tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69019373004823295622024-02-19T07:30:01.696-07:00Not MollyLaurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-75858652006738055102010-06-06T19:48:00.003-06:002010-06-06T20:04:26.143-06:00baby Shade<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.pureandlittle.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/5e06319eda06f020e43594a9c230972d/f/i/file_15_1.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 500px;" src="http://www.pureandlittle.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/5e06319eda06f020e43594a9c230972d/f/i/file_15_1.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I'm all for layering... But it really gets to me when I see moms <span style="font-style:italic;">requiring </span>their little girls (translation: toddlers, 5-year-olds, infants, etc. ETC.!!!) to wear a t-shirt under their tank tops throughout the week and cute little sundresses at church.<br /><br />Really?<br /><br />You're really that concerned about your daughter's self-image already? So maybe you're worried about the creepy next-door neighbor (of which I have a few, myself)... But come on. <br /><br />I honestly don't think her shoulders need to be covered every day when it's 85+ degrees outside.<br /><br />If I weren't covering my own shoulders for a particular reason, you can bet I'd be relishing in that freedom.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-88641748942277251542010-01-31T13:12:00.003-07:002010-01-31T13:17:47.179-07:00Brining over Dinner<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtijqHo5nGl7vILYjMsHLE8grAmD9b6K-z1Tl-0ibhbPsyoYpSYtqpBnHFacgawqabfI1oswnmtDkQEZYGkjypNax5dIvUbFBmk2nuQXLBefxcVXHYtC8toVDnuesb0Bm6_BVZhC5L9P7/s1600-h/dinner.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432999823150214450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtijqHo5nGl7vILYjMsHLE8grAmD9b6K-z1Tl-0ibhbPsyoYpSYtqpBnHFacgawqabfI1oswnmtDkQEZYGkjypNax5dIvUbFBmk2nuQXLBefxcVXHYtC8toVDnuesb0Bm6_BVZhC5L9P7/s400/dinner.jpg" border="0" /></a>I'm trying not to feel bad about this.....but.... <div> </div><div>I am REALLY, REALLY happy that my Relief Society brings me dinners when I'm sick, and post op, and you know....that kind of stuff.</div><div> </div><div>It's awesome, and the women in my ward can really cook- some yummy, yummy stuff. AND, they EVEN bring dessert :) </div><div> </div><div>I want to give back....but I'm starting to think they KNOW they have better options??? Crap.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-90794243735229593762009-09-24T22:45:00.002-06:002009-09-24T22:51:17.750-06:00Stop yourself....When you feel like you want to:<br /><br />Complain about how fat you are when you're a size 4- STOP YOURSELF<br /><br />Blog about Blogging, and your private/non private status: STOP YOURSELF<br /><br />Complain about your creditors on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Facebook</span>: STOP YOURSELF<br /><br />Wear anything with CARGO in the description: STOP YOURSELF<br /><br />Send your kids to a modeling agency: STOP YOURSELF<br /><br />Re-gift someone: STOP YOURSELF<br /><br />Blog your testimony: STOP YOURSELF!!!!!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-58217266016272435332009-07-24T00:34:00.006-06:002009-07-24T00:42:46.638-06:00Target and Vagina: the makings of a great story<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvg0Bes2OmdtV45vY-3Vub7G6fmnOr5N__1tpthv3QhBAapOVSoaKSU8vSPMmOwlFjUGzVKDXxDYSzaMnAlToCQTdc3IjC8LO-vkYAehNRP4fgBBz0lGrKg2H6lQgPQvTpzHR9q6GWPeu3/s1600-h/1262167245_66eb1c5b96_m%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361911534064214370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 183px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvg0Bes2OmdtV45vY-3Vub7G6fmnOr5N__1tpthv3QhBAapOVSoaKSU8vSPMmOwlFjUGzVKDXxDYSzaMnAlToCQTdc3IjC8LO-vkYAehNRP4fgBBz0lGrKg2H6lQgPQvTpzHR9q6GWPeu3/s400/1262167245_66eb1c5b96_m%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a> Meet my favorite "Mommy Blogger" and brilliant writer Rebecca Wolf. </div><div align="center">Now please follow the link if you are prepared to hear the best Vagina/Target story ever. </div><div align="center">Left me in tears and giggling for hours. </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="http://www.girlsgonechild.net/">www.girlsgonechild.net/</a></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">The post is called "Blogging Out Loud"</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Props Rebecca, props.<br /></div><div align="center"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-88034455543144477462009-07-14T12:43:00.001-06:002009-07-14T14:57:17.377-06:00kegelsI peed MORE than "a little" today during my workout. Damned jumping jacks and childbirth.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-54810505262777881982009-07-12T13:50:00.003-06:002009-07-12T14:09:45.272-06:00Footloose....<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEity-BOsWNmypBb91A_-glk1MnFwDMnFDtY6vWlXAZEC-3Nvb_VImodLHJH1t8Qw0q9s-3oIFjJ5bL-gZnjQzK4sGG5XhooZOM5HUCmFWoa0jae3gWguKXfZmnSqKf_fqPiT9WbtbNe6pda/s1600-h/footloose.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357664878303340178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 306px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEity-BOsWNmypBb91A_-glk1MnFwDMnFDtY6vWlXAZEC-3Nvb_VImodLHJH1t8Qw0q9s-3oIFjJ5bL-gZnjQzK4sGG5XhooZOM5HUCmFWoa0jae3gWguKXfZmnSqKf_fqPiT9WbtbNe6pda/s400/footloose.bmp" border="0" /></a> I<span>got to church about 8 minutes late today. I decided that it would be RUDE to enter the room, and that it would probably be more polite for me to sit on the nice comfy sofa in the foyer....<br /><br />WE had a recently returned missionary speak, and then a high councilman.....who sounded EXACTLY like WREN!!!<br /><br />I couldn't pay attention (what's new) because I was thinking about the awesome scene with the city council where Wren cites scriptures from the Bible.....<br /><br />THERE IS a time to DANCE.<br /><br />I love Church.</span></div><div align="center"><span></span> </div><div align="center"><span>And, there's no high school musical like THIS high school musical...<br /></span></div><div align="center"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-53270244547105133222009-06-28T13:36:00.005-06:002009-06-28T14:44:40.472-06:00The 'Spiritual' voice<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyp5xXv7y0HzNIWqKR6wB5BIT4KQhsMzlnu_AOYC7ESUdQjsuRCezGphwBQOmXVT5Gm-s7x_KGGvQ1BD15NUHyi1-z8yyvyXk7jTnIoqqcPkWxe0qfvvy8xXpKw6hqVTx2QFncwqBA5jsX/s1600-h/woman+screaming.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352481660743640114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 297px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyp5xXv7y0HzNIWqKR6wB5BIT4KQhsMzlnu_AOYC7ESUdQjsuRCezGphwBQOmXVT5Gm-s7x_KGGvQ1BD15NUHyi1-z8yyvyXk7jTnIoqqcPkWxe0qfvvy8xXpKw6hqVTx2QFncwqBA5jsX/s400/woman+screaming.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I can remember being a little kid and getting screamed at for stuff. Stuff that was certifiably scream-able. I don't blame my Mom for screaming, and I actually think it was good to see her get mad every now and then. Otherwise Mom's would just be pushovers, right? You gotta know where the line is. I can also remember how flawlessly that voice would go from horrifying to pleasantly humble in a matter of milliseconds when the phone rang, or some poor soul would come to the door. It's a transformation I've been trying to master, but so far I've failed miserably. I've noticed that if I have just spent the last ten minutes in fury at my family, that I am equally unpleasant if I answer the door or phone. I'm basically just pure in emotion all the time, and you get what I am- no smoke, no mirrors. I've started to think that maybe there's more behind a voice that I thought. Maybe it's the nice-voiced people that are really the dangerous ones.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I have started to notice that there are lots of difference kinds of voices. The worst of those being the ones that have adapted from a regular speaking voice into the 'Spiritual' voice. Everybody knows at least one. Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a bad dream surrounded by inhuman smile-painted-on women. WAKE ME UP!!! Seriously though.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Without going into too much detail- I know this girl. She and I have MANY differences. One BLATANTLY obvious one is that I have a regular voice, and everything she says comes out oozing in sweetness, softness, and is irritatingly sing-song-y. So, why.....WHY, when she is clearly a very nice person, does she irritate me so badly?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Because. Her 'SPIRITUAL' voice does not hide the fact that she is clearly a self-righteous, judging, snotty pants. Just because you say it NICELY doesn't mean that what your saying isn't totally LAME!!! And guess what, it doesn't matter how sweet you pretend to be on the outside, and how quiet and nice you squeak out words- the truth is, there are good people in the world that talk normally, and don't wear bows in their hair (in their 20's!!). </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sick of this double standard. I'm done with the 'SPIRITUALLY' voice-ed people getting away with being jerks and saying totally rude things all the time, and never taking the responsibility for it just because they said it softly, and with insincere concern. I'd rather have somebody bluntly tell me whatever needs to be said in a regular voice. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-31570197272581488662009-06-11T08:42:00.003-06:002009-06-11T08:45:30.649-06:00The Creep<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNQFJr0QzdYEImNuERkNA2jgTjOfGKzFpG_igLvnj7zNVV1-hgTfWHnozgF3TLuWTV2G23u8FnhmX7kvULa7_Fbsut26eP1nBWzZIPjI70Sjvl2I_SiXjPF-GIxzWm_uxn_IVSzgZTUtX/s1600-h/creep+in+blue+car.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346080848852841522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNQFJr0QzdYEImNuERkNA2jgTjOfGKzFpG_igLvnj7zNVV1-hgTfWHnozgF3TLuWTV2G23u8FnhmX7kvULa7_Fbsut26eP1nBWzZIPjI70Sjvl2I_SiXjPF-GIxzWm_uxn_IVSzgZTUtX/s400/creep+in+blue+car.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span><span style="font-size:130%;">Creeps ALWAYS drive in <span style="color:#3333ff;">BLUE</span> cars.<br /><br />You know it's TRUE.</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-26994392507848060152009-06-02T21:12:00.002-06:002009-06-02T21:19:44.048-06:00Poopy Doopy<div align="center"><span><span style="font-size:130%;">There's something about:<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;">Institutional Buildings</span><br /><br />and<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#cc0000;">Big Box Retail Stores<br /></span><br />that really makes me<br /><br />have to<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#663333;">POOP.</span><br /></strong></span><br /><br /><br />I can't explain it. <br /><br />Can you?</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-78486182935285343822009-06-01T16:29:00.003-06:002009-06-01T16:34:40.876-06:00Wedding PhotosSo I was helping my friend with her baby while she took our friend's wedding photos on Saturday, and it was honestly a blast! While making sure she got in all the shots the couple and couple's parents really wanted, the bride's brother mentioned sunglasses... She actually said to her now-husband, "We should have brought our glasses for a "shades" shot!"<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Noooooo!!!!!</span></strong><br /><br />Why does every couple (at least, I swear every other Mormon couple) think they need a "cool shades" shot?<br /><br />This is the most formal event of your life! (Most likely, anyway...) Stick to the basics, with a creative photographer to mix it up just a bit, and let it be beautiful. You don't need to sacrifice your personality, but come on. "Cool Shades"???<br /><br />Thank goodness their glasses were in their car.<br /><br />(Disclaimer: The rest of the wedding was incredibly beautiful and "cool shades"-esque free.)Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-55196641656656904152009-05-19T18:52:00.002-06:002009-05-19T19:01:59.000-06:00Caution: Do not use on eyes....<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewEp_9HMQMAwht7AROXbS_fpdo7JwtlG7zRok_3NS0OjcoganpERyx2R9ZvzN344za8kI0mqBki7uaC5_02Li8yNsBvsiHs1RWog2zq7H2Gj5sEFRbMg0BPorHnPlj3bdgdbarPKJIIgC/s1600-h/nail+polish+remover.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337703412157648258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewEp_9HMQMAwht7AROXbS_fpdo7JwtlG7zRok_3NS0OjcoganpERyx2R9ZvzN344za8kI0mqBki7uaC5_02Li8yNsBvsiHs1RWog2zq7H2Gj5sEFRbMg0BPorHnPlj3bdgdbarPKJIIgC/s400/nail+polish+remover.jpg" border="0" /></a> If you get really, really tired....</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">You might fall asleep with your makeup on....</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Then you could find yourself the next morning waking up to a phone call...</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">walking into the bathroom, while on the wake up phone call....</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">and using nail polish remover to take off yesterdays eye makeup....</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Only to find yourself screaming "I'm such a RETARD!!!" to the person on the phone that woke you up.....</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">And FLUSHing out your eyes repeatedly.....before finding the ACTUAL makeup remover.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-57469790558316333862009-05-13T19:45:00.001-06:002009-05-14T08:43:23.051-06:00slip-n-slideWhile my father-in-law was working on our car today, he came in from the garage asking if we had any petroleum jelly. "Nope." After a discouraged look, I asked what it was for, and if there was anything else that might do the job. He went on to explain, it was to help "one part slide into another part"... Yeah, I just gave my father-in-law a dollop of KY. The worst part, though, is that I acted like it didn't embarrass me in the least bit! Right. I should have just said I didn't have any...Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-9020306639270625162009-05-12T20:01:00.001-06:002009-05-12T20:01:56.116-06:00scandalous<!-- Converted from text/rtf format --> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">Why do I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B> <FONT FACE="Arial">feed</FONT></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> off gossip? I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Arial">battle</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> with the never-ending battle of whether or not to share it</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> (the</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Arial">“</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">sharing</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">”</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> is always more fun)</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">, I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Arial">loooove hearing it, and I kind of</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><I> <FONT FACE="Arial">thrive</FONT></I></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> on persuading others to give it up. (Whether or not they do is beside the point</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">…</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">) I just learned something</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B><I> <FONT FACE="Arial">very</FONT></I></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> juicy at work, and it is definitely something I should not share with ANYONE</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Arial">in the workplace</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">. Just very unprofessional and outside my privileges. Yet I find myself</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B> <FONT COLOR="#993366" FACE="Arial">dying</FONT></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> to tell someone (which means I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">ll probably just tell my husband, as he is completely removed from the situation).</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> I don</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">t really understand why gossip entrances me so. I really admire those who are beyond-a-doubt trustworthy individuals (my aforementioned husband included). I like to think that when it comes down to it I am pretty trustworthy, too. But, come on!</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> Who doesn</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">t love</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B> <FONT SIZE=2 FACE="Arial">just a little</FONT></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> scandal?</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"></SPAN></P> Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-39144784992373715692009-05-10T22:53:00.003-06:002009-05-10T23:24:05.164-06:00LESS MONLESS MON. <br /><br />As opposed to MORE MON. (Mormon).<br /><br />I can't take it anymore.<br /><br />I love my faith, don't get me wrong. I'm just one of those people who should NOT be allowed in public. And yes, I am a contradiction in terms. I hate being judged and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">labeled</span>. Now, please, read as I label and judge others.....<br /><br />My ward has finally been split. Now we have 'permanent boundaries' and should be able to stay as we are without being grown into over 1000 people again. I was excited to have a regularly sized ward. I am glad that we have our new building open now, and that we can walk to church again. <br /><br />It kinda sucks that SOME people are still in my ward though, and I lost my totally RAD visiting teacher. The only one I've had in 7 years. Sigh. And it Really sucks that I don't have a calling, and that I have to go to relief society. What's now 'my ward' is full of THAT kind of lady....the middle aged, ultra spiritual, singing, crying, testimony bearing, kind. You know what I mean. The whispering, glancing, labeling, and judging kind. The kind that say things to you like 'O, yes, I've heard you just had a baby, and that you work outside of the home...' <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hee</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">hee</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">hee</span>. Like REGULAR, NORMAL people say things like that. Get a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">freakin</span> day pass into the REAL WORLD lady. <br /><br />It happened. It was last Sunday. Two Women. A whisper. A glance. And an invisible, silent, crass label was sent my direction....right into my eyes. Oops. They quickly looked back at each other....with the thought....'O dear, she saw us talking......about HER.' I honestly find it pretty humorous, and splendid to watch as it so predictably unfolds. It's like a celebration in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">stepford</span> ignorance. I can hear the rest of what they said.....'I just feel so badly for her.....judge judge judge......' Well, don't. I have a great life. One that you, miss Perfect, could NEVER juggle. <br /><br />I was hoping it would be a little smoother.....but, WARD o MINE, here it comes. I think we're about to get to know each other a little better. You asked for it :) <br /><br />You've heard the phrase 'Less is more'. Well, I'm getting so exhausted with the ULTRA MORE Mons out there. The ones that think they have to overwhelm us all with their Testimony EVERY fast Sunday, and the ones that HAVE to sing louder than anybody else, the ones that always have something to say and never have anything to hear, the ones that do the looking and the glancing, the ones who FEEL like they needed to talk to you today, the ones that get INSPIRED all the time - to do things like turn left instead of right, or clean today instead of weed - and then break into a major spiritual reflection...... the ones that act like they can't be around you because you aren't the loudest singer/frequent testimony bearer/compulsive hand raiser/MORE MON, and they fear they might seem LESS by being friends with anything less than a MORE MON. <br /><br />Well, I declare myself a 'LESS is More' <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">mon</span>.<br /><br />Unleash the LESS MON.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-33800475722930230012009-05-10T22:39:00.001-06:002009-05-10T22:41:16.957-06:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpS5kx3i8TAM0ptsJGSvFlfGa-ypTLPDCFwwhm_OcWOM68E2HUD75KiJgVcwL2oRqL2PsZiS19soAiMqoZZEI5lihLgo3jacPrA9S-307h55uysHEqWGG-el9135nAk0gSXXl7Ro6U4YE/s1600-h/slim+fast.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334421375068458850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 110px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 110px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpS5kx3i8TAM0ptsJGSvFlfGa-ypTLPDCFwwhm_OcWOM68E2HUD75KiJgVcwL2oRqL2PsZiS19soAiMqoZZEI5lihLgo3jacPrA9S-307h55uysHEqWGG-el9135nAk0gSXXl7Ro6U4YE/s400/slim+fast.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">Cause I'm too fat for REAL food.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">And, I'm actually too cheap for REAL Slim fast. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">I REALLY buy the Slim Rites. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Whatever. It's not like either of them will make me skinny anyway. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">(please tell me they will.....please tell me they will.....)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-86408664820590510532009-04-18T12:38:00.001-06:002009-04-18T12:38:31.758-06:00my subconscious<!-- Converted from text/rtf format --> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">Last night I had a dream that I was going to the</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Arial">“</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">Primary</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">”</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> session of General Conference with the Young Women of my ward. I was totally ticked off and bothered because</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"></FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B><I><U> <FONT COLOR="#3366FF" FACE="Arial">all</FONT></U></I></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> of</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Arial">my</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> in-laws were in town (all men aside from my husband</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">s mother)</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> and tagged along. Not only were they tagging along</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> / imposing on my bonding with the Young Women</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">, but they were dilly-dallying in the back aisles of what I assume must have been the Conference Center (though it looked</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> absolutely</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> nothing like it)</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> when they were supposed to be getting seated.</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial"> The nerve</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Arial">…</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"></SPAN></P> Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-10579189358571397452009-04-01T22:17:00.002-06:002009-04-01T22:33:52.647-06:00O . M . F . G . G .Do you know how much happiness this show brings to my life?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcnhnuYVTjHnuxiIDpt65zLnZ0sgKwO4_EpSnS3XiqqWsd6g-SH82Tf-4LQBeRi8FeUnxo7IheO8Y0UFsmh868DIRUp9utyzpxbYu6-h5nRm1D4dg6hdu79KYygs_CmnJN-rFD-mPivzjc/s1600-h/gossip+girl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcnhnuYVTjHnuxiIDpt65zLnZ0sgKwO4_EpSnS3XiqqWsd6g-SH82Tf-4LQBeRi8FeUnxo7IheO8Y0UFsmh868DIRUp9utyzpxbYu6-h5nRm1D4dg6hdu79KYygs_CmnJN-rFD-mPivzjc/s400/gossip+girl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319945669805492290" /></a>After this season starting to dry itself out in the beginning, it now has me salivating. I never wanted to be a couture-obsessed, Dom Perignon-sipping, morally-oblivious Upper-East sider so bad in my life.<br /><br />I completely understand why mothers don't want their 16-year-olds watching this one. But do I really care?Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-87569814269616704792009-03-25T17:56:00.001-06:002009-03-25T17:58:09.367-06:00minor adjustment...Apparently there was some confusion with the previous post:<br /><br />There is just <em><strong>WAY </strong></em>too much basketball on at my house for my taste. That is all.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-47533695715468639752009-03-22T21:10:00.002-06:002009-03-22T21:14:32.252-06:00it's madness, I tell youYou know, my sister used to brag about how happy she was that her husband is not into sports. I had forgotten that I was actually really, really jealous of that fact until this past week.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4u2blByMpYf6bQTQuHqsE-IYnIqvtllqRtUuIvXpAhVLbjGo9O6v_1Xw7D1SYoPaOIH7s7araoQxgcBQ1XUmsmhdZJKyNA8l0tTsrIpk7GBN5qfmEjZlJoKSLGvZRlSnSE1SjSZ5BInh/s1600-h/March_Madness_2009_Logo_small.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4u2blByMpYf6bQTQuHqsE-IYnIqvtllqRtUuIvXpAhVLbjGo9O6v_1Xw7D1SYoPaOIH7s7araoQxgcBQ1XUmsmhdZJKyNA8l0tTsrIpk7GBN5qfmEjZlJoKSLGvZRlSnSE1SjSZ5BInh/s320/March_Madness_2009_Logo_small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316215955872871250" /></a>Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-63737040619223468742009-03-19T00:29:00.003-06:002009-03-19T00:45:54.396-06:00Are you a MOM?What am I supposed to say when somebody I kinda know, who hasn't seen me forever, and who has NEVER bonded with me greets me like this...<br /><br /><strong>'So</strong> <strong>are you back to work already, or do you still get to be a MOM?'...</strong><br /><br />....and says so in a completely intentional, self <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">righteous</span>, judgemental, holier than thou, disapproving way?<br /><br />Since I don't know what I SHOULD have said, because deep down, and out on the surface for that matter, I am purely human, with little or no qualities that would classify me as better than any other human in ways relating to....whatever that is....I simply said...<br /><br /><strong>'Yes, I'm ALREADY back at work, and have been for quite a while</strong> <span style="color:#999999;">(because my baby is 2 months old, and I work in a commission only job, and last time I checked, people who have babies and work in commission only jobs, still have to pay their bills);</span> <strong>and I'm pretty sure I am still a Mom, and have been the entire time. Even though I go to work.'</strong><br /><br />And, because I have obtained little or no demure and accepting behaviors in my short life, I am pretty sure I said it in a short, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">disdainful</span>, snotty, curt, disrespectful way, and that I in no way allowed her a moment to apologize for what she quickly realized had just come out of her mouth. For after all, as I so rudely made clear, I had no idea that a working mother gave up her title of MOM the day she walked back out the door to provide for her family.<br /><br />So, I guess we're even.<br /><br />Tit for Tat.<br /><br />I guess tomorrow, I work on tolerance.....glad it's tomorrow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-88186552746456798682009-03-15T22:37:00.006-06:002009-03-19T00:02:41.056-06:00I'm so busy...blahdy blahdy blah...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLD8Gnzq3-e6lTv1Qm-5vMF0mwkfte1ROA7a8Zhyi2pTiu5MMF5ZfLdSaZ4PEBsuLqrLWMk1zggteY3k7GJ81HP6nsoKo79-d5W6Rql1Vx9WKCUgs27rFyJMx3nVM0xUEKbO1SX137B16/s1600-h/cafemom.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313643885698929554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLD8Gnzq3-e6lTv1Qm-5vMF0mwkfte1ROA7a8Zhyi2pTiu5MMF5ZfLdSaZ4PEBsuLqrLWMk1zggteY3k7GJ81HP6nsoKo79-d5W6Rql1Vx9WKCUgs27rFyJMx3nVM0xUEKbO1SX137B16/s400/cafemom.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><span>There's a little something out there that I've been noticing lately. Since I took a little break from church that I like to call - 'The Holidays, 9 months pregnant, and the 2 month postpartum freebie,' I haven't been around 'the Mormons' a lot lately. (I call us all 'The Mormons' in reference to our cultural quirks).<br /><br /><br />So, now that I've been spending a little more time around 'the Mormons,' I've noticed this very strange phenomenon - all of these Women have a tenacious, ferocious, overpowering, and obnoxious way of making sure that everybody else knows 'How Busy' they are. I write it in quotations because I want you to picture me saying it while making the quotation hand gesture, because I have a really hard time swallowing this CLAIM everytime some Molly trys to bombard me with her 'Busy-ness.'<br /><br /><br />I think it's hilarious.<br /><br /><br />I also think it's completely ridiculous that women today have become so insecure with whatever it is that consumes their time, that they have begun this world wide competition over who does more, and who does what, and who can accomplish the most, and who can BE everything to EVERYONE. It's ludacris.<br /><br />And, for that matter, when I hear what they are busy with I get really confused. Girls lunch, play dates, Girls night out, family parties, book clubs, gazillions of kids classes (karate, soccer, dance, gymnastics, piano, swimming - you name it, their kids do ALL OF IT), crocheting parties, SCENTSY parties, bow making parties, shopping excursions, photography groups, marathon training, exercising, meal freezing parties, house cleaning parties, local friends, old friends, MOM friends, SINGLE friends, Church friends, Non-member Friends....aren't all of these things OPTIONAL?<br /><br />It's REALLY hard for me to sypathize with you, when you are choosing to bring all of thes 'obligations' on yourself. By the way.....they all sound like FUN to me, and it's hard for me to feel bad for you because your life is SO filled up with BUSY FUN, which doesn't really count as BUSY, just so you know. It's called partying ALL THE TIME.<br /><br />I think you guys are lametards, and I'm bored with listening to why you are so busy, and how completely swamped you are with things that are totally FUN and you act like it's such a WORKLOAD. Just say no, and spare me the monologue about whatever it is that is filling up your time (actually, your ego with pride) - because I don't care. I am bored with you. I think you should just admit that you get to have a lot of fun, and stop acting like it's work, and you are so so so busy all the time. YOU ARE HAVING FUN.<br /><br />The rest of us are working. Work is when you spend time doing things to aquire money to pay your bills and support your family. Please don't think that I don't equivocate raising children with working, because I totally do - it's a job that supports a family....see, that's what I said above....but I never saw no Girls night out support no family.....see where I'm going with this? Same thing goes for scentsy parties, girls lunches, and pilates class. Those things are just for fun - so don't complain to me about it.<br /><br />Just tell me how much fun it is. Thats better. Because, truth be told, I know you aren't busier than ME. And you don't want to go there.<br /></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313645410343155634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 264px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 219px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqGAw_VJZwplekO74Vt4GR2sZdcU1enaSCVvDhaisssiHozI1PidDPuOsHbAtozcflMPwY45Z-BPpDCdi5f7IPUd-2qkd8vRpyu0x0mv4woc51YZSmXOkwAQOK2ZxwrmDzIMx3W9MEYeGl/s400/smiley+face.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div><div></div><div align="center">hee hee</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-57516308353919435382009-03-10T20:03:00.000-06:002009-03-10T20:03:00.354-06:00Temptations<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZrUsl6WOJ-3NDL4IpgY-vkayiC8CnhgiJGQD3OLqge3bWovkupcxqoa_qfry-b1QnOxXkYvRHZLVyHU5ur-y2xlT2dkVoqDGbGOEjhe6Ld2eY4_gYpghbmxecDpoYXr6KnCZGzlh5mtM/s1600-h/Milkyway2togo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311683695580122082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 144px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZrUsl6WOJ-3NDL4IpgY-vkayiC8CnhgiJGQD3OLqge3bWovkupcxqoa_qfry-b1QnOxXkYvRHZLVyHU5ur-y2xlT2dkVoqDGbGOEjhe6Ld2eY4_gYpghbmxecDpoYXr6KnCZGzlh5mtM/s400/Milkyway2togo.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center">I REALLY</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">REALLY</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">REALLY </span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;">LOVE THESE!</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><br /><div align="center">...and blame them for my lack of weight loss.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-42740069803520296232009-03-09T20:49:00.001-06:002009-03-09T20:49:35.519-06:00online shopping<!-- Converted from text/rtf format --> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">It usually gets me while I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">m at work. </FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> </SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">Sitting at my desk, staring at the computer, hopelessly bored, not willing to search for something work-related to occupy my mind.</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"></SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"></SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">It</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">s like I don</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">t have complete control of my fingers, as in no time at all I am staring at nordtsrom.com</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">–</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> where all your dreams come true!</FONT></SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"></SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">To make myself feel better, I start my online shopping perusing the various categories of the Sale section. </FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">Opened: window after window of 4-inch heels, fancy embellished flats, sparkly sandals,</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">“</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">clearance</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">”</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> boot</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"></FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">cut Citizens and skinny Sevens, pretty floral tops (they</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><I> <FONT FACE="Georgia">are</FONT></I></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> all the hype this Spring), fabulous dresses</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> could never wear, and even some workout paraphernalia (you know, because I just</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B><U> <FONT FACE="Georgia">know</FONT></U></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">ll be better at working out if I have the right things to wear).</FONT></SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">After I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">ve sifted through the windows that no longer have my sizes available, I start</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B> <FONT FACE="Georgia">really</FONT></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> having fun. </FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Wingdings" SIZE=3>J</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> Here is where I look at all of the things I could</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><I> <FONT FACE="Georgia">never</FONT></I></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> afford (because that</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">s healthier, right? then it</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">s not like I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">ll actually buy them</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">…</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">). The</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">Jimmy</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">Choos, Moschinos, and Salvatore Ferragamos</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">,</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> Nanette Lepore</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> dresses</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">,</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">Valentino</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"></FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><I> <FONT FACE="Georgia">everything</FONT></I></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">,</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B> <FONT FACE="Georgia">L.A.M.B.</FONT></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B><I> <FONT FACE="Georgia">everything</FONT></I></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> (Gwen Stefani knows some shit, I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">ll tell you what). So many pretty things!</FONT></SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"></SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">Now I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">ve substantially depressed myself. Absolutely nothing in my overflowing closet is soft enough, luxurious enough, trendy enough, or pretty enough. Even the windows from my</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">“</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">previous searching</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">”</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> lack in</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B> <FONT COLOR="#FF0066" FACE="Georgia">every way</FONT></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> in comparison to</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">this</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">high class shopping.</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"></SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">Alas, I know I paid off</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">‘</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">X</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> number of dollars on my card last month (which may or may not</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> have been</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> over its limit already), so that leaves</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"> <FONT FACE="Georgia">‘</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">X</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> amount available again! </FONT></SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">Hell. Why not get those 5-inch Jessica Simpson shoes? I know my husband likes the similar ones I have already, so it</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">s not like he</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">’</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">ll be</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><I> <FONT FACE="Georgia">mad</FONT></I></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> at me</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">.</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> I</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> would</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B><I><U> <FONT FACE="Georgia">never</FONT></U></I></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> buy three- and four-hundred dollar shoes! Those are just fun to look at.</FONT></SPAN></P> <P DIR=LTR><SPAN LANG="en-us"><I><FONT FACE="Georgia">Gossip Girl</FONT></I></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> is</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><B><U> <FONT FACE="Georgia">not</FONT></U></B></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia"> ruining my perspective on fashio</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"><FONT FACE="Georgia">n, sense of cost, and overall morale and priorities.</FONT></SPAN><SPAN LANG="en-us"></SPAN></P> Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10377855325175577877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-84896638424054735772009-03-05T09:51:00.002-07:002009-03-05T09:52:30.213-07:00Feelin' Good.The other day I almost french-kissed some woman at Ikea, who told me I looked good in my jeans. I guess I really like compliments.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901937300482329562.post-58516212700664560732009-02-15T03:37:00.009-07:002009-02-16T04:21:31.492-07:00Is it worth it?There are some things that JUST AREN'T worth it.<br /><br /><br /><p><span style="font-size:0;"><span style="font-size:0;"><span style="font-size:0;"><em><span style="color:#336666;"></p></span></em></span></span></span><blockquote><em><span style="color:#336666;">falling asleep with your mascara<br />on<br /><br />going to target without passing through the clearance<br />stuff<br /><br />arguing with your toddler in public<br /><br />and for that matter,<br />arguing with adults on blogs<br /><br />trying to stay up to watch a movie....when<br />you have a newborn<br /><br />taking the garbage out yourself in the<br />snow<br /><br />trying to QUIT drinking COKE<br /><br />Watching GOOD THINGS<br />UTAH<br /><br />Storing clothes that USED to fit BEFORE I got<br />married<br /><br />Letting your Bro-in law live with you. Some smells NEVER go<br />away.<br /><br />Cancelling Cable. Worst decision EVER. Along with DVR :( BOO<br />HOO<br /><br />Nursing in Public. Actually, I take that back. Sometimes I love<br />to torture people with this.<br /><br />Reunions of any sort. I MUST say - these<br />are the WORST.<br /><br />NOT bringing gum to CHURCH. (to share with<br />those stinky breathers).<br /><br />Living life without<br />moisturizers.<br /><br />Starting up a conversation with the FRIENDLY lady in<br />the pediatricians waiting room. (There's a story<br />there...)<br /><br />Expecting to get your order right at any fast food<br />joint.<br /><br />Hair extensions.<br /><br />A vietnamese Manicure.<br />Did I just title it? hmmm<br /><br />Using any sort of powder<br />detergents.<br /><br />Letting your XM subscription<br />expire.<br /><br />Trying to save money by using coupons.<br /><br />Guilt<br />of all sorts.<br /></span></em></blockquote><span style="font-size:0;"><span style="font-size:0;"><span style="font-size:0;"><em><span style="color:#336666;"><p></span></em></span></span></span></p>What's NOT WORTH IT to you?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3