<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329</id><updated>2012-02-16T02:06:21.842-05:00</updated><title type='text'>KtOpinions</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>82</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-7019904318505637947</id><published>2010-05-02T22:29:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-02T22:42:09.750-04:00</updated><title type='text'>"I can't stop thinking about your fanny...pack."</title><content type='html'>I have been talking for awhile about fanny packs.  Lots o' questions.  Do they still make them?  Where do you purchase them?  What do people carry in them.  Lately when I have seen fanny packs on people, they have been stuffed full.  I keep wondering what is in them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was a good day because not only did I win 3 primes in the criterium, but one of them was a fanny pack!  What will I carry in mine?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S943yxMpzAI/AAAAAAAAAF0/JO1qoaEsV84/s1600/fannypack.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S943yxMpzAI/AAAAAAAAAF0/JO1qoaEsV84/s320/fannypack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466868343013755906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-7019904318505637947?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/7019904318505637947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-cant-stop-thinking-about-your.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7019904318505637947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7019904318505637947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-cant-stop-thinking-about-your.html' title='&quot;I can&apos;t stop thinking about your fanny...pack.&quot;'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S943yxMpzAI/AAAAAAAAAF0/JO1qoaEsV84/s72-c/fannypack.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1680702326198373147</id><published>2010-04-07T21:54:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T22:10:44.644-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Unexpected</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;"&gt;A family friend of ours unexpectedly died yesterday at his home.  Here is the link to the article in the &lt;a href="http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2010/04/07/1362411/bechtlers-curator-dies.html"&gt;Charlotte Observer.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michael spent most holidays with our family and was always at my dad's office parties.  I loved laughing with Michael.  He always had something funny to say or some kind of gossip.  He was basically part of my family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am very saddened by this and so is my mom.  He was her best friend who she talked to just about everyday.  My dad is having a party in 2 weeks at his office...it will be very hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This makes me realize that I need to do what I want to do when I want to and to keep connections close to you, because everything can change in a moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michael you will be missed greatly.  I will miss laughing with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S706vxKMOsI/AAAAAAAAAFk/YxK32SEPdrQ/s1600/IMG_0531.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S706vxKMOsI/AAAAAAAAAFk/YxK32SEPdrQ/s320/IMG_0531.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457582915767253698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1680702326198373147?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1680702326198373147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/04/unexpected.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1680702326198373147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1680702326198373147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/04/unexpected.html' title='Unexpected'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S706vxKMOsI/AAAAAAAAAFk/YxK32SEPdrQ/s72-c/IMG_0531.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1360688042839287412</id><published>2010-03-19T21:52:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-19T22:01:02.228-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ironic</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;For those who know me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6QqrFN6AxI/AAAAAAAAAE8/cIPZRmcwiQE/s1600-h/katieO_001_lowres.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6QqrFN6AxI/AAAAAAAAAE8/cIPZRmcwiQE/s200/katieO_001_lowres.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450528368648389394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6Qr5YL3bDI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YV1obpRWc_M/s1600-h/katieO_005_lowres.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6Qr5YL3bDI/AAAAAAAAAFc/YV1obpRWc_M/s200/katieO_005_lowres.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450529713769901106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6QrAKvARuI/AAAAAAAAAFE/xYG_wvVjS6Y/s1600-h/katieO_002_lowres.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6QrAKvARuI/AAAAAAAAAFE/xYG_wvVjS6Y/s200/katieO_002_lowres.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450528730906642146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6QrLO2E6BI/AAAAAAAAAFM/BLSWU69Jbr0/s1600-h/katieO_003_lowres.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6QrLO2E6BI/AAAAAAAAAFM/BLSWU69Jbr0/s200/katieO_003_lowres.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450528920988608530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6QrwV3YayI/AAAAAAAAAFU/4PU0VIv9fJI/s1600-h/katieO_004_lowres.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6QrwV3YayI/AAAAAAAAAFU/4PU0VIv9fJI/s200/katieO_004_lowres.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450529558528289570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1360688042839287412?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1360688042839287412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/03/ironic.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1360688042839287412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1360688042839287412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/03/ironic.html' title='Ironic'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/S6QqrFN6AxI/AAAAAAAAAE8/cIPZRmcwiQE/s72-c/katieO_001_lowres.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5124692910753980354</id><published>2010-03-04T22:47:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-04T22:58:31.823-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Acts o' Kindness</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I have never done things for others to receive anything in return.  I do things for others because that is one of the traits that defines me and it just feels right.  If anything, I have realized that I am a big time people pleaser.  I want people to like me and be happy with me.  People have told me before that my big heart gets me into trouble.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;It just hit me tonight on the way home...I have received several random acts of kindness from friends, strangers, and acquaintances.  I am not sure why the influx, but I'm okay with it!  It feels nice to have things done for me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;This reminds me of the sayings "what goes around, comes around" and "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;A little over a year ago I was very bummed about needing help from others, and some that I thought would help me, did not.  As it all comes around, I realize that kindness may come from unexpected places and completely out of the blue.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Generosity is a very good trait to have!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I will continue helping others and being there for those who need me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5124692910753980354?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5124692910753980354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/03/random-acts-o-kindness.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5124692910753980354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5124692910753980354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/03/random-acts-o-kindness.html' title='Random Acts o&apos; Kindness'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-6796612223162553996</id><published>2010-03-03T10:57:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T11:01:45.322-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dead End Road</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Things have once again not turned out the way I planned for them to.  Had some adventures in mind for this Spring, but it won't happen now.  Very frustrated with several things; mainly the government.  I am owed lots of money that has been delayed for over 6 months.  This is one reason why things are not falling into place.  Focusing on helping others, nutrition, and getting fit.  Trying to focus on one thing I enjoy to see how well I can do.  In the past I have been engaged in lots of activities and performed mediocre.  We shall see...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I was told the other night that a path I had taken was a "dead end road."  Yes I know that now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-6796612223162553996?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/6796612223162553996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/03/dead-end-road.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6796612223162553996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6796612223162553996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/03/dead-end-road.html' title='Dead End Road'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5677262780996457110</id><published>2010-01-31T14:39:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-31T14:41:06.360-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Snow Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Yesterday may have been fun for some...but not this girl!  I hated being cooped up in the house all day.  I enjoy being around others and moving around.  Sitting on the couch, napping, and watching movies consumed my day.  Well not totally...I did ride indoors for about an hour.  I can't wait for the weather to clear up and get back to normal activities!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5677262780996457110?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5677262780996457110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/01/snow-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5677262780996457110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5677262780996457110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/01/snow-day.html' title='Snow Day'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-4981565146708375764</id><published>2010-01-29T20:22:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-29T20:26:50.533-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreams</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I hardly remember dreams.  I don't have vivid ones either.  Until I do.  This week I have woken up really stressed out over my dreams.  One was about my dog and the other about a former friend.  My dream about my dog ended ok when I woke up, but the other did not.  I was carrying the weight of this friend and it was stressing me out.  It was so bad that it took me about 45 minutes to recover from the feelings I had about this dream.  This paired with a weird week for me was not good.  I am looking forward to having a really good week next week!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-4981565146708375764?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/4981565146708375764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/01/dreams.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4981565146708375764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4981565146708375764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2010/01/dreams.html' title='Dreams'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-4322850849135084708</id><published>2009-12-18T20:07:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-18T20:10:43.440-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Recycle?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I went to an upscale movie theater last night located downtown.  Upon leaving the movie with a plastic bottle in my hand, I was excited to see a hole on the counter that said "Recycle."  Beside it was another hole that said "Trash."  I go to drop my bottle in the "Recycle" hole only to notice that the "Recycle" and "Trash" holes go into the same bag!  Are you kidding me??  It almost makes me wonder about other recycling receptacles.  Are they really going to a place where they are recycled?  Or are they going into the dumpster with other trash?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-4322850849135084708?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/4322850849135084708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/12/recycle.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4322850849135084708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4322850849135084708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/12/recycle.html' title='Recycle?'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-4411719247576288671</id><published>2009-10-26T10:53:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T11:00:31.314-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Superstitious</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Sometimes I feel like I am superstitious...so I'm not going to ride my bike today!  One year ago I broke my ankle riding my mountain bike.  For those who know me, know the story, but those who don't, it was pretty severe.  One year later and I still have limited movement in it, but, I am working hard to do stretches and push myself to do things I don't think I can do.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I have learned a lot about myself and others this past year.  Many people were there for me.  Some I knew would support me and some surprised me with their kindness.  Many people were not there for me.  A few people I thought would help because of all the help I have gave them, disappeared.  I learned my lesson and let some people go.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;On the physical side of things, I have done many things this past year that I would have never expected to do.  Long bike rides, races, and just started my running back in the last few weeks.  I am going to keep pushing myself to do more and more things.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I never would have thought something like this would have impacted my life the way it did, but it happened for lots of reasons and helped me become a better person!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;That's it for now!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;kt  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-4411719247576288671?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/4411719247576288671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/10/superstitious.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4411719247576288671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4411719247576288671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/10/superstitious.html' title='Superstitious'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-3290036620227179555</id><published>2009-10-07T21:14:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T21:24:33.471-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Duck, Duck, Goose</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I saw some geese on my ride this afternoon.  An unusually hot day considering it's October!  Anyways, I never had an opinion on geese until my last job.  After working in a closet for basically 5 months, I was moved to a HUGE office at the back of the school.  It was seriously 4 times the size of my old office, with my own bathroom!  Too bad I didn't stay there longer than a few months.  To continue with the story; once my office was moved, I parked in the back of the building.  Apparently some geese laid eggs back there by the door to the building.  Several mornings, I would park my car, get out, walk towards the building, and get attacked by geese.  When I say attacked, I mean wings flapping, hissing, and charging towards me.  This happened about 3-4 times before I realized that if the geese were cruising around back there, I would have to park at the front of the building and walk about 10 minutes through the school to get to my office.  Every morning I would drive to the back, see geese, and drive to the front.  After about a month or so, I guess the baby geese were born and they relocated themselves.  But, I may be scarred for life!  I shiver every time I see geese or get near them!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-3290036620227179555?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/3290036620227179555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/10/duck-duck-goose.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3290036620227179555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3290036620227179555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/10/duck-duck-goose.html' title='Duck, Duck, Goose'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-7327419932273710789</id><published>2009-09-23T12:10:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T12:38:28.505-04:00</updated><title type='text'>And the saga continues...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I have had a lot of things going on lately.  Lots of ups and downs.  I am still conflicted with some decisions I have made.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Despite everything else, I have finally gotten my riding/fitness back on track from a recent slump.  I ventured to the mountains a few weeks ago with a friend.  I had an amazing time riding my bike in the mountains.  The climbing was right up my alley.  Hammering uphill is easy for me and I enjoy it!  We rode on the Blue Ridge Parkway for the majority of the day.  Passer-bys were always friendly to us cyclists and the view was incredible (despite the rain!)  We turned off of the BRP to climb Mt. Mitchell.  I made it up 2 miles of straight climbing!  At that point, it was the hardest thing I have ever done on my bicycle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Here is a picture of me at the Visitor's Center&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SrpKJJxhEtI/AAAAAAAAAEs/tQ7hBdGBMfo/s1600-h/IMG_1308.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SrpKJJxhEtI/AAAAAAAAAEs/tQ7hBdGBMfo/s320/IMG_1308.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384697825577734866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;After that trip, I decided I was addicted to riding in the mountains.  Another friend of mine contacted me about participating in a cookie ride called "Bridge to Bridge."  It is a 105 mile ride that starts in Lenoir, NC and ends at the top of Grandfather mountain.  After many discussions with friends, and sponsorship from my boss, I decided to sign up.  We left at 7:30am, ride started at 10am.  The first 55 miles were pretty straight forward; many rollers and flat areas.  Once you hit 55 miles, you begin 12 miles of straight climbing, then hit the Blue Ridge Parkway, and then climb Grandfather mountain.  It rained the entire day.  Physically, the ride was a 7/8 out of 1o for me, but mostly mental.  I was freezing and have never been more miserable in my life.  I finished in 7 hours and 52 minutes.  I was on the verge of tears climbing up Grandfather mountain.  THAT was the hardest thing I have done to date.  I had lots of support from friends and acquaintances too that I really appreciate.  I was 207 out of 277 finishers, and one of 13 females that finished the ride.  I also engaged in a lot of self talk to encourage myself to finish.  I am not a quitter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Here is a very serious picture of me on the ride&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SrpNoiNwGII/AAAAAAAAAE0/SlIKt8zuUE8/s1600-h/bridgetobridge2009.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 252px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SrpNoiNwGII/AAAAAAAAAE0/SlIKt8zuUE8/s320/bridgetobridge2009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384701663249438850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Prior to participating in the epic ride of Sunday, I raced in a criterium.  I joined the Cat 4 women's race.  There were 5 of us.  This was my second crit.  I learned a lot, and also worked a lot!  I came in 4th place, but very close to 3rd.  My excitement about racing was at an all time high after the race.  I decided that if I work hard through the winter and train for crits, I will have much success next year!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Stay tuned for more happenings...big things are in the works!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-7327419932273710789?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/7327419932273710789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/09/and-saga-continues.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7327419932273710789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7327419932273710789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/09/and-saga-continues.html' title='And the saga continues...'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SrpKJJxhEtI/AAAAAAAAAEs/tQ7hBdGBMfo/s72-c/IMG_1308.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1445482881918536875</id><published>2009-09-12T23:01:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T23:07:28.525-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Compression Confession</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I have to admit...I am obsessed.  I bought some compression socks from the medical supply store on Thursday.  I wore them all day at work, in the car to and from Asheville on Friday, and then all day again at work today.  My legs feel amazing, even after my 6 hour mountain ride on Friday!  My ankle has also felt amazing since I started wearing them.  It has been in bad shape for the last 2 months (due to me not doing my exercises), but for the last 48 hours I have not experienced any pain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I definitely recommend giving them a try.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1445482881918536875?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1445482881918536875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/09/compression-confession.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1445482881918536875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1445482881918536875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/09/compression-confession.html' title='Compression Confession'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1138103956685715452</id><published>2009-08-30T22:03:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T22:09:42.119-04:00</updated><title type='text'>This is where I spent my day...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SpswtTEfdyI/AAAAAAAAAEc/wayljZ-aOiA/s1600-h/greenville.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SpswtTEfdyI/AAAAAAAAAEc/wayljZ-aOiA/s320/greenville.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375944134968178466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Greenville on Paris Mountain.  Drank beers, ate Colombian food, and cheered on the riders.  As much fun as I had, I felt guilty for not riding my bike today...or riding much in general.  I need to get back on the program and stop feeling so tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember this..."I used to be a triathlete, until I saw the aero of my ways!"  Congratulations to my friends that finished Ironman Louisville today!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1138103956685715452?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1138103956685715452/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/08/this-is-where-i-spent-my-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1138103956685715452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1138103956685715452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/08/this-is-where-i-spent-my-day.html' title='This is where I spent my day...'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SpswtTEfdyI/AAAAAAAAAEc/wayljZ-aOiA/s72-c/greenville.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-4477653181941573682</id><published>2009-08-15T00:30:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T00:34:29.568-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Expectations</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I have been thinking about this concept recently.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;In a relationship, friendship, or job, you are expected to do A and B.  If you don't do A and B, you are dropped or fired.  If you do A and B and sometimes C and D (just to be nice or help out), from that point on, are the expectations for you raised?  Are people let down when you do not accomplish A, B, C, and D?  Even though you are only supposed to do A and B?  Is doing more work better, or should you just do what is expected of you?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-4477653181941573682?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/4477653181941573682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/08/expectations.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4477653181941573682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4477653181941573682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/08/expectations.html' title='Expectations'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1601912694746195465</id><published>2009-08-09T01:35:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T01:38:01.748-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Quote O' the Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:130%;" &gt;Sometimes I try and entertain myself when I am working or talking to customers...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: How tall is your son?&lt;br /&gt;Mom: 6 feet...well 6'1" with sneakers on.&lt;br /&gt;Me: How tall is he with high heels on?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mom could not stop laughing.  Even when I tried to get serious again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1601912694746195465?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1601912694746195465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/08/quote-o-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1601912694746195465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1601912694746195465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/08/quote-o-day.html' title='Quote O&apos; the Day'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-2841049488977637733</id><published>2009-07-29T22:00:00.008-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T20:40:07.296-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday to Me!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Tuesday was my birthday...I'm knocking on 30's door!  It was a very uneventful day, but that was what I needed.  Still trying to clear up residual stuff from booty.  Here are some pics from my birthday...&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SnD_Vw0s3lI/AAAAAAAAAD0/0pbN7mhAU8g/s1600-h/0728091615.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SnD_Vw0s3lI/AAAAAAAAAD0/0pbN7mhAU8g/s320/0728091615.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364067905546542674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Thanks to my coworkers and Edible Art for this cute cake.  It was very good too!  Except when a cyclist decided to dig in it with his hands!  I kept thinking assos all over my cake!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Here is a picture of some flower&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;s I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; received at t&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;he shop from a mysterious cyclist..oooo the suspense!&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SnI8MPPtmmI/AAAAAAAAAEE/4P2hcdDfxSA/s1600-h/0728091629-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SnI8MPPtmmI/AAAAAAAAAEE/4P2hcdDfxSA/s320/0728091629-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364416287100213858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SnI9MINYL6I/AAAAAAAAAEU/63xXUHfRdaA/s1600-h/0715092246a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SnI9MINYL6I/AAAAAAAAAEU/63xXUHfRdaA/s320/0715092246a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364417384723001250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;And this picture isn't from my birthday, but it is a cool bracelet that was given to me by Sergio from Spoken' For.  He makes bra&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;ce&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;lets out of spokes.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Thanks to everyone who made my day great...including my family who took me out to dinner!  I hope year 29 i&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;n &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;the life of Katie O is great!  Gotta be&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; b&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;etter than year 28, right?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-2841049488977637733?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/2841049488977637733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/happy-birthday-to-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2841049488977637733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2841049488977637733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/happy-birthday-to-me.html' title='Happy Birthday to Me!'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SnD_Vw0s3lI/AAAAAAAAAD0/0pbN7mhAU8g/s72-c/0728091615.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-8548826884683998630</id><published>2009-07-26T21:31:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-26T21:48:37.232-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Week of Booty...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;...wait I mean 24 hours of booty!  And no it's not what you think it is.  It's a 24 hour charity cycling event.  We are the shop sponsor of the event.  I spent all week preparing for our part in the event and working the event.  Boy am I tired!  I spent the large majority of today in the bed.  Not good for morale!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Tuesday:  Awoke at 6am to ride my bike on the news for the event.  Wednesday:  Well deserved day off and calm before the storm.  Thursday: Packet pickup at the shop.  I arrived at 7am and worked until 8 or 9pm.  Long day with lots of people/commotion.  Friday: Worked all day at the shop and then headed to the event to work our booth.  Long, long night.  I ended up crashing for a few hours in a VW bus wrapped up in a sleeping bag, sweating my ass off!  Saturday:  Woke up at 5:45am to find some of my coworkers passed out in the bus and some still awake.  Ate breakfast and then rode with a couple of friends for support until I was kicked off the course for riding illegally.  Went to work, ran around all day, no lunch, and then back to the booth to help with breakdown.  Finally a night of rest!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;The worst part of this week; not being able to ride my bike as much as I would have liked!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Funniest observation of the event:  I was walking around with my boss and about a stone's throw from our setup was a million dollar RV where the founder of the event stayed.  It was super cool looking with a rooftop patio area and a huge flat panel tv playing the Tour on the side.  Here is a picture:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Sm0FPPip2QI/AAAAAAAAADk/hGFjlso9wfU/s1600-h/IMG_1269.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Sm0FPPip2QI/AAAAAAAAADk/hGFjlso9wfU/s320/IMG_1269.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362948490696186114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;We were going to tour this monstrosity, but decided that the people in there were probably not awake yet.  So...we turned around and headed back to our abode.  I started laughing when I turned the corner only to find this...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Sm0GCSiayhI/AAAAAAAAADs/SD0sRBZhSTE/s1600-h/IMG_1271.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Sm0GCSiayhI/AAAAAAAAADs/SD0sRBZhSTE/s320/IMG_1271.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362949367673834002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;We look super homeless and sketchy!  But it was a lot of fun!  Thanks to all of my coworkers that helped, friends of the shop, and my friends for stopping by and hanging out!  Great cause for everyone who rode hard and pushed themselves!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-8548826884683998630?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/8548826884683998630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/week-of-booty.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8548826884683998630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8548826884683998630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/week-of-booty.html' title='A Week of Booty...'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Sm0FPPip2QI/AAAAAAAAADk/hGFjlso9wfU/s72-c/IMG_1269.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-9188286256759559903</id><published>2009-07-19T21:42:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-20T07:31:05.635-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Whoo Remembers Hootie?!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Remember that band from the 90s,  Hootie and the Blowfish.  Well the lead singer, always called "Hootie" but really his name is Darius Rucker, is now a country singer.  Did you know that?  Well anyways...I really like his country songs and much prefer him singing this genre.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Check him out here http://www.youtube.com/user/dariusrucker&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I must warn you that if you don't like country music you probably won't like his songs, but I think they have a good message!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-9188286256759559903?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/9188286256759559903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/whoo-remembers-hootie.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/9188286256759559903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/9188286256759559903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/whoo-remembers-hootie.html' title='Whoo Remembers Hootie?!'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-6973141827641904968</id><published>2009-07-17T23:17:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T23:22:29.520-04:00</updated><title type='text'>If You Can't Stand the Heat, get out of the Kitchen...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;...err house!  Going on day 3 or 4 of no air conditioning in the midst of July.  Now I have two (2) oscillating fans in my room.  One on each side of my bed.  I am actually quite content.  I haven't turned the AC on in my car all summer, so why do I need AC in my house?  Oh yeah, hopefully there will be plenty of people walking through here and I need to make a good impression!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Another busy day at work...It was almost 5 o'clock before I realized it and had to sprint to the bank to deposit a couple of checks.  Stayed late once again in hopes of selling another bike.  Up early to ride with the women's!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-6973141827641904968?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/6973141827641904968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/if-you-cant-stand-heat-get-out-of.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6973141827641904968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6973141827641904968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/if-you-cant-stand-heat-get-out-of.html' title='If You Can&apos;t Stand the Heat, get out of the Kitchen...'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-6447730466989613473</id><published>2009-07-16T22:52:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-16T22:56:39.545-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It May Be a Simple Life, But it's Alright by Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: courier new;"&gt;My air conditioner has been out maybe one or two days, or more!  I don't care.  I don't spend a lot of time here anyways.  I actually kind of prefer this.  The house is hot and quiet!  I will get it fixed eventually, but not tonight.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: courier new;"&gt;I put my mountain bike shoes on for the first time today since people were threatening to cut them off.  It was actually very eerie.  I did it AND rode my mountain bike.  Mainly paved areas, but some grass/dirt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: courier new;"&gt;Good day today.  Lots of help at work.  Good times at dinner and off to bed.  Early morning yoga tomorrow!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-6447730466989613473?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/6447730466989613473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/it-may-be-simple-life-but-its-alright.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6447730466989613473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6447730466989613473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/it-may-be-simple-life-but-its-alright.html' title='It May Be a Simple Life, But it&apos;s Alright by Me'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-4706378821147792928</id><published>2009-07-14T22:01:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T22:04:39.978-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Party is Over...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I have been housesitting for the last 10 days.  I have really enjoyed it.  I have spent probably 5 hours total at my house recently.  I just breeze in, breeze out.  It crazy how messy things get when I'm not there to clean constantly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Staying away from my house has been the theme of my life for the past few months.  It will be the theme for the upcoming few months.  My belongings will be scattered and I will change residences several times.  Hopefully for the better!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;There is something to be said about not feeling comfortable at your own residence.  It's sad when you feel more at home at a friend's house.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-4706378821147792928?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/4706378821147792928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/party-is-over.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4706378821147792928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4706378821147792928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/party-is-over.html' title='The Party is Over...'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5572277486562869993</id><published>2009-07-07T22:04:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T22:36:59.874-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Haven't written in awhile...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Soooo...I haven't posted anything in awhile.  I had a friend ask me the other day, "Katie what do you do all day?"  Outside of work (which is extremely busy currently), I have a lot of tasks and activities that I am involved in.  House sitting 2 houses, running errands, attempting to sell my house, riding my bike, eating my ass off, starting a second job, etc.  Listing all of this off is making me tired!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Weird day today...good things and scary things and douchebag things.  Good stuff...I had a pretty big sale today, I received several compliments, and downloaded these free broadway songs on itunes that I received last week.  Good songs!  Scary things...a creepy guy I know that also knows a friend of mine did some really weird stuff today.  Douchebag things...a guy I know did something that is good for my life but in a douchebag way!  I am stealing this quote from a friend who stole it from another friend, but "douchebag is the new black!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;AND a coworker of mine is having his daughter tomorrow!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Busy day off tomorrow!  Time to get some sleep!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;kt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5572277486562869993?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5572277486562869993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/havent-written-in-awhile.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5572277486562869993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5572277486562869993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/07/havent-written-in-awhile.html' title='Haven&apos;t written in awhile...'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-2478963325930307815</id><published>2009-06-28T22:25:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T22:34:49.295-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ride Your Bike!</title><content type='html'>I commonly hear this phrase from good friends of mine.  Although it normally has some sort of explicative in there!  That's what I did this week.  After I got my ass kicked in the race last weekend, I decided that I just need to ride my bike!  I rode everyday except Thursday.  I rode with lots of different people and had many different experiences.  I rode with regular cyclists (in your typical spandex and such) and with "hipsters."  Every ride I had was great!  I rode 60 miles today and hung on the entire ride.  I am very proud of my performance this week.  The rest of my day today was rough though.  Very sore and had a headache.  I will continue this trend next week.  Hopefully I will have some sort of a schedule to follow to get me to a point where I am very strong and competitive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lots of changes are happening!  Stay tuned!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;night.  kt&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-2478963325930307815?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/2478963325930307815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/ride-your-bike.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2478963325930307815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2478963325930307815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/ride-your-bike.html' title='Ride Your Bike!'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-6568838431527114436</id><published>2009-06-21T21:12:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T21:27:53.855-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Team BMC Presented by Ridgeline</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;My plan for the day was to wake up and travel with a friend to watch him race in a criterium.  I took my bike and gear to get in a ride while I was up there.  My friend and I loaded up our BMC's onto the Kuat rack on the Ridgeline and headed north.  Something that I have learned about myself; it's pretty easy to talk me into doing something that I am curious about.  I was talked into registering for the women's race.  After much needed advice from more experienced riders, I was off.  It was a 30 minute criterium.  I led the second lap...that was my demise.  I fell off the back after that and it was downhill.  I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;talked myself out of quitting several times.  I just wanted to finish my first race and I did.  My friend was disappointed in his performance too.  Team BMC presented by Ridgeline didn't have a good showing today.  I learned lots, gained experience, and now my interest has been peaked!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Sj7d9vb4iNI/AAAAAAAAADc/eSxoSQpoUYM/s1600-h/0621091537.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Sj7d9vb4iNI/AAAAAAAAADc/eSxoSQpoUYM/s320/0621091537.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349957460137904338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-6568838431527114436?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/6568838431527114436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/team-bmc-presented-by-ridgeline.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6568838431527114436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6568838431527114436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/team-bmc-presented-by-ridgeline.html' title='Team BMC Presented by Ridgeline'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Sj7d9vb4iNI/AAAAAAAAADc/eSxoSQpoUYM/s72-c/0621091537.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-8069749191496836706</id><published>2009-06-17T22:33:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T22:43:38.669-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Empty Hangers?</title><content type='html'>What do you do when you go to hang up clean clothes and you have no empty hangers?  I think people commonly would problem solve by purchasing new hangers.  Not this girl!  I did a small sweep of my closet and came up with a handful of hangers.  I am a big fan of donating to goodwill.  Less than 6 months ago, I donated over 10 garbage bags of things from my house.  It's that time again!  I have motivation and a need to downsize my belongings in the upcoming weeks.  More to come on that later!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overall, I have had a better week this week than last week.  I'm hoping the trend continues.  This is who I spent my evening with...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SjmoqIJVCtI/AAAAAAAAADU/ovhPVlPXdCQ/s1600-h/Photo+89.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SjmoqIJVCtI/AAAAAAAAADU/ovhPVlPXdCQ/s320/Photo+89.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348491474173758162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Super cute 2 year old.  We spent a large part of our time together swinging on the front porch swing and enjoying the perfect weather.  Oh yeah, I LOVE front porch swings.  Never had one, but my next house WILL have a front porch with room for a swing!  Everytime the swing hit the house, I taught her to say "whoopsie daisy."  Very cute.  I am passing time with her again tomorrow night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a job interview tomorrow morning...not changing jobs again, don't worry.  It's for some possible part time temporary therapeutic work.  I am definitely not ready to dive into therapy again, but a little won't hurt!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-8069749191496836706?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/8069749191496836706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/empty-hangers.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8069749191496836706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8069749191496836706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/empty-hangers.html' title='Empty Hangers?'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SjmoqIJVCtI/AAAAAAAAADU/ovhPVlPXdCQ/s72-c/Photo+89.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-7414918774858956003</id><published>2009-06-16T20:46:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-16T21:01:02.587-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Canceled</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I didn't get a chance to post this yesterday but I did all three of these things before 9am:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;1)  Canceled my cable&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;2)  Canceled my YMCA membership&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;3)  Downgraded my cell phone plan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;All of these things will save me over 2 hundo a month!  Very exciting!  What else will I cancel...stay tuned!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-7414918774858956003?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/7414918774858956003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/canceled.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7414918774858956003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7414918774858956003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/canceled.html' title='Canceled'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-40937843450741907</id><published>2009-06-14T21:34:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-14T21:39:40.590-04:00</updated><title type='text'>18 Years of School?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;How did I do it?!  As I am sitting here trying to study (yes that's right, study!), I am thinking about all the years of school I participated in.  High School, College, and Graduate school.  I know how I did it.  I attended class (most of the time), listened (sort of), took notes (or passed notes), and took tests (I was usually one of the first to turn mine in).  Studying has never been my strong suit.  I can't do it.  I have trouble concentrating big time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am 4 hours short of continuing education hours to renew my license for another 2 years.  So here I sit, in the 24 hour bakery (Amelie's) reading about ethics and school violence.  I had to do 4 hours of ethics.  So I picked the cheapest internet class.  I did fine the first 3 chapters, but each one after that I became too distracted.  There are too many websites to visit and too many people to people watch.  I will get through this at some point...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-40937843450741907?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/40937843450741907/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/18-years-of-school.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/40937843450741907'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/40937843450741907'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/18-years-of-school.html' title='18 Years of School?'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5411580283631789742</id><published>2009-06-12T22:23:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T22:26:17.646-04:00</updated><title type='text'>3 Best Parts</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Of my day today;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  Finding out my dog was okay&lt;br /&gt;2.  Having my physical therapist tell me that the pleasure of working with me was all his&lt;br /&gt;3.  Canceling my cable service&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worst parts of my day; every other moment.  It's been a rough week, but I am looking forward to a better one starting tomorrow!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5411580283631789742?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5411580283631789742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/3-best-parts.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5411580283631789742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5411580283631789742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/3-best-parts.html' title='3 Best Parts'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-3776353944837378710</id><published>2009-06-10T21:21:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T21:26:25.427-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Day (Act Two)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;After the bakery, I went to Earf-fare and bought a few things.  My drink spilled all over my pants in the car, but it was okay!  Then I stopped by work.  Be prepared for the best part of my day...my boss showed me a typed up letter that a customer wrote about me.  No, it wasn't a bad one, it was actually very very complimentary.  The customer mentioned how great my customer service and knowledge was.  I guess that makes up for my complaint from a few weeks ago!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Few hours later, I arrived at my house to find my power was out!  It came on about 20 minutes later, and once again another great thing happened, my internet worked!  I am not banking on my power being on long since it is about to storm very badly.  I think I am going to make sure my cell phone and computer are fully charged before it goes out again!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-3776353944837378710?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/3776353944837378710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-day-act-two.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3776353944837378710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3776353944837378710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-day-act-two.html' title='My Day (Act Two)'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-8735301745362085955</id><published>2009-06-10T15:32:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T16:08:50.992-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Day</title><content type='html'>This is what my afternoon consisted of...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SjAKpOAFtKI/AAAAAAAAADM/KKCxqaGvCpM/s1600-h/0610091430.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SjAKpOAFtKI/AAAAAAAAADM/KKCxqaGvCpM/s400/0610091430.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345784460938163362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Bike riding, grocery store shopping, meetings, dessert, coffee, people watching, working (on my day off!), and reconnecting with previous coworkers.  I have several good things in the works for the future.  I hope it all works out in my favor.  And despite all the possible hits on my credit in the past 8 months, I have a perfect credit score!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And more amazingly, I just found out this bakery is open 24 hours a day!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-8735301745362085955?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/8735301745362085955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8735301745362085955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8735301745362085955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-day.html' title='My Day'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SjAKpOAFtKI/AAAAAAAAADM/KKCxqaGvCpM/s72-c/0610091430.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-3086298855409563079</id><published>2009-06-06T22:34:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-06T22:36:40.500-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tired</title><content type='html'>That sums it up.  I am tired at work and especially after.  To the point where I don't think I am much fun to be around afterwards because my brain isn't functioning properly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good news of the day; I rode my bike twice and finally realized that I feel very strong right now.  It is good to have my confidence back.  I lost lots of power and muscle and I finally feel very confident.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No more words of wisdom tonight...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-3086298855409563079?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/3086298855409563079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/tired.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3086298855409563079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3086298855409563079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/tired.html' title='Tired'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1594364802483817371</id><published>2009-06-05T23:20:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T23:35:55.945-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Razooooooooooos!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;Wednesday night.  Went to dinner with a bunch of friends.  The "father" of the group picked the restaurant.  Let me preface this by saying that we were in the Concord Mills vicinity at the time.  Sooooo, not a lot of great restaurants to choose from.  We ended up at this cajun place called, Razoos or something like that.  Seven of us sat at a huge round table.  I almost want to say it felt like there was an empty chair on either side of each of us.  Anyways, after we perused the menu, "father" stated that we could go to the mexican restaurant next door but that the food would be really cheesy.  One of my friends stated that he wouldn't mind going to a place where he could tell them to go light on the cheese instead of a place that has a lot of unhealthy, unecessary ingredients in their dishes.  We ended up staying at the cajun place.  I read every item description on the menu at least twice TRYING to find a somewhat healthy item.  No such luck.  I ordered baked catfish with rice and fried okra.  I have a soft spot for fried okra.  I figured baked was better than every other dish that was fried, blackened, or both.  Several of my friends ordered the hamburger or "hamboiger" as it was printed on the menu.  After we each received our platters, I noticed that no matter what you ordered, there was a huge helping of seasonings sprinkled (or dumped) on everything!  I pictured the food prep line in the kitchen with one dude at the end of the line whose sole responsibility was to turn up the big jug of seasonings on every platter.  Salads, seasonings.  Soup, seasonings.  Rice, seasonings.  Even the hamboigler had seasongs.  I bet the desserts even had seasonings!  I picked at my food and ate some of what was on my plate just because it was sitting there.  I felt sick the entire ride home and scrubbed my teeth immediately upon arrival of my bathroom.  My stomach turned the next day when the place was mentioned.  One of my friends noted that we should have just looked at the place before we walked in and realized we didn't belong.  Applebee's (which I hate) would have probably been better.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;Food is a very interesting topic.  I have been exposed to very unhealthy eating habits lately.  Entire chocolate creme pies, entire boxes of fried chicken, and entire watermelons in one sitting!  Wow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1594364802483817371?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1594364802483817371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/razooooooooooos.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1594364802483817371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1594364802483817371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/razooooooooooos.html' title='Razooooooooooos!'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-3064194274746874822</id><published>2009-06-01T22:44:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T23:20:38.877-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Robot</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Quote o' the Day:  "I'm gonna go to a shop where the employees make me feel like a human."  Go right ahead jerk.  You are right, I treat people like robots.  If you are feeling less than human in any situation, you should probably check your batteries.  Or better yet, I could sell you new batteries, but you will have to re-program your own computer!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-3064194274746874822?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/3064194274746874822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/robot.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3064194274746874822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3064194274746874822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/06/robot.html' title='Robot'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-456911360925394897</id><published>2009-05-31T19:36:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-31T19:45:59.761-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Go-Getter</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I spent a good portion of the afternoon at a coffeehouse with a friend.  It was a chain unfortunately, but there is a bright spot.  The man behind the counter.  I'm not sure if he was the manager or what, but it doesn't matter.  He worked there just like anyone else.  When we walked to the counter, he immediately asked us what he could get started for us.  We gave him our orders and then he asked my friend if he could refill her water bottle off her bike.  She accepted.  He fixed my drink and we paid.  As we were sitting at the table conversing, I noticed the guy walking to our table with my friend's drink.  I noted, "he sure is a go-getter!"  He later came up to us and told us that he knew we had expensive bikes parked outside the shop, but next time we were more than welcome to bring them inside the shop.  You rarely hear this statement as a cyclist.  It was so comforting to see a real go-getter at this chain place.  I hope he wasn't new and just had a really great attitude starting off.  No matter what job you do, you should do it to the fullest, or not work there.  I have been at a job where I didn't give it my all, and I subsequently quit.  And I have worked with people who don't give it their all and it is miserable.  Go do something you love.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;On my ride from the coffeehouse I admired the smell of new construction near the shop.  I'm not a big fan of new monstrous construction, but the smell is nice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Speaking of monsters, I like the nickname a friend and I have given this 2 headed monster we know...enough for now!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-456911360925394897?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/456911360925394897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/go-getter.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/456911360925394897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/456911360925394897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/go-getter.html' title='Go-Getter'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-8557428995142732106</id><published>2009-05-29T22:28:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-29T22:44:07.728-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Stories</title><content type='html'>Best feeling of the week; no customers asked me why I was limping!  This makes me so excited coupled with "no PT for me!"  I am now moving to every other week for physical therapy and I feel great about it!  It has been a little more than 7 months since I broke my ankle.  Crazy huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny story from yesterday - A customer called the store while I was the only one on the floor.  He yelled at me for about 10 minutes.  It was the type of conversation where he was so heated that I couldn't get in a word.  He was complaining about how his son was in the store a week ago with his wife.  Apparently he tripped on something and ripped his shoes.  His wife told him that the employees at my store told her that she needs to watch her son and not let him run around the store.  The man on the phone was so mad that he wanted to speak to the owner and he wanted compensation for his son's shoes.  My boss happened to walk in during the middle of this convo, so I gladly handed him the phone.  Mr. Angry Man continued to yell at my boss for another 10 minutes.  My boss kept apologizing, asking the man what he could do to make it up to him, and asking for a meeting.  The man kept saying he wanted compensation for his son's shoes.  My boss said, "how much were the shoes?"  $14.99.  My boss said he would gladly give the man 15 bucks.  Mr. Hot Head then said he would call back at exactly 3 o'clock.  My boss asked all of us about the situation, but no one knew anything about it.  The man called back about an hour later apologizing to my boss.  Supposedly, the man ran into his neighbor who was with his wife when all of this happened.  The truth comes out...the little boy tripped on his way up to the store and his wife subsequently lied to her husband about the whole situation.  My boss accepted his apology and then fell to the floor laughing after he hung up.  Damn.  This makes me wonder about what kind of person wifey is and what kind of relationship they have.  That brings up some trust issues I suppose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of trust...I was let in on a situation the other day.  It involves 2 friends/acquaintenaces.  They both have different stories.  One of them is lying.  Great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny story from today - I was invited to a friend's "naughty/nice" wedding shower.  I was to bring a nice gift and a naughty gift.  Nice gift, check.  The naughty gift was bought after work today due to the fact that the adult store didn't open until my work opened.  I flew into the parking lot (because I was already late to the party), and briskly walked into the shop.  Both employees stated that they could tell I needed a gift in a hurry.  I said "yes, I need a $5-$10 gift for a party and quick!"  They handed me a toy that required a battery and sent me on my way.  I exclaimed, "that was the easiest sale of the day!"  Being in retail you have to love easy sales!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-8557428995142732106?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/8557428995142732106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/stories.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8557428995142732106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8557428995142732106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/stories.html' title='Stories'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-6578324700077498559</id><published>2009-05-26T20:07:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-26T20:15:37.310-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pet Lovers</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: courier new;"&gt;I grew up with cats.  I remember crying for a whole day when we put our first cat down after 18 years.  My family has had 4 cats total.  In college, I decided to get a dog.  Who knows why, but I did it.  I love my dog to death, (except when he barks constantly)!  I like animals for the most part to preface my next statement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, a wise friend of mine once said, "What is even more mystifying is when people have animals, and they don’t have a real residence of their own."  I completely agree with this statement.  If you are transient so to speak, why would you subject an animal to that unstable life?  Furthermore, if you can barely support yourself, then why on earth would you take on another living being to support?  It's not fair to others, yourself, or the animal!  Lastly, if you don't really like your animal, let your animal in your room, or care to spend time with your animal, then why do you have it?!  There are loving people in the world that would love to take care of an uncared for pet.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-6578324700077498559?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/6578324700077498559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/pet-lovers.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6578324700077498559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6578324700077498559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/pet-lovers.html' title='Pet Lovers'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5151082997936673653</id><published>2009-05-24T09:02:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-24T09:10:31.691-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Snap, Crackle, &amp; Pop!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;No, I'm not going to write about a bowl of Rice Krispies...although I used to love eating those as a kid with fresh peaches bought from a side of the road vendor on the way back from the deep south.  Speaking of sid&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;e of the road vendors, I always loved buying boiled peanuts this way too.  Usually you will see a broken piece of ply-wood with the words "Boiled P-Nuts" spray painted with an arrow pointing the way.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;On to more important things.  When I first started PT, my therapist notified me that my ankle would pop from time to time.  He said it would be very loud and may scare me, but it was a good thing.  It meant that things were starting to work again.  It did scare me in the beginning, but now it's kind of f&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;unny.  It pops every morning when I wake &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;up and start moving.  It pops from time to time at work.  It ALWAYS pops in PT, especially when I am lying on the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's just hope it doesn't snap again...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/ShlG9HBJr8I/AAAAAAAAACc/TCmxICDRen4/s1600-h/metal+detector.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/ShlG9HBJr8I/AAAAAAAAACc/TCmxICDRen4/s320/metal+detector.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339376848894275522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5151082997936673653?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5151082997936673653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/snap-crackle-pop.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5151082997936673653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5151082997936673653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/snap-crackle-pop.html' title='Snap, Crackle, &amp; Pop!'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/ShlG9HBJr8I/AAAAAAAAACc/TCmxICDRen4/s72-c/metal+detector.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-2164891868488137431</id><published>2009-05-23T22:46:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-23T22:55:59.179-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Advocacy</title><content type='html'>I heard a story tonight of a person in my life who is unhappy in their job.  This person has lots of ideas floating in their head about what to do in a new job.  This makes me happy.  I am always a big advocate of people leaving a job that makes them unhappy for one that makes them happy!  I have seen people around me try to do what I do and fail.  It's pretty hard to screw this one up, but I guess it's possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost one year ago, I left a professional job that required a master's degree AND a professional license for a job a little less professional...I wear shorts, tank tops, and tennis shoes to work!  Anyways, it was pretty tough to see/hear people's reactions to my change.  I got a lot of funny looks and comments.  I knew it needed to be done before my life flashed before my eyes.  I will have to say that I have made some mistakes this past year, but overall I am much happier.  I am excited to wake up and go to my job in the morning.  I feel appreciated and feel I have a purpose.  I feel like I have conquered a challenge and still working on improving myself.  There is ALWAYS room for improvement. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will help anyone I know do what I did.  It is now my passion.  No more sitting in a cube, in a high rise, with a bucket over your head!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Super stoked about receiving a limited edition 1 of 2 tiny tank top from a friend today!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-2164891868488137431?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/2164891868488137431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/advocacy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2164891868488137431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2164891868488137431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/advocacy.html' title='Advocacy'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5314104973131382031</id><published>2009-05-20T22:32:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T22:51:43.345-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Flat Tire, Flat Affect</title><content type='html'>Day started very nice with a trip to yoga.  The instructor told a story that really hit home.  She mentioned how she had a job way back when that was fun, but that she didn't at the time think it was very meaningful.  She tried out several jobs in between and ended up going back to the profession she mentioned earlier.  She said something to the effect of "even if someone doesn't think your job is meaningful, it is."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This prompted me to visit some of my old coworkers in K-town.  I was sad to hear one of them had called in sick.  I think she was sick of "speed week."  She used to always complain about the speedway because she lives very close to it.  The vibe was very different at my old job.  There wasn't a sense of camaraderie that used to flow through the hallways.  Back when I worked there, it felt like a team effort and we all got along just fine.  I encountered the "new Ms. Overcash."  She thanked me (very sarcastically) for the bright yellow walls in her office.  She then continued to complain about her job, salary, etc.  This conversation ended with her throwing her tupperware furiously in the trash.  I visited with a few more of the people I liked and then went about my way.  My friend alerted me after I left that the "new Ms. Overcash" was upset about end of year testing and about me being there.  I had never met her before in my life.  My friend has already diagnosed her with a personality disorder.  That explains it.  I was also shocked to hear that an article was written in the paper today about the school closing down next year.  The staff was disappointed to read it in the paper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran some more errands, followed by a nap.  Someone had a conversation with me about safety.  This is where my flat affect appeared.  It didn't seem to effect me whatsoever.  I then decided to ride my bike.  I popped a flat with less than 10 miles left in my ride.  It wasn't in the greatest area of town, but that didn't effect me either.  It took me about 20 minutes to change it, but in the meantime a lady named "Nan" approached me.  She stated that she saw me as she was driving by and didn't think I would be safe sitting there changing my flat.  It was very nice of her to sit with me.  She even offered to drive me home or follow me home on my bike in case I got another flat.  I thanked her several times and went about my way.  Less than 2 minutes after a very kind gesture, a not so nice gesture happened.  The bike lane ran out on this particular road and I was riding in the lane as I am supposed to.  A lady in a minivan leaned her head out of the passenger window yelling something at me like, "get in the bike lane!"  Everytime this happens to me I want to yell back so badly.  I don't though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been pretty "flat" about some other things in my life.  I've let things happen that shouldn't happen.  I'm over it.  Done.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5314104973131382031?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5314104973131382031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/flat-tire-flat-affect.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5314104973131382031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5314104973131382031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/flat-tire-flat-affect.html' title='Flat Tire, Flat Affect'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-2096198162110875751</id><published>2009-05-19T21:56:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T22:00:34.243-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pondering</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Should I stay or should I go?  Isn't that a song?  Yep.  I need a change.  Something different.  I've been doing some research and want to make a decision.  Impulsivity and independence.  What to do, what to do?  I think I will sleep on it and make my decision tomorrow...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-2096198162110875751?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/2096198162110875751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/pondering.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2096198162110875751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2096198162110875751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/pondering.html' title='Pondering'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1633477480415204499</id><published>2009-05-15T23:08:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T23:17:15.081-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A-Game</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I slept fine, bedtime tea, window open.  Woke up resisting physical therapy.  I went anyways.  I feel like my physical therapist knows me pretty well by now.  He even knows things about my personal life.  He continued to ask me today, "are you alright?"  "What is going on with you today?"  After 6 months of going to him and never complaining one time or "cheating" I did those things today.  I don't know what it was.  I did not want to be there.  He let me leave early and asked if I was upset.  I told him I was mad at myself for not performing up to par.  I stated that I was not on my "a game."  He responded with, "yeah, you are on your z game!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I almost called in sick to work.  I never call in sick to ANY job.  I will go to work even if I am on my death bed.  I hate letting people down.  I went anyways.  Bad day at work.  I called it a "booger bear" day.  My boss called it a "bullshit day."  I wanted to leave several times and my coworker threatened to quit more than once.  I had several customers comment on my flat affect/mood today.  On the flip side, I had several customers thank me for my exceptional service/good humor I gave them today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weird, weird day.  No explanation.  Tomorrow is Saturday.  I hope things flow more smoothly...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1633477480415204499?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1633477480415204499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/game.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1633477480415204499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1633477480415204499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/game.html' title='A-Game'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1866747429515823068</id><published>2009-05-14T09:50:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-14T10:06:25.350-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Better Day, Better Off</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;"Do you know what I needed today?  I needed a stress-free fun day.  And that's what I got.  Thank you." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went into work for a bit to settle some business, put my old bike back together (with a little help from my friends), and avoided getting sucked into work!  Cleaning and reassembling my bike was a great feeling.  Bikes are pretty complicated if you don't know what you are doing, but I had my hand held the entire time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a great day filled with good food, good conversation, and a good ride!  Just what I needed after a couple of stressful days earlier this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few observations of mine from the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A) I ended up in this trendy-ish skate shop downtown.  We needed to use the phone to alert a friend his business was left unlocked.  I thought the store was pretty unique with it's wide array of skate shoes, jeans, and tiny t-shirts.  The guy working at the front counter had on a vest-type holster with two huge guns in it!  My friend asked if he worked security and his response was, "No, you can never be too safe."  I guess you can never be too safe in downtown Charlotte, in the middle of the day, in a trendy skate shop, in a super nice condo high-rise.  He also had this too fast too furious orange motorcycle outside of the shop.  I kept picturing him in some sort of high speed chase with his guns blazing.  Interesting character.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;B) I ran into a girl that I have met once before.  She updated us on her job status.  Apparently she went from designing houses to manual labor.  She is the owner of the company.  I started to think how it really shows something about a company when you see the head honcho scrubbing baseboards with his employees, changing tubes on wall-mart bikes, or building a foundation on a house.  I like it.  It's also motivating for the employees to see their boss getting his or her fingernails dirty.  I have always told people "underneath" me that I will never give you a job to do that I haven't done myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C)  I like unique, interesting people.  People that have their own story or do their own thing without worrying what others think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;D)  I was notified about a change in a friend's life.  It's for the better.  This friend doesn't know the whole story about the change, but I do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off to work in a bit.  I'm hoping for another great day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1866747429515823068?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1866747429515823068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/better-day-better-off.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1866747429515823068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1866747429515823068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/better-day-better-off.html' title='Better Day, Better Off'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-685955054063712845</id><published>2009-05-12T21:49:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T21:54:19.101-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Not One of my Favorite Days</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Today wasn't the greatest day for me for many reasons.  Still very frustrated. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three things have made my day brighter; riding my bike after work (even if it was just around the loop), eating lentils+tomatoes+okra, and now being able to post my friend's website.  The gift has been gifted, so I can direct you to this site &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://sofiakollstedt.typepad.com/" onmousedown="'UntrustedLink.bootstrap($(this)," target="_blank" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;span&gt;http://sofiakollstedt.type&lt;/span&gt;&lt;wbr&gt;&lt;span class="word_break"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;pad.com&lt;/a&gt; and this one too &lt;a href="http://www.sofiak.etsy.com/" onmousedown="'UntrustedLink.bootstrap($(this)," target="_blank" rel="nofollow"&gt;http://www.sofiak.etsy.com&lt;/a&gt;.  You will see on her blog the artwork she created for me.  I like her style, very unique.  I have a thing for artwork created by people I know.  It's so meaningful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully tomorrow will be better, I do have the day off, so there you have it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-685955054063712845?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/685955054063712845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/not-one-of-my-favorite-days.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/685955054063712845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/685955054063712845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/not-one-of-my-favorite-days.html' title='Not One of my Favorite Days'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-7842565297562076516</id><published>2009-05-09T22:32:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-09T22:37:49.012-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Laser Fest</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;The juniors and I played laser tag tonight.  It's probably been at least 10 or so years since I played.  We ended up playing 3 rounds, with the last one being the "ironman" where you play double the time.  First round, got my feet wet.  Second round, dominated.  Third round, filled with a bunch of weird people that play laser tag on a Saturday night.  "Old man" scared me.  Quote of the night, "Get away from us you creep!"  The best part was trying to create code names that the staff would let us get away with.  Apparently they have pretty strict rules on what they will allow.  We were "necktie," "puto," "white chocolate," and "Hey Loser!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just realized that I had no down time today.  Busy busy day at work.  Made lots of money and had a good time.  Time to relax...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-7842565297562076516?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/7842565297562076516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/laser-fest.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7842565297562076516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7842565297562076516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/laser-fest.html' title='Laser Fest'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-7245617740113145804</id><published>2009-05-07T22:12:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T22:23:01.952-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Not Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I went to an event at a bar tonight to support a friend who is running a marathon for charity.  I saw an ex of mine.  Everytime I see him, I realize more and more how mismatched we were, and how I am better off now.  Anyways, we met up with another friend of ours, and ended up at an event that I used to go to every Thursday in the summer.  It has changed locations and it's formula.  I realized it's not me anymore.  Too many people, too much noise, too much alcohol.  I felt super overwhelmed.  I liked how it used to be where you could see everyone in attendance.  My friend took some balloons from her event to try and get more money at the big event.  She raised over 10 dollars in 5 minutes by giving people balloons.  One guy ATE his balloon like a rabid animal.  It was really scary, but he paid his money for his balloon!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran into a guy from my previous life.  It was nice to ketchup.  He asked about a former friend of mine.  I explained why we were not friends anymore and gave him some advice;  Focus on the people in your life that care about you and will be there for you.  Forget the others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One last thing; my physical therapist asked me to whistle today while I was "skipping" and I heard a song on the radio on my way home tonight that has lots of whistling.  I can't whistle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-7245617740113145804?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/7245617740113145804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/not-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7245617740113145804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7245617740113145804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/not-me.html' title='Not Me'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-8853765619625567403</id><published>2009-05-06T20:27:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T20:45:59.497-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I had the day off of work today, so naturally it started off great!  I met my artist friend for breakfast.  We had a nice conversation and then she gave me the artwork she created for me.  I want to post what she gave me, but one is a gift that hasn't been gifted yet, so....wait on the edge of your seat for the pictures! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then ventured down to gas-town to get sized for my bridesmaid dress.  This has been a cluster from the beginning.  All of the other dress orders were put on hold because I haven't had a chance to make it down there.  The lady at the store showed me the dress then furiously searched for another dress in a smaller size for me to put on for fitting purposes.  I told her that I would probably be a size 0 or 2.  She didn't believe me.  I was put in a size 8 dress!  It fell completely off when it was zipped up.  My measurements were taken and she notified me that a size 4 dress would be ordered for me.  Then she happened to remember that she had a size 4 wedding dress in the shop that I could try on.  That was too big also.  She should have listened to me in the first place but oh well.  While I was putting on the wedding dress, which was quite funny, I noticed this sign that made me laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SgIsa5h06bI/AAAAAAAAACU/Dx8935FOlk8/s1600-h/0506091219.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SgIsa5h06bI/AAAAAAAAACU/Dx8935FOlk8/s320/0506091219.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332873749391010226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Size 2 was ordered.  I knew it would be.  I also told her that gaining weight between now and August wouldn't be an issue.  If I haven't gained any weight in 6 years, I won't in 3 months.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then headed to the mall to troubleshoot my mac at the apple store.  A new charger was given to me.  Next I got a manicure and pedicure.  I believe this contradicts an earlier post about not being so girly, but I do like them.  I choose a chocolate brown color.  I'm really into brown right now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I arrived at work, I noticed my new bike was completely finished!  This was a very nice surprise!  I will post pictures when everything is dialed in.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was a great day except for one thing; I was lied to again.  This is 2 times in 2 days, 2 different people.  Word to the wise people that know me; I'm pretty intuitive and very observant.  There isn't a whole lot of things that get past me and I can read people pretty well.  In my previous life I was paid to listen to stories, analyze them, and read people.  It comes natural.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Off to bed now, busy day tomorrow!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-8853765619625567403?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/8853765619625567403/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/two-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8853765619625567403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8853765619625567403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/two-day.html' title='Two Day'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SgIsa5h06bI/AAAAAAAAACU/Dx8935FOlk8/s72-c/0506091219.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-4426178598731912427</id><published>2009-05-05T21:26:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T16:12:42.792-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Frustration Ensues</title><content type='html'>My frustration began Thursday, wait, no maybe before then.  Who knows.  Frustrated with a lot of things.  I'm trying to get things done and help others.  I've had some negative things said to me also which hasn't helped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some words that have been floating around in my head; laziness, ignorance, stubbornness, self-sabotage.  I can't stand it when people are lazy.  That also kind of ties in with self-sabotage.  Is it easier to complain about the negatives in your life than actually do something about them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;{I wrote this last night but didn't get a chance to post it because my computer died and my charger broke.  So I went to bed without dinner.  To be continued later...}&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-4426178598731912427?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/4426178598731912427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/frustration-ensues.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4426178598731912427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4426178598731912427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/05/frustration-ensues.html' title='Frustration Ensues'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-406590575690638607</id><published>2009-04-29T23:24:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T23:45:51.711-04:00</updated><title type='text'>This time last year</title><content type='html'>Oftentimes, I think about where I was this time last year, what I was doing, who I was hanging out with, how I felt, etc.  I did that tonight.  My dad is having one of his annual parties tomorrow and that triggered my walk down last year's lane...here it goes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I was getting paid pretty good money to be unhappy in my job.  Shortly thereafter I left my career for a change of scenery.  I have to say, I am happier in that aspect.  I feel like I have a purpose in what I am doing.  This decision was hard for me last year, but looking back, I made the right decision.  Lots of people looked down on me for what I wanted to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-My body was in a lot better physical shape than it is now.  I was training pretty hard.  I am rehabbing and trying to build back my strength and confidence.  This situation definitely hit me hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I have learned about my inner and physical strength this past year.  I have cried more and felt down more this past year than any other year in my life.  I am pretty strong physically.  That makes me prouder than the prior.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I am eating better now.  Not that I have ever eaten unhealthy, but now I am more aware of what I am putting in my body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I was a bit more social last year.  Things change.  I have gotten a year older and realized that is not what I want to be doing right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I was living with different people then.  It's for the better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I was hanging out with different people.  Friends have left my life; some on my accord, some on theirs.  It makes me sad to think of friendships lost but once again, it's for the better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I have developed more intimate relationships with people this year.  When you aren't brought down by others, you can thrive.  I realize that now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a huge believer in that everything happens for a reason.  Good or bad.  Last year more bad things occurred than good.  Lots of people think I have changed...I think it's for the better...what do you think?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a picture of me this time last year...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SfkeGjcb9UI/AAAAAAAAACM/WF2KeolJEyc/s1600-h/kdp.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 115px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SfkeGjcb9UI/AAAAAAAAACM/WF2KeolJEyc/s200/kdp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330324731912254786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="file:///Users/khobama/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-406590575690638607?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/406590575690638607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-time-last-year.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/406590575690638607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/406590575690638607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-time-last-year.html' title='This time last year'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SfkeGjcb9UI/AAAAAAAAACM/WF2KeolJEyc/s72-c/kdp.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-8140100619310816123</id><published>2009-04-27T23:11:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T23:35:43.129-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Girly Girl</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;While I was watching the musical "Legally Blonde" over the weekend, I realized that I really enjoy not being so girly.  Don't get me wrong, it's a cute musical/movie, but the characters are extremely girly.  Lots of pink.  I'm not a huge fan of pink either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It starts back to when I was born; I truly believe my mother was so excited that she had a girl and that this girl would be exactly like her!  Not so much.  My mom is very prissy and she knows it.  She always bought me dolls and paper dolls, put me in dresses, tried to style my hair (athough with the cowlick at the front of my head and extremely straight hair, it makes it nearly impossible), and put me in LOTS of dance classes.  I was always the dancer that was looking at my fellow dancers during the recital to see the next move I was supposed to do.  I also had the perfect body for dancing; skinny with long legs.  Too bad I couldn't capitalize on that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents signed me up for a softball team when I was nine.  That was the beginning of it all.  I was always happier playing sports.  I was more successful in sports than anything else in my life, especially academics!  I came down with mononucleosis when I was in 6th grade.  I cried for over 2 hourse and wasted a whole box of tissues because I couldn't participate in P.E. and had to drop off of my softball team.  I continued playing team sports through middle school and high school.  Ran through college, and picked up various physical activities since then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get along really well with guys and several guys I have dated tell me that I act like the guy in the relationship.  Not sure if that is good or bad, but it is what it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I observe girls around me and on tv, and listen to stories I hear about girls, and realize that I act almost the complete opposite.  I'm glad for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some "girly" things I enjoy; shopping, laying out at the pool, fixing my hair (sometimes), and wearing makeup.  Oh yeah, I was in a sorority too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it, just an observation of myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-8140100619310816123?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/8140100619310816123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/girly-girl.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8140100619310816123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8140100619310816123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/girly-girl.html' title='Girly Girl'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-9163611169679379077</id><published>2009-04-25T23:21:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T23:35:18.739-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Prince of Wales?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Work was very busy today.  My boss left early and stated that I would receive a huge bonus if sales hit X amount.  Not impossible, but difficult.  After he left, sales were inching towards that amount. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A guy called several times throughout the day interested in a certain high dollar bicycle.  He talked to me, talked to my boss, etc.  Finally at closing time, he called back and stated that if he paid over the phone for high dollar bike, could his friend pick it up?  I told him that if his friend could be at the store in 10-15 minutes, I would have the bike ready for him.  I explained that I needed him to hurry because I had an engagement to get to.  Phone guy paid for the bike and I asked one of our mechanics to stay late to check the bike over to make sure it was ready to go.  As I am collecting information from phone guy, he explained that his friend lived in town and was going to bring high dollar bike to him on his airplane next week.  He gave me his phone number and address.  When I typed in his zip code, it didn't bring up his city as it normally does.  I asked him what city he lived in.  He said "Prince of Wales."  I asked him where that was.  He explained that it was right off the coast.  I still didn't know what he was talking about, but I continued on with the sale.  I hung up the phone and pulled up the daily report.  So close to X amount that I could probably talk my boss into the bonus.  The phone rang 10 minutes later.  Phone guy reported that his friend showed up, knocked on the door, and no one answered.  I told him that we were here waiting and to make sure his friend went to the correct store.  Phone guy hung up and immediately called back.  Turns out that he went to the bicycle website, typed in his friend's zip code, and it brought up "Zoom Bike Store," not my store.  But the key part to the story is that the phone number for "Zoom Bike Store" was OUR phone number!  The guy never caught any of the signs; the area code or the fact that we say the name of our store when we answer the phone.  Guess where "Zoom Bike Store" is?  Petersburg, Alaska!  I returned the guy's money, left the store super bummed, and arrived at my engagement late.  At least I had a funny excuse!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-9163611169679379077?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/9163611169679379077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/prince-of-wales.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/9163611169679379077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/9163611169679379077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/prince-of-wales.html' title='Prince of Wales?'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-3493140784672411703</id><published>2009-04-22T23:12:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T23:19:40.531-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Opposite Earth Day?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Today is Earth Day.  I set up a booth at an Earth Day event.  It was outdoors so I was pretty excited.  Except the fact that I was in a wind tunnel!  Froze for 3 hours!  Anyways, the group that put this festival on realized the people working the event were freezing, so they got the management company to drag propane heaters out.  Probably 10.  That's weird on Earth Day.  Weird occurrence #2:  Heading home after the event I saw a delivery truck with this bumper sticker; "Forget the environment, it will go away soon."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I will keep my eyes open for more irony...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-3493140784672411703?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/3493140784672411703/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/opposite-earth-day.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3493140784672411703'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3493140784672411703'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/opposite-earth-day.html' title='Opposite Earth Day?'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-4015723058950455867</id><published>2009-04-21T22:43:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T23:21:11.392-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Facebook Patheticism</title><content type='html'>Ok, so I just made up that "patheticism" word.  In my world it means something along the lines of "the art of being pathetic."  Anyways, I thought it fit nicely in this situation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I received an inbox email on my facebook account from a guy named "Dan."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dan:&lt;/span&gt;  Katie?  Damn, haven't heard from YOU in awhile!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Reply:&lt;/span&gt;  How do I know you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dan's Reply:&lt;/span&gt;  Actually, you probably don't. You used to date a buddy of mine that lived up in Charlotte. I had been up there a couple times to visit and I knew a few people from his area so I was just browsing Charlotte people to see if I remembered anyone and that's when I saw your name. Actually, it didn't even fully register until I saw that you had went to Alabama, then I remembered who you were. Anyhow, I'm Dan and I live in Florida and we've never met but I remembered your name so just wanted to say hey!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;His Reply #2 after I didn't reply: &lt;/span&gt; You do remember {insert name of ex-boyfriend here}, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Short but Sweet Reply:&lt;/span&gt;  Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His next step that I foresee; asking to be my friend.  But I won't accept only because I am actually friends with my facebook friends.  Am I being too critical?  Maybe he is super bored, evidenced by him searching all the people in Charlotte!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Celebrate Earth Day tomorrow!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kt&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-4015723058950455867?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/4015723058950455867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/facebook-patheticism.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4015723058950455867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4015723058950455867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/facebook-patheticism.html' title='Facebook Patheticism'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-4341417372700732258</id><published>2009-04-20T22:30:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T22:48:59.649-04:00</updated><title type='text'>To Live Without</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;I've been without something in my life for a few weeks now.  It's like one of those puzzles you do in elementary school where you receive a bunch of clues and you try to guess what it is.  I save time, I travel lighter, it makes my life and other's easier, it saves money and electricity, it simplifies life.  Only one other person knows what I have been living without.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This has me thinking; what else can I live without?  What can you live without?  Is there something that you don't really need in your life?  Will it save time, money, electricity?  Will it improve your health, mental health, finances?  Is there someone you can live without?  Is this person bringing you down, making you unhappy, or encouraging you to do things you wouldn't normally do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been reading this book by Gregory Johnson, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Put Your Life on a Diet: Lessons Learned from Living in 140 Square Feet&lt;/span&gt;, where the author explains how he downsized his entire life.  His house is 140 square feet, he has no electricity or running water, no car, no kitchen, no bathroom, etc.  He is living without a lot!  A little extreme, but it definitely makes me think what I could live without.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know one thing I cannot live without currently.  I haven't been to physical therapy in over a week, and I have had a lot of problems with my ankle over the past few days.  Pain and stiffness.  I walked on my tip toes the majority of today.  I'm not ready for every other week appointments.  I know that now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-4341417372700732258?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/4341417372700732258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/to-live-without.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4341417372700732258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/4341417372700732258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/to-live-without.html' title='To Live Without'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-2893282079589739973</id><published>2009-04-19T19:31:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T20:10:44.626-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Family, Friends, Football, &amp; Fun!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;My grandmother that I wrote about in a previous blog, "Miss Lorene," notified my family that she was selling the ho&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;use, moving to Tupelo, and putting herself in a retirement commu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;nity.  All within the next month.  I quickly corralled the family, and we headed to Mississippi to visit her one last time at&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; the house I grew up going to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom, dad, and I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; left on Thursday.  My brother and his fiancee were to leave after work that day.  We were headed to Birmingham to stay with my cousins.  On the way down there, my father was cra&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;vin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;g a milkshake.  He really wanted to go to the golden arches, but we co&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;uldn't find one, go figure.  So we stopped at an exit to get gas.  My mom noticed a place called "Pop's Chargrille" next door. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;She proclaimed, "they have the best milkshakes in the world according to Southern Living!  You should get one there."  So we drove over there.  As we pulled up, the place didn't exactly look like a milkshake joint.  We drove around the building looki&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;ng for the drive-thru.  Couldn't find it, but saw things in the window of the building such as fireworks and diapers.  You would have thought we would have kept driving.  My dad parked the car, and with much skepticism from my parents, I convinced them to just go inside and check it out.  My&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt; mom opened my door on the way in &lt;/span&gt;and asked, "do you want chocolate or vanilla?"  I waved her on and told her to get whatever.  I knew at this point it wasn't what we thought it was.  Once they walked in, they quickly turned around and headed back to the car laughing the entire way!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We arrived in Birmingham, met my cousins for dinner, and went to this hole-in-the wall bar my cousin had found.  It was called "The Hangar" but I saw no signs...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Seu3XDEjkEI/AAAAAAAAABs/TyvBbW2KuTc/s1600-h/IMG_1214.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Seu3XDEjkEI/AAAAAAAAABs/TyvBbW2KuTc/s200/IMG_1214.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326552590885032002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We left the next morning and headed to Starkville.  We had a good time visiting with my grandmother.  We gave my brother's fiancee the grand tour of the house.  It was nice to see all of the "junk" my grandfather collected over the years gone!  We checked out the "bomb shelter" one last time.  My grandfather wanted one in his house in case there ever was a nuclear war or something like that.  We ate at our favorite restaurants; Oby's and Little Duey's.  I ate a 3 pound bucket of crawfish that everyone complained about until they ate some!  Crawfish reminds me of the Florabama, Spring Break.  But more about that in another post...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Seu5G1PHxDI/AAAAAAAAAB0/0kZiD8q9RhA/s1600-h/IMG_1219.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Seu5G1PHxDI/AAAAAAAAAB0/0kZiD8q9RhA/s200/IMG_1219.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326554511316599858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miss Lorene always checks all of the family's blood pressure, pulse, and blood sugar.  It's kind of tradition.  Everybody was on track.  We got up the next morning to head to Tuscaloosa but not before we took some pics...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Seu6AkiqZ8I/AAAAAAAAAB8/JZlKd2UDII0/s1600-h/IMG_1225.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Seu6AkiqZ8I/AAAAAAAAAB8/JZlKd2UDII0/s320/IMG_1225.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326555503267571650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;We pulled into town and headed straight to "The Houndstooth."  It's our favorite sports bar that we always go to when we are in town.  I pretty much lived there for several years in college.  The tooth used to be a shit hole bar, but a year ago they tore it down and made it super nice.  I will write about that place in another post also!  I met up with several friends there and had lots of fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Seu7CgAuVEI/AAAAAAAAACE/7YNkQG18C8Y/s1600-h/IMG_1230.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Seu7CgAuVEI/AAAAAAAAACE/7YNkQG18C8Y/s200/IMG_1230.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326556635922846786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;This is one of my good friends, Mary Ruth.  It was a nice unexpected visit with her!  We went to the game where of course Alabama won!  It was rumored that 84,000 people showed up.  Crazy.  We drove to Birmingham after the game and took it easy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way back today, I realized how hard it is to eat healthy while on the road.  There are not a lot of wholesome places to eat advertised on the side of the road.  I encouraged my family to eat sandwiches with me at lunch, except the restaurant only offered us "big gulp" cups to drink out of.  I thought that was very unhealthy to encourage people to drink a huge cup of sugary soda!  Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a nice trip overall.  I give it an 8 out of 10.  I will miss that my grandmother is no longer in Starkville though.  I know she will enjoy her new place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-2893282079589739973?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/2893282079589739973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/family-friends-football-fun.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2893282079589739973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2893282079589739973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/family-friends-football-fun.html' title='Family, Friends, Football, &amp;amp; Fun!'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/Seu3XDEjkEI/AAAAAAAAABs/TyvBbW2KuTc/s72-c/IMG_1214.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-58486367934100394</id><published>2009-04-15T22:53:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-15T22:59:45.085-04:00</updated><title type='text'>3 Strikes and You're Out!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I made 3 mistakes at work today.  My boss was frustrated.  They weren't huge mistakes, just little ones.  It happens.  I told my boss, "well I guess that means 3 strikes and I'm out.  See ya!"  I am going in early tomorrow before I leave on vacation to make up for my mistakes...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;The concept of honesty has been running through my head a good bit the last few days.  I consider myself a very honest person.  I can't remember the last time I lied to someone.  I will tell you what's on my mind if you ask.  I feel that being honest in any relationship is always the best policy, even if it hurts someone's feelings or ruins that relationship.  I have been brutally honest and some relationships have suffered.  I like it when people are honest and I can trust them.  It's hard when you don't feel 100% about someone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I will leave you with a quote that has also been in my head; "I'm not certain that we will continue to be friends in the future."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;katie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-58486367934100394?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/58486367934100394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/3-strikes-and-youre-out.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/58486367934100394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/58486367934100394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/3-strikes-and-youre-out.html' title='3 Strikes and You&apos;re Out!'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5699934408485399340</id><published>2009-04-10T23:44:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T23:51:10.194-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Regular Shoes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;I watched a movie tonight and one part reminded me of a story in my past.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;When I was younger, apparently my ankles turned in and I had to wear "special shoes."  From what my mom has told me, I didn't like them because they didn't look as nice as "regular shoes."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;I don't know any details of how long I wore them, what they looked like, how they felt, etc.  The one detail of the story my mom has told me about is that when I was finally told that I didn't need to wear them anymore, she took me to buy "regular shoes."  According to her, I was so excited about them, that I slept in my shoes that night!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;I still get excited about new things to this day.  Whenever I get something new, I like to use it or wear it straightaway.  I can't wait.  I haven't slept in my shoes since then, or have I?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5699934408485399340?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5699934408485399340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/regular-shoes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5699934408485399340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5699934408485399340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/regular-shoes.html' title='Regular Shoes'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-3999437118152402838</id><published>2009-04-10T08:58:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T09:02:03.530-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Last Night</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Two great things happened to me last night.  First, I asked a friend to create something for me.  She exceeded my expectations ten fold!  She has been commissioned to create another for me.  Pictures to follow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Second, I asked a doctor friend of mine to "analyze" my blog.  His affirmation was as follows, "that your writing is a cool way to capture the meaning of everyday meaningful experiences."  I thought that was a cool way to sum up what I have written!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I am optimistic that today will be a great day!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-3999437118152402838?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/3999437118152402838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/last-night.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3999437118152402838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3999437118152402838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/last-night.html' title='Last Night'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-6861752807412125622</id><published>2009-04-07T22:36:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T22:52:00.387-04:00</updated><title type='text'>There's No Grey</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SdwQJETF1OI/AAAAAAAAABc/ntTb3tPa9GM/s1600-h/overcash92.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 195px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SdwQJETF1OI/AAAAAAAAABc/ntTb3tPa9GM/s320/overcash92.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322146607603766498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;While eating dinner/catching up with a friend over the weekend, I ran into a family friend.  She has known me since I was probably 2 or 3 years old.  She lived across the street.  We caught up for a minute and then she told my friend her favorite story about me.  And so it goes...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;I was two months shy of 4 years old when my brother was born.  I stayed with this neighbor when my brother was born.  She explained that she cooked me breakfast and that I sat by the window waiting on my ride to preschool without saying a word the entire time.  She said that all of a sudden, I asked her if the baby was born yet.  She replied that she did not think so.  Then I inquired, "Is the baby going to be black or white?"  She did not tell me how she replied because she was laughing so hard when she told the story.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;I guess this shows how innocent young children are.  They don't really understand the differences in people or maybe even care.  Shortly thereafter, I met my new sibling and promptly told my parents that I did not want that baby because he didn't have any eyebrows.  I believe this contradicts everything I just proclaimed...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-6861752807412125622?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/6861752807412125622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/theres-no-grey.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6861752807412125622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6861752807412125622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/theres-no-grey.html' title='There&apos;s No Grey'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SdwQJETF1OI/AAAAAAAAABc/ntTb3tPa9GM/s72-c/overcash92.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-109423046845607426</id><published>2009-04-05T22:02:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-05T22:07:04.094-04:00</updated><title type='text'>This is all I've got for ya...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:130%;" &gt;I'm not feeling very inspired or creative tonight, so I will use the following as my post;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other night, while looking at my feet, I exclaimed, "ugh, I have Walmart Feet!"  My friend responded, "what's that?"  I explained the definition as I learned from a friend in Alabama and mentioned that it was probably on urban dictionary.  When I checked it out that night, it was not.  Therefore, I published my first entry on that website.  Mine is numero dos.  Enjoy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=walmart+feet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-109423046845607426?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/109423046845607426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-is-all-ive-got-for-ya.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/109423046845607426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/109423046845607426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-is-all-ive-got-for-ya.html' title='This is all I&apos;ve got for ya...'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1050771833290101036</id><published>2009-03-29T16:02:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-29T16:07:04.219-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Say What You Need To Say</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;But I can't.  It takes a while before I let someone know how I feel about a situation.  I usually keep things to myself and deal with them that way.  Everybody has different ways of dealing with things.  Oftentimes when I am upset with someone or something I just let it go.  I don't feel like arguing with someone or acting shitty to them is great for any type of relationship.  Some people may say that this way is letting someone run all over you.  I have definitely let people run all over me in the past.  I'm not a complete pushover, but a maybe a pushalittleover.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I have a lot of things in my head that I need to say but can't and probably won't.  For now, my head and my blog get the best of my thoughts...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1050771833290101036?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1050771833290101036/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/03/say-what-you-need-to-say.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1050771833290101036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1050771833290101036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/03/say-what-you-need-to-say.html' title='Say What You Need To Say'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-7170936344651246799</id><published>2009-03-25T21:24:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T21:29:09.345-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Victor-E</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/ScraR3jDvXI/AAAAAAAAABU/x1cw9WbEkxk/s1600-h/victor.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/ScraR3jDvXI/AAAAAAAAABU/x1cw9WbEkxk/s320/victor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317302310567918962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;My friend Victor Ellis died one year ago today.  He was 28.  Died of a rare type of cancer, lots of suffering in the end.  He had that type of personality where you were drawn to him.  And I was.  One year ago and so many things have happened since then...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-7170936344651246799?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/7170936344651246799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/03/victor-e.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7170936344651246799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7170936344651246799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/03/victor-e.html' title='Victor-E'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/ScraR3jDvXI/AAAAAAAAABU/x1cw9WbEkxk/s72-c/victor.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-3381011206949649718</id><published>2009-03-14T19:19:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-14T19:25:53.280-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mystery Email (The update)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:courier new;" &gt;Email guy came in the shop and guess what?  I definitely &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;" &gt;up sold&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:courier new;" &gt; him.  He left the store super stoked about the bike and had no idea he was &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:arial;" &gt;up sold&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:courier new;" &gt;.  Katie 1, Email Dude 0. Love it!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:courier new;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-3381011206949649718?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/3381011206949649718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/03/mystery-email-update.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3381011206949649718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3381011206949649718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/03/mystery-email-update.html' title='Mystery Email (The update)'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-7781712103629472889</id><published>2009-03-11T22:11:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-11T22:14:58.462-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mystery Email</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;My work email is posted on our website and I'm guessing that's where this email came from.  Two days ago I received an email from a potential customer who originally wanted to purchase a road bike.  Once I replied, he wrote back saying he would get bored on a road bike.  Whatever.  This is the latest email I received...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;"If the weather holds up I would love to stop by this weekend. Now once I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;get there you guys better not try to up sell me. I have experienced this&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;at other shops. I have already made up my mind; the differences between&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;a $350 bike and a $600 bike are the components and I can always upgrade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;those in the future if I get hooked. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Hope to see you Saturday"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Am I being threatened?  What happens if I try to upsell?  I love ignorance!  I will report back this weekend...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-7781712103629472889?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/7781712103629472889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/03/mystery-email.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7781712103629472889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7781712103629472889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/03/mystery-email.html' title='Mystery Email'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-7782167127746136049</id><published>2009-03-07T20:15:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T20:28:50.058-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Boxed Mashed Potatoes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;It all started when I was 12 or 13.  My parents had season tickets to the Charlotte Hornets.  They would go to games just about every week.  My brother and I were left at home to take care of ourself.  Being 8 and 12 respectively, we didn't have a whole lot of culinary skills.  My brother would usually pop a Chef Boyardee cuppie in the microwave, and I usually ate a bowl of cereal or boxed mashed potatoes.  It was good and easy, period.  After a while, my mom taught us a couple of dishes that we could make with no problem.  I would still eat boxed mashed potatoes from time to time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During graduate school, I had several jobs, plus school stuff.  I frequently didn't have a lot of spare time.  Oftentimes I would change clothes in the car from job to job.  With that being said, I didn't have a lot of time to cook good meals.  When I worked at the tanning bed, I would not get home until 11pm.  As a routine, I would get home and make a big bowl of boxed mashed potatoes as my dinner.  It tasted good and it was quick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made a bowl of boxed mashed potatoes tonight.  I don't know why I still eat them.  I guess because they are a comfort food for me.  Everytime I make them, I load up the bowl with salt and pepper.  Sometimes I add cheese.  Ever since I got Bailey, I let him lick the bowl when I'm done.  I guess that means that I'm sharing my comfort food with him.  I know they aren't the best food for me, but my justification is that they are better for me than grabbing a greasy hamburger at the golden arches when I need food quick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-7782167127746136049?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/7782167127746136049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/03/boxed-mashed-potatoes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7782167127746136049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7782167127746136049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/03/boxed-mashed-potatoes.html' title='Boxed Mashed Potatoes'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-6589043585730432595</id><published>2009-02-28T21:39:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-28T21:53:41.782-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Brown Herbs</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;We have a customer at the store, a retired attorney, who began doing triathlons when he was in his mid-60s!  Amazing!  He is now in his mid-70s I believe, and completed his first Ironman competition in the fall.  You can always spot him wheeling into the store; he has some teal car that looks like an old police car.  He claims he has that car because he likes to put his bike IN the car, not on top, as opposed to other people who he has seen run their bikes into things.  He has a few really nice bikes.  Whenever he walks in, my boss always yells his name no matter where he is in the store.  He usually comes in about once a week.  He stopped coming in the past few months, so my boss gave him a ring to make sure he was alright.  He claimed that everything was fine and he would stop by the store soon.  He has come in about 3 times in the last 2 weeks.  The first visit, he revealed to me that his mother was not doing well and he has been spending a lot of time with her.  He told me that he hoped she would make it to her 100th birthday.  He came in yesterday, with brownies in hand, like always, and did his normal rounds.  When he came to the front counter to visit with me, I asked about his mother.  He stated that she died that morning.  I told him I was sorry that happened and inquired if she had made it to her 100th birthday.  He told me she had and that her passing was for the best.  He was in good spirits telling me about the funeral arrangements.  He then went on to talk about this amazing turkey sandwich that he gets at this deli north of town.  He claimed he would bring one for me and the owner next time he came to visit.  I briefly saw him today when I was talking to a customer about a bike.  He whispered to me that he had something in a bag in the back for me and the owner.  I figured it was a brownie.  I went to the back about 20 minutes later to find that he had brought me this sandwich he was raving about the previous day.  He was right, it was amazing!  My boss agreed.  It really touched me that his mother died the previous day and for the past two days, he has brought goodies for me and my coworkers.  What a kind man.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-6589043585730432595?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/6589043585730432595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/brown-herbs.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6589043585730432595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6589043585730432595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/brown-herbs.html' title='Brown Herbs'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-7647638930124275521</id><published>2009-02-20T22:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-20T23:03:53.587-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sponge Cake</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: courier new;"&gt;Yesterday at work, 2 of my coworkers and myself decided to order a bunch of food from a restaurant across the street.  It was a feast, to say the least!  Hey that rhymes!  Anyways, we all ordered an entree and several dessert goodies.  One was a carrot cake and the other a blueberry cheesecake.  After finishing my entree, I opened the two dessert boxes to decide which one I would eat.  The carrot cake didn't look oh so appetizing, so on to the cheesecake.  Well this one made the other look like a million dollars!  This particular cheescake was a round shape with a lady finger draped across the top.  It also had some gelatnous substance around it.  The blueberry cheesecake looked more like a sponge you would clean your shower with actually.  During my close inspection of this sponge cake thing, I noticed a massive hair beside the lady finger!  Super gross!  My coworker promptly called the restaurant (who we are friends with), and told the manager about our finding.  She asked, "what kind of hair is it?"  My coworker responded, "not a head hair."  Super funny!  I am still laughing about that.  She quickly brought over another piece of cheesecake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, while ordering food from the same restaurant, we all asked for our food with the same ending line; "I'll have the cheeseburger, with no hair, I want the grilled cheese, hairless, I want a greek salad, sans hair, I'll have the caesar salad, without any hair!"  This was really silly, but it made me laugh today!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-7647638930124275521?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/7647638930124275521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/sponge-cake.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7647638930124275521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7647638930124275521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/sponge-cake.html' title='Sponge Cake'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-8557122418675443199</id><published>2009-02-16T22:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T22:48:12.432-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ain't Life Grand</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SZozZFbZnXI/AAAAAAAAABE/-TunAFa26vs/s1600-h/IMG_1124.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SZozZFbZnXI/AAAAAAAAABE/-TunAFa26vs/s400/IMG_1124.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303608017229028722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my recent clean-up of possessions, I ran across a small box with lots and lots of old tickets.  Mostly tickets to sporting events and concerts, but a few to some musicals, ballets, etc.  I found 3 tickets in particular that put a huge grin on my face.  They brought back such great memories.  I attended the concerts during my 6-year stint at the University of Alabama.  I just noticed they were all from the year 2001.  They must have been during my Junior/Senior year.  I lived in the sorority house those 2 years and did a lot with this particular group of friends.  More about those years at a later date...Anyways, the first concert was George Strait and friends at the Superdome in New Orleans.  I remember being extremely excited about visiting New Orleans.  I had these grand ideas of what the city would be like.  Needless to say, I was disappointed.  There are some cool things about this city; Pralines and Beignets.  I remember leaving on a Friday and being super hungover for the ride.  My roommate drove.  We wheeled into the parking deck only to be freaked out by the valet with a gold tooth and a cracknail.  We didn't stay at that dump of a hotel.  We ended up staying at a nicer hotel and I vaguely remember volunteering to sleep on the floor.  The first night there we ate some local cuisine and ended up at the Harrah's casino.  Only one of us were legal to get in, and the rest used some other forms of identification.  I only gambled with 10 bucks (which is what I always do at casinos).  The next day we woke up and began our exploration of the city.  I know we visited Pat O'Brians to partake in some hurricanes.  I still laugh to this day remembering my roommate walk around the city.  She was very freaked out by the pigeons, filth, and panties that were found all over the city.  The concert was an entire day festival of country music artists.  I remember seeing Alan Jackson, LeAnn Womack, Lonestar, and George Strait.  We also donned our newly bought cowboy hats!  Overall it was a great experience, with more greater experiences yet to come!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next concert was Dave Matthews, early summer, Turner Field, Atlanta.  The day before the concert, one of our friends bailed, leaving us with an extra ticket.  This was the summer that my roommate and I partied every single night.  We met a guy at one of our favorite bars, Cheap Shots.  His name was Tommy and he was super excited to go to this concert with us.  The next day, we left right after lunch and headed to Birmingham to pick up one of our friends and then to Atlanta.  I called our friend right before we left to warn her that we were bringing a rando guy with us that we had met at the bar the previous night.  She laughed it off.  My roommate had on two different earrings (not out of the ordinary though).  Off to Georgia we go!  We got lost several times trying to find Turner field.  I remember wheeling by a lady on the interstate and yelling across "how do we get to Turner field?"  We finally arrived at our destination only to pay a couple of kids $20 to park in a field that wasn't theirs to take money for.  Tommy was irrate!  He kept walking around talking about how he wanted to find those kids and beat them up.  All my friends were telling me to calm him down because he was my friend!  Hardly.  Anyways, as it turns out, this was a pretty intense guy.  He loved his music and begged me to sneak onto Turner field (because our tickets were in the nosebleed) and dance with him down there.  So I did, and it was an adventure to say the least.  We arrived back in Tuscaloosa pretty late but it was worth every hour of lost sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last but not least, Widespread Panic.  Oh how I loved Panic!  This was their famous New Years Eve 3-night showcase in Atlanta, Georgia.  My roommate and I bought tickets for ourself and an old ex-boyfriend of mine.  My ex and I left Charlotte early on the 29th to head to Aiken, SC to pickup my roommate and then on to the Holiday Inn in Atlanta.  My roommate's dad was less than pleased that we were staying in a "Holiday Dump."  We arrived early afternoon, bought some beer, and headed to the hotel.  We couldn't have stayed in a better establishment.  Everyone, and when I say everyone, I mean everyone in the hotel was going to "the show."  We encountered a few "spreadheads" in the elevator who let us know that there were several guys in room 6-oh-something that were making hemp necklaces as we speak, if we were interested.  Well we forgot to eat dinner or lunch for that matter, and became very intoxicated, very quickly.  We all did some crazy dancing that night, and my roommate "fell asleep" at the show.  We ran back to the hotel after the show only to find out that we couldn't leave to get food because they would charge us another $30 to park.  We tried to problem solve the best we could to get food.  No delivery, no taxi, no vending machine.  We decided to call rando rooms and ask for food.  We talked to several very nice people who didn't have any food to offer us.  Finally, I proclaimed that I was going to go out in the hall and ask the people out there for food.  Guess what?  They were more than happy to share their food with us.  My roommate and I went to their room with a few bucks in hand, made some sandwiches, and grabbed some "Zapps" chips.  Those were probably the best sandwiches I have ever eaten.  The next day, we dropped my ex off with his friends at another hotel, and somewhere in that time frame, my roommate and I decided that another round of Panic was in order!  We stopped back by the hotel to pickup her cell phone charger.  While my roommate was retrieving that, I decided that it would be an excellent idea to buy 2 more tickets from a homeless guy on the street.  I believe I spent a lot of money for those tickets.  After about an hour, the reality set in that these 2 tickets might not get us in!  Long story short, they worked, I did a jump for joy after the ticket was scanned, and the concert was a blast!  No alcohol this time...one last thought...my ex lied to his girlfriend about where he was and who he was with the entire weekend.  He married her years later and we no longer speak.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-8557122418675443199?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/8557122418675443199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/aint-life-grand.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8557122418675443199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/8557122418675443199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/aint-life-grand.html' title='Ain&apos;t Life Grand'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SZozZFbZnXI/AAAAAAAAABE/-TunAFa26vs/s72-c/IMG_1124.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-419775760675234003</id><published>2009-02-13T22:56:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T23:02:28.279-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cheap Shower Curtain Liners</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;I'm not a bargain shopper or penny pincher by any means.  I am quite the opposite. I will blow money like I'm a millionaire.  I hardly purchase generic items, items on sale, or the cheapest version of a product.  I usually don't pay attention to prices.  In the past few years, I have spent a lot of money on shower curtain liners.  Not massive amounts of money, but a good bit.  I usually buy the high end, anti-mold, thick shower liner.  It always ends up with mold and soap scum build-up after awhile.  It doesn't even come off when you throw it in the washing machine.  I went to the Bath Store the other day to buy a new liner.  I decided that from now on I will buy the cheapest liner available because I will throw it out in a couple of months anyways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-419775760675234003?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/419775760675234003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/cheap-shower-curtain-liners.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/419775760675234003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/419775760675234003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/cheap-shower-curtain-liners.html' title='Cheap Shower Curtain Liners'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-3791249988261153801</id><published>2009-02-09T21:02:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-09T21:41:35.027-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Bad Wolf</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;I have become very frustrated at work lately.  I know that everyone is feeling "the crunch" with the economy the way it is.  I encounter this problem at least 3 times a day.  A customer comes in, asks for my opinion on a product, asks to try on a product, or wants expert knowledge on a product.  After I finish explaining the product, the customer asks the price.  Then they are excited to tell me that they can get it on the internet cheaper.  Of course you can!  You will ALWAYS find things cheaper on the internet.  All it takes is some jerk off sitting at a computer posting products and shipping them out.  They don't provide the knowledge base or customer service that local businesses can.  I explain this concept to the customer (not in the same lingo I just used) and they say it's all about getting something cheaper.  I challenge them to think about my store closing and how their options would be limited in receiving good customer service and knowledge.  Some customers have then agreed with me.  Do people have a conscience?  Some don't.  I would feel horrible about trying on a pair of shoes at a store to see what size I wear, and then turning around and buying them on the internet.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;Example:  A customer walks in today and asks, "Do you have any sale saddles?  If not, I will buy one on the internet."  I showed him the saddles I had to offer and explained that he could definitely find one cheaper on the internet, but that I would do my best to help him find one that worked.  We took several saddles out to his girlfriend, who needed the saddle.  She explained her problem to me, I showed her the different saddles, and gave her my opinion on which one would work best for her.  They decided to get the one I recommended.  I offered to install the saddle for her.  The customer then apologized for saying that he would buy one on the internet and stated that I exceeded his expectations today.  Yay for me!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;Don't get me wrong.  The internet is great!  I don't know what I did before I ever logged onto Prodigy with my modem.  I just hope the internet does not put everyone out of business.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;Some companies that we do business with even prohibit selling their product on the internet.  I was disappointed tonight to find that a company we do the majority of our business with, is now selling their product straight from their website.  I thought they prided themselves on their product not being available on the internet.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;Big box stores also bother me.  Customer service is always hit or miss.  You will find employees at these places who really do care.  More times that not, I have encountered the opposite.  At my shop today, we ran into a situation where a customer brought in a bike that she bought at a chain store.  One of our mechanics took a quick look at it and noticed several problems with the build of the bike.  This could cause major problems when descending a hill at 30mph!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;I recently had a very heated discussion with 2 friends of mine on this topic.  Let me preface this with the information that they both work for local companies, as well as myself and my mother.  My father even owns a local company.  These two friends of mine were discussing how they would choose a big box over a local company if the box offered a lower price or better service!  Really?  That's absurd to me!  If that's true, then my dad should probably be out of business.  His rates for service are never the lowest.  He gets the client because he has great customer service and unique ideas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;This concept is also explored in my favorite movie of all time, "You've Got Mail."  The "big bad Fox Books" puts the cute little "Shop Around the Corner" out of business.  It saddens me when the main character explains at the beginning of the movie that her mother opened the shop, she now runs it, and her daughter will own it one day.  She doesn't even have a daughter, but she is confident that her shop will continue on with it's quaint decor and knowledgeable staff.  Then the big bad wolf comes to town with it's cheap books and coffee selection.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"&gt;I will continue to challenge people on internet/chain shopping vs. supporting local business!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-3791249988261153801?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/3791249988261153801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/big-bad-wolf.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3791249988261153801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/3791249988261153801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/big-bad-wolf.html' title='Big Bad Wolf'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5376223303565959636</id><published>2009-02-06T22:35:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T22:44:09.038-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Emotional Intelligence</title><content type='html'>What does this mean? According to Wikipedia (which is a funny word to me), it is defined as “the ability to monitor one's own and others' feelings and emotions, to discriminate among them and to use this information to guide one's thinking and actions.”  Observing others’ social/emotional reactions/actions is fascinating to me.  I am often puzzled when I see people show the inability to pick up on social cues society has provided for them.  Is it really hard to learn how to act in certain situations?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My most recent occurrence with this observation is with this man.  He is constantly hanging around the place where I work.  Ok, so we work there so we have to be somewhat nice to him.  It’s not that he is rude or mean to anyone at the store.  He is an annoyance.  We are nice to him to an extent, but then after awhile, he just gets ignored.  We started out by simply ignoring him because we have our jobs to do, but now it has turned into blatant ignoring.  I’m not sure why he hasn’t picked up on the social cues that everyone in the situation that he is in is ignoring him.  When you are in a group and no one is talking to you and people are constantly redirecting your behavior, relocate yourself to a place where you are appreciated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have also noticed recently that some people have a difficult time communicating with others.  Is it really hard to make small talk?  "What have you been up to lately?  I like your shirt.  How is your ankle?  What do you think about this weather?"  Easy, easy, easy.  Maybe because of the career paths I have taken, I have developed the ability to talk to ANYONE in ANY situation.  Seriously.  Someone, please prove me wrong on this one!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When is our emotional intelligence developed?  Are we born with it?  Is it like our IQ that is already determined when we are born?  This is puzzling to me.  Maybe because I realize that I am not the smartest person in a group and I can accept that.  I know when conversations or situations are too intellectual for me to grasp.  At this point I kindly bow out of the conversation, ask the person to explain their story on my level, or let them know that I do not understand.  It’s easy.  I’m not afraid to ask someone to define a word for me or explain something in simpler terms.  We all have our faults, incompetencies, or unfavorable traits.  When is it not okay to acknowledge them and move on?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5376223303565959636?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5376223303565959636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/emotional-intelligence.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5376223303565959636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5376223303565959636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/emotional-intelligence.html' title='Emotional Intelligence'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5881579200220761124</id><published>2009-02-04T20:35:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-04T21:59:33.278-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My "not real" but "REAL" Grandmother</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SYpVa48VDzI/AAAAAAAAAA8/FC5dbKT1d0A/s1600-h/miss+lorene.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SYpVa48VDzI/AAAAAAAAAA8/FC5dbKT1d0A/s320/miss+lorene.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299141832005193522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;All I can remember at the wake, is Miss Lorene, st&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;aring into the coffin and sobbing.  All my dad could do was comfort her and tell her that we would be there for her.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She overcame the tears and sorrow while trying not to look hurt because she had responsibility.  She had to be the one grandparent for two kids to turn to.  This was a big job for one woman to d&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;o, while all the time still caring for these grandkids that aren't blood-related.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;In the fall of 1997, my last grandparent died.  It wasn't a surprise, but it was devastating for me, because I realized that I didn't have any blood-related grandparents.  The only grandparent figure I had in my life was a lady I call "Miss Lorene."&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miss Lorene has been in my life since I was seven.  Her marriage to my grandfather in 1987, seemed weird to me.  I didn't know what to call her, and I didn't know how to act around her.  For all I knew, she could have been some awful child-abusing witch.  Before I met her, my mom told me to call her "Miss Lorene."  I thought that was a pretty good idea.  She came to our house with two stuffed animal bears, one was pink for me, and one blue for my brother, Tyler.  They each had a wind-up music box inside.  Ever since then, I have gotten&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt; to know her better and have come to love her like a grandmother of my own.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, Miss Lorene realized she had a big responsibility to deal with.  At the time when she decided to put him in a nursing home, she turned to my family.  My father and I went down to Mississippi to help her.  It was an emotional time for Miss Lorene, but she was strong and carried on.  Every day she would visit my grandfather and stay with him for hours.  He never remembered who she was or why she was there to see him.  And every night she went home all by herself.  I wondered why she would love someone who couldn't do the same in return.  It was b&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;ecause she cared.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost a year after my grandfather was put in the nursing home, he died.  Leaving Miss Lorene's house is always sad, but after the funeral it was different.  She hugged each one of us and told us that she loved us.  After my mom hugged her, Miss Lorene started to cry and told us not to forget about her.  I knew then that she really did care about my family and would do anything she could to keep us happy.  She then invited us to come visit her anytime, and that she would be there for my brother and me since she was the only grandparent we had.  It takes a lot to make me cry, but seeing Miss Lorene standing there with tears streaming down her face made me want to cry and never leave her.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have visited Miss Lorene, called her, and sent her birthday gifts since then.  When a woman gets married later in life, people usually think that she is a "golddigger."  N&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;ot my grandmother.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;  She lived by her wedding vows, "For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as we both shall live."&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Copied word for word from an essay I wrote in Senior English over 10 years ago.  I was reminded of this for two reasons; I talked to Miss Lorene tonight, and I did a bit of purging of my belongings today and uncovered this amongst other things.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Senior English teacher encouraged me to give this to her.  At first I didn't want to, but I decided I would when she came to my graduation.  After she read it, she started to cry.  I hated that I gave it to her once I saw her crying!  I caught her several times during her stay reading it in her bedroom.  When she returned home, she told my mom that she made a copy, sent it to her 4 kids, and put a copy of it in her lock box at the bank.  I guess I made an impression...&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After this was written, I became even closer to her because I went to college 1.5 hours from her house.  I visited her often those 6 years.  That's one of the things I miss about being in Alabama.  I don't believe I have seen her since. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We talk pretty regularly, but it would be nice to see her.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;When I would travel to her house, it was always nice to do laundry, get away from the party scene, go out to eat (since she doesn't like to cook), and catch up with her.  She would always take me to Waffle House, Barnhill's, or Oby's to eat.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once Miss Lorene told my mom that out of all of her grandchildren (which is has a LOT), that she truly believed that me and one other girl were the only ones that loved her.  This really touched me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5881579200220761124?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5881579200220761124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/my-not-real-but-real-grandmother.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5881579200220761124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5881579200220761124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/02/my-not-real-but-real-grandmother.html' title='My &quot;not real&quot; but &quot;REAL&quot; Grandmother'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SYpVa48VDzI/AAAAAAAAAA8/FC5dbKT1d0A/s72-c/miss+lorene.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5400124469058698905</id><published>2009-01-25T21:15:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-25T21:40:25.735-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Wrong Aid</title><content type='html'>I have been thinking a lot lately how I have a strong dislike of a certain pharmacy.  This store is very close to my house, very convenient, and on my way to work.  The location of this store is prime real estate.  It is in an upscale area of town.  I strongly believe this store has no concept of customer service.  I really can't remember a time when I personally experienced an employee going out of their way to help me.  I have three examples of times that this store has "wronged" me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1 This summer I rode my bike most places.  I tried not to crank my car for at least a week at a time.  So this means all errands were done on my bike.  This included picking up my prescription at the pharmacy.  This pharmacy has a very convenient drive thru.  Several times I was seen riding my bike through this area.  One day, the man at the drive thru informed me that I was no longer allowed to ride my bike there.  I asked him why?  He stated that someone was almost hit in the drive thru.  I looked at the man and told him that I ride my bike on the road everyday with lots of cars.  "Do you really think I am afraid of being hit in the drive thru?"  He stated that it was company policy and I was no longer allowed to do it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2 The day I was released from the hospital after having surgery on my broken ankle, I needed to get a prescription of pain killers filled before I went to my parent's house.  My father pulled up in the drive thru and sent the prescription through the contraption into the pharmacy.  I asked the lady if I could run to my house to pick up a few things and return in 20 minutes to pick up my medicine.  She told me it would take 1.5 hours to fill the prescription.  I am pretty sure all they had to do was put a few pills in a bottle, but whatever.  I explained to her that I just had surgery on my ankle and it would really help if I could do this.  She said that if I came inside and waited, they could fill it for me in 15 minutes!  Are you kidding me?  Are you really asking a girl on crutches to hobble inside to pick up her prescription quicker?  My father, who never really gets upset, was infuriated!  So I hobbled to the back of the store with my father at my side.  When we approached the counter my father said, "Here she is on her crutches to pick up her prescription."  Nobody in the pharmacy seemed concerned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#3 Most recently, I needed to buy razor blades.  I went down the razor/shave gel aisle only to find that ALL razor blades are locked up.  A sign was posted that informed me to find a sales associate to purchase blades.  I looked everywhere for about 10 minutes and could not find anyone.  I am led to believe that all associates were hiding from me.  I decided to get them on my next visit to the store.  So a week later I walked in the store and immediately saw a sales associate.  I asked her politely if she would unlock the razor blades for me.  She was not so friendly, but she did it anyways.  I asked her if people steal razor blades and she quickly stated, "yes!"  I then put my hand out for her to hand them to me, and she was quick to remind me that she would give them to the cashier at the front.  I then asked her why they didn't put sensors on them.  She didn't answer me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to do some research and find a better place for me to go for my medicinal needs.  Hopefully I can find a local pharmacy.  I regret saying this, but I really hope this company goes out of business.  If they do, they will probably blame it on the economic downturn, but I will know that it was because of their lack of customer service and compassion!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5400124469058698905?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5400124469058698905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/wrong-aid.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5400124469058698905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5400124469058698905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/wrong-aid.html' title='Wrong Aid'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-2423875442539231482</id><published>2009-01-24T18:38:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T18:48:21.020-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dog in a Blog</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SXunDtTUMpI/AAAAAAAAAAs/4OxQhULoW7I/s1600-h/baileydesk.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 196px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SXunDtTUMpI/AAAAAAAAAAs/4OxQhULoW7I/s200/baileydesk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295009469046207122" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"&gt;Today is Bailey's birthday.  He is 6 years old.  I can't believe I have had him this long.  Although I adopted Bailey very impulsively, he has been a great companion.  We have lived in many different houses together and been through many ups and downs together.  There are many times I threaten him with adoption.  He doesn't believe me.  Bailey has definitely tried my patience through the years, but I wouldn't change him for anything.  He is a very loving dog with a huge personality.  My favorite things about Ba are that he loves wearing clothes, he gives the best kisses, and his personality is very similar to mine.  Tomorrow he will have cake with his family to celebrate his birthday!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-2423875442539231482?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/2423875442539231482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/dog-in-blog.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2423875442539231482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2423875442539231482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/dog-in-blog.html' title='Dog in a Blog'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SXunDtTUMpI/AAAAAAAAAAs/4OxQhULoW7I/s72-c/baileydesk.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-292644567078308585</id><published>2009-01-22T21:17:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-22T21:48:46.205-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Monsters, Inc.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SXkvd_rUzHI/AAAAAAAAAAk/TdJ1DAD8sKw/s1600-h/sully.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 261px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SXkvd_rUzHI/AAAAAAAAAAk/TdJ1DAD8sKw/s200/sully.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294315029306592370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Today I was reminded several times how many "monsters" there are out there.  I saw bad sides of several people today.  This made me start to think about how we create monsters out of people.  We let people get away with things over and over, and sometimes never say anything.  If a person does something negative once or twice, and no one corrects them, in their head, it is justified to continue doing.  &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be the first to admit I have created several monsters in my life.  I have let friends take advantage of me without ever saying a word.  I was probably too afraid to "rock the boat," so I just let them continue their negative behavior.  What if I had stopped them earlier on and said something?  Would this have changed them or changed our relationship?  One will never know.  I know I have created a monster in my dog.  He is spoiled rotten and I did that to him.  I always give him what he wants.  I was very close to naming him "Sully."  He was a character from a kid's movie called "Monsters, Inc."  Go figure.  That would have been more fitting than the name he has.  I believe I am a monster too.  I am sure my family would love to tell of my monstrous ways.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are we co-signing the behavior of people around us by not saying anything at all?  Are we creating monsters out of people?  Take a look at your significant others, coworkers, bosses, friends, children, parents, clients, etc.  Would they be a better, more likable, successful human beings if we just told them about their damaging behavior?  Are we saying it is okay for people to lie, cheat, steal, whine, bitch, drink to excess, etc?  &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Society creates monsters too.  Government, media, school, and corporations do this everyday.  As I was finishing my sushi tonight, American Idol was on.  This is a silly example, but media creates monsters out of these people who try out for this show.  It glorifies making fun of the dregs of society.  Most recently, the government has created monsters out of these big corporations by "bailing" them out.  Schools create monsters by not addressing negative actions or lack of intelligence, but simply sweep them under the rug or pass them on to the next grade.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I will think about this before I create another monster.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-292644567078308585?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/292644567078308585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/monsters-inc.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/292644567078308585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/292644567078308585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/monsters-inc.html' title='Monsters, Inc.'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SXkvd_rUzHI/AAAAAAAAAAk/TdJ1DAD8sKw/s72-c/sully.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-2220140716395152578</id><published>2009-01-18T22:59:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T23:13:16.883-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Not a "Bucket List"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;This is a list I created exactly one year ago.  An older friend of mine told me about her list of 50 things to do before she turned 50.  I was really inspired by her list and her ideas.  I decided to do one of my own...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;1.  Have a makeover for one night&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;2.  Take a cooking class&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;3.  Give blood&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;4.  Ride in a yacht on the ocean&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;5.  Go to the Kentucky Derby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;6.  Take an alternative fitness class&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;7.  Bungee jump&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;8.  Get professional pictures taken&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;9.  Eat at Tavern on the Green&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;10.  Go to the Grand Canyon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;11.  Go to a major sporting event&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;12.  Drive an old convertible&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;13.  Ride in a hot air balloon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;14.  Skydive&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;15.  Stay in a tiki hut on the beach&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;16.  Buy a house&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;17.  Run in the Cooper River Bridge Run&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;18.  Pick strawberries&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;19.  Be in the audience of a talk/awards show&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;20.  Win my age division in a race&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;21.  Visit the Alamo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;22.  Watch the launch of a space shuttle&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;23.  Ride in a helicopter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;24.  Go to Asia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;25.  Stay at Beverly Hills Hotel or Chateau Marmont&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;26.  Go to a professional baseball game&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;27.  Visit the Great Barrier Reef&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;28.  Go to Las Vegas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;29.  Live until 50 and celebrate with my friends&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;30.  Go to a NASCAR race&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;31.  Go to a fashion show&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;32.  Ski in Colorado&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;33.  Donate hair to cancer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;34.  Be in a movie/tv show&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;35.  Compete in a triathlon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;36.  Go to a zoo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;37.  Go to a Broadway show&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;38.  Take a photography class&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;39.  Raise kids&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;40.  Surf in the ocean&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;41.  Ride in a gondola&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;42.  Get married&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;43.  Run in a marathon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;44.  Get a massage on the beach&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;45.  Kiss a man at the Eiffel Tower&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;46.  Visit my friend in London&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;47.  Visit Hawaii&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;48.  Take a pottery class&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;49.  Swim with dolphins&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;50.  Hike a huge mountain&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;My only stipulations were that I could not put anything on the list that I have done before.  They are not listed in any particular order.  Looking back, some things are silly, but still something interesting that I would like to do.  Maybe for the experience.  I did a few things this past year.  I don't mind if I don't get to everything on this list.  I may change some.  We shall see...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-2220140716395152578?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/2220140716395152578/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/not-bucket-list.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2220140716395152578'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/2220140716395152578'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/not-bucket-list.html' title='Not a &quot;Bucket List&quot;'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-690995574687816733</id><published>2009-01-15T22:06:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T22:14:48.751-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Know-It-Alls</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;I was reminded of grad school today in my seminar.  I am attending a program for a topic I know very little about.  Almost everyone else has been doing this stuff for 10 years plus.  I went to grad school straightaway with very little experience.  Same deal, several older students who had "been in the field."  Both of the situations are very similar in that the older more experienced students want to interject their experience, their knowledge, and their findings throughout.  I feel like it wastes my time to hear these people talk about things that are probably wrong.  Let the teacher do the teaching!  You have enrolled in this program to learn.  It's funny to watch the teachers when these students do this.  It always ends up in some sort of argument.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;I believe in grad school this is when I took the approach of sitting in the back row, texting my friends, and reading magazines.  I still made straight A's.  Hopefully I won't be tempted to do the same tomorrow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;Off to bed...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;kt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-690995574687816733?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/690995574687816733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/know-it-alls.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/690995574687816733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/690995574687816733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/know-it-alls.html' title='Know-It-Alls'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5289187732834552053</id><published>2009-01-09T23:38:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T23:50:39.911-05:00</updated><title type='text'>"She's Tough"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;I returned to physical therapy this morning.  My guy is worried about my limited amount of visits I have left.  Hopefully I can get this worked out in my favor.  Most people dread going to physical therapy, but I have always liked it.  It's not too painful, and way more helpful.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;I overheard my guy telling his intern about me.  He kept saying, "she's tough."  This made me happy.  Later on in the day, a customer came in and immediately told me that he is good friends with my physical therapist.  He explained that his friend was telling him about a patient (who goes unnamed due to HIPAA), that works in a bike shop and broke her ankle really badly a couple of months ago.  He was excited to explain how her friend carried her out of the woods, and that she sent him back in to get the bikes.  He told his friend that she was such a "hard ass."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;I like this side of me.  I realize people can't be strong all the time.  I feel weak when the other side comes out.  Being vulnerable is hard for me...I feel vulnerable in writing this...  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5289187732834552053?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5289187732834552053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/shes-tough.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5289187732834552053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5289187732834552053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/shes-tough.html' title='&quot;She&apos;s Tough&quot;'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1995929804138089832</id><published>2009-01-06T22:17:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T22:30:44.621-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Nostalgia</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SWQgl-iiISI/AAAAAAAAAAc/XIH-QWJFLT0/s1600-h/andersons.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SWQgl-iiISI/AAAAAAAAAAc/XIH-QWJFLT0/s200/andersons.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288387699254894882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;This day started off kind of hectic.  I almost got into several wrecks on the way to the dog groomers.  I am led to believe that people were driving crazy because of the rain or because the buckets on their head were obstructing their sight.  After my morning errands, I stopped off at a different coffee place than I usually go.  I decided to try out my negotiation skills some more by calling medical people about my bills.  I received some good news after talking with several people.  When I stepped out of the door of this coffee place, I looked down and noticed the tile on the doorstep.  It immediately sent me back at least 15 years to a time when my family would eat lunch at Anderson's.  This was a family-owned, home-cooking, type of place that I would go with my family on Sundays.  I believe it all started with my father going there after I was born across the street at Presbyterian Hospital.  I have some really fond memories of this place.  As I stepped into my car, I looked at the side of the building where the old restaurant sign still hung.  Right beside it is the green symbol with the lady in the middle that we all know very well.  I really wish Anderson's was still there...I can't think of another restaurant where I have so many memories from...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off to bed to get ready for another busy, but work-free day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1995929804138089832?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1995929804138089832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/nostalgia.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1995929804138089832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1995929804138089832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/nostalgia.html' title='Nostalgia'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SWQgl-iiISI/AAAAAAAAAAc/XIH-QWJFLT0/s72-c/andersons.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-7656585210536908619</id><published>2009-01-04T21:31:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-04T21:32:59.235-05:00</updated><title type='text'>5am Quote of the Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;"I feel like you have this false sense of what it means to have someone special in your life."  Enough said, the end.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;more later,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;kt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-7656585210536908619?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/7656585210536908619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/5am-quote-of-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7656585210536908619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/7656585210536908619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/5am-quote-of-day.html' title='5am Quote of the Day'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-1981443462607058837</id><published>2009-01-03T22:33:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T22:40:05.669-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Reaffirmed</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Tonight I ate dinner with some friends who agreed with my decision to let go of some unhealthy relationships I have carried on way too long.  This was good for me to hear at this moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a weird, almost creepy experience at a friend's house tonight.  Knock on wood that it won't happen again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day two of my boss being nice to me.  This relieves me, but I am wondering how long it will last...gotta keep selling bikes, trainers, and spin shoes to all of the people who can't wait to start their New Year's resolutions!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully I will be motivated to ride my bike on the trainer tomorrow...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;night,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-1981443462607058837?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/1981443462607058837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/reaffirmed.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1981443462607058837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/1981443462607058837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/reaffirmed.html' title='Reaffirmed'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-5662928577800047342</id><published>2009-01-03T00:57:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T01:08:07.901-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Stale Bread, Sugar Bowl, &amp; Smoke</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;I just got out of the shower after retur&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;ning home from the sports bar where I watched my team lose in the Sugar Bowl.  I reeked of smoke and bar funk.  I am really disgusted by cigarette smoke but I do like this shirt I received as a gift.  It has a really nice fit, and includes the long sleeves underneath the short sleeve part.  This &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;makes me happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SV7_6eWX4qI/AAAAAAAAAAU/pcRaAAKhTzU/s1600-h/Photo+42.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SV7_6eWX4qI/AAAAAAAAAAU/pcRaAAKhTzU/s200/Photo+42.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286944392623940258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;My morning started off hectic.  I find myself being very impatient in my car.  I wish I could just ride my bike.  I wolfed down some banana nut bread from the Laurel Market on the way to the shipping store.  I probably wouldn't have eaten it except for the fact I was absolutely starving!  I could not force myself to eat the last few bites, so I rolled down my window to chunk it out, and it hit the inside of my car with a thud.  Gross.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work was not so bad.  I sold two bikes and my boss did not hate me today...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More later,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-5662928577800047342?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/5662928577800047342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/stale-bread-sugar-bowl-smoke.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5662928577800047342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/5662928577800047342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/stale-bread-sugar-bowl-smoke.html' title='Stale Bread, Sugar Bowl, &amp; Smoke'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HInGAFOKnpU/SV7_6eWX4qI/AAAAAAAAAAU/pcRaAAKhTzU/s72-c/Photo+42.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8453025179554917329.post-6996057700494345395</id><published>2009-01-01T23:59:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T00:26:59.936-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lonesome Beginnings</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The start of a new year always forces people to look back at the previous year and analyze what happen or didn't happen, and look forward to what the future will bring (hopefully).  It seems like a very optimistic time of  year.  I am not feeling very optimistic about what the future will bring.  Most people create so called "resolutions" in which he/she will "solve" a current problem to become a better person.  There are lots of quandaries I would like to "fix."  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I do not want to be a patient or talk about what happened anymore.  Symbolically, I will remove the boot, move on, and never look back.  This is not a time in my life I am very proud of.  I have made some poor decisions that other people have had to clean up for me.  I have also felt very weak and helpless which is hard for an independent soul to endure.  This time also represents an awakening in attitudes and appreciation.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Mourning.  Losing several friendships has been difficult.  Appreciate the people who appreciate you.  Losing physical and emotional strength is hard to regain.  Physical therapy will rebuild the first...what will rebuild the latter?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Motivation.  I will work harder in the things I do.  I have always just coasted by with very little effort exerted.  Is it better to be outstanding in one area or pretty good in lots of areas?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sentiments.  I have been trained in helping others express their feelings.  Mine need help.  I have never thought I was very good at communicating myself on paper or to the ones that mean the most to me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;With all of this said, I feel very nervous about a lot of things.  I also feel very lonely in the social and professional areas of my life.  My horoscope today stated, "It's time to take your medicine and get better."  I guess that means it's time to learn to walk on my own two feet again...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Time to get some rest for a busy day tomorrow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;kt  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8453025179554917329-6996057700494345395?l=khobama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/feeds/6996057700494345395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/lonesome-beginnings.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6996057700494345395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8453025179554917329/posts/default/6996057700494345395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://khobama.blogspot.com/2009/01/lonesome-beginnings.html' title='Lonesome Beginnings'/><author><name>katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16518262207823757828</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
