is absolutely THE BEST DOG EVER. He is a healing spirit, and he can read me like a book. We think he is about four years old.</span></span></div>
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Piddle is another rescue, saved when she was tossed from a moving vehicle, while zipped inside a duffel bag. She is needless to say, skidish, and barks at EVERYTHING. She is definitely a dachshund/chihuahua mix. She is also four years old. She doesn't like most people or most things. However, her two favorites activities include sleeping and eating. She is the only small dog I know who hates baths, but loves swimming in a pool. </span></span><br />
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Boxer was a "donation" from my friend Desi, who could not keep her, due to her sister's infant. Boxer is my constant companion. He never leaves my side, he bursts in on me in the bathroom, and cries like a baby when I leave for five minutes.</span></span></div>
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Katniss is my beautiful princess of destruction. She found by a friend in a parking lot, as a kitten. I attempted to "foster" her, but she is the most AMAZING animal I have ever met. She will swat you and cuddle you, simultaneously. She is smart as a whip, and she is a lover. Her spirit and heart are amazing.<br />
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Cotton dress with a novelty print, vintage eyeglasses, flats, one of my silly brooches, and a purse big enough to hold all my yarn! Bonus if I can have a rad bike with a basket!</span></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>7. What is your favorite adult beverage?</b></span></span></u></div>
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I am a beer girl, if you can't tell by my lovely belly. I am absolutely devoted to Lost Coast's Tangerine Wheat. Oh sweet lord. However, I am also a sucker for a really good margarita.</span></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>8. What is your favorite guilty pleasure?</b></span></span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Three way tie between<i> gLee</i>, Billy Joel and <i>Sister Wives</i>.</span></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>9. What are 3 positive words to describe you?</b></span></span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I would love to be able to loom all afternoon while watching trash TV and shopping online. Ideally, John would be either off work or home early, and we would get gussied up and hit the Art District to grub down. Then we wrap our evening up with a few episodes of Fallon, and if John's lucky I'm not asleep by ten. Poor guy.</span></span></div>
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Walking dogs, writing, working and waiting. </span></span></div>
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San Francisco, or as she's properly known, The City.</span></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>13. You've got a whole day to yourself...what will you do?</b></span></span></u></div>
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Attempt to sleep in, get my hairs and nails did, go vintage shopping on 4th and probably eat a lot of cheese pizza. Then I would consume an Oreo shake for dinner. Or two. I would also try to squeeze in all the BBC America I could while John was away. Although I have hooked him on Downton Abbey (YES!).</span></span></div>
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"Being a published writer. Working for a non-profit. Or working to rehabilitate abused dogs." Okay, that was Catherine's answer. Honestly, add Trent Reznor, Deap Vally or Jack White's personal assistant to the list and we are identical. That's why I love her. </span></span></div>
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FLOORS. </span></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>16. When do you most feel like a rock star?</b></span></span></u></div>
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When I am watching a television show and some obscure musician is in the backing band, and I say, "Isn't that the keyboardist from such and such band?" And I am right. One hundred percent of the time. It doesn't matter the genre or time period either. I pissed John off so much the other day, when I called out the former lead singer of <i>The Muffs</i> as being the new bassist for <i>the Pixies</i>. He literally screamed, "I hate you!" (after he Googled it, of course) and left the room. </span></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>17. What is something you are currently trying to improve within yourself?</b></span></span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b>I know this sounds strange, but I want to care LESS. I am constantly worried about EVERYTHING, and if I could just get that under control, I think that would be awesome. I would also like to improve my photography skills, and really become a bad-ass at it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>I'd love to hear your answers, I feel like (as usual) mine have a lot to do with food and shopping.</b></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2xJMV1whuVk/UQWcMu9Nc8I/AAAAAAAAAKA/Edy34YRAPXY/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2xJMV1whuVk/UQWcMu9Nc8I/AAAAAAAAAKA/Edy34YRAPXY/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-26400264503362112022013-10-01T16:33:00.001-07:002013-10-01T16:33:37.282-07:00Downtown, Everything's Waiting For You<b>First of all, I want to thank Amanda from <a href="http://salvagedstrawberry.blogspot.com/">Salvaged Strawberry</a></b> <b>for literally saving my life yesterday. This entire post is dedicated to her, as well as my mermaid sister Megan, who blogs at <a href="http://nauticalowl.blogspot.com/">The Nautical Owl</a></b>. <b>If it had not been for the two of them, yesterday may have gone very differently. </b><br />
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<b>I decided to venture downtown and take some shots with an older camera, one that I have found among a treasure trove of old Polaroids, 8mms and even ANCIENT instant cameras I have no idea how to operate. </b><br />
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<b>It's a sweet relic, somewhere between a "point-and-shoot" and a true DSLR. I just wanted to capture the beautiful subtleties of my new neighborhood, in a new way. Turns out, the pictures look ALMOST as good as a DSLR. Bloggin' on a budget, folks! </b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xp0GbwrL68zvQuM8vTBfDjr42nNWALWbqq-ws8mE2m1o-No1b_l-HbixLDCLwnVuvCGRh5xF0flgNDQLqgcPVcWKVvK6nd1cDFwBkpZDJAMKTWSacjb21KR-_IHeAIduAafeLMMC0amT/s1600/IMG_6302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xp0GbwrL68zvQuM8vTBfDjr42nNWALWbqq-ws8mE2m1o-No1b_l-HbixLDCLwnVuvCGRh5xF0flgNDQLqgcPVcWKVvK6nd1cDFwBkpZDJAMKTWSacjb21KR-_IHeAIduAafeLMMC0amT/s640/IMG_6302.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>As I mentioned before, all electrical boxes are painted by independent artists, all here in the East Art District. This one might be my favorite.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7kY6FBKQpntDBB_gRXXMnluIW5ZJ0zOAusyJ3AaLhoHIEaD_o8Jjl8h8Ul1XMxsJPNltUrERpF8SiUCWYwc5x0m9mXr-iUodKjGet2LXnsAl8R762IcMYucem8PwO3A4pkj798TQUus0/s1600/IMG_6308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7kY6FBKQpntDBB_gRXXMnluIW5ZJ0zOAusyJ3AaLhoHIEaD_o8Jjl8h8Ul1XMxsJPNltUrERpF8SiUCWYwc5x0m9mXr-iUodKjGet2LXnsAl8R762IcMYucem8PwO3A4pkj798TQUus0/s640/IMG_6308.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>OH HELL TO THE YEAH.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4SjzjdokPqWx0o4ciqr9abFe99GsnLEm6T0PQH6t-LZe8tDJgmw_mL-6Zo-FiSg_BP3vBFGNQ0XhUnQ6FnMoYBLHwHCOZ4RiUjADAF5rNyeQqe8ClQfbavtDIubebnf5xXQ14ADIa0Na/s1600/IMG_6313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4SjzjdokPqWx0o4ciqr9abFe99GsnLEm6T0PQH6t-LZe8tDJgmw_mL-6Zo-FiSg_BP3vBFGNQ0XhUnQ6FnMoYBLHwHCOZ4RiUjADAF5rNyeQqe8ClQfbavtDIubebnf5xXQ14ADIa0Na/s640/IMG_6313.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The wall outside Hamburger Mary's. Some of my favorite queens have actually signed this thing!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0bWCAzjrfwned-d15yvMqZGJG7qNbZEYn-eSkLZa64IrAEMtkqmpW1EGGt4U1A9V-2gwJ2oPGxOBdnZgOezQMUV2PrnZHV0D6z96nzxO0MYqziZjAJT4Ai8-jm_TOMYlnNrUizoes_EM/s1600/IMG_6315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0bWCAzjrfwned-d15yvMqZGJG7qNbZEYn-eSkLZa64IrAEMtkqmpW1EGGt4U1A9V-2gwJ2oPGxOBdnZgOezQMUV2PrnZHV0D6z96nzxO0MYqziZjAJT4Ai8-jm_TOMYlnNrUizoes_EM/s640/IMG_6315.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Oh yes, there will be cocktails!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdvgiI2UO-oQlwXkFmyB6PA_OpHATHfNthMJp-yFJby0_avH5Mj0jS6rPMtvlVLnc5VbNtSxHeYxb_rRLxkAfEomjEh408W5hy5B4PJTUOCqhLhtttIsusP6nM9QyN4Q3_lj4b6K6LBtA/s1600/IMG_6324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdvgiI2UO-oQlwXkFmyB6PA_OpHATHfNthMJp-yFJby0_avH5Mj0jS6rPMtvlVLnc5VbNtSxHeYxb_rRLxkAfEomjEh408W5hy5B4PJTUOCqhLhtttIsusP6nM9QyN4Q3_lj4b6K6LBtA/s640/IMG_6324.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My current obsession with succulents has taken over my mind.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiljvetPWEkEnx9hUPfaXISkPFnqUd1J7QivW0G-lR4gCy1I07zsBQxsFgtjvV7nlus2cJPfK9lYu7HnbgHycPbqbSfyXglvyoUxqsS7makuPjh85PMYHRwrOeK-dx_-nwnGyz3ITx41VGk/s1600/IMG_6334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiljvetPWEkEnx9hUPfaXISkPFnqUd1J7QivW0G-lR4gCy1I07zsBQxsFgtjvV7nlus2cJPfK9lYu7HnbgHycPbqbSfyXglvyoUxqsS7makuPjh85PMYHRwrOeK-dx_-nwnGyz3ITx41VGk/s640/IMG_6334.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I imagine my BFF Autumn would DIE over this building.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdr3Ib8G5VksM_8e7yLZq_WaJWC75QfJUAUG5W4fHj5Y8LeK3MV1h5Z4I2nQvlvYJAhN5TO4sf_H67yySTmslAhe-mg7UQVkgMgJJDyMk64qq8rkR1tylmFXAITjZNs4wNm9teHJfR5ll/s1600/IMG_6339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTdr3Ib8G5VksM_8e7yLZq_WaJWC75QfJUAUG5W4fHj5Y8LeK3MV1h5Z4I2nQvlvYJAhN5TO4sf_H67yySTmslAhe-mg7UQVkgMgJJDyMk64qq8rkR1tylmFXAITjZNs4wNm9teHJfR5ll/s640/IMG_6339.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Good way to sell a car: chalkboard paint as signage!</b></td></tr>
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<b>I love walking around downtown, it's just hard for me...because I have a tendency to get lost. Also, random strangers will peek their heads out of buildings and look at you like you work for TMZ. "I'm taking a picture of a plant, lady! CHILL!"</b></div>
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<b>I took a bunch of cute shots, and I will share more with you tomorrow. I have a giveaway planned for this week...I am just waiting for the merchandise to be forwarded to my new address. Here's a hint: it helps you get drunk. I figure, that's all you need to know.</b></div>
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<b><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TCB4axV3qqQ/UQcwk1bPsNI/AAAAAAAAALY/gYuOWrbeLtQ/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TCB4axV3qqQ/UQcwk1bPsNI/AAAAAAAAALY/gYuOWrbeLtQ/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" /></a></b></div>
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<b> </b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-60591884852660356602013-09-29T20:36:00.001-07:002013-09-30T09:02:44.980-07:00C'mon, Get Happy!<b>So, last week was a crack-up, to say the least. I have been called every name in the book, harassed via Internet and telephone, as well as informed that I need mental help. I was also told not to call other women cunts. Watch this: "Cunts, cunts, cunts, cunts, cunts!" Did an angel lose it's wings? Can I call parrots cunts, or will they be offended? What about narwhals, what's the rule on that? Okay, yeah, I am going to call whomever, whatever I want, especially when they act like one. It's called free-speech, and it occurs...you guessed it, ON MY BLOG. </b><br />
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<b>Just an average week for me, really. Three hundred people email me to tell me they enjoy reading the blog, and some CUNTS make it their mission to tear me down. Your criticism of me means NOTHING. I can and will continue to write and expose people for what they really are. Part of my "pieces of wisdom" I was given by these geniuses (oh, and there were many) was that I "get help, and get happy." I guess you only read the parts of the blog you think are about <u>you</u>. Some things never change, oh wait but you said that already... </b><br />
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<b>I have blogged many times about my struggles with mental health, as well as my drug addiction. You didn't seem to be interested in me getting out of rehab to give me a phone call (not as important as a resume, I totally get it), but suddenly, when I write something that makes you look like the self-absorbed idiot you are, you want my number, and now you want to call? Three guesses as to who gave it to you, and the first two don't count. Probably the same person you used to make fun of behind her back, openly mock her state of being self-absorbed, and would not let borrow your clothes because she made them smell. Did you mention that to her when you asked for my number? Didn't think so.</b><br />
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<b>Anyway, I have given this drama (which actually to me, is HILARIOUS) enough of my good time. You want to see me happy? I am BEYOND HAPPY. I have rid myself of all my toxic, self-involved relationships, I am engaged to be married this year, and I just got a house. I have a new job that is ridiculously lucrative, and I have a super secret project just beginning in November (stemming from stories just like these) that because of legalities, I cannot mention until it's inception. It rhymes with "rook lubrication."</b><br />
<br />
<b>I decided to make a list of the things/people/events that make me happy, continue to make me happy, and will come to make me happier, in the very near future. I think a "psycho" would probably not be able to articulate these things in photo collages, but perhaps crayon drawings. Let me know if anyone prefers those. </b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-KcDX3qnAWLYaopMeu2No1uskXfHrtXdPq46KHhCeXGK2Cb_x-o7uz0zb5Pxmy7hfMBVUxLn1Kqsl64lbTiOA7nnqtxZ3QTgB2tvLy4ms1BlT6ban6ODnXARa4W7bgjHZOuOFferOxJaC/s1600/barn+wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-KcDX3qnAWLYaopMeu2No1uskXfHrtXdPq46KHhCeXGK2Cb_x-o7uz0zb5Pxmy7hfMBVUxLn1Kqsl64lbTiOA7nnqtxZ3QTgB2tvLy4ms1BlT6ban6ODnXARa4W7bgjHZOuOFferOxJaC/s1600/barn+wedding.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Getting married...barn style!</b></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6qmynVLWkK4IgcKSWINj8pB9eKHwJYXE5hspRcI8OybE21o4zNJTi6kQWI8DNYQCvT8Zm8obyf9KLgaT4MqrAq3jThxQIX1xnM_Y9wR34Mc3RbrivcXHhs4qUb0-QScV3cDg1y25IlmeN/s1600/crochet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6qmynVLWkK4IgcKSWINj8pB9eKHwJYXE5hspRcI8OybE21o4zNJTi6kQWI8DNYQCvT8Zm8obyf9KLgaT4MqrAq3jThxQIX1xnM_Y9wR34Mc3RbrivcXHhs4qUb0-QScV3cDg1y25IlmeN/s1600/crochet.jpg" height="211" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Learning to crochet...slowly.</b></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijXCf42UbO5hqTRE9tK3HPPVIibZYrXBJ0upr5tlgcrZkplEyVn6oh2FiEROk4-6iRbbv5HPhRmw4bp8TM5qjZNDc0EFIxeAuFoxplzEnQTBiTCDISJzeP9odYj_J6GNJfouMmHO9S4q1/s1600/deap+vally.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijXCf42UbO5hqTRE9tK3HPPVIibZYrXBJ0upr5tlgcrZkplEyVn6oh2FiEROk4-6iRbbv5HPhRmw4bp8TM5qjZNDc0EFIxeAuFoxplzEnQTBiTCDISJzeP9odYj_J6GNJfouMmHO9S4q1/s1600/deap+vally.jpg" height="211" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Being a fan and friend of these amazing girls, oh yeah and helping them start a blog!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Yn7Vb9otP_jwv0qvU3DP56GfR_nlEWvq2I07mpmP1o7zpuBb1a2QYuctXsWKj3JkOH4aPyubJJIEwLLiLaDT3_FS-tRfjmxbybCHlNiIgYYUIrHCA10Y7ZTPNJ0Y-1edpKY6QATkgQXh/s1600/my+friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Yn7Vb9otP_jwv0qvU3DP56GfR_nlEWvq2I07mpmP1o7zpuBb1a2QYuctXsWKj3JkOH4aPyubJJIEwLLiLaDT3_FS-tRfjmxbybCHlNiIgYYUIrHCA10Y7ZTPNJ0Y-1edpKY6QATkgQXh/s1600/my+friends.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My friends. Just a few, but some say I have none. I tend to disagree.</b></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtS0jM_GOUp0s4qOiA7H17Qbrx11EFJ7Q_AMRXHfsvLccA-t_LF-avKqSyQ7_7RklDyG_wfr2DvL90w5mtF41i0WkiblRtmwdVBlhJdo7NxkgluTlDuZ0rCwCbyl4OfgvEZt6CRbFj3bC/s1600/unconditional+love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtS0jM_GOUp0s4qOiA7H17Qbrx11EFJ7Q_AMRXHfsvLccA-t_LF-avKqSyQ7_7RklDyG_wfr2DvL90w5mtF41i0WkiblRtmwdVBlhJdo7NxkgluTlDuZ0rCwCbyl4OfgvEZt6CRbFj3bC/s1600/unconditional+love.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My support system...continued.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93puqEHqKqHDuGAHlpjnD6fOH4TSku5aK2wzvuAz6nFPIHQJZntNDOySjR1AoKmWCSbox__bNSfjHO0HshFSMfdmZnyUTDzRF4qCBUlMBgVuNChNEc1zM7flj1RZ62q5-xz1F9SN_AXaF/s1600/loves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93puqEHqKqHDuGAHlpjnD6fOH4TSku5aK2wzvuAz6nFPIHQJZntNDOySjR1AoKmWCSbox__bNSfjHO0HshFSMfdmZnyUTDzRF4qCBUlMBgVuNChNEc1zM7flj1RZ62q5-xz1F9SN_AXaF/s1600/loves.jpg" height="212" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Surrounded by hot dudes.</b> <b>Constantly.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOA-yHemk1Rk18EDXmE5VpfXFkCSSJC51forWN8M_o75hj009-Xprp5ynNRtRsIde_X_q_ZJHNmnExs0h1OozGttpJrmzefdoFjNl9M4rDNtyFLf9RQND-7bCK5alZUxmoyJ6Y2v1exfOK/s1600/radness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOA-yHemk1Rk18EDXmE5VpfXFkCSSJC51forWN8M_o75hj009-Xprp5ynNRtRsIde_X_q_ZJHNmnExs0h1OozGttpJrmzefdoFjNl9M4rDNtyFLf9RQND-7bCK5alZUxmoyJ6Y2v1exfOK/s1600/radness.jpg" height="212" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="center"><td class="tr-caption"><b>Getting Ed to read my tweets (and favorite them), giveaways from the blog, the best TV show ever (except for it's location.)</b></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxncYmnHLJzwlJ09JmdL12pmUE3gBa3mwAyjP8af1wW5f7I0Jupp4pVfot7zOw4NZVGvEgqixBQp4yRhnO-a9zB6SNEnUuqZIuyga90o3Nhp76528J-a_Q6G7zOihJRdgEZuVuy3R63SbO/s1600/photography.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxncYmnHLJzwlJ09JmdL12pmUE3gBa3mwAyjP8af1wW5f7I0Jupp4pVfot7zOw4NZVGvEgqixBQp4yRhnO-a9zB6SNEnUuqZIuyga90o3Nhp76528J-a_Q6G7zOihJRdgEZuVuy3R63SbO/s1600/photography.jpg" height="212" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Photography. Why didn't I take it in High School?</b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Shit, I just realized I am so f</b><b>ucking happy, I might burst. And it all started as soon as I stopped giving a fuck about what anyone else thinks. Thanks for the mental health advice, I didn't know you were a doctor on top of being a bitch! I need "professional help?" You should know better than anyone, you've needed it the most. </b><br />
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<b>PS: This is all the time I am going to further waste on this garbage, so for those of you readers ready to get back to our</b> <b>good times, I'm so stoked to announce a <u><i>giveaway</i></u> tomorrow...just to say thank you.</b><br />
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<b> </b><br />
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<b> </b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-28682684236192030772013-09-27T16:55:00.001-07:002013-09-27T16:55:04.932-07:00No, I Win<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYJYRsh40GPIxQ63LzLvWOG057JZyQHEG5TpKS33qn8cSeNcD9rzOKxuq4VjcaKQICpYJV21qsLRJJV1vG8ElRdNZkGLNXDDGT7Zc387NCt7Rca9-6TIxjB1UVHDVcTNi0YN35NDXnHCd/s1600/comment-box.jpg" width="640" /></div>
<b>You may have noticed all your lovely comments have been deleted from my blog. Due to some comments yesterday, I had to remove the Google Plus comment capability from my blog, so I could now have the power to moderate comments</b>. <b>If you follow me on Facebook, you probably know why.</b><br />
<br />
<b>So this is an apology to my real readers and friends, the ones who support me everyday and send me sweet things like you will read below, because sadly, due to one person's immature behavior, we have lost all the positive, loving comments y'all have left. When I spoke about this, I was flooded with emails:</b><br />
<br />
<i><b>"Hey lady! I just wanted to let you know that you're such an inspiration
to me and others to be more outspoken and independent! You're so
creative and kind!...Anyway,
you're wonderful and you shouldn't quit blogging because of some nasty
people that are obviously unhappy...BOOM! Head up you're
awesome❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️"</b></i><br />
<br />
<i><b>"I'm a huge fan of your blog. I just read your last post and I'm really
disappointed that people can be such fucking assholes. Your blog is one
of, if not my absolute favorite blog to read, you make me laugh so hard
and I'm often disappointed when you don't post everyday! I really like
hearing about your new place, your job, funny moments from your past and
little facts about you, like not being into having kids and liking
morrissey better than the smiths! Me too! Well, I won't keep you, but I
just wanted to let you know that I love your blog as I'm sure plenty of
people do, and I don't care about what a bunch of tools think or have to
say. You rule! Keep your head up girl!"</b></i><br />
<br />
<i><b>"Blogging is hard and there are SO MANY haters. She's just pissed because now more people know what an idiot she is. I'm glad you decided not to quit."</b></i><br />
<br />
<b>So if winning is having a great reader base (oh and by the way, thank you for the millions of pageviews...every time you look at my blog it just makes me more money!!!</b><i><b> YES!!!) </b></i><b>having</b><i><b> </b></i><b>awesome REAL friends, (of which we have NO MUTUAL ones so, nice try) and a great job that has nothing to do with being a pretentious hipster snob (checking your Instagram really only shows pictures of you looking beat up, with lots of really mature memes, so congrats on that success...if that's what you're calling it) yeah, I am pretty sure you're not "winning". Nice try Charlie Sheen. All those names you called me only apply to yourself. How could I be obsessed with someone's life when I don't give a fuck if they live or die? You're the psycho, tell "our friends" whatever the fuck you want. No, I win. </b><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-15829574327619387462013-09-26T09:02:00.003-07:002013-09-26T09:02:53.946-07:00This is the Last Song I Will Ever Sing, No, I've Changed My Mind Again<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaAosM7Bq_yz-62Rnm0dWIwLQURPvXFfzc6t3PbD9iD5cZxR7OJU2cvZgCrS_55upm8rUGyD6R73ZZceiEt58f92mI0W58babrVsG-4mUgOyC5sHd6ihyESBExPqV1b4ClXw7P1MoAx9iJ/s1600/IMG_6264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaAosM7Bq_yz-62Rnm0dWIwLQURPvXFfzc6t3PbD9iD5cZxR7OJU2cvZgCrS_55upm8rUGyD6R73ZZceiEt58f92mI0W58babrVsG-4mUgOyC5sHd6ihyESBExPqV1b4ClXw7P1MoAx9iJ/s1600/IMG_6264.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Downtown LB Arts District</b></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_aX-T-TgFRk_gIK5c_YbiKj-TDx31_L_6l-5G3bfy4-hiO9Fp849oZQS3ci8Vogp6lAatSjdeyUmzpdueX1wieCeZc7oIx1YFoQHBOu-bv_-VnbXOWZO4cehAVNU4gnGjyLatb7FUoR8k/s1600/IMG_6266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_aX-T-TgFRk_gIK5c_YbiKj-TDx31_L_6l-5G3bfy4-hiO9Fp849oZQS3ci8Vogp6lAatSjdeyUmzpdueX1wieCeZc7oIx1YFoQHBOu-bv_-VnbXOWZO4cehAVNU4gnGjyLatb7FUoR8k/s1600/IMG_6266.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>You know, a bus and some plants. We got 'em.</b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqulx397AWVZkUhu3P0VjV60tLXNDdaNdHC3HjNByr5jI5biEa6R4OKWzeiCIeF680HA4cKruvA-dVo_iYpVxz1uWnfyv_eRRRvXHUuvzGWeD93bXllibiH3Tj4mvZqxULy2pHUyMZdKW/s1600/IMG_6267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqulx397AWVZkUhu3P0VjV60tLXNDdaNdHC3HjNByr5jI5biEa6R4OKWzeiCIeF680HA4cKruvA-dVo_iYpVxz1uWnfyv_eRRRvXHUuvzGWeD93bXllibiH3Tj4mvZqxULy2pHUyMZdKW/s1600/IMG_6267.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOVTBp3psJIaev7x8Ti0n00Jwxd95UYHidTyuOJJACg1rfg2tA2saTAWptNTA0DiyAAZ468nvDhDCwlcKt91tw_i-rffPCaxmjumqiKd2bPWH0B5K216xlc9uIgUqWgzL3ySTmlRtNxDxg/s1600/IMG_6268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOVTBp3psJIaev7x8Ti0n00Jwxd95UYHidTyuOJJACg1rfg2tA2saTAWptNTA0DiyAAZ468nvDhDCwlcKt91tw_i-rffPCaxmjumqiKd2bPWH0B5K216xlc9uIgUqWgzL3ySTmlRtNxDxg/s1600/IMG_6268.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Almost all of the electrical boxes in LB are painted by independent artists. I hope to photograph them all.</b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo9jRwCRXCjRL6BaIVbK4mPuSdd_68XmrkMaSOp46Ya3i958m2F1qz11KqtK8oHMAPXvwcCuWzmUBumWt1-bQlkWHflauv55ozSQNw3fSQsO3mzHhrTP1dOzq_Jo-WzLuewMXqAXXpkbSu/s1600/IMG_6270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo9jRwCRXCjRL6BaIVbK4mPuSdd_68XmrkMaSOp46Ya3i958m2F1qz11KqtK8oHMAPXvwcCuWzmUBumWt1-bQlkWHflauv55ozSQNw3fSQsO3mzHhrTP1dOzq_Jo-WzLuewMXqAXXpkbSu/s1600/IMG_6270.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Note to self: great background for outfit shoot, but must find way to move huge dumpsters.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>They love bikes in LB. I can't wait to get a new one!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Hell yeah, buddy.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The "Cooper Arms", right across the street from my new job.</b></td></tr>
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<b>Today was going to be my last post, indefinitely. Then <a href="http://www.life-collection.com/">Catherine</a> emailed me this morning and it made my whole day. </b><br />
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<b><i>"</i></b><b><i>I just caught up on your blog posts and I can't believe how much trouble
you are having getting health care! It makes me so sad how insurance is
there to help people when they are sick, but they won't cover people
who are sick! Makes no sense, and it breaks my heart that you are having
so much trouble. I hope you can start getting all the help you need my
darling."</i></b><br />
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<b>Thanks, boo. It's stuff like this that keeps me going.<i> </i> </b><br />
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<b>I had been thinking over the past few weeks, after being harassed by bloggers who either felt the need to tell me, "you're not fat enough to be a fatshion blogger, so get out of our community, and stop pretending to be one of us..." or, my favorite: "your blog just isn't COOL, you don't do any giveaways, and you never do any DIYs, and you don't have any kids, so it's kinda boring." So, I'm not fat enough for the body-positive community (which I thought was ALL ABOUT ACCEPTANCE AND NOT JUDGEMENT), and I'm not "cool" enough for the cool blogs...because I don't want to do a DIY on tye-dye underpants, and I don't have cute kids to dress up in arrow print leggings, so I'm obsolete? What the fuck am I supposed to do? People are taking time out of their day to tell me this? These are real emails people.</b><br />
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<b>My favorite is being snubbed on Facebook. As soon as I post my opinion on something, which I am entitled to do, twenty snarly bitches have to message me and explain why the "language I am using is wrong" or how I am "not a feminist" or just completely snub me. I get it. You won your "contest" and now you don't need me to vote for you anymore. I don't live in the Midwest, THANK GOD. I never will, I don't want to. Have fun being cold and icy, probably like your genitals. Oh and by the way, I LOVE BLURRED LINES. I CAN'T PLAY THAT SONG ENOUGH, IN FACT I AM GOING TO GET THE LYRICS AS A TATTOO, CHOLO STYLE.</b><br />
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<b>I am going to follow in the footsteps of a blogger I admire, <a href="http://www.gypsybeee.com/">Autumn, of Gypsybee</a>, and just post WHAT I WANT, WHEN I WANT, always making sure it's something of quality and substance. That's why yesterday I didn't worry about what outfit I was wearing, or bringing my tri-pod with me, or setting my timer. I just got back to taking pretty pictures of my new home, and I loved it. I started getting a bunch of new ideas for my "new" blog and it's design, excited to share them with a future designer.</b><br />
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<b>That's a whole other story.</b><br />
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<b>I was shocked to find that someone whom I respect an admire, whom I was willing to pay BIG BUCKS to re-design my blog would not follow me on IG, friend me on Facebook, or has even read my blog. They sure remember to email me about the money though, and to make sure I am going to pay them and when. </b><br />
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<b>I understand people are busy, but how are you going to glean a design or an aesthetic for a personal blog, and a personal style, without ever having READ OR SEEN THE FUCKING THING. It takes all of four minutes to peruse a blog. It could be a blog about collecting trolls, for all this person knows. In fact, that sounds like a great blog. I think I will have some kids to make this blog "interesting", eat a box of Krispy Kremes for all meals in order to "bulk-up" so I can legitimately blog about being "plus-size", and start collecting Treasure Trolls, because it's "cool."</b><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-14228765248729365182013-09-24T10:16:00.004-07:002013-09-26T18:57:43.939-07:00Let's Just All Sit Around and Cry About Top Gun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Let's face it, I had a MULTITUDE of scary roommates in college. The ones I chose, for the most part, (Sophia, Lauren...thank you for both being hilarious and slightly normal)</b> <b>were great. However, one roommate I chose turned out to be, well...interesting to say the least. </b></div>
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<b>Like most of my fellow students, her parents were filthy rich. Actually, her step-dad was filthy rich. Her biological father passed away tragically when she was just a baby, so when her mom re-married she decided a software engineer might be an upgrade from a drunken, abusive military man. This choice benefited her already existing three children, as they moved up from the slums to a new house that didn't have an address, it just had a NAME.</b></div>
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<b>In no way am I making light of the loss of a parent, or the painful troubles it can bring emotionally. I lost someone very close to me, someone I looked at as a parental figure, so I know what it's like. It's the worst feeling in the world, so let me make that disclaimer before you all call me a bitch.</b></div>
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<b>This girl needed therapy and lots of it. She refused counseling. Her schooling was entirely paid for, yet, she would not go. She would rather drive her new car to Taco Bell and eat, even though we had a meal program that was built-in to our tuition. MARRIOTT MADE OUR FOOD FOR GOD'S SAKE. It's not like the cafeteria from <i>Orange is the New Black</i>, okay? We had a waffle bar and burgers to order. Yeah, let's go to Taco Bell.</b></div>
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<b>If we weren't ditching class to eat garbage, I was drug along to watch her spend money. We lived dangerously close to Santa Monica, so Third Street Promenade's Urban Outfitters saw a lot of us. Well, they saw a lot of me browsing, and her buying. She would tear through that plaza, doing some serious damage. I saved my money for important things, like drugs. I have no idea how she got so much spending cash. She did not pay her car insurance, car payment or rent. Yes, and this was not the first girl at Pepperdine I lived with who had the same hook-up. In my next life, I will be Princess of Monaco. </b></div>
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<b>She never understood the concept of me (or anyone) working. I got her a job at the flower shop where I worked, and I'm pretty sure my boss almost killed me. They way he looked at her pick up plants made me double over with laughter. He was appalled by her laziness, and this kid was raised in Malibu, surrounded by laziness. After he determined she could not even use a broom properly, she never returned. She got a job at a pet shop, holding kittens. I did not realize that was a job, but I am still trolling Craigslist to find it locally.</b></div>
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<b>I made the mistake of introducing her to a friend from high-school. They dated, they got down, they broke up. It was all my fault. I let him stay at our place one night (when she was out of town, months after they had broken up) and she had a conniption because she said she could "smell him on the pillows". Um, okay. Does that mean you can smell my farts, too?</b></div>
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<b>Then, she proceeded to partake in her favorite activity, which was to watch <i>Top Gun</i>. Over, and over and over. Then she would take turns crying in the bathroom, the hallway, her bed and perhaps her car, for all I know. My friends would call randomly, and as soon as I saw that VHS coming out of it's sleeve, I would tell them it was a "Code TG" and that I'd be crashing on their couch for an extended amount of time. The one time I tried to help her and talk about it, she almost punched me in the face from under her comforter. </b></div>
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<b>The "emotional stress" of school proved to be to much for her. She needed to be off-campus to be able to "think and be in my own space." Cool, no more fucking <i>Top Gun.</i> Now I can move off campus too, and finally smoke pot without her breathing down my neck to blow it in some stupid tube filled with dryer sheets. </b></div>
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<b>The kicker for me was the fact that she once got angry with me because I told a mutual friend I was tired of letting her use my meal points at the cafeteria. She had moved off-campus, she was rich, and the last time I saw her she was smoking heroin in her new living room, in her brand new apartment, in the heart of Venice Beach. Get your own meal points. </b></div>
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<b>This argument of meal points was so important that she decided not to speak to me during the entirety of an Elliott Smith show at the Wiltern in Los Angeles. We didn't know it at the time, but this was just after <i>Figure Eight </i>was released, and this was one of his last, BIG shows with a full band. He played an acoustic set at the end, and during some of our FAVORITE songs we had loved for years, she would not even look at me. Real mature. I'm sure you can imagine the ride home.</b></div>
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<b>She finally had enough of me when I would not write her resume for her. I was working full time, she was "working" for some crazy Scientology art house in LA, and (big surprise) hated her job, and wanted my help finding a new one. Since I was balancing crazy hours at work and a drug addiction, I told her it would have to be some other time. She never called me again and has never answered any message I have sent her on FB. </b></div>
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<b>I notice now she lives in New York City, of course in Brooklyn (shocker) and still seems to enjoy taking pictures of herself in various emo filters and re-telling the story about how she made out with Norman Reedus. That was ten years ago. I don't think he remembers you. </b></div>
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<b>Oh yeah, and D said having sex with you was like sleeping with a dead grandma. Maybe that's why he broke up with you? </b></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-32225340778709523022013-09-20T09:59:00.001-07:002013-09-20T09:59:58.454-07:00Financing Depression<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b> Yesterday was weird. I had applied for medical insurance several months ago, and was declined because of my "obesity, anxiety and depression." I was honest on my application, I told them exactly what I weighed at my last weigh in (which occurred in the comfort of an entirely full room of patients in a very shady clinic)</b> <b>where the number was ingrained into my psyche for months to come. I wasn't shocked by the number, but actually proud of how well I wore it. So there.</b><br />
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<b>I also was one-hundred percent honest when filling out their survey. I told them I had a history of anxiety and depression, and that I take such and such for it and so on. It was awesome to be told that these are "pre-existing conditions" and therefore, I could not be insured. I could not believe it. Here I was, willing to pay out of pocket for insurance, and I could not even qualify for it? I appealed.</b><br />
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<b>During the chaos of all this moving, I completely forgot about this process, and was tuned into full freak out moving mode. Yesterday I realized I was running extremely low and the clinic that I use is miles away, in Corona. I had finally been accepted for the health insurance apparently weeks before, but at this point I needed the money more than I needed the insurance. I figured, I'll just stop by the clinic on a visit home. Yeah, I'm not going home anytime soon.</b><br />
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<b>If you have anxiety you will understand that no matter how hard you try to avoid a "trigger" it comes full-force at you, and how you deal with it is basically dependent on how well-equipped you are either emotionally or pharmaceutical wise. With being alone all the time, knowing absolutely NO ONE and the fear of starting an entirely new job, I am a wreck. I only turned into a further wreck when I realized I was going to be without meds in a matter of days. I was triggered, and about to lose it.</b><br />
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<b>I called my clinic. They were about as helpful as a monkey on speed. They could not recommend any clinics, they were willing to fax my records over, but not to call a prescription into a local pharmacy for me. They could not have gotten me off the phone quickly enough, probably realizing I am no longer another one of their cash cows, so why should they help me? I'm so glad I signed up for the "Anxiety Program" with them, which now seems like a total joke.</b><br />
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<b>I started looking around locally, but realizing that I have no idea where I am, and the fact that this is an actual CITY with a POPULOUS, there are probably nine million people in line for low-cost mental health care, and it would take week and tons of paperwork in order to even be seen. Now I am REALLY freaking out. I make a few random appointments with odd places off the internet, but basically I knew explaining to John how I need lots of money for a doctor's visit would not go over well at this point.</b><br />
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<b>I became so frustrated and angry, I had no idea what to do. All I am trying to do is take my medicine so I do not kill myself or anyone else. All I want is to not have to pay eighty dollars just to be seen, and then one hundred on top of that for medicine that I need. I'm not trying to score Oxy-contin, or steal someone's welfare check, I just need some damn medical care.</b><br />
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<b>Then, a random number from Pennsylvania called me. I was like, uh...because I have family in PA I thought I should answer it in case it was some sort of Polish emergency. Nope. It was the private health insurance company calling to remind me about blah blah blah...then I had another panic attack. Wait a second, I never paid for this coverage, so why do they keep calling me? Did they take money out of my account??? I started to further freak out. I had to speak to a person.</b><br />
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<b>Whoever you are, Cindy, thank you. When I told her I needed to cancel the coverage because I could not afford it, she started to actually talk to me like a person. She asked me why. I told her I needed my meds and would probably end up in an ER somewhere, like a degenerate, beginning for pills. She talked to me about the insurance available with my company, which I told her was pretty awful, but maybe just easier than all this. Then she started talking some more. Cindy was a person. A person who talks in an awesome, life-saving code. She said, "Are you sure you want to cancel it NOW? You are covered until the end of the month, so you could go to the doctor and get those meds you need and if you decide to change companies then, you can just call us and cancel, because if you cancel it now..." Oh Cindy, I never even thought of that.</b><br />
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<b>So yesterday I bucked the system. I went to the doctor, paid a forty dollar co-pay and twenty dollars for my medications. That would have been the cost of one of my meds alone through the clinic. I felt like a criminal, because everyone was so kind to me, and I was just there to use them as a means to an ends. I do not like doing that kind of thing. </b><br />
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<b>When I started to think about it however, I could not decide if what I was doing was really wrong. Of course I do not intend on paying for the insurance, shit---I would if I could, especially after the kind way I was treated yesterday. People were asking me questions, my doctor was kind, and my nurse was sweet as sugar. I felt like an asshole, just sitting there, when this nice woman was genuinely interested in the fact that I get my period twice a month. Yeah, I'd like to get that looked at.</b><br />
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<b>However, what choices do I have? Insurance companies do not recognize domestic partnerships so John cannot put me on his insurance. I don't make enough money right now to pay for privatized insurance, but I will in a few months. Then, I will have to re-apply. In the mean time, I'm stuck going to shady clinics who basically sell prescriptions and don't care about my needs psychologically. Now, I live in a metropolis filled with people in the same predicament, and will have to either wait ten hours to be seen in some sort of back alley scenario, or end up owing MORE money by going to the emergency room. </b><br />
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<b>Not to mention the way you are treated at these places. Most of these "doctors" basically provide drug-seekers with what they need, but are very careful about admitting that is what they do. They have meds on hand for sale, and they are CHEAP. However, I needed REAL help and more than just a pacifying Xanax now and then. I was prescribed Wellbutrin. I think that was because I could remember taking it in college, not because that's what this guy recommended. He asked me what I wanted to take. Well honestly Mister, I'd love to take...nevermind. </b><br />
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<b>I was specifically told not to try to pick up my prescriptions from CVS or Walgreens, as they will no longer service anyone who goes to the clinic. I found that odd. Instead, I was told to go to Wal-Mart or a larger pharmacy. Hmmmmm, okay. It's just Wellbutrin, not Methadone for god's sake.</b><br />
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<b>So now I feel like a loser, not only because I took advantage of the system (I feel kind of bad, okay?) but because I felt like I had no other option. Every "clinic" I called cost a mint and required an appointment, various forms of proof of income and residency, as well as my waiting months to be seen. If I had all the money and time in the world I would just call up Dr. Johnny McFancypants and have him make a house call.</b><br />
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<b>I graduated with my degree in Political Science from Pepperdine. I stopped caring about politics as a whole, as soon as I walked across that stage. All I could think of is how much I hated everyone there, and how Tia and Tamera Mowry were in my graduating class, and they literally brought paparazzi with them. </b><br />
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<b>I cannot explain to you what Obamacare is, what is going to happen with health care, or how we are all going to deal with it in the future. All I know is, why isn't there a safe place for people like myself, who need health care but are not in a position to afford it, but are not considered "low-income" enough for assistance? Must we be reduced to these shady clinics, or paying out the nose, just to be well? </b><br />
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<b>I'm going to start my own health plan where the members have ID cards with pictures of Morrissey on them, you can eat donuts while you wait, and watch Golden Girls in the lobby, all day, no repeat episodes. I'll even play the one with Mario Lopez because it has been known to cure cancer.</b><br />
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<b> </b><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2xJMV1whuVk/UQWcMu9Nc8I/AAAAAAAAAKA/Edy34YRAPXY/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2xJMV1whuVk/UQWcMu9Nc8I/AAAAAAAAAKA/Edy34YRAPXY/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b> </b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-47329454450943570762013-09-19T07:54:00.001-07:002013-09-19T07:54:27.617-07:00Stir Crazy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqq9VQf9YWV1basPbzk9GhX-mJJOhIWzusLrphLAJNFQsTQTWehtJ-D6-YCDhTKKcj2hKBIzS9TRbSx-Kq5b7T7NnCnS0q07rhBpFUHqifP9u1Q3NBYiOawdQFuHa5kQz0rwzCF6hl6F7c/s1600/stircrazyt081310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqq9VQf9YWV1basPbzk9GhX-mJJOhIWzusLrphLAJNFQsTQTWehtJ-D6-YCDhTKKcj2hKBIzS9TRbSx-Kq5b7T7NnCnS0q07rhBpFUHqifP9u1Q3NBYiOawdQFuHa5kQz0rwzCF6hl6F7c/s1600/stircrazyt081310.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>No, not this rad movie.</b></td></tr>
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<b>So, in case you haven't noticed, I have had a lot more time on my hands. If you follow me in any way, you'll note my online presence has been pretty prevalent lately, as opposed to former months. The reason is simple: I AM BORED OUT OF MY FUCKING MIND. </b><br />
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<b>I mean, don't get me wrong, it's been awesome to catch up on things, help friends in need, be able to actually ANSWER comments on the blog from my computer, instead of the sweaty confinements of the employee restroom, but in all fairness, I honestly do not know what to do with myself half the time.</b><br />
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<b>I was unaware my transfer would take so long to "process" so, it has left me with something I am very unfamiliar with: free time, alone. To add to the fun, I am also in a strange city, by myself all day until John gets home. Trust me, some areas of this town would not appreciate a tattooed white girl wearing a dress covered in seahorses, prancing through their neighborhood with a DSLR. So, I stay pretty close to home. Luckily I have ONE FRIEND who lives in Long Beach. She doesn't know it yet, but I am going to be bugging the shit out of her. Sorry Jen. </b><br />
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<b>I start my orientation on Saturday. Until then, I have some pretty exciting stuff lined up. Today I am going to go to the doctor to renew my meds (riveting, I know) and then (I know, this is hard to type) return the fox dress to ModCloth via post. Everyone's been dying for me to wear it, and I have to be honest. The eyelet in the front fits EXACTLY over Morrissey's face on my chest. It looks RIDICULOUS. Plus, the fit is a bit strange, like wearing a loose cape on top and a pencil skirt on the bottom. That could also be my sexy beer gut, but who knows. There will be other fox dresses. This one is sadly, not for me. </b><br />
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<b>Why don't I clean something? Oh HELL NO. I did enough cleaning for twelve people over the past six months and I am not going to spend this forced "vacation" cleaning something. I would unpack our boxes, but we threw away our bookshelf, so...we have no where to put anything. Yes, my budget is so tight right now I cannot go to IKEA and get a Durdlestaf or whatever, so shut-up.</b><br />
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<b>Painting sounds fun, but that costs money as well, and with me not bringing in cash everyday, it's been strange having to budget so close to the lines. I also have an intense feeling of worthlessness, as I have pretty much worked everyday since I was fifteen, so this is really weird. I don't think it's a good idea I make any color choices while I feel like a total loser, as this place will probably end up looking like my room in tenth grade.</b><br />
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<b>I have learned a few things about myself, and they are not very entertaining. </b><br />
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<b>One: I think I have ADD. I am simultaneously watching <i>the Simpsons</i> on HULU while looking on Facebook, and then I also have a movie or let's be honest here, <i>GIRLS </i>episodes rolling on the DVD. If I can, I will check IG during all this, see a necklace I like and then add it to my favorites on Etsy. I need help.</b><br />
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<b>Two: I can't stop sleeping. I don't know if I am tired (I haven't DONE anything) or just relieved, stressed, or depressed. All I know is, I can sleep like a mofo now, as opposed to before when I was up with the sun and could never relax enough to sleep. John likes to joke, "Just go to sleep like I know you want to." It's 10 pm. WTF. </b><br />
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<b>Three: I am aware of my surroundings and they include (but are not limited to): mobile soft serve ice-cream trucks (WIN), huge churches handing out food to homeless (creepy when walking the dogs, sorry), a mixture of rad, restored homes and well...I saw two guys smoking a joint on their front porch yesterday. I didn't know whether to go inside or go make friends. Being in a new city and knowing NO ONE is so strange after living in one place for so long and getting sick of running into people at Target that you know from work.</b><br />
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<b>Four: My hopes of sleeping past 7 am have quickly been dashed by my upstairs neighbor who apparently conducts a brick toss every night in his apartment, followed by the morning's contest of stomping. Thanks dude. My dogs bark at literally every noise, and usually it's right in John's ear, so he's STOKED.</b><br />
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<b>Five: No matter what I do, the fleas are winning. Our apartment/building is older, and apparently there were some feral cats residing underneath it previously (would have been good to know earlier, thanks). This led to a bit of a flea infestation, of which the premises has been sprayed for. I continue the battle from within, spraying crap everywhere, washing the dogs like fourteen times a day, putting drops on my cat that make her look like a crust punk, scratching my ankles until only scars remain, you know, fun stuff like that. I think that with one more laundry purge and a few flea collars and I've got this! Kill 'em all!</b><br />
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<b>Finally, I've begun my crochet lessons from <a href="http://stephiescorner.blogspot.com/">Stephie's Corner</a>, and I am kicking ass. However, I have stopped midway through because I also am watching <i>Whisker Wars </i>and <i>The Dark Knight</i> simultaneously. It might get weird today when I have to leave the house.</b><br />
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<b> </b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-27520182884762009342013-09-18T08:11:00.001-07:002013-09-18T08:11:19.381-07:00Hesitation Marks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3A5Xu16gWzMQVeJTB1aGICxv8LtYFYcpWccEUzpGVk8SVEAMMEnThGegBG4nif0GN1M_wD-Bw-GtBOpxy8lUbR0lkmGIbLIMhR1lgsVnzz0vaa0Ek_oAclrYcw5S1WSnp3vupC4yK_W3/s1600/young+trent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3A5Xu16gWzMQVeJTB1aGICxv8LtYFYcpWccEUzpGVk8SVEAMMEnThGegBG4nif0GN1M_wD-Bw-GtBOpxy8lUbR0lkmGIbLIMhR1lgsVnzz0vaa0Ek_oAclrYcw5S1WSnp3vupC4yK_W3/s1600/young+trent.jpg" height="640" width="492" /></a></div>
<b>I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE the new <i>Nine Inch Nails</i> album, "Hesitation Marks." I had grown, over time, to expect that Trent (like myself) was aging gracefully, and you know...writing scores for movies and winning Grammys and not expecting him to make much more music under the <i>Nine Inch Nails </i>banner. </b><br />
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<b>I was extremely disappointed with the prior albums, "With Teeth" was weak at best, and whatever that last thing was with the twenty eight million tracks of noise was awful. Then, he forms a band with his wife. Okay, I give up.</b></div>
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<b>Then, this happened. And by this, I mean my own mother was telling me she LIKED the score from <i>Girl With the Dragon Tattoo</i>, and wasn't this guy someone I liked? Uh, mom...you grounded me for an ENTIRE SUMMER for sneaking out and going to their concert. Yes, this is someone I love. You hate this person. You told me both <i>Pretty Hate Machine</i> and<i> Broken</i> were NEVER to be played in the house again. (Something about her being offended by me yelling "FIST FUCK!" probably did it.) </b><br />
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<b>So, needless to say, I put old Trent up on the shelf with the rest of the bands that I used to LIVE for (see Weezer, Superdrag, Hot Hot Heat) that basically fell off and started making music I either couldn't understand, or (god forbid)</b> <b>became liked by my parents.</b> <b> I've recently lost Alabama Shakes to them, and I'm not happy about it. Mumford and Sons you can have but...</b><br />
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<b>This is what I wanted. </b></div>
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<b>This is what I saw.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVxwbsaIVvZI6fIw8aJCA29ys603alhLBAe15_1vcmbonwgupq2_qMDA2hs_Yd9EwcxQzn3mX59oKrG-GT4ruJz9KuTP8Jc5R385cxXXgdydRDhrz3fleEhonPQWGDSSaMjEWs3Dk-0hgz/s1600/old+trent+synth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVxwbsaIVvZI6fIw8aJCA29ys603alhLBAe15_1vcmbonwgupq2_qMDA2hs_Yd9EwcxQzn3mX59oKrG-GT4ruJz9KuTP8Jc5R385cxXXgdydRDhrz3fleEhonPQWGDSSaMjEWs3Dk-0hgz/s1600/old+trent+synth.jpg" height="400" width="314" /></a><b> </b></div>
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<b>Okay, so enter my magical John, who knows EVERYTHING about music, telling me that NIN has a new album. I'm like, "So? Is it going to be a bunch of noise tracks again because of Mr. I-Write-Scores?" John shut me up quick. He played the streaming audio from <a href="http://www.pitchfork.com/">Pitchfork</a> as well as the tracks that were becoming available on their website. Hell, Trent streamed the ENTIRE ALBUM for you, if you were willing to listen. </b></div>
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<b>I died. I felt like I was thirteen again, drinking a Zima in the back of Brooke's car. I could not believe the dance-ability, the beats, the lyrics...I thought, "How could I have ever doubted you?" I felt like I got my angry, teeth-grinding, mud-slinging, black-mesh-wearing, torn-black-everything boyfriend back.</b></div>
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<b>Even John, who was not a diehard NIN nerd like I am, cannot stop listening to the record. He quotes it regularly, and it is on repeat here in the house. I love the whole journey this one man band has taken me on, and I am stoked that it's not over or geriatric in nature. It's as young and pissed off as it ever was. Thank you, Trent. </b></div>
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<b>Now, I will brave the nightmare that is Ticketmaster and see how much the cheapest/furthest-away-from-chaotic-slam-dancers seats to the tour are.</b> <b>They are coming to the Staples Center in November and I am too old for that moshing shit. </b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-86648435917183564362013-09-17T08:30:00.002-07:002013-09-17T08:30:50.113-07:00Currently Coveting<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3iFJnraBld4MlvJlZZM81nklV8QUfjxuvv2ab7RThuPC9rf7fPNXSyeQ5VvA7lUOWpdkNAux8OowYhm3Lfpq67ccEJ9T2NhRM06vMaI1wQyG8uLZOg3e3ZtZuqCmeXLYeF_naXKPvRJqC/s1600/brown+bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3iFJnraBld4MlvJlZZM81nklV8QUfjxuvv2ab7RThuPC9rf7fPNXSyeQ5VvA7lUOWpdkNAux8OowYhm3Lfpq67ccEJ9T2NhRM06vMaI1wQyG8uLZOg3e3ZtZuqCmeXLYeF_naXKPvRJqC/s1600/brown+bag.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/brownbagvintage">Brown Bag Vintage</a></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/GnomEnterprises">Gnome Enterprises</a></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfx57qIh7wMUh9H4QdrI6rlAmK2ezD72C_xyy1oV28WrX74bplp7Ru1Wqb8cNhZmnaJE7BWTPwsjZ_8yXd-g7s-ZReBYsw5y623GNU9AcN5fI16WyqmlWsH2_mUl0ryjMokq62FGzZSnf/s1600/nautical+owl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfx57qIh7wMUh9H4QdrI6rlAmK2ezD72C_xyy1oV28WrX74bplp7Ru1Wqb8cNhZmnaJE7BWTPwsjZ_8yXd-g7s-ZReBYsw5y623GNU9AcN5fI16WyqmlWsH2_mUl0ryjMokq62FGzZSnf/s1600/nautical+owl.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheNauticalOwl">The Nautical Owl</a></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfq26Oj8-fnWFiEsSR6Hjbwcg0ndA5HIoM39RrZ1MhcRfxKZIONJ8gQtB6hsZ9vbv-9GPGDUFCzzH2hl9ERk5TbdQVcRMYWBxZFqEnBpajjgseu_IbdkhauaulHj_7QA-m9QeJK_xEiPX8/s1600/stranger+bird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfq26Oj8-fnWFiEsSR6Hjbwcg0ndA5HIoM39RrZ1MhcRfxKZIONJ8gQtB6hsZ9vbv-9GPGDUFCzzH2hl9ERk5TbdQVcRMYWBxZFqEnBpajjgseu_IbdkhauaulHj_7QA-m9QeJK_xEiPX8/s1600/stranger+bird.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/StrangerBirdVintage">The Stranger Bird</a></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZ4EaSvQiRHBOQivkinFXpgLno-MfDwq7fESEdR0wKpwm-1frbTp9giYpIlZF4vtFhX_jdCIjwpVIKN0ZB-Dq_XcG83YJDsMgJVDZvNw1Il1BNk3ABThDOylsXV4wtYgCh9ZcY82rfm73/s1600/nyhop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZ4EaSvQiRHBOQivkinFXpgLno-MfDwq7fESEdR0wKpwm-1frbTp9giYpIlZF4vtFhX_jdCIjwpVIKN0ZB-Dq_XcG83YJDsMgJVDZvNw1Il1BNk3ABThDOylsXV4wtYgCh9ZcY82rfm73/s1600/nyhop.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/NYhop">NY Hop</a></b></td></tr>
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<b>Okay, so I have had a little bit of free time lately, and with funds running short, it seems like everywhere I turn I see something I want to buy. I hate that! I am looking forward to getting my new work schedule, that way I can "schedule" a few purchases for our place, and of course, me. </b><br />
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<b>My animal fetish seems to know no bounds lately, and my latest fixation is rabbits. I had one when I was younger, her name was Lupin. She was mean as a snake. We built her this elaborate cage, which of course she escaped from, never to be seen again. Basically, that's the G-Rated version of the story. That being said (sorry for the Old Yeller moment), I have always wanted to get another rabbit as a pet. Do not tell John. Right now I will simply pacify my bunny needs by buying everything that has a rabbit on it. I'm on one for <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/NYhop">NY Hop</a>, a sister store of another Etsy shop I love, <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/NYILLUSTRATION">NY Illustration</a>. </b><br />
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<b>My dear friend and awesome shop-owner of <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/StrangerBirdVintage">The Stranger Bird</a>, Jenny, is having a bit of a "car crisis" at the moment, and she is doing something super awesome to raise funds (also making me want to spend even MORE money in her shop), she is offering 35% off with the code CAR35 and if you share this information, she will give you a SPECIAL 50% OFF CODE. What the AWESOME?!?! Thanks Jenny! With such impeccable deals and pieces, that car will be fixed in no time. I picked just a FEW of my favorites, but with her shop, it's always hard to choose. </b><br />
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<b>It's no secret that <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheNauticalOwl">The Nautical Owl</a> and I are Eskimo sisters, and her art is absolutely beautiful. I have yet to see someone do a wood-burned carving of <i>Wilfred</i>, have you? Her shop, as well as her blog, are mainstays in my life. After she said she was taking a break from social media yesterday, I emailed and then texted her. Yes, I am an idiot. Sorry Megan!</b><br />
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<b>My dress addiction is something that will never be cured, but after the move I realized how few good t-shirts I have left after the "Great Cutting Incident of the Year 2000" where I decided my AMAZING collection of vintage tees all needed to have the neck cut out of them. It looked so hot on my friend Insu, so I assumed it would look amazing on me. Turns out, the "boatneck and braless" look was not one that stayed. Henceforth, I will be visiting <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/GnomEnterprises">Gnome Enterprises</a> for all future t-shirt needs, primarily because they are rad, and also because I am never cutting another shirt again. These ones are too beautiful/rad to do so, so it won't be hard.</b><br />
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<b>Finally, we all know I am ALWAYS on the lookout for new plus-size vintage stores, whether they be online or not. I stumbled upon the selection at <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/brownbagvintage">Brown Bag Vintage</a> and it blew my mind. Not only do they have an awesome selection for regular sizes, their plus-size section is hearty and beyond cute. It was hard for me not to favorite everything.</b><br />
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<b>I am hoping to step out today and snap a few pictures and give y'all a little sneak peek into my life lately. I'll give you a preview: it's going to be a lot of pictures of DVDs and weird churches.</b><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-79494578276949314942013-09-13T06:39:00.003-07:002013-09-13T06:39:57.566-07:00No Shirt, No Shoes, No Kids<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQ_Fa7eVnio1JsRTOhw_c7GkYzOWHei4UgfDZyst2iEJOk_nh4GmzzRhZR9LS63_hXC_mdU9oPOldIpf5vXrWSzJvx7ooIWLr0E7yhE2cS4-sxX_oPJGRYzg9pP6bp2uRZOe_jfJO4fjn/s1600/nightmare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQ_Fa7eVnio1JsRTOhw_c7GkYzOWHei4UgfDZyst2iEJOk_nh4GmzzRhZR9LS63_hXC_mdU9oPOldIpf5vXrWSzJvx7ooIWLr0E7yhE2cS4-sxX_oPJGRYzg9pP6bp2uRZOe_jfJO4fjn/s1600/nightmare.jpg" height="312" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Wow, that looks SO FUN!</b></td></tr>
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<b>I don't have kids, this you all know. I decided this year, after many years of debate and some mind-changing epiphanies, I came to one final conclusion: I am not having any. This seems to be a shock to a lot of people, and one hundred percent of them are parents. They are always telling me things like: "Oh, you'll feel different when it's yours," or my favorite, "You have plenty of time to change your mind!"</b><br />
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<b>I am not changing my mind, and how would it be different if the child was mine, as opposed to my friend's baby? What? Why, because I made this crying, stinky mess it means I am going to love it more? Nope. I think what I am trying to say is, I have no interest in being a parent. Some would call this "selfish" or again, one of my many favorite reactions: "Don't you want to use the gifts given to us as women?"</b><br />
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<b>Okay let's talk about said "gifts" here for a second. We get periods, pay twice as much for clothes, grow random chin hairs, are surrounded by images that may give us low self-esteem, or poor body images, we do the same work for less pay, supposedly men "age better" and we also have to work twice as hard to prove ourselves at ANY task. </b><br />
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<b>I saw yesterday on Instagram where a guy had left a comment on someones picture saying: "Yeah man, it's such a turn-off when a girl says she's into football." And that would be because...she has her own interests outside baking and darning socks? Good luck buddy. I know there's the perfect wife for you out there who hates sports and just wants to bear your endless moronic children, chained to the stove, barefoot. Early congratulations to you!</b><br />
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<b>By no means am I anti-children. I am just not one of those girls who coos over babies, who was a babysitter all her life, who can muster that sing-song voice when talking to a youngster, or get down on one knee and call someone "princess" or "little man". I hate those stickers with the family breakdown on the rear window. I hate personalized license plates like LVMYKID or RYSMOM. Please get a life. Part of the reason I love my new job: there will be very FEW if ANY kids in my restaurant. I just do not know how to deal with them.</b><br />
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<b>I held a baby ONE TIME. It was because my friend Pam LITERALLY tossed her child into my arms, and for a split second I had no idea what to do. So, according to her, I caught her daughter "like a football, and then proceeded to carry her like a puppy." Well? You threw your kid at me. What the hell else am I supposed to do?</b><br />
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<b>I do find kids cute, but in small doses. If your IG feed is nothing but your kid, either standing there (riveting), smiling (no one does that), or the old-oh look he walked over to the corner, let's take another picture, oh look he turned around, let's take another picture! Shit. I get it okay, you think he's cute. It is this same marvelous parent who allows their child to stay up until three in the morning, and then cannot come to work the next day because they are "exhausted" or my personal favorite, "my kid is sick." Would that work if one of my dogs was sick? "Sorry, I can't come in today, Piddle ate some old pizza on her walk this morning and now she has the squirts." HELL NO. </b><br />
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<b>One of my favorite blogs, <a href="http://www.lifewithroozle.com/">Life With Roozle</a>, is basically about just that, life with an adorable child. The best part of the blog (to me) is the fact that the photography of this beautiful girl is so well done, so poignant that she is part of the art she is photographed near, she is captured doing random things, she is gorgeous in her natural habitat, and the spontaneity of the photography makes me love this little bug. See? I'm not pure evil.</b><br />
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<b>I think that perhaps it is a very responsible and intelligent decision I am making. I am not going to run a marathon, so why sign up for a 5K? I don't have to do something just because everyone else is, or because society places this pressure on we early thirties ladies, telling us time is running out to make those babies! I just don't think I have the skills to be a parent. I don't have the skills to be a doctor either, that's why I'm not one.</b><br />
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<b>In my life, and in my line of work, I have seen a lot of pain through the eyes of kids. Whether it be an argument at the table, something that was said to a child, or just my co-worker's tales of this dad, or that partner or boyfriend and sometimes, girlfriends and moms too. You need a license to drive a car, own a dog, basically everything in this whole world requires some kind of clearance before proceeding. Maybe it is more responsible to recognize that I could serve youth better as a volunteer, or a Big Sister, or a counselor? I see a lot of people making babies, and most of them can't even tie their own shoes. </b><br />
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<b>I don't want any of my "mom" friends to take this the wrong way. I love you guys, and I especially love the way my pal <a href="http://www.thejesselaine.com/">Jess Elaine</a> takes pictures of her little dudes. They are usually wearing underwear on their heads and that entertains me. I just don't have that feeling, that urge to be a mother. I just realize I am not equipped, and it is not something that I see in my future. </b><br />
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<b>I have grown up with TWO excellent sets of role models in this department. I watched my godmother travel the world in style, as a tour-guide and with her fantastic husband, as tourists. I see them enjoying their lives, and being very active participants in the lives of their nieces and nephews and so on. I think if you were to ask, they are pretty damn fulfilled. </b><br />
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<b>It was my cousin, Jan, who once said something to me in a car ride somewhere in the suburbs of Philadelphia, that has stuck with me forever. I was asking her about her students (she is a Special Education teacher) and so on, and I wondered if any of her students' parents ever asked her if she had any children of her own. She and her husband had elected not to have children many years prior. She told me she gets that question a lot, especially from new parents or strangers they meet in their travels (oh, I think they have been to AT LEAST every continent), and she told me she had developed the perfect answer.</b><br />
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<b>"Vic and I are child-free by choice," she said. Well, so am I. </b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-91886391555503902042013-09-12T10:04:00.000-07:002013-09-12T10:04:11.020-07:00The New Place: The Beginning<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJlqhyphenhyphenS3X5hLZU624kLz08-iUSvs3ktSGeyUMJRoj4msMVDqEcoZzpNGvPy0GE-uw6fSCIPS7-Rc03RdSr8qoIgOfmbBuA_9BWnT2TPzaXirq7S3rwr8soYkphbmjoRsy4Wqk2tB0nIAe/s1600/Picture+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJlqhyphenhyphenS3X5hLZU624kLz08-iUSvs3ktSGeyUMJRoj4msMVDqEcoZzpNGvPy0GE-uw6fSCIPS7-Rc03RdSr8qoIgOfmbBuA_9BWnT2TPzaXirq7S3rwr8soYkphbmjoRsy4Wqk2tB0nIAe/s1600/Picture+001.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My front entryway, right now very welcoming if you are a crackhead.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvoN90n66JlBUkT8HED0EXHR_Dlsr2T5DU2lqstlP9dHUt35X3QmwmDgchbUqb9BkSCAuk-GUHav3U0cJQ73ocewr2HFffna-M0KeI1VCcfGms_AHUV_Hp5nthW2gRHNNMQtlpcd9YZIbF/s1600/Picture+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvoN90n66JlBUkT8HED0EXHR_Dlsr2T5DU2lqstlP9dHUt35X3QmwmDgchbUqb9BkSCAuk-GUHav3U0cJQ73ocewr2HFffna-M0KeI1VCcfGms_AHUV_Hp5nthW2gRHNNMQtlpcd9YZIbF/s1600/Picture+006.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>This is our built-in "Murphy Bed" (the kind that comes out of the wall) which we will NOT be using for several different reasons: size, creepy factor, we could die in it, it's 60 years old...need I go on? Sure looks cool though and so far, make an excellent purse and hat rack.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69SfWzh2cXyZ4Qq20IblWqcqmpvw-KLmp4ZKRGulCSdIZtLsAdYPKF_JxCdP13L_l7AxXpv4PfODCW7y73lu0YuSmB3xw7j5b-jzMc0L_0hYti13hRmqvLbgW0Lf0zoprLea4zI_ksmNn/s1600/Picture+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69SfWzh2cXyZ4Qq20IblWqcqmpvw-KLmp4ZKRGulCSdIZtLsAdYPKF_JxCdP13L_l7AxXpv4PfODCW7y73lu0YuSmB3xw7j5b-jzMc0L_0hYti13hRmqvLbgW0Lf0zoprLea4zI_ksmNn/s1600/Picture+008.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>This is our X-Files style heater that probably contains either the dude who eats livers or the guy who eats people's hearts. Needless to say, we're covering it. Neither John nor I want ANYTHING to do with it.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47Bu-G7HY3w9Pp37BQRIxQ8TNxWGijrNlncYijUK7UiPYzphcbyftvJi1i9I5Tbj3Om2W3Kh6yQowiJKgOci7qbi139hFD9ruchEq0ohlYwK3mQm_AJP3JvLwBBvgCxIu4SoZak9rYj8x/s1600/Picture+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47Bu-G7HY3w9Pp37BQRIxQ8TNxWGijrNlncYijUK7UiPYzphcbyftvJi1i9I5Tbj3Om2W3Kh6yQowiJKgOci7qbi139hFD9ruchEq0ohlYwK3mQm_AJP3JvLwBBvgCxIu4SoZak9rYj8x/s1600/Picture+009.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>From the windows, to the walls!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzdi40qepLsZakdV320QlpNepkTvONFj4XiTxxxCVPajTwN2gYVukZf66u4Y-zAGl7WmtpYIV7Dzu_ToBaBEYNarP0ElSzdptShdNw47AvciGX1TXbcOnXgpp6y3bIeuvrHiXYB0EYJuZJ/s1600/Picture+010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzdi40qepLsZakdV320QlpNepkTvONFj4XiTxxxCVPajTwN2gYVukZf66u4Y-zAGl7WmtpYIV7Dzu_ToBaBEYNarP0ElSzdptShdNw47AvciGX1TXbcOnXgpp6y3bIeuvrHiXYB0EYJuZJ/s1600/Picture+010.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Captain Clean begins his OCD freakout on the kitchen sink.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9L23Np7_1961m-kwsoDeSzOcZPEiZssEe0z0i5cDg8EwikZ5G4061sKJ4rZLORQ64Gl2eGzSe8H5gEO0tdTsQtJ8Y4jGyXIDGwsvzyFAl5SYs2DQlrpntAgiSV5lkF_gKkQz4r6IDMkYJ/s1600/Picture+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9L23Np7_1961m-kwsoDeSzOcZPEiZssEe0z0i5cDg8EwikZ5G4061sKJ4rZLORQ64Gl2eGzSe8H5gEO0tdTsQtJ8Y4jGyXIDGwsvzyFAl5SYs2DQlrpntAgiSV5lkF_gKkQz4r6IDMkYJ/s1600/Picture+011.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>It's much better now, I swear. We have hot water...I think.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOt9et6j2Wb-pNot5UteisTuHjBLwSmzgPrOY1EADXNErzFls10lubHFKjSRufrhqpFyyfpy64B6tlhSfLp6-apcVj6_CLQ_Vnt9oNABnt_aOtXa2sgIcuAl2s1mD6xemkb3askhmNOGT/s1600/Picture+014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOt9et6j2Wb-pNot5UteisTuHjBLwSmzgPrOY1EADXNErzFls10lubHFKjSRufrhqpFyyfpy64B6tlhSfLp6-apcVj6_CLQ_Vnt9oNABnt_aOtXa2sgIcuAl2s1mD6xemkb3askhmNOGT/s1600/Picture+014.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Care packages and housewarming gifts go right here, thanks!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgznn-oKF3I_ZXDKWY4z_AMlmJgGiKYb9aQplKkPGTIW_1XVodhdHes1HdLPRnHWnew9_P-YUd7QaYBBl6xs22Mx06oEwuubIdUmJG_0lXrAmP4qwWs1qvVmZWi_r-DvtsLXokqLobgcrBy/s1600/Picture+015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgznn-oKF3I_ZXDKWY4z_AMlmJgGiKYb9aQplKkPGTIW_1XVodhdHes1HdLPRnHWnew9_P-YUd7QaYBBl6xs22Mx06oEwuubIdUmJG_0lXrAmP4qwWs1qvVmZWi_r-DvtsLXokqLobgcrBy/s1600/Picture+015.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I have a lot of cobweb work to do. I ain't afraid of no ghost!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDTyeFm3-AcX8xXtm-LOfxQkrkjYn-x_2RSlj2x_RuoLrA8z9l5O9vCZH7xCG16juaen8fjV79n5u14lWZbCqGQlMwrYXJCDLfscjv6d8oTTRFoIiZDIZRi4SxN4bIyb9AZhX-m7_7tDl/s1600/Picture+020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDTyeFm3-AcX8xXtm-LOfxQkrkjYn-x_2RSlj2x_RuoLrA8z9l5O9vCZH7xCG16juaen8fjV79n5u14lWZbCqGQlMwrYXJCDLfscjv6d8oTTRFoIiZDIZRi4SxN4bIyb9AZhX-m7_7tDl/s1600/Picture+020.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Our entire backyard is nothing but banana trees and salt air. We are exactly ONE MILE from da beach...boi!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ycHJeX8_SL546cQypnvBzLB0jusIUbDnWZoSZeAit2J6x2tBZ8FNqMQOw9Rq8A9RCu22u82QsHWaDRcZM3IdxVybAFDXS6jcQvM0rR4aSBXmLKTlAATts-YVINnQhK7wvUO0A1V3QIC0/s1600/Picture+022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ycHJeX8_SL546cQypnvBzLB0jusIUbDnWZoSZeAit2J6x2tBZ8FNqMQOw9Rq8A9RCu22u82QsHWaDRcZM3IdxVybAFDXS6jcQvM0rR4aSBXmLKTlAATts-YVINnQhK7wvUO0A1V3QIC0/s1600/Picture+022.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Eat your heart out fatshion bloggers, my closet is going to kick your closet's ass when I'm done decorating. Oh yeah, that and mine could either hide a grow room or a human body as well---so beat that.</b></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b>So here I sit, on my dusty hardwood floor, coming to you live from John's ancient computer, which I have propped up on a storage box and am using my left leg to hold the keyboard. You guys should really see this shit. </b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<b>Honestly, I'm stoked. The apartment is great, and it's more like a house for us, especially with the studio space in front for me. I am so excited to create new things and write here. I am giving myself a BIG blog re-design around my birthday time (ahem...next month), as well as painting, decorating and manifesting the place of my dreams. </b><br />
<br />
<b>There are so many young people, all walking dogs, all riding bikes, all smiles... of which the latter is rare here in Southern California. So far everyone has been very kind, and it seems like I will really be at home here, especially since I just got some fantastic news yesterday.</b><br />
<br />
<b>Not to go into too much detail, but I have been crossing my fingers ever since I decided to do this move. I was thinking of a "lateral transfer" within my company, but one of my managers reminded me that we own a rather expensive steakhouse in the area, and why didn't I shoot for that? Honestly, I thought I would NEVER get the job, and after my interview I was almost positive I wouldn't.</b><br />
<br />
<b>It's not that I did not interview well, it's just that damn self-esteem of mine and that awesome capacity that I have to sell myself short that came peeking through, post-interview. I do not know why I was so freaked out. Everyone kept assuring me things would be fine, but I kept seeing molehills and turned them all into mountains.</b><br />
<br />
<b>I have a ton of work to do on getting this place to where I want it to be, but I am excited by the completely blank slate and the awesome vintage decor. I am going to finally invest in a beach cruiser with a basket, and tear these streets up, Yard Sale style.</b><br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>Those that helped me, you know who you are. Des, Brad, Mom, Dad and my John...you guys rule. Even though he will NEVER read this I want you to know that I have one of the most supportive, kind, intelligent and most importantly, hilarious bosses in all the world. If it hadn't been for "The Coyote", I would have never had the confidence to do this. So, the next time you're out in a vacant parking lot and you see a coyote, offer him some sourdough bread. Just do it, for me.</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TCB4axV3qqQ/UQcwk1bPsNI/AAAAAAAAALY/gYuOWrbeLtQ/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TCB4axV3qqQ/UQcwk1bPsNI/AAAAAAAAALY/gYuOWrbeLtQ/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" height="67" width="400" /></a></div>
<b> </b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-20430890637443429452013-09-06T12:30:00.001-07:002013-09-06T12:30:41.170-07:00Be Right Back...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdv41ZS3x_PG-3wkr0vbEcBxKcUq_9yNV8EcdgDPZmvXpd38F7FaqVwxeCvLGunDDEMqewJo5NDbFBbsAjE1XUiwo7GXJFpMTfe-0RwnYKIq2IvALIVt0mNauySf0QWEUJYK8pNSrPKsn/s1600/long+beach+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdv41ZS3x_PG-3wkr0vbEcBxKcUq_9yNV8EcdgDPZmvXpd38F7FaqVwxeCvLGunDDEMqewJo5NDbFBbsAjE1XUiwo7GXJFpMTfe-0RwnYKIq2IvALIVt0mNauySf0QWEUJYK8pNSrPKsn/s1600/long+beach+sign.jpg" height="408" width="640" /></a><b>Hey kids! Just wanted to check in and let you know I'm going to be away from y'all for a couple of days. As you know, I am in the process of moving this week (I literally just taped my first box) and I am busy as hell. I am also a ball of nerves, as hopefully, I will have a successful interview Saturday, and subsequently a better job within my company.</b> <br />
<br />
<b>There's no doubt I am intimidated by all this, we were lucky enough to find an awesome place, but things are going to be very tight for a bit, lucky you...I still have tons of outfits I still need to photograph, and we can explore all new places together! I am SO excited to show you the inside and outside of the new place, so expect a TON of photo dumping coming soon.</b><br />
<br />
<b>The area has so much color, character and history, I am excited to share it all with you. After getting things settled in the house, my next goal is to get a sweet new bike and cruise the streets. I think we are going to have a lot to talk about!</b><br />
<br />
<b>I'll be lurking in the interwebs, so if you're need of an Allison fix, I am merely a click away.</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TCB4axV3qqQ/UQcwk1bPsNI/AAAAAAAAALY/gYuOWrbeLtQ/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TCB4axV3qqQ/UQcwk1bPsNI/AAAAAAAAALY/gYuOWrbeLtQ/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" height="67" width="400" /></a></div>
<b> </b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-84533791029183400802013-09-05T08:20:00.001-07:002013-09-05T08:20:24.665-07:00Currently Coveting<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqkMJgLB9hXPGSSTt3PcyD9OiESl5MLr1DBw-P4WyxlI2fXBg1Uoo_8ILeQ06wusrc1he7pMvaptemDbN_ToBBtbcWyP0C-wYX65lRaQgRAnDe9B63YszRiFOxhUg8RjDrNAjaF235EGn2/s1600/brooklyn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqkMJgLB9hXPGSSTt3PcyD9OiESl5MLr1DBw-P4WyxlI2fXBg1Uoo_8ILeQ06wusrc1he7pMvaptemDbN_ToBBtbcWyP0C-wYX65lRaQgRAnDe9B63YszRiFOxhUg8RjDrNAjaF235EGn2/s1600/brooklyn.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheVintageBulldog"><b>The Vintage Bulldog</b></a></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiapjh6v1DLIzZo7f51tZwJ-lJScvawGS7wF4C8cSsGGkZAXrH7z3Env9w-db7W8Ig1xP-MbY8PCu1i-izP2EyoGALJi3QluxZmZYvahlmCZkt7Qilarr_5riqfMDS7AQcPk-0I06Fuh0tt/s1600/mannymade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiapjh6v1DLIzZo7f51tZwJ-lJScvawGS7wF4C8cSsGGkZAXrH7z3Env9w-db7W8Ig1xP-MbY8PCu1i-izP2EyoGALJi3QluxZmZYvahlmCZkt7Qilarr_5riqfMDS7AQcPk-0I06Fuh0tt/s1600/mannymade.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/mannymade"><b>Manny Made</b></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPcRyo4_lBTVqBcEJ4oyg4Q42SVwDx8xFt-d6F5uxhRplNApaxXySAxF7O-3XEe5JJzILDXeZnEIEZhkGNCLvOYA4TUGBrz27ZG2U_1oS9aWDTiKfM8qTF-sLhQFbZoHNBYTzqvDvW6Xt/s1600/straight+jesiiii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPcRyo4_lBTVqBcEJ4oyg4Q42SVwDx8xFt-d6F5uxhRplNApaxXySAxF7O-3XEe5JJzILDXeZnEIEZhkGNCLvOYA4TUGBrz27ZG2U_1oS9aWDTiKfM8qTF-sLhQFbZoHNBYTzqvDvW6Xt/s1600/straight+jesiiii.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/jesiiii"><b>jesiiii</b></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhab_GetEfIw8Df81HaMisEcMCGZdPQlEWrY5BVKba3NpoI57mQ-q21aWfeThGfbaz2sQNsvoxgn2_ccTttust2q3ls2v7IbCrWJP3dl9AcqOlh1vmoX5jiaGKXn8ceexx43kclvWvnpmuy/s1600/swamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhab_GetEfIw8Df81HaMisEcMCGZdPQlEWrY5BVKba3NpoI57mQ-q21aWfeThGfbaz2sQNsvoxgn2_ccTttust2q3ls2v7IbCrWJP3dl9AcqOlh1vmoX5jiaGKXn8ceexx43kclvWvnpmuy/s1600/swamp.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/SwampLilyEmporiumhttp://www.etsy.com/shop/SwampLilyEmporium"><b>Swamp Lily Emporium</b></a></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>I want these things, from these places. NOW.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2xJMV1whuVk/UQWcMu9Nc8I/AAAAAAAAAKA/Edy34YRAPXY/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2xJMV1whuVk/UQWcMu9Nc8I/AAAAAAAAAKA/Edy34YRAPXY/s1600/okayallison-postsig.jpg" height="67" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-51897735236468164442013-09-04T07:09:00.002-07:002013-09-04T07:09:46.841-07:00Yes!!! The Place is Ours, Let the Designing Begin!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="height: 232px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; width: 653px;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhPlIHFnaKQ450O6PNlDF1THYlnOci_ga2dw4dPbY2L41CNgZLSlpUDgSjNyAK7EoMbOaFHOp9LCddbvRo8b17H-sWYPNgKKTj5S8s1gWqRkBXLQOKkFQeChw5m8aYhHye9467cP5vgAXh/s1600/staples+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhPlIHFnaKQ450O6PNlDF1THYlnOci_ga2dw4dPbY2L41CNgZLSlpUDgSjNyAK7EoMbOaFHOp9LCddbvRo8b17H-sWYPNgKKTj5S8s1gWqRkBXLQOKkFQeChw5m8aYhHye9467cP5vgAXh/s1600/staples+collage.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Living room staples, and the raddest shower curtain ever. Couch and TV stand by <a href="http://www.ikea.com/">IKEA</a>, curtain and magnet board are from <a href="http://www.wanelo.com/">Wanelo.</a></b></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjemBfFHWTbCfA9UHVIDRx_hbcyWxs_SatwFh_i4yrKzovzAFZ-pd7iz2lovtnEy3fM8JFlXYpLdscxzZKU3mW8w76pDswzJc0O_bpr_L1fB74AXkwdCZKZg4rDSKmuCaXO1hZfj8tA7zw_/s1600/bedroom+ideas.jpg" height="212" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Bedroom duvet ideas, all from <a href="http://www.wanelo.com/">Wanelo</a>.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOZkjti5FdH50YiaBPphIBzaMTd7kUMEnL53Myjly2pysx6ldHm4LFfHP8e4FMOILgDvYjshtgQ7I1wmer-VJBgf9S41-lMwm6fcJ2jOi8tzTd7XFCIIxOZFOdIM5CsEMBiAyOkhwGPYp/s1600/bathroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOZkjti5FdH50YiaBPphIBzaMTd7kUMEnL53Myjly2pysx6ldHm4LFfHP8e4FMOILgDvYjshtgQ7I1wmer-VJBgf9S41-lMwm6fcJ2jOi8tzTd7XFCIIxOZFOdIM5CsEMBiAyOkhwGPYp/s1600/bathroom.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The bathroom! Shower curtain from <a href="http://www.wanelo.com/">Wanelo</a> and wall art by <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/giraffesnstuff">Giraffes and Stuff</a>.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoK_RWxlP4FW-WtD4W3q4jGTTq0OcX5ioWE9dmaHM7y4FJgggQxwjCOpEXM3bOr8HlIdX0qJ34y6f8uQM7VeIk95Oq5ozCe9VkL9Dv4-SZhX0A5q5WWdvyY0_XtkdSoMslZkn3B3WiG7HO/s1600/fabric+for+blinds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoK_RWxlP4FW-WtD4W3q4jGTTq0OcX5ioWE9dmaHM7y4FJgggQxwjCOpEXM3bOr8HlIdX0qJ34y6f8uQM7VeIk95Oq5ozCe9VkL9Dv4-SZhX0A5q5WWdvyY0_XtkdSoMslZkn3B3WiG7HO/s1600/fabric+for+blinds.jpg" height="212" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Possible fabric choices for curtains, all from <a href="http://www.ikea.com/">IKEA.</a> </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEims60M9e5TAgM3mD32kD4bAKQ2QPknzP9LahDNybOXFk1jOrbm7MycLv4Z66vtNPBGv-XCppO-1CzdcXf4CG5geKfBv0YALQp9zPm4uuMl-N3hLEKZbSxpZe5eOHIXa1gaWbsEPoagtlAC/s1600/studio+ideas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEims60M9e5TAgM3mD32kD4bAKQ2QPknzP9LahDNybOXFk1jOrbm7MycLv4Z66vtNPBGv-XCppO-1CzdcXf4CG5geKfBv0YALQp9zPm4uuMl-N3hLEKZbSxpZe5eOHIXa1gaWbsEPoagtlAC/s1600/studio+ideas.jpg" height="160" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Studio ideas, yes I will have my own place to write and create!!! Everything <a href="http://www.ikea.com/">IKEA</a> except wall art by <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/youwannatalkjive">you wanna talk jive</a>.</b></td></tr>
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<b>Well, I guess you can see we got the go-ahead on the new place. We sign the lease on Saturday and get keys on the tenth. It's a celebration bitches! It has a lot of potential, and I intend to take it to the next level, making it a more permanent home for John and I. This moving around stuff is for the birds, as is the Inland Empire, period. I went crazy last night (as you can see) drawing inspiration for our rooms, and beginning to think design ideas. I pulled together a few things I LOVE, if you have any helpful suggestions for good ideas (if someone says the P-word I WILL KILL YOU), feel free to let me know! I am also on the hunt for all things vintage and awesome to accompany new or refurbished items. I think I may paint our old kitchen table mint, or yellow...or mint and yellow chevrons...</b><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-57155816817400969722013-09-03T13:42:00.000-07:002013-09-03T13:42:29.334-07:00Meet Julie, from Yonder!
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Hi y'all! I'm Julie from the blog <a href="http://restlessheartsyonder.blogspot.com/">Yonder</a> and I thought I'd stop in to say hi today! Allison has been kind enough to let me show you all a little of what's been going on in my life lately. A little background story: I'm getting married. Yeah, that's probably the only fact you need to know before reading the rest of this post. </div>
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The days leading up to my wedding have been a little less eventful than I thought they'd be. Or maybe, I just thought they'd be filled with more worthwhile events than this. Justin and I have been working hard getting stuff ready. We've been cleaning the house, sprucing up the yard, buying groceries, making more lists than you can imagine and ending each night by passing out cold. Sounds romantic, right? Perhaps it's because I've watching <b>way more</b> than my fair share of rom-coms, but I just thought it would be a little different. More <i>Father of the Bride</i>-ish (circa Steve Martin). Ya know, putting together last minute details about where the flowers should go and when the swans would arrive. Oh wait, but that's right...I'm not having swans at my wedding. </div>
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Here's what I've been up to for the past week or so:</div>
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<i>--I bought pink champagne. I want to drink it with my bridesmaids as we're getting ready on Saturday</i></div>
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<i>--It's blowing my mind that I will be a Mrs soon. Like, seriously.</i></div>
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<i>--The weather here in Missouri has been scorching lately, but we just got a break this week. Coincidence? I think not.</i></div>
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<i>--We got two gifts for the wedding this week: a great card from our friend Mary and a pair of handknitted socks from my friend Emily. I can't wait till winter when I can wear these! </i></div>
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<i>--We splurged this weekend and got indian food. There is a great take away place near our house that we love. I have been craving a mango lassi for awhile and finally got one. I could seriously eat palak paneer every. single. day...what's your favorite indian dish? </i></div>
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We have a few more days until the wedding and I'm sure things will start to get a little more interesting. I'm hoping, though, that through it all I remain as stress free as possible. That is my main goal! I hope you all have a lovely day! If you'd like to see more you can find me <a href="http://restlessheartsyonder.blogspot.com/">here</a>, <a href="http://instagram.com/julieyonder">here</a> or <a href="http://pinterest.com/julierestless/">here</a>. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-55387400625937650412013-09-02T08:27:00.000-07:002013-09-02T08:27:51.045-07:00Barbecutie!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kHnYbc0BYALIi6U6P7HF6TNVEigfc7YMnLMaHXtWi-Vd8rK7ECnY1vDemvT5wDHQVEDCHd2X5qhss_5-N0PfU9QxwUUhMXzTou8M-YWQUFirMpAivxCxq4pkontcwBh2dy6Ajl2Ujoko/s1600/IMG_6222.JPG" height="640" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="426" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My favorite dress, ever.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>dress: ModCloth glasses: Wal-Mart shoes: Ross bin 'o' Magic plugs: BJR</b></td></tr>
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<b>I believe John and I may have found the place of our dreams this weekend. However, dude to my FABULOUS credit (thank-you student loans, college and trying to better oneself) we might have to put down first month's and last month's rent...which would be quite a bit at once for us, but I think we have worked out something with our hopefully-future landlord, and I know you guys will be absolutely BLOWN OUT if we get it. </b><br />
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<b>I don't want to reveal too much but I will tell you it's a renovated "Craftsman-style" home, and the garden, sitting area and the totally awesome Murphy bed give me CRAZY ideas for decor. Everyone cross your fingers, I talk to him tomorrow and attempt to finalize everything. </b><br />
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<b>In the meantime, I have no words for the comfort, style and cut of this dress. Too often in plus-size clothing, I feel we are forced to choose dresses that are made of predominately polyester, or poly-blends. I ADORE MODCLOTH because they have an excellent of all-cotton plus size dresses, and this hot number is one of them. I never want to take it off. Ever.</b><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-3875909166930443122013-08-30T07:40:00.001-07:002013-08-30T07:40:42.137-07:00The Time Justin Held Me Down And Made Me Eat Rabbit Poop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>I'm not sure if I was "cool" in high school or not. It seemed like I had a lot of friends, a nice cross-section</b> <b>of stoners, weirdos, over-achievers, athletes, nerds and of course some rather "popular" kids. My role in school was simple. Be funny, be weird, be smart and be without boyfriend.</b><br />
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<b>Some of the best moments in my career as the "chubby-funny-girl" included the time I was forced to eat rabbit feces. I know what you're thinking...how could that be a "best?" Well apparently, you weren't in Ms. Zacher's class.</b><br />
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<b>Ms. (and yes I mean MS.) Zacher was that teacher. She would drive in from the mountains with snow on the rooftop of her SUV and let us chuck it at each other. We often would discuss topics that had NOTHING to do with AP English Lit, and I am pretty sure she loved it.</b><br />
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<b>Our required reading for that class was in a word: torturous. Now that I look back on it as an adult, I realize she was asking us to read and discuss some pretty awesome books. The problem is high school sophomores DGAF about obscure poetry from from the seventies. They can rent <u>To Kill A Mockingbird</u>, and there were Cliff's Notes for just about everything she asked us to read. Therefore, we had A LOT of down time.</b><br />
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<b>The class itself could have been an early episode of MTV's <i>The Real World.</i> I had my awkward-nerdy-ska-friend, my I-cut-myself friend, my totally-closeted friend, and of course, Justin. Justin was that guy that knew about <i>Nine Inch Nails</i> before anybody else. He was often prone to spout awesome hysterical nonsense, or draw some intense picture that probably had satanic undertones. It also did not hurt that he was very good looking.</b><br />
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<b>One day, we had a bit of a "break" and decided to take it on the mound of the softball field. I'm not sure why Ms. Zacher wasn't more concerned that we were more than one hundred yards away from the classroom, or if she even had a clue. I decided to take a seat on top of a little hill, covered in rabbit droppings. I pointed this out to Justin. That's when the fun began. </b><br />
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<b>I'm not sure how it started, or why, but Justin recruited some of my pals to hold me down and shove the rabbit shit into my mouth. The problem was not my gagging, but the fact that I was laughing so hard I thought I was going to choke. It LITERALLY killed me, I was busting the gut of a lifetime. Everyone involved was dying too, barely able to hold me down while I spit a combination of grass and delicious rabbit feces out of my mouth.</b><br />
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<b>It was then Zacher spotted us, and started to motion for us to return. When asked what had occurred, and why we were all besides ourselves with laughter, Justin answered, "Oh nothing, Alli just ate some shit."</b><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00357870420160392512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8751745855437927811.post-72250737205810568972013-08-29T08:47:00.000-07:002013-08-29T08:47:22.951-07:00Pony Up!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Shoes and jeans: Target top: thrifted necklace: thrifted glasses: <a href="http://www.rivetandsway.com/">Rivet and Sway</a></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQmoCXkrsIVLRdC85OPLT6DA7XlvEhBArwWTmlC8tIn6DlotehFMo73ugmQZOoANmGUTsanfJfkCH8fPs-pIAP8DTr3meEhnSWDvASWnjQ_ZkmjZLQOVtmnRPOYXb5s7RqVzN0gTlB1ut/s1600/IMG_6209+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQmoCXkrsIVLRdC85OPLT6DA7XlvEhBArwWTmlC8tIn6DlotehFMo73ugmQZOoANmGUTsanfJfkCH8fPs-pIAP8DTr3meEhnSWDvASWnjQ_ZkmjZLQOVtmnRPOYXb5s7RqVzN0gTlB1ut/s1600/IMG_6209+-+Copy.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>FASHION MONSTER!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjO7oBCiodqxt-X_PMJqFA7gT6llx7-pOiFs3Z6UUHoY-MJfkj0lFR2u6nUVbjKL8pBjKqS8gugddzV8Lt8NFL_KqrNbcpjkEZV3p7baNtGSZ-5I9WCJ2k9bGyMfgiVsiHVK53bBcCNcz/s1600/IMG_6210+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjO7oBCiodqxt-X_PMJqFA7gT6llx7-pOiFs3Z6UUHoY-MJfkj0lFR2u6nUVbjKL8pBjKqS8gugddzV8Lt8NFL_KqrNbcpjkEZV3p7baNtGSZ-5I9WCJ2k9bGyMfgiVsiHVK53bBcCNcz/s1600/IMG_6210+-+Copy.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I'm attempting the "pony", which has NOTHING to do with twerking.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwUzTQY1HDxAvUEOP7b6FkwhHHpiKx5QjCeb6IKocEDTuytAyZ8r50i4TQqfAYctH2T6WJ0DAgTwsS0nWbOI3VivsRtEUhd-kPEUa_U-IXOosEXgRYqDLeyjIEVuIyUQipmEEFr3pAfAIm/s1600/IMG_6211+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwUzTQY1HDxAvUEOP7b6FkwhHHpiKx5QjCeb6IKocEDTuytAyZ8r50i4TQqfAYctH2T6WJ0DAgTwsS0nWbOI3VivsRtEUhd-kPEUa_U-IXOosEXgRYqDLeyjIEVuIyUQipmEEFr3pAfAIm/s1600/IMG_6211+-+Copy.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>And then I threw some jazz hands in...</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Then proceeded to throw some 'bows. Yup, I'm an idiot.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WMp11e0G-j23FCobjWjGJC7tnXivzo4AlQ6d_h0cXzAUTacQDww96RSaZRVHecJoA3u6guKFvnpYbGz8sd-G9wvLf1MM1pvdM3ciyJ58p1ROGem3f4xj3GAvn5E6u_n-v-Tx5dK6S_g-/s1600/IMG_6215+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WMp11e0G-j23FCobjWjGJC7tnXivzo4AlQ6d_h0cXzAUTacQDww96RSaZRVHecJoA3u6guKFvnpYbGz8sd-G9wvLf1MM1pvdM3ciyJ58p1ROGem3f4xj3GAvn5E6u_n-v-Tx5dK6S_g-/s1600/IMG_6215+-+Copy.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>This is when John insists I stop dancing like a fool.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I love the combination of these two, and I adore the "bow" on this blouse.</b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></td></tr>
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<b>I sometimes just want to laugh when I think about the nature of human beings. A few days ago, when I was in the process of voting for a winner for a contest, I came across the FB profile of a girl I THOUGHT looked like a real sweetheart. I suggested we be friends, and after she gave me the third degree in all caps, I thought..."maybe I should of introduced myself?" Usually, if you don't want to befriend someone on FB you just hit..."decline." I have never seen the "give them the Matlock treatment" button. </b><br />
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<b>Regardless, then she got angry when I decided to rescind my invitation, thinking I was annoying her. She then got even more bitchy and announced: "Homie don't play that." I literally had to read it THREE TIMES. You know, because it's not 1992. Then I proceeded to explain, "Hey, you seemed pissed...so I left you alone."</b><br />
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<b>After explaining how "easy-going" she is after this "misunderstanding" she decides to blow my page up with a bunch of bullshit about how <i>Blurred Lines </i>is a misogynistic song with "rapey" undertones. I had to take my status down, it was so offensive to me. Y'all read my post yesterday, where I stood up for myself, and my opinions, ahem...which are MY RIGHTS.</b><br />
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<b>Guess who decided to block me from FB? I'm assuming because I spoke about being a REAL victim of sexual assault, not one who likes to throw words around because I consider myself a "feminist." Maybe instead of blocking me you could apologize for acting like an asshole. Oh wait, I am expecting adult behavior from someone who doesn't even use their real name on Facebook. Good luck, Kitty Kat Klaws. I don't tolerate bitches, or maybe to make it easier for you to understand, I'll use your terminology: "Homie don't play that."</b><br />
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