<?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-3076639385529018528</id><updated>2011-07-08T00:05:22.517-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Still have Sand in My Shoes</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>236</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-4218292617610275101</id><published>2010-05-11T20:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T21:18:03.835-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hiding out at Cafe Express</title><content type='html'>Here I hide. Just tonight. Typically courageous enough to tackle my life. But tonight I hide. I can't really handle it tonight. The misery that my life has become. And I think and wonder what I did to deserve this life of mine as I light one cigar off of the next. I'll probably sit here all night wondering. I see my friend OT, and think of calling his name, but then again, I'm hiding. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the list of things I've done wrong in my life- frank and honest:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Sex before marriage- yep, it's my vice. Still is. It's easy for me to give my body away to anyone who seemingly wants to take it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I cheated on Person A with Double B's for months while he was MIA. He never forgave me, although I think he forgives me now. I was, however, completely faithful to a fault when we were married. I can say that with conviction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I don't pray anymore, or serve my Faith. I was burned in my divorce by the people who claimed to be followers of my Prophet and I think it damaged my relationship with God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I started drinking, but only liquor and only Luxardo Sambuca. I'm serious about it. I just like the way it tastes. It actually sucks that it has alcohol, because I really dislike drinking altogether, and the things it does to people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I threw my old boss under the bus because someone point blank asked if I thought she was doing a good job and I said "no" I was just being honest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I don't talk to my parents as often as I should because I feel like they'll just worry about me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. I keep running away hoping to find something better- shocker I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm looking for a job. In another part of the country, only I don't know where to go. Do I want the big city again- I can certainly navigate it. Although I dream of living in Terre du Lac again, on the lake and working a part-time job, driving my old car and being quiet. I think of by childhood friend Julie who's mom went and lived on an island off the coast of Washington for 3 years and water colored everyday in order to re-group. But how many times am I going to re-group? Can't I just get it together? Maybe I should start writing the book. Or maybe my grandmother would give me the money to live for a while. I keep praying for someone to sweep me up and give me some aid- not monetarily, but in life in general.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-4218292617610275101?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/4218292617610275101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=4218292617610275101' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4218292617610275101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4218292617610275101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2010/05/hiding-out-at-cafe-express.html' title='Hiding out at Cafe Express'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-2010055841075332360</id><published>2009-07-04T21:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-04T21:13:08.475-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Please don't let them destroy my house</title><content type='html'>That's a direct quote from my aunt whom with I live. She has gone away for the weekend to Martha's Vineyard and my 25 year-old cousin was granted permission to throw a party here at the house. This house is a beautiful house, please keep that in mind. A 100 year-old carriage house in a little village just north of NYC. It is very quaint and very cute. After an entire day of thirty 25 year-olds descending on it here is the scene:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- ping pong table in the front yard with a thick coating of beer from numerous rounds of beer pong&lt;br /&gt;- slip and slide with hose made for 6 year-olds&lt;br /&gt;- 4,000 empty beer cans&lt;br /&gt;- every dish, cup and utensil from my aunt's kitchen strewn all over the front porch&lt;br /&gt;- food particles laying all over her wrought iron table&lt;br /&gt;- loud music blasting from the front porch&lt;br /&gt;- hooping and hollering from yet another intense game of Beer Ruth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried my best to keep everything clean as we went, fulling cleaning after round one of eating. Round two ensued when I was taking a nap at 8pm and now the task of picking up is way too daunting. Tomorrow morning is not going to be fun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-2010055841075332360?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/2010055841075332360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=2010055841075332360' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2010055841075332360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2010055841075332360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/07/please-dont-let-them-destroy-my-house.html' title='Please don&apos;t let them destroy my house'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-483691548422496336</id><published>2009-06-19T17:20:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-19T17:26:16.906-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Rain rain go away</title><content type='html'>I'm sure you'll be back some other day (sooner than I would like)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it has literally rained every-single-day since I moved here three months ago. The only time it does not rain is when I am in Houston or DC. Even if the day starts off sunny you can be assured that it will end with a shower. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are two things I should have purchased the minute I got into this crazy rainy city: 1. a rain coat and 2. UGGs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think everyone in the city is suffering from that syndrome where you get depressed from not enough exposure to the sun (Gold Reeves could you please chime in and give me the name). A lot of people in Alaska have it apparently, but now it has caught on in NY- like a trend. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm depressed especially now because the poor US Open is getting rained and flooded out. It's insane. I don't think this has ever happened in the history of golf. It's madness!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If your name is Courtney or Mazza and you are coming to visit this weekend- bring you waist high rain suit, galoshes and an umbrella!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-483691548422496336?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/483691548422496336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=483691548422496336' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/483691548422496336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/483691548422496336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/06/rain-rain-go-away.html' title='Rain rain go away'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-213108151517339328</id><published>2009-06-19T17:05:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-19T17:09:39.954-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I am looking for</title><content type='html'>A bright green comforter. Grass green to be specific. Please send in your submissions. I kind of like this one from Crate &amp; Barrel...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SjwMXgseDjI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/6DhZGqw9Hsk/s1600-h/TamaraGrnBdgAndSheetsS9.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 283px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SjwMXgseDjI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/6DhZGqw9Hsk/s320/TamaraGrnBdgAndSheetsS9.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349164055462284850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-213108151517339328?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/213108151517339328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=213108151517339328' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/213108151517339328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/213108151517339328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-am-looking-for.html' title='I am looking for'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SjwMXgseDjI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/6DhZGqw9Hsk/s72-c/TamaraGrnBdgAndSheetsS9.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3646332379649328912</id><published>2009-06-17T18:44:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T18:46:19.751-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I need one of these</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SjmADno8JWI/AAAAAAAAAWI/fYHPmnd5DOk/s1600-h/index_r4_c2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 318px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SjmADno8JWI/AAAAAAAAAWI/fYHPmnd5DOk/s320/index_r4_c2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348446832147834210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for my golf bag of course.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3646332379649328912?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3646332379649328912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3646332379649328912' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3646332379649328912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3646332379649328912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-need-one-of-these.html' title='I need one of these'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SjmADno8JWI/AAAAAAAAAWI/fYHPmnd5DOk/s72-c/index_r4_c2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-862687168328685799</id><published>2009-06-16T08:01:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-16T08:14:57.237-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Best closers</title><content type='html'>____________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;Message Typed by Old Thumbs, So Forgive Misspellings&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was the signature line on an email I received from an old guy. I love it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-862687168328685799?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/862687168328685799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=862687168328685799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/862687168328685799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/862687168328685799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/06/best-closers.html' title='Best closers'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-8878764928329694836</id><published>2009-06-15T21:53:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T22:10:29.340-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Rootless Tree</title><content type='html'>I've been formulating this blog entry in my head for weeks now. Unsure how to capture just what it is that I'm going through in this phase of my life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the other day KK sent me this video. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xlnpedLeGbo&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xlnpedLeGbo&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I realized that maybe I'm just a rootless tree. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the gist of my entire being right now is that I woke up the other day wondering if this is it. As in...is all I have to look forward to everyday in this world getting up and going to work? Climbing the corporate ladder? I mean what if life deals me nothing more? Can I get ok with this? I just don't know. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time I was in Houston and spending an evening with The OZ, I realized that I don't really have the feelings for him that I once thought I would or could. On this night I felt sad that I didn't want anything more to do with him than maybe hanging out here and there. There was no pain in my stomach, no sorrow to leave on a plane the next day, nothing really. But the overwhelming feeling that I did have was that I might never feel love again. Here I've been hung up on this person for nearly a year and I wasn't feeling it. My stomach may never jump after anyone. And there  may not be another person that I actually desire to spend every moment with. On the other side of the coin...no one may ever love me, adore me, or think I'm really great. Then this sadness lead to other realities, like I will wake up in an empty house every morning. I'll never have the pitter patter of little feet throughout my days. And my poor poor brother will be the only one who will be around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It may just be a short period that this goes on for, but for the last month I've been dealing with it, hoping something will pull me out. But I may just be a rootless tree forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-8878764928329694836?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/8878764928329694836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=8878764928329694836' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8878764928329694836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8878764928329694836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/06/rootless-tree.html' title='Rootless Tree'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-8834424564185820044</id><published>2009-06-02T20:22:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T20:43:03.868-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Most Favorite Person</title><content type='html'>Today is probably my favorite person on the Earth's birthday. Every year on my birthday I get a card from you that reads something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;puzzles.israeli coffee.goodonya.zereshk.shoes.you can sleep when you're dead.tea.dido.bahai dictionary.passionate.lemon almonds.kathy grammer.salt &amp; vinegar chips.bbq stains on my white t-shirt.lime.lime.lime.turkey plucking.haifa.hour glasses.birds.cameras.pomegranate.laugh 'til you can't breath.articulate.lovely day.pumpkin pie.blogging.gazza.dance parties while mazza sleeps.self worth.hatzionut.sour lollies.intuitive.seeds.lemonana.strong woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I wish I could find the words to express how lovely, wonderful, amazing and strong this woman is, but it will never add up to the whole and entirety of who you really are! I love you and hope you had a fabulous day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SiXRNpZhvzI/AAAAAAAAAVw/LyAfb-K1_U4/s1600-h/gol.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 97px; height: 130px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SiXRNpZhvzI/AAAAAAAAAVw/LyAfb-K1_U4/s320/gol.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342906565326389042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SiXSfCNi93I/AAAAAAAAAV4/zplHM8o04a8/s1600-h/gol1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 97px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SiXSfCNi93I/AAAAAAAAAV4/zplHM8o04a8/s320/gol1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342907963556427634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SiXSl6JXenI/AAAAAAAAAWA/dHWuWbBHY38/s1600-h/Gol+and+I.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SiXSl6JXenI/AAAAAAAAAWA/dHWuWbBHY38/s320/Gol+and+I.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342908081650498162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-8834424564185820044?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/8834424564185820044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=8834424564185820044' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8834424564185820044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8834424564185820044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/06/dear-most-favorite-person.html' title='Dear Most Favorite Person'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SiXRNpZhvzI/AAAAAAAAAVw/LyAfb-K1_U4/s72-c/gol.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3112885068101732259</id><published>2009-06-01T10:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T22:30:22.594-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Trust</title><content type='html'>A couple of weeks ago I was told my a pshycic that I have major trust issues. I found it interesting that this was like the first thing out of his mouth after getting my date and time of birth. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My initial response was to deny it of course. And so I did verbally. But as soon as it came out of my mouth I knew I was lying. And I thought about trust on a much deeper level- and realized that I trust very few people to the core of my being. I have, thus far, identified three people who I feel I could completely lay my life in their hands and I feel confident in my safety and well-being. These individuals would actually put my life before theirs. Complete and unconditional love actually exist between me and these people. I rarely put myself in situations, and in fact hate to put myself there, where I actually have to rely on someone else for anything. But on every occassion they have come through for me. If they say they will be there, they are there. If they say they will do something, it's done. I don't have to bat an eye, it doesn't have to stay on my brain for one more second. They don't cancel plans and they aren't late. And the only thanks I can give is to extend the courtesy right back to you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3112885068101732259?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3112885068101732259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3112885068101732259' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3112885068101732259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3112885068101732259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/06/trust.html' title='Trust'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1989578586731294902</id><published>2009-05-29T11:52:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-29T11:55:21.920-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Eternally Grateful</title><content type='html'>Thank you Julie Dee Smith for the gift of this song, which is so fitting for my life right now. I am currently listening to it no less than 12 times a day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EBN4oUT9lAs&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EBN4oUT9lAs&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1989578586731294902?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1989578586731294902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1989578586731294902' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1989578586731294902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1989578586731294902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/05/eternally-grateful.html' title='Eternally Grateful'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-2463651467245150203</id><published>2009-05-29T11:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-29T11:52:06.285-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A crowning moment in my life</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SiASqa9UzLI/AAAAAAAAAVo/vbc52NRfeoo/s1600-h/Valet+1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SiASqa9UzLI/AAAAAAAAAVo/vbc52NRfeoo/s320/Valet+1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341289678061751474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-2463651467245150203?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/2463651467245150203/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=2463651467245150203' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2463651467245150203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2463651467245150203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/05/crowning-moment-in-my-life.html' title='A crowning moment in my life'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SiASqa9UzLI/AAAAAAAAAVo/vbc52NRfeoo/s72-c/Valet+1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-2964521455090193914</id><published>2009-05-28T12:39:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-29T11:56:05.576-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Observations</title><content type='html'>1. New Yorkers need to start using salt- everything would taste much better&lt;br /&gt;2. I didn't realize, until today, how dirty your feet can actually get when traipsing around the city in flip flops&lt;br /&gt;3. Whether I'm sleeping on the train or engrossed in a newspaper, I am always alert and looking out the window when crossing over the Hudson River&lt;br /&gt;4. It has rained nearly everyday since I have lived here, that's about 8 weeks folks&lt;br /&gt;5. Life is much better now that I have an IPOD again&lt;br /&gt;6. This city has made me become the incredible shrinking woman- everyday there is a new pair of pants or skirt that just doesn't fit anymore&lt;br /&gt;7. I think New Yorkers are meddlers in general- like someone is always in your business when they shouldn't be&lt;br /&gt;8. I actually miss Houston- yes I said it&lt;br /&gt;9. I woke up the other morning and realized that once again, I have no where to thwart my love&lt;br /&gt;10. I'm going to post about 12 entries today, thus making me the ultimate slacker at work&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-2964521455090193914?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/2964521455090193914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=2964521455090193914' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2964521455090193914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2964521455090193914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/05/observations.html' title='Observations'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3004577067816755864</id><published>2009-05-06T20:28:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T20:30:13.827-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I needed that</title><content type='html'>Dear B.J.,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for the non stop stream of entertainment today. Our New York Office sucks a bit, and I'm really down about being here right now. But the joy that I received from the initial email, then the follow up story and the final comment of the day kept me going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jen&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3004577067816755864?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3004577067816755864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3004577067816755864' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3004577067816755864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3004577067816755864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-needed-that.html' title='I needed that'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-348155642058110723</id><published>2009-05-06T16:33:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T16:41:08.881-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Excuses, excuses- Part 2</title><content type='html'>"You will beat me! I have accidentally loked me out of my bedroom. My neighbor is trying to help me unlock it, but so far not successful." -this an exact quote from our good friend Ms. Rita, the excuse giver.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I, of course, promptly forwarded this to Gold Reeves, who in turn sent me this reply email:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"dddddyyyyyyying of laughter.&lt;br /&gt;holymolycakes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So between the material that B.J. and I have compiled and Gold Reeves' new business contact, we believe that the long awaited coffee table book entitled (but only after numerous revisions) "My dog ate a raw and a half potato, and other Great Excuses to be Late to the Office" should be arriving in book stores by the end of the year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And just in case you were wondering what the whole story of above mentioned "locking out of the bedroom" was, well...it's better than anyone could have imagined:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was about to get into the shower when sweet pea took her knee-high out of her shoe on the floor and started running away with it. She had to chase the dog down, afraid she would choke on said stocking, and closed her bedroom door on the way out so the dog wouldn't go back in there and get into anything else. Naked in her living room, she realized the door was locked and couldn't be opened. Luckily, there was a box of garage sale clothes in the garage that she rummaged through in order to get to the neighbor's house to ask for assistance. Neighbor came over and saved the day by removing the hinges, not jam, and let her back in her room where the shower had been running for two hours. --Narrative by B.J.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-348155642058110723?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/348155642058110723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=348155642058110723' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/348155642058110723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/348155642058110723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/05/excuses-excuses-part-2.html' title='Excuses, excuses- Part 2'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3371251039621679958</id><published>2009-04-28T20:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T20:53:22.992-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My weekend in Washington</title><content type='html'>Last weekend I accomplished the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Hung out with a great friend&lt;br /&gt;2. Ate some really good food- Lemongrass fish, with a side of man sauce&lt;br /&gt;3. The shopping victory of the year&lt;br /&gt;4. Bought a great antique watch- it's a wind up, but it's the best watch I've ever had, with a price tag of $9.95&lt;br /&gt;5. Made a beaded bracelet with fourteen 8 year-olds&lt;br /&gt;6. Caught up on much needed sleep&lt;br /&gt;7. Filled myself with love from the Bahaiim&lt;br /&gt;8. Saw a great concert&lt;br /&gt;9. Did a drive by on the big white house&lt;br /&gt;10. Decided that I really liked DC&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3371251039621679958?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3371251039621679958/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3371251039621679958' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3371251039621679958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3371251039621679958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-weekend-in-washington.html' title='My weekend in Washington'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-629803745669680607</id><published>2009-04-20T20:52:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T20:53:43.417-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Vocabulary Entry #2</title><content type='html'>Please keep in mind that this is a direct quote in reference to a partner's son:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He is the splitting image of his father."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-629803745669680607?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/629803745669680607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=629803745669680607' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/629803745669680607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/629803745669680607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/04/vocabulary-entry-2.html' title='Vocabulary Entry #2'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3544253489785761290</id><published>2009-04-11T20:40:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T23:47:12.317-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A victory like none other</title><content type='html'>The last 8 months of my life have been filled with crazy dating scenarios which I have refrained from disclosing completely to protect myself while in the midst of my divorce. Now that everything is final, I might start sharing some of them, as they are highly entertaining. The few people that I do share these vignettes with laugh out loud because, as unbelievable as it is, yes, the world is filled with men like the one I am about to write about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll call him Oz...that is his name, even though it seems very made up. Oz and I met last summer at a bar/lounge in Houston that I was frequenting. I was actually interested in his friend, who was very good looking, and not so much into Oz himself. But somehow Oz wound up with my number and came to the house that night to hang out with Julia and I and whoever else showed up at the Beverly Hill Hotel, as it is now called. It was 4am and the next day I probably had the biggest gig of my life, the 500 person wedding with 8 performances. And yet I stayed up talking and making out with Oz all night. I think I slept 3hours that night (shocker). At 9am I woke up Oz because I had to go- he begged me to stay for 10 minutes more, but I refused. The reality was that I had a big day ahead of me and you, whom I just met, are very insignificant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two days and many text messages and phone calls later, Oz spent the night at my house and then proceeded to fall off the face of the planet. I will spare you most of the details but a typical week would go like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Receive text message from Oz&lt;br /&gt;Respond&lt;br /&gt;Get NO response from Oz&lt;br /&gt;See him out at a club that night&lt;br /&gt;Make plans to hook up at 3am after clubbing and late night eating was over&lt;br /&gt;Oz passes out in his car somewhere and never shows up- supposedly&lt;br /&gt;Oz calls the next day to apologize, Jen sets the record straight&lt;br /&gt;The whole cycle starts all over again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then things get really strange... I start seeing him everywhere that I go. I can't go to a bar, a club, a lounge, an eatery, anywhere on any given night of the week without him showing up. And I'm just minding my own business- not even looking for him. Then, at some point when I see him out, he starts completely ignoring me. Acting as if he has no idea who I am and yet, every time I whip around on the dance floor at a club he's staring right at me. I can't get away from him and I can't get close to him. It begins to drive me mad. So I go into extreme combat mode- I too begin to completely ignore him while out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I move. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I go home for a visit last weekend. I'm not in Houston for an hour and see his car at the CVS when Julia and I stop to pick up some asprin or something. There was no actual spotting of his face, since we avoided him and got in and out as quickly as possible, but nonetheless...he was around. That night at VanBuuren we look below our stunning VIP Booth and see he and his best friend standing and looking up at us. Then Saturday night I drive past the late night eatery and there is his car, again. I had to seize the opportunity. I went in to find him alone sitting at the bar eating. With no hesitation, I just plopped down next to him and started talking. We walked out and I said "well, I guess I'll see you in 6 weeks." He looked puzzled and asked why I would see him in 6 weeks. I said, well I don't live here anymore but will be back for a visit in 6 weeks, and in case you haven't noticed, we have the same social schedule and I am sure that I will run into you. I also made a couple of other references about his incessant going out and "misbehaving", comments which he was highly offended by. Comments which prompted him to walk around to my side of the car, put his hands on either side of my face and stick his tongue down my throat. I WIN! Finally victory is mine. At some point, I pulled away and said "I have to go now" and got in my car and drove off as quickly as I could, shaking after the whole scene. I didn't care what happened after that. I just know that I won. About 5 minutes later I get the first text message, summoning me to him to continue what we had started in the parking lot. I, of course, oblige because I just couldn't resist. The next morning I woke up, informed him that I had to go, kissed him and left him standing in his apartment alone and am still feeling the pangs of the victory.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3544253489785761290?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3544253489785761290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3544253489785761290' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3544253489785761290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3544253489785761290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/04/victory-like-none-other.html' title='A victory like none other'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-799933587326411830</id><published>2009-04-07T21:24:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T21:49:06.192-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Tales from the Train</title><content type='html'>Every morning I wake up at 6:30, shower, get dressed, make my coffee and rush out the door with my Aunt and Cousin to head into the city. My Aunt and I find seats on the train and nestle in for the 50 minute commute to Grand Central Station. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've gotten to be a real commuter over the last four weeks. There is a whole strategy involved in mastering the public transportation system in NYC. You know you are accomplished when you can identify the exact spot on the platform where the doors for the train will open, and select which end of the train you will take your seat on according to where you will be heading once you arrive, and when you get the point where you don't even look at the conductor when he's asking you for your ticket, but instead flash the inside of your wallet at him-- you've arrived. You must always read something on the train. If you aren't reading, you are clearly an amateur. Also, there is no talking. If my Aunt and I are on the train sipping our coffee and reading the Times and two women get on who are talking, we look at each other and mouth the words "talkers" to each other, snicker and look back down at the paper. There is also a whole strategy in choosing the right seat and maintaining some personal space around you. We have it down. We sit in the seating areas right by the doors with seats facing each other and place our bags on the seat beside us- then we honker down and read. We have figured out that if you create an invisible force field of attitude around you, you get to retain your space. It's an art form at this point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there is the crisis and victory which goes along with professional commuting. The other night I was hanging out with a co-worker watching basketball until late. Now I don't have a car so once I get off the train at home, either my aunt has to pick me up or I take a cab from the station to her house. Well I didn't realize the cabs stop running so early from my normal train stop, so I reserved a cab from a larger station in the next town over for 1:00am. I had to catch the 12:06 to make it in time. It was a Friday night and I was about 18 blocks away. I left the bar with plenty of time to catch a cab and make it to Grand Central for the train. But every cab was already taken, so I started walking in the direction of G.C. thinking that at some point I'll grab a cab the rest of the way. Well I didn't and the next thing I know it's 11:59 and I am 6 blocks away. So I start running with a huge bag that contains any earthly possession you might need when commuting - an umbrella, a change of shoes, copious amounts of reading materials. And I run into Grand Central glance at the board see that my train is on the first track inside the doors and make a B-line for the gate. I run onto the train just as the beeping sound started going off and the doors started to close. I MADE IT! Victory!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next night I went into the city to shop and hang out and caught the 9:22 back out to Chappequa. Well... I wasn't in a hurry this night because I had a rental car at the lot and didn't have to pay for a cab or ask my aunt to go out of her way to get me late. And then, I fell asleep on the train. I've never done that before. And as I wake up, we are pulling away from my stop where I have a car and am only 10 minutes from my bed. So I had to get off at the next stop- the stop with all of the cabs, pay to take a cab back to the other train station and delay my sleeping time by 35 minutes. Crisis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing about public transportation is that there is always something crazy to experience.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-799933587326411830?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/799933587326411830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=799933587326411830' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/799933587326411830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/799933587326411830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/04/tales-from-train.html' title='Tales from the Train'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-7311018916049533297</id><published>2009-04-06T21:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T21:50:26.930-05:00</updated><title type='text'>An article I read today</title><content type='html'>Today I was reading on the train- par usual. I read an article about how this 17 year old in the UK painted a gigantic penis on the roof of his house hoping that it would show up on Google Earth. A helicopter pilot happened to spot it from the sky and reported the art to the owner of the house, the boy's father. When the father asked "son, did you paint a penis on our roof?" the boy responded "oh, you found it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have yet to stop laughing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-7311018916049533297?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/7311018916049533297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=7311018916049533297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7311018916049533297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7311018916049533297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/04/article-i-read-today.html' title='An article I read today'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1981298362131084954</id><published>2009-04-05T22:32:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T22:37:09.668-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A weekend to remember</title><content type='html'>There are so many details to share about this last weekend in Houston. Needless to say I was in rare form, outdoing myself every second- and a bit out of control. Here are my stats:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dancing- 9 hours total&lt;br /&gt;Making out with my boyfriends- 6 hours total (don't judge me)&lt;br /&gt;Sleeping- 5 hours total&lt;br /&gt;Getting my house together- 6 hours total&lt;br /&gt;Just hanging out- 20 hours&lt;br /&gt;Flying time- 7.5 hours total&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It made for a great 48 hour period of my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1981298362131084954?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1981298362131084954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1981298362131084954' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1981298362131084954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1981298362131084954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/04/weekend-to-remember.html' title='A weekend to remember'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5465302354663715180</id><published>2009-04-02T22:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T22:32:17.137-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Vocabulary</title><content type='html'>I have to keep you all entertained with the vocabulary of my co-worker, which I mentioned in an earlier post. Here are a few more:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loot- "Jen, please keep me in the loot with what is going on in the Conference Center."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All Informed (and a cameo by loot) "Jen, if you make a change to the schedule, please keep me in the loot as I need to be the all informed." (sounded like a title of a profit from God, but who am I to say?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and today it was a turquoise blue shirt with, you guessed it, turquoise eye shadow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5465302354663715180?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5465302354663715180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5465302354663715180' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5465302354663715180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5465302354663715180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/04/vocabulary.html' title='Vocabulary'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6755051122746027493</id><published>2009-03-19T19:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-19T21:05:09.660-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm in a New York state of mind...</title><content type='html'>I should have...could have... been blogging for days now about my experiences and observations since my arrival in New York, but it's all going to come down to one entry, so that I can get caught up, then start fresh tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 My office- it's great so far. The most surprising thing is that the attorneys in my office are very friendly and accessible. In the Houston office we would rarely dream of just walking into an attorney's office to chit chat, but in the New York office it's sort of standard practice. Everyone is very friendly and very excited that I have arrived. I'm taking the week to sit back and evaluate what madness is going on in the office and what needs improvement. There are a lot of things. For example- the main receptionist. Where do I start--oh yeah, how about the fact that her eye shadow matches her hand bag and shoes everyday. Sometimes her handbag is metallic pink. Here are a few excerpts from her vocabulary:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pacific- "I am very pacific when it comes to ordering sandwiches for the attorneys."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notary of the Republic- apparently we have them in the office, but I usually call them Public Notaries. I'm still trying to figure out if they are the same thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gourmet- it has a "t" on the end, and you pronounce it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there's my new gay friend Jason, who's the IT guy- Travis you've been replaced. J/K&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next week I start the revamping of the office. And there are going to be a lot of unhappy people running around. I'm changing everything-- from the way we schedule conference rooms to the way we order food, to where we order food from. Also the HR lady, who is trying to be a fan of mine, but actually hates the idea that everyone loves me already, is returning to the office on Monday-- that should be fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. My commute- Here is my general route (by landmark). We wind thru the hills of Westchester County, passing by the world headquarters for Reader's Digest, then drive by the home of the Clinton's (yes, Bill and Hillary) and drop my cousin off at school. Then my aunt and I drive to the cute little train station and hop the 7:37 train into Grand Central Station. We read the New York Times and drink coffee from our travel mugs. I then get off of the train and walk down 43rd Street crossing over Madison Avenue to get to 5th Avenue. I then pass De Beers and Tiffany, Louis Vitton and Yves St. Laurent. I stop and pick up an almond pastry to snack on as I walk. It's rough, I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. The City- The pace is fast, I haven't walked this much since living in Haifa. But it's great. I'm hoping that my walking outweighs my almond pastry addiction in the long run. I feel as if I'm going to eat my way from one end of NYC to the other. The street food is irresistible. You can get any type of food in portable form. You get really good at navigating the streets with the traffic and all of the people, but today I had to raise my learning curve-- navigating the streets with umbrellas in play. I'm shocked that I still have two eye balls. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am having a great time. The change of scenery has been really good for me. I like knowing that I'm not going to see the same things each and every day. I like the newness of the job and getting to create everything from scratch. I like being able to actually apply my knowledge and skills and make changes on the daily. It has become like a little adventure and I like it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6755051122746027493?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6755051122746027493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6755051122746027493' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6755051122746027493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6755051122746027493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/03/im-in-new-york-state-of-mind.html' title='I&apos;m in a New York state of mind...'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1618394747322373263</id><published>2009-02-17T11:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T12:00:31.390-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Just read this from</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/meast/02/17/wilson.faith/index.html "&gt;Rainn Wilson&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1618394747322373263?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1618394747322373263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1618394747322373263' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1618394747322373263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1618394747322373263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/02/just-read-this-from.html' title='Just read this from'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-2052128775876061451</id><published>2009-02-05T09:55:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-05T09:56:57.579-06:00</updated><title type='text'>#31</title><content type='html'>I was reminded of this one after a phone call with Gold Reeves:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. Care for my heart like it is your most precious treasure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-2052128775876061451?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/2052128775876061451/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=2052128775876061451' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2052128775876061451'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2052128775876061451'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/02/31.html' title='#31'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1883851868972183366</id><published>2009-02-03T19:16:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-04T13:19:19.605-06:00</updated><title type='text'>One final post</title><content type='html'>I have deleted your voicemails and every message I have ever received from you. I have erased your number from my phone. I will write of you no more. Nor will I think about you. The final piece of me, which was holding on to you has let go. Please do the same and be with your family.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1883851868972183366?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1883851868972183366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1883851868972183366' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1883851868972183366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1883851868972183366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/02/one-final-post.html' title='One final post'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3282866087276540584</id><published>2009-02-02T10:36:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-02T14:13:11.774-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What I really want</title><content type='html'>I've spent time over the last couple of months formulating a list of the qualities and specifications for anyone I may date, and ultimately my spouse. Warning- some are superficial, some practical, and some downright demanding. Sexually explicit content is included. Also...these are in no particular order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You must love to dance, added to my list of things which truly make me happy is dancing. If you won't take me out dancing, and dance with me, I won't know what to do with you.&lt;br /&gt;2. Play golf- I'm not saying you have to be an expert, but I love to get up on the weekends and go to the golf course.&lt;br /&gt;3. Have a job, which provides enough income to pay for yourself, your hobbies and your car.&lt;br /&gt;4. Own a car, preferably nicer than mine- not for status but for responsibility.&lt;br /&gt;5. Own a house, condo, loft- anything. It doesn't have to be fancy, but you displaying ownership of something means you have some sense of responsibility and sensibility.&lt;br /&gt;6. Think recycling is important.&lt;br /&gt;7. You will embrace the fact (and maybe even crack the eggs) that I bake an exorbitant amount of zucchini bread every February for Ayyam-i-Ha.&lt;br /&gt;8. Can you please match my enthusiasm for the little things in life, the little victories.&lt;br /&gt;9. Have your own relationship with God, whatever that may be. Know and believe in a higher power.&lt;br /&gt;10. You must love to travel and have no prejudice as to where or when.&lt;br /&gt;11. Have a general attitude of "whatever, whenever, however."&lt;br /&gt;12. Know and understand that my birthday is the one day that I actually focus on me- I love my one day and want to be pampered to the max.&lt;br /&gt;13. Self govern your comments and your emotions, I am not responsible for your outbursts, nor will I engage in a battle in an attempt to correct you.&lt;br /&gt;14. Know when to say "I'm sorry"- it doesn't make you less of a man to admit your mistakes, and I ultimately will respect you more.&lt;br /&gt;15. Respect my body like the house of the soul that it is. If you just need a place to put your penis, please go elsewhere.&lt;br /&gt;16. You will want children, preferably 3.&lt;br /&gt;17. You will love the fact that I treat every household occurrence such as birthday parties, vacations and in-law visits like an event, and there may be a folder associated with it on my desk.&lt;br /&gt;18. Do not criticize my cooking, if you don't like it too bad, eat it anyway and cook yourself the next night. I, in turn, will never criticize yours.&lt;br /&gt;19. Please have friends of your own, and have hobbies and activities independent of me, as I would like to do the same.&lt;br /&gt;20. I subscribe to Martha Stewart Magazine, please don't hate.&lt;br /&gt;21. I will be a stay at home mom, I'm looking forward to the bounty. Call me traditional, but motherhood is the most important job on the planet and you will do everything you can to make sure I can be around during our kids' early years.&lt;br /&gt;22. I am sick, and at times will need to be taken care of. &lt;br /&gt;23. I choose to have one tv in the house, and almost never turn it on. I would rather read, write and interact with one another than watch tv.&lt;br /&gt;24. You would rather eat at the hole in the wall Thai place down the road than have grilled chicken and mashed potatoes.&lt;br /&gt;25. I smoke cigars occasionally, it would be fun to smoke them together.&lt;br /&gt;26. Back me up, no matter what. We are a team and I will need your support.&lt;br /&gt;27. Be appreciative of all that I do for you, because I will go to the ends of the earth in order to make you happy. Please work thank you into your daily vocabulary.&lt;br /&gt;28. Help me create a 100% honest environment. I need to feel safe saying what I need to say, when I need to say it.&lt;br /&gt;29. Please play cards, I love to have friends over to play Pinochle and Spades or even Poker.&lt;br /&gt;30. I like to watch baseball and golf- I know it's strange. I will watch football with you if you watch baseball with me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3282866087276540584?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3282866087276540584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3282866087276540584' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3282866087276540584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3282866087276540584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/02/what-i-really-want.html' title='What I really want'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5274474538784180818</id><published>2009-01-26T16:44:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T16:55:40.432-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The downfall starts</title><content type='html'>I knew that the days of my semi-charmed life would come to a swift conclusion. I knew that one day all of my shenanigans would catch up with me. And today may be that day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, Person A filed his Answer late Friday afternoon. My lawyer just received a copy of it this afternoon, which means I will not be going to court tomorrow to finalize everything. It also means that the finality of this part of my life will be prolonged. It's just a pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, I work with a caterer who is a friend. We are having all sorts of problems with some old invoices, which I can just feel coming down on my head. I will ultimately be blamed for the problems, no matter what. The buck stops at my desk and I will quite possibly be screwed in the whole deal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second issue might play into a third issue- it might prevent me from getting the NYC position. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just feel the punishment coming on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5274474538784180818?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5274474538784180818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5274474538784180818' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5274474538784180818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5274474538784180818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/01/downfall-starts.html' title='The downfall starts'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6212958954091668718</id><published>2009-01-21T10:25:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T15:54:33.523-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Excuses, excuses</title><content type='html'>I have a co-worker who has a co-worker who calls in late nearly every morning. I will refer to her as Rita in order to protect the identity of this individual. You should know that this person rarely arrives prior to 10:00am. Below is a sample of the excuses and reasoning for being late:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The standard "This is Rita. I'm sick, but I'll be in shortly"&lt;br /&gt;2. Hey this is Rita, I'm at the dentist office. One of my my uh caps of one of my teeth came off. And he's going to put it back. I'm actually about to leave for there. As soon as I get that done, I'll be in. It's one of the caps on one of the teeth that somebody did a root canal on.&lt;br /&gt;3. Hey this is Rita, I have Sugar (one of her dogs) at the vet. She is not acting right. She is laying around and not wanting to eat. They think she has ingested something that their just not sure about right now. They are running some tests. And as soon as they have the test results are on Sugar, it shouldn't be long, I'll be in. I'm just really concerned for her. I'll be in in a little bit.&lt;br /&gt;4. Hey this is Rita. I'm stuck in freaking traffic. I don't know what's going on, but I'll be there as soon as I can. (FYI in Houston, the 4th largest city in the US of A, there is traffic at 8:15am)&lt;br /&gt;5. I'm on my way, I'm still not feeling up to snuff, but I'm on my way in. Should be there in 30 minutes. Bye bye.&lt;br /&gt;6. Hey this is Rita. I am on my way in. I was debating about whether to come in. I broke my finger moving furniture over the weekend and uh it was really hurting last night. Anyway, I'm on my way in as soon as I catch a bus. I think one comes around 20minutes to 10 (it's 8:16 when this voicemail is being left)or something like quarter to 10 and I'll see you in a bit. Bye.&lt;br /&gt;7. Hey it's Rita. I am on my way in, I just wanted you to know, and didn't want you to worry. Be there in a few minutes. Bye bye.&lt;br /&gt;8. This is Rita. I'm not feeling real well, so I'll probably be in between 9:30 and 10 (Shocker)&lt;br /&gt;9. Hey this is Rita. I'm about 10 minutes from the office. The traffic has been horrible here. I've been sittin' on it for about 30 minutes. I expected to be in earlier than this. Anyway I just wanted you to know where I was. Uhm. It doesn't do me any good to try and get there. As it never seems to work out. I should be there in the next 10 to 15 minutes. OK, bye bye&lt;br /&gt;10. Hey this is Rita. Uhm. This week sucks. I uhm forgot to set my alarm last night, so I uhm will be there shortly. I am so sorry, but I'll be there shortly.&lt;br /&gt;11. *if only you could hear this one, the raspy voice makes all the difference* This is Rita, I'm still not feeling well, but I am coming in. It's just taking me a little while to get moving. But I will be in. Bye&lt;br /&gt;12. This is Rita. I meant to get there early this morning, but it didn't work out that way. Uhhhh. And I have been sitting in traffic for atleast 45 minutes. I don't know what is wrong. It seems to be picking up a little bit. There must be a wreck or something. I'll be there in a little bit. &lt;br /&gt;13. This is Rita. Running late. Hit my stupid off button instead of my snooze button. Be there shortly. Bye.&lt;br /&gt;14. Hey this is Rita. It's about 5:30 in the morning and I have not been able to sleep with my back and I'm going to try to get in to a doctor today if someone can get me in. Because it hurts horrible for me to walk. And I probably won't be in today, but you can call me by my blackberry. Ok.&lt;br /&gt;15. This is Rita. Listen I called the doctor's office and they said with the shot, the three days after the shot will be the worst. That's why today I am worse. Uh. So I'm going to stay home today and hopefully tomorrow it will be better. If you need me call me on my cell phone or contact me via blackberry. I might try to get on the computer for a minute if I can uhm manage it. Anyway, sorry about all this. It's just the way things are. Talk to you later. Bye bye.&lt;br /&gt;16. This is Rita. I forgot to set my alarm again. I came home and dozed off and slept the whole night. I'm going to get dressed and head in as soon as I can.&lt;br /&gt;17. This is Rita. I'm taking Sweet Pea (her other dog) into the vet this morning. She's been throwing up and not feeling good and having diahrea. I don't know if she got in to something or what. It shouldn't take too long, I'll be in as soon as I can. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This will go on and on, and you get the idea. Please do not think I have mis-typed anything, all of the sentance fragments and "uhm's" are actually there. I'm continuing my list with the cliff notes version:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. Stepped on garbage bag that had broken glass in it and cut foot&lt;br /&gt;19. Worked in the yard all weekend and is sore. Also had to deal with her niece who clearly has a severe case of ADD so she is emotionally worn out as well.  Don't worry though, she's leaving at 3 today. &lt;br /&gt;20 Dentist appointment, crown replacement. appt at 9:15, should be in 11:30 or sooner (later in the morning: crown didn't fit, took longer than expected. call don't e-mail if you need me, because it's against the law now to text while you drive.)  &lt;br /&gt;21. Problem with neighbor. Rang doorbell at 10:30 and she told him to go away. Rang again at 3:30 and he was drunk.  She called the police; and her sister.  Needless to say, she is super tired after all of that drama and will be in late.&lt;br /&gt;22. Took 20 minutes to find a parking space&lt;br /&gt;23. Went out this morning to find a flat tire. Have called service to come change. They should be here shortly. Be in as soon as I can. I think I should have taken this whole week off - it has not been a good one so far. &lt;br /&gt;24. One of her dogs peed all over her even though she let her "wee wee" before they left the house.&lt;br /&gt;25. Celebrated family birthdays over the weekend and got food poisoning from the Coke Floats. The ice cream was bad. &lt;br /&gt;26. Claim agent just showed up as she was leaving the house to take an assessment of the hurricane damage done to her house.&lt;br /&gt;27. Had to stop and pick up a prescription that she totally forgot the night before.&lt;br /&gt;28. Took her car into the shop and decided to trade it in. A little new car shopping on your way to work never hurt anyone right?&lt;br /&gt;29. Sick in the stomach, diahreah, taking immodium- basically way too much information&lt;br /&gt;30. Dog ate a raw and a half potato (yes you read it how she said it)&lt;br /&gt;31. Had to do some last minute packing (for an one night stay in Houston for work).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My co-worker and I have decided to co-write a book with excuses to miss or be late for work based soley on this person's daily voicemails. You won't want to miss the coffee table version.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6212958954091668718?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6212958954091668718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6212958954091668718' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6212958954091668718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6212958954091668718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/01/excuses-excuses.html' title='Excuses, excuses'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-7196011619038743165</id><published>2009-01-20T23:14:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T23:52:15.619-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A time for reflection</title><content type='html'>It has been such a long time since I sat in bed with my laptop and wrote all that was in my heart. Today I have been afforded the opportunity to do that and it feels so good. Sitting. Quietly. Alone. With only my thoughts. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have recognized for quite a few months that the life I have been living would be temporary. A temporary band-aid for what was actually happening in my reality. You see, if you spend each day and night surrounded by people that you have limited to no connectivity to, you can easily stay distracted from all else in your life. Living in the day-to-day is so fun, and yet so unfulfilling at the same time. But I do not live with regret any more. And so I do not regret any of the time spent, or any of the places I frequent or the people I have been surrounded by. But I do realize that this fleeting time in my life is coming to an end. I feel it to my core. I think it in my mind and feel it in my stomach. This time was necessary to re-discover myself. And now that I have done so, I am preparing to settle back to a very happy medium where I have balance between real life and the fun distractions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow morning I find out if Person A has contested anything. And if he has not, then it is over. What could have been a battle will not happen. So I can begin the process of closing this chapter of my life. My dad arrives tomorrow to start work on my house, preparing it for market. I have already moved all of my earthly belongings back to my house and am ready to sleep in my own bed-- which I have not done in over two months. I need to start re-connecting with those people who are so special to me in my life, but who I have not called back for weeks and months. It's time to reel my life back in and it starts tomorrow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This life lesson has taught me so much. It has provided me with the opportunity to grow and change as I have never done before. I feel as if God is preparing me for something great in my future, which is yet to be revealed-- a task which I could not have succeeded at without this. I recognize that my emotional strength is great right now and that my ability to forgive is vast. It has brought certain people, whom I would call my angels, closer to me. This experience has shown me what my true priorities are and that I can embrace them in a hierarchy that will not impair my station in this world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just have to mention these individuals who have stepped forward to keep me safe:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Double B's- if I did not have the knowledge of what it is like to be cherished and loved completely unconditionally, I could never have gone through this. Experiencing what you gave me 7 years ago, gave me the hope that I could have it again. Thank you for respecting me, believing in me, loving me, and accepting me exactly the way that I am. Your continued presence in my life pulls my heartstrings, but gives me hope that one day I will be loved as you once loved me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;KK- you were there on the first night, offering shelter and compassion and hearing my every word for months, day in and day out. I can never repay you for the support you provided me and continue to provide for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Court- you present yourself daily, "just checking in" to make sure I am ok. And though often times I am overwhelmed and do not call you back, I am so glad that you are there anytime I pick up the phone. Thank you for being patient and loving, even when I wasn't the greatest on the other end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Linda- who I think has officially re-named me "Damn It Jen" loves me so unconditionally that I don't even understand it. I have been so terrible at keeping up the communication lines, and yet you still thwart your sisterly/motherly love on me constantly. I love you so much and thank you for your persistence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jules- You rescued me when I was in the lowest of low places. That day that I realized I could no longer stay in my house by myself- you pulled me out. And everyday that I would go home and get into bed to sleep away the depression and my reality, you pulled me out. And still to this day, despite the extreme hardships you endure, you continue to pull me out of my slumps. You are there with me during my highs and refuse to let me have lows. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gold Reeves- Where do I start? You and I have been through it all together. Our bond never weakening- EVER! For you to lend support even when you yourself were going through great trauma will take a lifetime for me to re-pay. You are there for me no matter the day or time, no matter what I am going through or what you are going through. You and I will always be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are so many others of you out there who have cared for me, and I thank you. I will be working fervently to redistribute my energies back to those I love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-7196011619038743165?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/7196011619038743165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=7196011619038743165' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7196011619038743165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7196011619038743165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/01/time-for-reflection.html' title='A time for reflection'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-929883588584932362</id><published>2009-01-19T18:47:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T19:40:27.679-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Inspired</title><content type='html'>A truly inspiring individual has entered my life. And I thank you for this afternoon. How refreshing the conversation and the exchange of ideas. How inspiring to have every word that comes out of your mouth be an ideal that I hold near and dear to me. Your thoughts about universally educating children and your desire to contribute to that movement, your passion  for the arts and changing souls through this channel, and your outlook on how you treat and interact with people alligns with mine identically. I must say, it is one of the greatest feelings in the world to know that the relationship can be had, that two human beings, no matter gender, race or economic background can connect on another plain. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In one way our afternoon helped bring me back to my core. In another way it elevated me to new heights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never stop reinventing yourself from the inside out. And I promise to do the same.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-929883588584932362?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/929883588584932362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=929883588584932362' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/929883588584932362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/929883588584932362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/01/inspired.html' title='Inspired'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-8218222642424082440</id><published>2009-01-10T14:18:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-10T14:24:26.248-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Mint vs. Cinnamon</title><content type='html'>I've decided that I no longer like mint things. Like mint gum and mint toothpaste. So I'm going cinnamon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-8218222642424082440?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/8218222642424082440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=8218222642424082440' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8218222642424082440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8218222642424082440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/01/mint-vs-cinnamon.html' title='Mint vs. Cinnamon'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-9123205405407340547</id><published>2009-01-09T09:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-10T14:25:49.702-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I could have danced all night</title><content type='html'>Thursday I left work very excited about the possibilities that evening. It was Latin night at one of our favorite clubs. We hadn't been on a Thursday night in quite some time, so who knows what shenanegins were about to ensue. And ensue they did. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dancing started with Julia's friend. She doesn't salsa, so he and I joined up for the dance off. He spun me around all over the place. It was only afterward that he disclosed that he was a Mexican dance champion. And I kept up. Then it was onto the gay Hispanic kid- who could move and shake with the best of them. By the end, the line of men standing around the dance with the only white girl who could actually dance was rediculous. It was so fun. I was truly the darling of the salsa club this week!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-9123205405407340547?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/9123205405407340547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=9123205405407340547' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/9123205405407340547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/9123205405407340547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-could-have-danced-all-night.html' title='I could have danced all night'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6335623822119868703</id><published>2008-12-31T00:03:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T00:07:37.772-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Working Late</title><content type='html'>I cannot complain. I have not worked nearly the long hours this year that I did last year. In part due to the fact that this is my "second rodeo" aka my second year here and I'm an ol' pro at this point. I volunteered to work late tonight, as I had no real plans and the extra cash can't hurt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what have I been doing? Babysitting clients of course. The rules state that if a client is in the Conference Center, someone from my staff has to be here. I think I have done 1 hour of actual work and the rest of the time have been doing this...as you see, I've posted 8 blog entries in the last 12 hours. Feel free to take it in stride. Break it up for ongoing entertainment, as you know I may not post anything for another month. I've decided I'm a blog binger. I think all the time "oh, I need to blog about that" ... and then I don't... and then I have a day like today where there is absolutely nothing for me to do and so I binge. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've also been applying for jobs all over- the Ritz, Four Seasons and Country Clubs--mainly in St. Louis, Denver, New Orleans and Dubai. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, I need to get out of here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's see, I caught up on a bunch of phone calls--like to my parents, cousin, a couple of friends. I left messages on a whole bunch of people's Facebook pages and looked at everyone's recently uploaded photos. I bought a plane ticket to go to Michigan for Ayyam-i-Ha in February. Read everyone's blogs. Paid bills. Chatted with J!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In response to Steph's entry-- here are all of the divine White Elephant Gifts I have received this holiday season:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVsGYHNUZhI/AAAAAAAAAVY/Bz06hWn1BxY/s1600-h/white+ele.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVsGYHNUZhI/AAAAAAAAAVY/Bz06hWn1BxY/s320/white+ele.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285825598970947090" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(From the left- ceramic moose luminary, which heats up to unreasonable temperatures that may burn your hands, a travel alarm clock circa 1968 and a change jar which says "Retirement Fund")&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is now almost midnight and I'm still here. Call this blog entry #10 for the day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6335623822119868703?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6335623822119868703/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6335623822119868703' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6335623822119868703'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6335623822119868703'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/12/working-late.html' title='Working Late'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVsGYHNUZhI/AAAAAAAAAVY/Bz06hWn1BxY/s72-c/white+ele.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-9142998857197499031</id><published>2008-12-30T23:52:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T00:06:46.743-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Texting your way to love</title><content type='html'>If you have not seen this video and you are single and on the dating scene you will appreciate it. If you are not, you may think it's funny, but you may not be able to relate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dX3ws6OnGuE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dX3ws6OnGuE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-9142998857197499031?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/9142998857197499031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=9142998857197499031' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/9142998857197499031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/9142998857197499031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/12/texting-your-way-to-love.html' title='Texting your way to love'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6642960579252302871</id><published>2008-12-30T16:58:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T20:31:40.201-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A truly phenomenal lady</title><content type='html'>I received this text message late last night:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Kathy's condition has become more serious. Andy is coming home from changing times. please keep her in your prayers."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was devastated. This lady saved my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was told by her dear friend 3 years ago that I had 2 choices for my marriage. One- I could stick it out for the next three years and leave with nothing of myself, or two- get out now and save what was left of me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was Kathy who gave me the strength to stand up and say that I will no longer live as I was living and would no longer be taken for granted, or accused of cheating or be cursed for taking a pay cut, or work and take care of the household and nurture our relationships and every other aspect of our life together. It was she who gave me the tools to survive what could have been a potentially traumatic event.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I owe you my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6642960579252302871?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6642960579252302871/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6642960579252302871' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6642960579252302871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6642960579252302871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/12/truly-phenomenal-lady.html' title='A truly phenomenal lady'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-384935077902580555</id><published>2008-12-29T10:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T23:09:26.792-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A voicemail saved is a voicemail loved</title><content type='html'>I save voice mails on a regular basis. Sometimes because they make me happy or because they let me hear the voices of the people I love the most. Here are the ones currently saved that I listen to almost daily. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marabeth left a voicemail after my birthday singing her classic happy birthday song, not the traditional birthday song, but her own. She has the voice of an angel, which literally makes me cry each and every time I hear it. I save it so that if I need to hear her sweet voice I can at any time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Golriz left a message for me back in June, which I still listen to with regularity. It goes like this: "Jen, I want you to save this message and listen to it whenever you are having doubts about your future line of action. Life on the other side is so beautiful. Life with a person who treats you right and nurtures you and respects you and knows you and cares about who the person is to the core of their being is just the most beautiful thing ever." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I save every voicemail that Double B's leaves me, which are far and few between. They basically say "Hello, just calling to say hi. I'll give you a call another day. I hope everything is going well." But hearing his voice melts me every time. And so I continue to save and re-listen. I only hope he saved the message I left him just days ago when it was snowing here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of the day it was snowing...Cherie left me a message that day so filled with excitement that I don't even think a page of exclamation points would do it justice. "Freaky can you even believe how fun this is?! OMG I'm so excited!! This is so fun!!!!" Cherie and I have a mad love for snow and the fact that it was snowing in Houston last week was a miracle for the both of us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-384935077902580555?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/384935077902580555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=384935077902580555' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/384935077902580555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/384935077902580555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/12/saved-voicemails.html' title='A voicemail saved is a voicemail loved'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6097933216671439498</id><published>2008-12-28T13:59:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T23:11:35.282-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The first sighting</title><content type='html'>It was no coincidence that you were there. You acted as if it was, but I know you were expecting the call any day with sighting of me. I didn't feel awkward at all, but I did not know what to say. I have been fully removed from you for 8 months now. I felt almost no emotion, just as if I was seeing an old acquaintance. I was actually glad to see you, but not enough to linger all night long. I have, of course, thought of you almost every moment since then--evaluating if I could do it again, if I wanted to be with you again, if I could let you back in. And I realized two things. The first is that the changes which would have to occur are quite monumental and beyond what you are capable of at this time. The second is that I am truly happy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6097933216671439498?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6097933216671439498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6097933216671439498' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6097933216671439498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6097933216671439498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/12/first-sighting.html' title='The first sighting'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1799190450641879214</id><published>2008-12-27T16:59:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T23:11:01.351-06:00</updated><title type='text'>J is for Tattoo</title><content type='html'>This time of my life is marked forever&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVr-M_fLqLI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/n51sRvpCLdo/s1600-h/tatt.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVr-M_fLqLI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/n51sRvpCLdo/s320/tatt.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285816611826804914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Disclaimer- photo taken with camera phone + tattoo still healing = fuzzy blurry photo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1799190450641879214?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1799190450641879214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1799190450641879214' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1799190450641879214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1799190450641879214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/12/j-is-for-tattoo.html' title='J is for Tattoo'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVr-M_fLqLI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/n51sRvpCLdo/s72-c/tatt.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3016840736283000452</id><published>2008-12-16T08:41:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T20:04:17.508-06:00</updated><title type='text'>And in the end.</title><content type='html'>Sunday came and went almost in silence. I'm not sure what I thought would happen, but nothing did. I got up, went running, grabbed some lunch with a friend, hung out, watched TV...nothing monumental. You didn't call, I didn't call. I'm not sure you even realized what day it was. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have not thought of you much over the last year, but I thought of you today. I hope you are well and happy. I hope you are at peace. And I want nothing but the very best for the rest of your life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3016840736283000452?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3016840736283000452/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3016840736283000452' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3016840736283000452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3016840736283000452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/12/and-in-end.html' title='And in the end.'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5673971409903201091</id><published>2008-12-15T12:40:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T20:03:58.926-06:00</updated><title type='text'>New obsession</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVkg6qo6KcI/AAAAAAAAASY/jZepKtKjGAQ/s1600-h/CAB80MNC011A0810.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 231px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVkg6qo6KcI/AAAAAAAAASY/jZepKtKjGAQ/s320/CAB80MNC011A0810.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285291829946362306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the specs that I want:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Hard top with sun roof (a must, I drive with the sun roof open whether it's 90 degrees or 13 degrees)&lt;br /&gt;2. Oxygen Blue with black trim&lt;br /&gt;3. Heated seats&lt;br /&gt;4. Blue tooth&lt;br /&gt;5. IPod adapter&lt;br /&gt;6. 18 inch double spoke wheels&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Depending on my next move...I might have to do it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5673971409903201091?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5673971409903201091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5673971409903201091' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5673971409903201091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5673971409903201091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/12/new-obsession.html' title='New obsession'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVkg6qo6KcI/AAAAAAAAASY/jZepKtKjGAQ/s72-c/CAB80MNC011A0810.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-8796198570944635928</id><published>2008-12-12T19:02:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T20:17:12.522-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My work</title><content type='html'>I haven't written anything in general, in quite some time, but work, over the last month, has been sheer entertainment. The holiday season brings out the crazies. Luckily I've been doing my job long enough that I am little effected by any request, any feedback or any level of neuroses. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The party planning lady who has never planned a party before- calls in July to book her conference room and plan her menu for her law section's holiday party. Then proceeds to contact me at least once a week for the next 6 months to see how the logistics on my end are going. What I refrained from saying: Look lady, your 25 person luncheon is nothing. I will do it in my sleep the day before. It's like those bride's who are engaged for 2 years, just so that they can torture themselves for an extended period of time. Example phone call "Jen, can we go over the menu one more time?" After the fifth of these phone calls, I referred her back to an email I had sent back in July. "Well, I just wanted to make sure nothing had changed." No, nothing has changed because I haven't even thought about your holiday party ONE SINGLE TIME since I booked it and planned the menu 4 months ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. The needy non-client- Calls and says I am booking my holiday potluck luncheon at the exact same time as a 400 person luncheon that you are hosting. To which I respond...no problem, but please note that my entire staff will be unavailable to bring you anything you may need and we will have absolutely no equipment to lend you. Who do you think calls the day of for a gravy ladle? Who do you think laughed in her face? Tactfully of course.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. The last minute Christmas Parties- so this year the Firm decided to throw one huge party for everyone employed, instead of having each individual department throw their own outrageously expensive party and charge it back to the firm's accounts. So I figure I'm going to plan this one big party and be done with it. Oh no...people attend the all firm party, which I might add was brilliant...and then proceed to have their own section parties, only deciding to do such a thing at the very.last.second. Like calling me on Monday the week of Christmas requesting a holiday party the next day for 40 of their closest colleagues. People, it's the catering business, and it's the holiday season-- no you are not going to get your favorite beef tenderloin from your favorite caterer for a majorly discounted rate. Get a grip. In one day, I threw 4 holiday luncheons, 2 retirement receptions and a cocktail party. Planning all but 1 the day before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides all of the crazies, my biggest accomplishment this year, as far as work goes, was the holiday party I mentioned earlier. I came up with the concept, planned all of the food, paired the beverages and bought the decor. The theme was Christmas Around the World. I had 8 food stations set up all over the Conference Center, each featuring a different cuisine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I featured cheeses and breads paired with white wine from France &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrUk6BmvYI/AAAAAAAAAUY/rxRQpYWSk1Q/s1600-h/French+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrUk6BmvYI/AAAAAAAAAUY/rxRQpYWSk1Q/s320/French+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285770843189067138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrUrWGZw-I/AAAAAAAAAUg/Yxg9ZQS46NQ/s1600-h/French+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrUrWGZw-I/AAAAAAAAAUg/Yxg9ZQS46NQ/s320/French+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285770953804596194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All sorts of pastas and pizza with red wine from Italy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrUyCBy17I/AAAAAAAAAUo/qP7hguG37Ek/s1600-h/Italian+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrUyCBy17I/AAAAAAAAAUo/qP7hguG37Ek/s320/Italian+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285771068675643314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrU31EflYI/AAAAAAAAAUw/psW2656lEW0/s1600-h/Italian+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrU31EflYI/AAAAAAAAAUw/psW2656lEW0/s320/Italian+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285771168276518274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paella and empanadas with homemade Sangria from Spain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrU_GGssJI/AAAAAAAAAU4/_XmavYm-DEk/s1600-h/Spanish+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrU_GGssJI/AAAAAAAAAU4/_XmavYm-DEk/s320/Spanish+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285771293108252818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrVEPp7Y_I/AAAAAAAAAVA/Vs_JaTnZBtk/s1600-h/Spanish+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrVEPp7Y_I/AAAAAAAAAVA/Vs_JaTnZBtk/s320/Spanish+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285771381571281906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I also had classic turkey and dressing with cranberry sauce for American cuisine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrVK6u2V1I/AAAAAAAAAVI/enqWKy9JmQ8/s1600-h/american+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrVK6u2V1I/AAAAAAAAAVI/enqWKy9JmQ8/s320/american+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285771496213862226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a slue of other items featured from Asia, Germany, Britain and on and on. This party was so fun to plan and execute. My staff was awesome as I often think creatively on the fly and to keep up with the changes can be challenging sometimes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-8796198570944635928?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/8796198570944635928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=8796198570944635928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8796198570944635928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8796198570944635928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-work.html' title='My work'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVrUk6BmvYI/AAAAAAAAAUY/rxRQpYWSk1Q/s72-c/French+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-4431524841800155882</id><published>2008-12-04T20:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T20:03:28.346-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Iron Chef V &amp; E 2009</title><content type='html'>I was asked by a co-worker to participate in my Firm's Annual Iron Chef Competition, which kicks off the food drive we support during the holiday season. We put together a crew from all different backgrounds and departments. We met, brainstormed and planned out the perfect menu. We strategized about how to cheat and win.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh did I mention that the secret ingredient was Vienna Sausage? And because this kick off was benefiting our local food bank, we could only use items which would typically be donated to a food bank...in other words only canned and dry goods. We were given one microwave and were allowed to bring a skillet, knives and cutting boards. I embellished our cookware by bringing everything from the Conference Center down to the competition. The other teams were so ill prepared it was embarrassing. But that was our intent. At one point in the competition the team of attorneys resorted to throwing cash at the judges because he just couldn't compete anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our menu was far superior:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Appetizer&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vienna Bruschetta- tomato tartar topped with Vienna Sausage served on Toast Points&lt;br /&gt;Translation- Crushed tomatoes with a slice of Vienna Sausage on a Ritz Cracker&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Main Course&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Our Genuine, Authentic, One of a Kind, Vienna Holiday Dinner" &lt;br /&gt;Braised Vienna "The other other white meat"&lt;br /&gt;Mashed Potatoes served over Mushroom and Vienna Giblet Gravy&lt;br /&gt;Green beans aux Vienna (I made Vienna Sausage bacon)&lt;br /&gt;Butter carrots&lt;br /&gt;Almost homemade Cranberry Relish&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dessert&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fresh Imported Vienna Fruit Cups&lt;br /&gt;Translation- we cleaned out the cans of Vienna Sausage and filled them with canned fruit salad&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cheating started with a hot towel treatment for the judges:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVpML4zy_mI/AAAAAAAAASg/9e59VmrJ0GQ/s1600-h/hot+towel.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVpML4zy_mI/AAAAAAAAASg/9e59VmrJ0GQ/s320/hot+towel.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285620879784607330" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the Cranberry Spritzers:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVpMYWUrkWI/AAAAAAAAASo/N9KTijKXF9g/s1600-h/beverage.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVpMYWUrkWI/AAAAAAAAASo/N9KTijKXF9g/s320/beverage.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285621093865591138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here we are cooking. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVpMlpKNy0I/AAAAAAAAASw/jvI0sakGkHk/s1600-h/cooking.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVpMlpKNy0I/AAAAAAAAASw/jvI0sakGkHk/s320/cooking.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285621322260269890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were ultimately victorious in the end:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVpNYeb-wiI/AAAAAAAAAS4/OzKvsSOxvNg/s1600-h/Winners.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVpNYeb-wiI/AAAAAAAAAS4/OzKvsSOxvNg/s320/Winners.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285622195555320354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-4431524841800155882?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/4431524841800155882/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=4431524841800155882' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4431524841800155882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4431524841800155882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/12/iron-chef-v-e-2009.html' title='Iron Chef V &amp; E 2009'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SVpML4zy_mI/AAAAAAAAASg/9e59VmrJ0GQ/s72-c/hot+towel.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-335485290969047411</id><published>2008-11-30T07:09:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T07:15:09.355-06:00</updated><title type='text'>One late night, one early morning</title><content type='html'>I've stayed up many a late night over the past six months, but this one outdoes them all. It's 7:09am and I am still up and, as you can see, blogging. I think my body is in a bit of a shock for all of the sleep it is getting, as I normally starve it to death. And so after a fourth day off, it protests the normal hours of sleep. But I will surely nap at some point today, maybe even numerous times throughout the day. We'll see how it goes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-335485290969047411?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/335485290969047411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=335485290969047411' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/335485290969047411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/335485290969047411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/one-late-night-one-early-morning.html' title='One late night, one early morning'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-648438878684066610</id><published>2008-11-29T15:07:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T15:21:50.036-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The day after</title><content type='html'>I L-O-V-E love Thanksgiving. Love everything about it, the food, family, friends, the long weekend, it's all great to me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day after Thanksgiving, however, is laced with things I hate. Here's my list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Those blow up Christmas thingys start appearing in everyone's front yard.&lt;br /&gt;2. People say "Happy Holidays" to you everywhere you go, even when you check out from the pet store.&lt;br /&gt;3. The only music, if you can call it that, which can be found in any eatery or shopping venue has to do with Frosty, Donner and Blitzen.&lt;br /&gt;4. Airline ticket prices automatically go way up.&lt;br /&gt;5. All of the neurotic secretaries in my office come out of the woodwork to plan their Christmas parties with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I am sorry that all of my angst about the day after Thanksgiving revolves around Christmas, but people are out of control!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-648438878684066610?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/648438878684066610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=648438878684066610' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/648438878684066610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/648438878684066610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/day-after.html' title='The day after'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-315500011262252573</id><published>2008-11-28T20:36:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T20:43:01.124-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hen Party</title><content type='html'>This is Fun-Neee...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/nP-XRg6jGTI&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/nP-XRg6jGTI&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-315500011262252573?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/315500011262252573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=315500011262252573' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/315500011262252573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/315500011262252573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/hen-party.html' title='The Hen Party'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5462619703337217470</id><published>2008-11-28T16:12:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T16:13:52.548-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Nair</title><content type='html'>I am surprised that I have not told you all that Nair is my new best friend. I was getting tired of shaving and getting razor burn. It didn't matter what I did- steamed in a hot shower for 10 minutes, exfoliated, used shaving cream, I would always get red bumps. I went to the drug store bought a can...and will likely never shave my underarms again. Nair it is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5462619703337217470?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5462619703337217470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5462619703337217470' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5462619703337217470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5462619703337217470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/nair.html' title='Nair'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-550274963777961352</id><published>2008-11-28T15:55:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T16:03:01.920-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I sleep like this</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBpGeibfEI/AAAAAAAAASI/xRtsx_DgCIU/s1600-h/n681795361_1765767_7344.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBpGeibfEI/AAAAAAAAASI/xRtsx_DgCIU/s320/n681795361_1765767_7344.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273830723648453698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a funny thing, how we all sleep. I conducted a survey one time at work after an argument with Person A about how people actually sleep. As you can see above, I sleep with my legs turned completely out with my feet flat on the bed. Most people, I have discovered, lay on their backs with their feet sticking straight up in the air. I feel badly for those people. When I lay on my back, I can completely dis-engage all of the muscles in my legs and actually be relaxed. People- if you are laying on your back with your feet sticking straight up in the air, you are holding all of the muscles in your inner thighs. How can you keep those muscles engaged and attempt relaxation? I just don't get it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you think this is crazy, try conducting your own survey with those around you. You can post the results in the comment section of this post. Suggestion- don't tell people why you are conducting the survey, this ensures accuracy in the results. Of course it can be difficult convincing people to lay on the floor in a relaxed state for no apparent reason. People are so self- conscious.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-550274963777961352?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/550274963777961352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=550274963777961352' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/550274963777961352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/550274963777961352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/i-sleep-like-this.html' title='I sleep like this'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBpGeibfEI/AAAAAAAAASI/xRtsx_DgCIU/s72-c/n681795361_1765767_7344.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-8933437058192538493</id><published>2008-11-27T21:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T16:03:41.304-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Moveable Feast</title><content type='html'>Cherie, Heather and I concocted a Progressive Dinner for our Thanksgiving Day activity. Our group started with eight and grew to 20 quickly when we started sharing the news of what we would be doing. We became the popular kids for Thanksgiving and everyone grew jealous of our idea and the people who would be joining us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started out at my place with appetizers, soups and a multitude of homemade breads. For appetizers I took apples and figs a schmeared them with goat cheese, wrapped them in prosciutto and then drizzled them with a honey-pumpkin glaze. I made two homemade soups- butternut squash and turkey and dumpling. I hired out Travis to bake all of the breads including strawberry bread, pumpkin bread and jalapeno-cheese-bacon cornbread. Then I made a honey-whipped butter and a garlic butter to go with it all. I haven't cooked in so long, it felt good to be in the kitchen chopping and stewing, preparing a table and then people coming over to enjoy it all. As we were finishing up the first leg of our trip, I made everyone play my obligatory Thanksgiving game. We passed around a basket and everyone dropped two corn kernels into the basket and named off things they were thankful for this year. My top choices: my health and my new found happiness. The live footage can be seen &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=99388300654"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt; .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We then moved to Cherie and Walter's house for the main meal. We all pitched in to place the finishing touches on the meal. It was all the usual suspects- turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing, cranberries, bread, and gravy. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBm5zkhM3I/AAAAAAAAASA/5mO2qDlnL84/s1600-h/n681795361_1765757_4431.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBm5zkhM3I/AAAAAAAAASA/5mO2qDlnL84/s320/n681795361_1765757_4431.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273828306932806514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After taking a stroll to work the food down out of our stomachs, we moved on to our third and final destination- Heather and Farzam's house. They had the difficult task of preparing dessert. It is rough you know...pumpkin truffles, chocolate cheesecake truffles, pumpkin pie, chocolate caramel brownies, coconut cream pie, fruit tart, and an assortment of pound cakes served with pumpkin butter and cinnamon spice butter. It was a ridiculous scene, and we were all stuffed, but of course had to partake in tasting everything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of the day, Heather, Cherie and I were so impressed by the plan we had concocted and how smoothly it was executed. No one was over burdened, everyone was welcome and a wonderful time was had by all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-8933437058192538493?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/8933437058192538493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=8933437058192538493' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8933437058192538493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8933437058192538493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/moveable-feast.html' title='The Moveable Feast'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBm5zkhM3I/AAAAAAAAASA/5mO2qDlnL84/s72-c/n681795361_1765757_4431.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-2192234049891144341</id><published>2008-11-24T15:22:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T16:04:32.301-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad news for Double B's</title><content type='html'>I was already planning a trip in December...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure how we should handle this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-2192234049891144341?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/2192234049891144341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=2192234049891144341' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2192234049891144341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2192234049891144341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/bad-news-for-double-bs.html' title='Bad news for Double B&apos;s'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-8363912060079096553</id><published>2008-11-15T13:13:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T15:22:33.731-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Julia's Harem</title><content type='html'>Last night we VIP'd it at  a bar where an extremely famous DJ was playing. What a freaking nice change of scenery. Not only on the club front, but on the people front. Well...the people as a whole. Thinking we would not see anyone we knew, we were sadly disappointed that all the usual cast of characters a.k.a. the three ring circus were present:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The Anchor Man&lt;br /&gt;2. Chommas&lt;br /&gt;3. The Hurricane Companion&lt;br /&gt;4. The Pers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These four make up the recent members and were all in the same place at the same time. I am always impressed with her poise in handling such situations. It is quite impressive. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as for me, I managed to pull out an appearance from The Land of Oz. Must you be everywhere that I am?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-8363912060079096553?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/8363912060079096553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=8363912060079096553' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8363912060079096553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8363912060079096553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/julias-harem.html' title='Julia&apos;s Harem'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-7104845610188884227</id><published>2008-11-12T22:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T15:09:14.658-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The weekend with Gold Reeves</title><content type='html'>So after I banged out a phenomenal weekend with Tripple M's, Gold Reeves flies in for a few days of the shenanegins. Because there is just wayyy too much to post, I shall make a list (previously agreed upon by both she and I):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. A weekend of no sleep and very little food does a body good.&lt;br /&gt;2. Why smoke one large cigar when you can smoke 3 large ones in a row?&lt;br /&gt;3. Great purchase Golds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBbYqO--CI/AAAAAAAAARw/iOyVKN7sIYo/s1600-h/s677066022_2049015_6246.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 130px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBbYqO--CI/AAAAAAAAARw/iOyVKN7sIYo/s320/s677066022_2049015_6246.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273815642862975010" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. A cell phone stolen provides hours of entertainment.&lt;br /&gt;5. Oh hot dayam, this is my jayam, keep me partying til the aye emme.&lt;br /&gt;6. Blue Label is classy, but Escobar is where it's at.&lt;br /&gt;7. Glad you got perspective into the Land of Oz.&lt;br /&gt;8. How did that work clothes shopping go anyway?&lt;br /&gt;9. Bahaim activities are good for the soul.&lt;br /&gt;10. Did you bring any fruit flies back in your suitcase?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will forever wish that we lived in the same place again because hanging out with you is so great. I love spending time in your space. I love you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBdy-Pzc9I/AAAAAAAAAR4/VvoD6ZDVsLs/s1600-h/gol+and+jen+in+the+snow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBdy-Pzc9I/AAAAAAAAAR4/VvoD6ZDVsLs/s320/gol+and+jen+in+the+snow.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273818293934978002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*an oldie but a goodie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-7104845610188884227?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/7104845610188884227/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=7104845610188884227' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7104845610188884227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7104845610188884227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/weekend-with-gold-reeves.html' title='The weekend with Gold Reeves'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/STBbYqO--CI/AAAAAAAAARw/iOyVKN7sIYo/s72-c/s677066022_2049015_6246.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5698718571065752181</id><published>2008-11-11T20:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T15:10:48.282-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Raccoon</title><content type='html'>I was awakened abruptly at 5:59am this morning to a phone call from Julia's eldest daughter. My thought process went something like this: why is my phone ringing, where am I, do I have to work today, wait...it's Camille, it's 5:59am, why is she calling me, something has happened to Julia, OH MY GOD! Then Julia's voice came over the line "Jen...there is a raccoon in the house, what do I do?" And her voice was seemingly calm. And so I responded "well, call animal control," just as calmly. After the fact, it cracks me up that we had such a calm conversation about such a terrifying thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reminded of course of my first night sleeping in Boulder, when we left the back sliding glass door open and I walked into the kitchen to see a raccoon standing on his hind legs eating dog food out of the cabinet, dog looking on hoping to play with this creature. Instead of waking up my dad and handle the situation, I decided I would scare the raccoon and chase him off. Luckily it worked and both the dog and I were unscathed. But what was I thinking!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So finally the police came, beat the creature into submission and released it outdoors. Turns out it was a possum, not a raccoon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5698718571065752181?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5698718571065752181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5698718571065752181' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5698718571065752181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5698718571065752181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/raccoon.html' title='The Raccoon'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-4880988348344527730</id><published>2008-11-10T22:36:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T08:17:14.307-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Stay tuned</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SRmT3yJIVbI/AAAAAAAAARY/w2izT1GfBxU/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 118px; height: 107px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SRmT3yJIVbI/AAAAAAAAARY/w2izT1GfBxU/s320/images.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267403825748661682" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please stay tuned, I have 6 drafts in progress that will be released soon!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-4880988348344527730?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/4880988348344527730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=4880988348344527730' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4880988348344527730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4880988348344527730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/stay-tuned.html' title='Stay tuned'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SRmT3yJIVbI/AAAAAAAAARY/w2izT1GfBxU/s72-c/images.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-7398015835855745353</id><published>2008-11-02T18:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-16T20:12:11.193-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My Day</title><content type='html'>I always (ok, so it's only been one year since I started this blog) write a post about my special day. I have always loved my birthday, as it is the one day a year I get completely selfish and only do what I want. I take all measures to make sure that what I want to happen, happens. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year, The Big 30, was no exception. There was no expense spared, no detail overlooked, no one not invited. We turned 5502 Beverly Hill into Club Beverly Hill. We had it all: casino, club dj, hookah lounge, food, full bar, the best cake you can buy in this city and on and on. We were the hottest thing going on in Houston on Saturday, November 1st. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People were in and out all night. This camp was packed with a melting pot of people. There were people everywhere- people dancing, people playing craps and screaming, people smoking hookah in the hookah lounge that I set up on the front porch. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SSDPrF4oKBI/AAAAAAAAARg/rtceaEywaXQ/s1600-h/n641951203_1578372_1363.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SSDPrF4oKBI/AAAAAAAAARg/rtceaEywaXQ/s320/n641951203_1578372_1363.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269439903244494866" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could not have asked for more for my birthday. The cops even came because of the noise level and the traffic out on the street. At one point I looked out and it was like the freeway during rush hour. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would like to thank MMM for flying down to celebrate with me. It was her 30th as well, and we did it up! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SSDRpOZ2q8I/AAAAAAAAARo/UMRSrbIyHb4/s1600-h/n556450616_1138213_5358.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SSDRpOZ2q8I/AAAAAAAAARo/UMRSrbIyHb4/s320/n556450616_1138213_5358.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269442070194858946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-7398015835855745353?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/7398015835855745353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=7398015835855745353' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7398015835855745353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7398015835855745353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-day.html' title='My Day'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SSDPrF4oKBI/AAAAAAAAARg/rtceaEywaXQ/s72-c/n641951203_1578372_1363.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-8925034998058469683</id><published>2008-10-29T19:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T20:02:26.815-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Wonderful Wednesdays</title><content type='html'>When Julia moved into Houston from the suburbs, she lost her normal support network. She gained more time with her kids, but lost kid sitters. I decided that since I take over her house on the weekends and she feeds me on the daily (otherwise I would not eat) and does all sorts of other things for me, I would volunteer for the duty of kid sitting 2 nights a week. Well, you know I can't just be that person who shows up and lets the kids watch tv while I talk on the phone with whomever. So I started doing fun activities on Wednesday evenings with the kids, which they have since coined "Wonderful Wednesdays." As if I needed another venue to try and reinvent myself with, I have yet another one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me re-cap our activities:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Astros game&lt;br /&gt;- Texans game&lt;br /&gt;- Dinner at Chipotle followed by late-nite ice skating&lt;br /&gt;- Cupcake eating at the fanciest cupcake place in Houston&lt;br /&gt;- Paint your own pottery&lt;br /&gt;- Mowing down at the best hamburger place in town&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And tonight I have lit the chiminea to make s'mores and the kids have decorated the outdoor patio with ferry lights and blankets to create an outdoor lounge for us to hang out all night. They are super cute and appreciative. On Mondays they start asking "Jen, what are we going to do for Wonderful Wednesdays?" and on Wednesday they rush home from school to finish their homework before I get to their house so we can hang out the whole night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've just created another venue in which I continue to re-invent myself over and over again. Plus Wonderful Wednesdays plays into my creating events of everything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-8925034998058469683?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/8925034998058469683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=8925034998058469683' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8925034998058469683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8925034998058469683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/10/wonderful-wednesdays.html' title='Wonderful Wednesdays'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1665806972624964816</id><published>2008-10-27T14:20:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T19:42:04.892-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Can't stop giggling</title><content type='html'>As I have expressed before, with every day of this passing year, I go through a new phase almost weekly. This week is filled with giggles, literally giggles. I have yet to stop giggling. It all started Saturday night and I hope that it doesn't end for a long time. I think I can chalk it up to a conglomerate of things: It could be all of the male attention I've been getting lately, or maybe it's the fact that I am feeling so much better, or that my 30th Birthday Bash is coming up, or it could be the fact that I wake up each day now with the possibility of new love and life ahead of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday night Julia found herself in quite the conundrum at 3am...two guys both on the way to her house at the same time. I laughed so hard as she toggled from line to line on her cell phone trying to decide which one to totally blow off. She and I sat on my bed and laughed so hard we could not breath. The little Colombian showed up on the scene later on in the am, which cracked me up as well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday evening turned out to be perfect including a great Paella dinner and Julia and I deciding to go out for Sunday Funday! It's our new favorite. Why did we never participate in Sunday Funday before? We wound up at a club and danced for a solid 3 hours, never stopping, never breaking, never pausing. I could only laugh when I walked in the door at 11pm to see my new little Colombian standing at the bar by himself. We pulled him in for the dancing and he danced along side of us for the duration. I cracked up the next morning when Jules called me for the morning conference call and said "must we act as if we are on an episode of Soul Train?" I fell on the floor laughing in delirium at her comment, because when I stop and think about it, we had a dance off all night long. We were unstoppable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, we might have out-done ourselves for the weekend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1665806972624964816?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1665806972624964816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1665806972624964816' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1665806972624964816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1665806972624964816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/10/cant-stop-giggling.html' title='Can&apos;t stop giggling'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6682608939348184846</id><published>2008-10-23T08:54:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T22:02:18.393-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Houston: Get out your parkas!</title><content type='html'>Good lord, I woke up this morning happy as a clam because it was actually chilly outside! And it's Fall, and I've already gushed about how much I love Fall!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These people in Houston...they don't love Fall, they can't handle it, they don't get it. This morning, I swear I saw no less than 13 people in full length coats walking on the streets of downtown in winter coats. Get a grip people, it was 60 degrees outside.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6682608939348184846?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6682608939348184846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6682608939348184846' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6682608939348184846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6682608939348184846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/10/houston-get-out-your-parkas.html' title='Houston: Get out your parkas!'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-2787392273415326856</id><published>2008-10-20T18:58:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T15:42:37.977-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Additional Items for Birthday Wish List</title><content type='html'>11. I bought 2 of these gems at the Houston Art Festival this weekend. I am obsessed with &lt;a href="http://www.katebarrere.com/dots/tabid/67/Default.aspx"&gt;Pop Dots&lt;/a&gt; and want more. Specifically, I want the large pumpkin one in the gold colour:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SP0cLdFpJhI/AAAAAAAAARQ/guB8nJ4efkw/s1600-h/Pumpkin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SP0cLdFpJhI/AAAAAAAAARQ/guB8nJ4efkw/s320/Pumpkin.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259390922951042578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. Ionizer from Brookestone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. This &lt;a href="http://www.blackberry.com/blackberrystorm/"&gt;little number &lt;/a&gt;which has yet to be released.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-2787392273415326856?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/2787392273415326856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=2787392273415326856' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2787392273415326856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2787392273415326856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/10/additional-items-for-birthday-wish-list.html' title='Additional Items for Birthday Wish List'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SP0cLdFpJhI/AAAAAAAAARQ/guB8nJ4efkw/s72-c/Pumpkin.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-693313617455536462</id><published>2008-10-19T21:48:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T12:33:11.111-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another weekend @ Beverly Hill</title><content type='html'>Favorite shenanegin of the weekend:&lt;br /&gt;2 boys @ Beverly Hill, at the same time, fighting over my attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Favorite line of the weekend:&lt;br /&gt;"Thomas, what are you doing?"&lt;br /&gt;Response (in a thick Arab accent) "I am putting gel."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Favorite text message of the weekend:&lt;br /&gt;"How is it that we manage to out do ourselves every weekend?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have the answer to that question, but we always seem to manage the feat. This weekend was no slouch. Thursday night dancing and hanging out until 4am. Friday night seemed to be a dud when we stumbled into La Tapatia at 3am just the two of us to eat out of sheer starvation, when just then, the party walked in...the boys we had seen the night before in the 7 Series Beamer who blew us off. When we put together the entire story, they were begging for mercy! And wound up begging to hang out with us. We all headed back to Club Beverly Hill to tie one on until 7:30am. Friday night had it all, dancing, boys, cigars, music, laughing, making out, verbal sparing, and of course no sleep, it was great! Just like us...they are ALL DAY! Never stopping, never resting. The real comedy came when in the morning we all 4 found ourselves in the bathroom brushing our teeth together-- giggling, even the boys. We all went to lunch and then they (independantly initiated) took us for cupcakes-- which I think is the cutest thing ever! By Saturday afternoon, I believe we had collectively had 8 hours of sleep over the course of 2 days and were all dead on our feet. Poor Julia schlepped off to work, while we all rested--only to meet up later that night for more dancing until dawn. The weekend was pure fun. And it was off to bed for everyone by 10pm on Sunday night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-693313617455536462?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/693313617455536462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=693313617455536462' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/693313617455536462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/693313617455536462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/10/another-weekend-beverly-hill.html' title='Another weekend @ Beverly Hill'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6058071734818441592</id><published>2008-10-15T09:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T12:31:17.815-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Public Service Announcement</title><content type='html'>Ladies:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you purchase a new skirt suit, the slit of your suit is often times still sewn together with a giant X of stitching. Prior to wearing the suit, please snip the X stitching and remove it. This also applies to the backs of your suit jackets. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gentlemen:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your suits, which contain slits on the backs of your jackets also need to be snipped and removed before wearing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for reading this public service announcement.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6058071734818441592?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6058071734818441592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6058071734818441592' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6058071734818441592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6058071734818441592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/10/public-service-announcement.html' title='Public Service Announcement'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-2404170794600805797</id><published>2008-10-13T18:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T19:10:00.960-05:00</updated><title type='text'>DAILY- early morning conference call</title><content type='html'>The call usually comes in after I've been at work for 30 minutes and you've dropped off the kids. And it usually goes a little something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julia-- "Jen, who is Kevin?"&lt;br /&gt;Jen- "He's the guy you were making out with at Club X"&lt;br /&gt;Julia "Oh, well, then who's Felipe?"&lt;br /&gt;Jen-- "Well, he's the guy that you brought back to the house, you know the one we smoked cigars with"&lt;br /&gt;Julia-"Oh, was that his name?"&lt;br /&gt;Jen--" Yes"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We move on:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julia-- "How did we wind up at Ali's house?"&lt;br /&gt;Jen-- "He said he was hungry and instead of hitting one of those places that's open until 4am, you offered to cook."&lt;br /&gt;Julia-- "What did I cook?"&lt;br /&gt;Jen-- "It was sort of Mediterranean, sort of Mexican chicken with rice"&lt;br /&gt;Julia-- "Was it good?"&lt;br /&gt;Jen-- "It wasn't your best creation"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we switch gears altogether:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julia--"Jen, I haven't talked to Ashwin in 8 hours"&lt;br /&gt;Jen-- "And..."&lt;br /&gt;Julia-- "Why hasn't he called?"&lt;br /&gt;Jen-- "Well I think the last time you talked to him, you told him you never wanted to speak to him again"&lt;br /&gt;Julia-- "Oh yeah"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the conversation usually concludes like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julia--"Jen, could you please control me? Must I make out with everyone I meet?!"&lt;br /&gt;Jen--"Julia, when you get yourself into real trouble, then I'll control you."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-2404170794600805797?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/2404170794600805797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=2404170794600805797' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2404170794600805797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2404170794600805797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/10/daily-early-morning-conference-call.html' title='DAILY- early morning conference call'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1386635884460697228</id><published>2008-10-11T15:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-11T15:12:07.445-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Drivin' on 9</title><content type='html'>My driving habits as of late have been far below the standard of the law. I'm not sure that this is a good thing, but following traffic laws isn't fitting into my current life style anyway, so...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My new speed of choice on the freeway is absolutely no less than 80 mph. It used to be 70, but I say 80 is the new 70! Speed of choice on city streets...no less than 55. That's bad. I also have become increasingly anti-stop sign. And the worst of all is that I hate pulling up to an intersection where you have to wait for the left arrow to go, so I have also stopped obeying the law of "left turn only on left arrow." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other driving news...I refuse to park my own car anywhere I go. I am a proud supporter of Houston Valet Driver's Union (not that there actually is one, but I feel as though I am supporting it).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1386635884460697228?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1386635884460697228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1386635884460697228' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1386635884460697228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1386635884460697228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/10/drivin-on-9.html' title='Drivin&apos; on 9'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-7705607567694803593</id><published>2008-10-11T09:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-11T15:21:09.195-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Play the game</title><content type='html'>People, please play the game right. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule #1- If you just want to get laid, don't constantly send text messages asking how her day was and telling her all about what a beautiful day it is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule #2- If you aren't interested in hanging out outside of getting laid, then don't call and ask what we're doing right now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule #3- Don't "call in sick" for the day, then go to the club that we frequent that night&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule #4- Don't make out with random girls in the club that we frequent, the night after we catch you out after "calling in sick" for the previous day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule #5- After all of this, don't text in the middle of the night asking if we're still up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this time, I would like to take this opportunity to thank Eric Graves for playing the game right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-7705607567694803593?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/7705607567694803593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=7705607567694803593' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7705607567694803593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7705607567694803593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/10/play-game.html' title='Play the game'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-2190280103355269799</id><published>2008-10-10T08:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-11T15:21:47.196-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What I want most for my birthday</title><content type='html'>Normally I can't think of anything that I truly want as gifts for my birthday. So call it a stroke of selfishness or whatever, but here is the short list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Golriz and Marabeth in my house for the weekend&lt;br /&gt;2. Humidor box filled with delicious cigars&lt;br /&gt;3. 3,103 Continental miles to qualify for my next free plane ticket&lt;br /&gt;4. A day at the spa (duh)&lt;br /&gt;5. A really, really great pair of dangly silver earrings&lt;br /&gt;6. Shopping spree at Marti &amp; Liz's&lt;br /&gt;7. An unsolicited birthday call from Double B's&lt;br /&gt;8. Heavenly buttercream cake from Not Jus' Donuts&lt;br /&gt;9. Flowers- I love getting flowers for my birthday&lt;br /&gt;10. Anything with Peacocks!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-2190280103355269799?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/2190280103355269799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=2190280103355269799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2190280103355269799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2190280103355269799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/10/what-i-want-most-for-my-birthday.html' title='What I want most for my birthday'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5464948012901252928</id><published>2008-09-30T22:34:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T22:38:12.831-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A boy named Ryan</title><content type='html'>Ryan got married this weekend. It is a crazy thing for many of you who read my blog to think about. You may have known him when he was 12 flustered with A.D.D., or as a teen-ager only interested in video games and taking things apart, or how about the phase when he sported a 4 inch Mohawk? I remember all of these as well, but I think yesterday will stand out as my best memory. He’s a man now, with a wife, whom I adore, and a real live career that takes him all over North America, and who will soon have his own house. The scrawny little lost kid from Bonne Terre who grew up on Spring Way Drive turned out to be pretty ok. I’m really proud of you Bud. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SOLwldEkkVI/AAAAAAAAARE/XM2ryn-ou40/s1600-h/n579505350_1792257_6488.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SOLwldEkkVI/AAAAAAAAARE/XM2ryn-ou40/s320/n579505350_1792257_6488.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252024641717047634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5464948012901252928?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5464948012901252928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5464948012901252928' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5464948012901252928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5464948012901252928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/boy-named-ryan.html' title='A boy named Ryan'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SOLwldEkkVI/AAAAAAAAARE/XM2ryn-ou40/s72-c/n579505350_1792257_6488.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-4519371099790040263</id><published>2008-09-29T22:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T22:33:59.031-05:00</updated><title type='text'>One tall vanilla steamer please</title><content type='html'>I can positively say that I am consistently the last person to arrive at the airport for a flight, sometimes cutting it at close as 30 minutes. I can also say I’m often times the last person to board the plane. But I can’t say, until today, that I’ve ever been paged for a flight, followed by “your aircraft is completely loaded and ready for take off”. I can only laugh now, writing this while on the airplane. I wasn’t late because I was in traffic, or visiting with family, or that I got tied up at work. No, no, I had to stop at Starbucks and buy my first steamer of the fall, and I took my leisure at sipping it before going through security. I enjoyed every rich mouthful that passed my lips. See, when I got out of the car at the airport in St. Louis, it was just cold enough to constitute the need for a jacket, which for me is so exciting because my favorite season is upon us…Fall. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A tall vanilla steamer with cinnamon reminds me of so much:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It reminds me of getting all bundled up and walking up and down Pearl, arm in arm with Double B’s, on a chilly night. Then curling up with the dogs for a short night's sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It means that everything I cook from here out will include pumpkin, when appropriate, and sometimes when not appropriate. Person A used to get out of bed excided for the smell of pancakes wafting from the kitchen, only to discover that I had included pumpkin in the pancake batter. Here’s another example: “What are you making hun?” “Homemade ice cream” “Yum, what kind?” “Pumpkin!” A conversation which was always met with slight disappointment.  My cooking habits this fall will be no different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of my favorite activities happen in the Fall. Heather, Cherie and I will get together for our annual baking day some Sunday in October. I’ll host “Donuts and Devotions” where I make homemade donuts out of my grandma’s secret recipe and provide a multitude of toppings for my guests to choose from. Jen and Vaf have their Fall Festival, when we play games and laugh until we can’t breath and attempt to light their house on fire. Halloween is always a hoot in my neighborhood, I love seeing the kids all dressed up and harassing the ones who are way too old to Trick or Treat but do so anyway. And of course my birthday. This year will be special, as it is one to really celebrate. I’ll be 30 and ready to embark on the next and most important phase of my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-4519371099790040263?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/4519371099790040263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=4519371099790040263' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4519371099790040263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4519371099790040263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/one-tall-vanilla-steamer-please.html' title='One tall vanilla steamer please'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-524316947663411116</id><published>2008-09-26T13:58:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T14:05:19.503-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back in the Lou</title><content type='html'>I'm spending this week in St. Louis with my ENTIRE family. I'm currently running "Wedding Central" out of my Grandparent's home. As long as you don't touch my piles of stuff or take the Oldsmobile away from me, we're good.  Yes, I'm glamorous, driving around in a 1986, faded gray, 4-door Olds. I'm having to run to Panera every hour to get online as there's only one wi-fi connection in their neighborhood, which I only get from 6pm-8pm- Thanks Kellysnetwork. My sister-in-law to-be is having breakdowns on a daily basis right now, but Ryan and I meet them in stride. My poor mother is driving in from Michigan and contracted a flat tire. My aunt and grandmother are in from Kansas City, visiting my Pop's resting place, and Aunt Patty and Steph fly in from NY tonight. At about 4pm today, "Wedding Central" is moving out to the venue, where I will be relaxing for the rest of the weekend...and probably fighting with the mother of the bride. At 4pm today I will enter the "no bull-shit zone"-- there will be no melt downs, no changes, no arguing. From then on there is only fun, relaxing, and celebrating my brother and his new wife.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-524316947663411116?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/524316947663411116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=524316947663411116' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/524316947663411116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/524316947663411116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/back-in-lou.html' title='Back in the Lou'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3869251282744869216</id><published>2008-09-26T00:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T13:58:09.902-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Yet another</title><content type='html'>Random and sundry entry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had almost forgotten that eating a patty melt and chocolate milk shake at Steak n Shake, Imo's Pizza, a cheeseburger at a family barbeque combined with absolutely no exercise could actually make you lose weight. Thank God I was reminded of that fact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother is making out like a bandit right now. Not only are my parents buying him a house, but also are going to renovate the entire thing, are gifting him their entire living room furniture, a tv, washer and dryer, queen sized bed, and a rocking chair (which are quite expensive in case you haven't priced them lately).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I please quit working now? I'm really sick of getting up every morning at the same time, going into the same office, interacting with the same people... I need variety. I did manage to secure a wedding in October, which will be quite exciting and lucrative. I'm very excited about it. I'm also excited about the idea of BAKE- which may be making it's debut in Boulder soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went last weekend to celebrate one of my favorite people's birthdays! There were 3 babies running around. Babies bring such joy! And for me such sadness. I guess I thought I would have the fourth baby. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've found myself stalking PF Changs and the Sawyer Lofts on a regular basis. When I find what I'm looking for, I'll stop.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3869251282744869216?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3869251282744869216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3869251282744869216' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3869251282744869216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3869251282744869216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/yet-another.html' title='Yet another'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6714826302677703437</id><published>2008-09-16T21:08:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T21:42:56.433-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Choice phrases</title><content type='html'>The following are phrases which have popped up over the course of Summer 2008 and lay me out on the floor laughing even after hearing them over and over...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Julia, you can't act like this anymore. It's time to grow up ...you're not 19 anymore, you're 23 now. (Comment by Zac on the phone while Julia is calling from the Bellaire Penitentiary) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. One night Julia and I were out and needed cash. Luckily Zac had given Julia an envelope of cash earlier that day for her expenses for the restaurant. When we pulled the envelope out we realized that Zac had clearly written "Paidy Cash" as opposed to "Petty Cash" on the outside. Julia almost drove the car off the road at that point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. " Don't start that can of worms"- Zac advising Julia not to "start" criticizing him for something. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The other day I told Zac about my recent shenanegins (shenanegins becoming my favorite blogging word lately). He immediately started calling me a slut. He later had to "start the can of worms" with Julia about my recent activities. He says to her " Jen is such a slut... S-L-O-T" to which Julia replies "she's a slot? Zac a slot is something you deposit things into." Zac's reply "EXACTLY!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. William Raymond Baker a.k.a. Billy Ray a.k.a. Whooooo Ahooooo-- some guy who has latched on to Julia and become her stalker. When I found out his name was William Raymond and then switched it around to Billy Ray. Enough said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6714826302677703437?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6714826302677703437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6714826302677703437' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6714826302677703437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6714826302677703437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/choice-phrases.html' title='Choice phrases'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6706827080647642248</id><published>2008-09-16T20:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T20:27:53.489-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ike and I</title><content type='html'>I weather the storm just fine. It was quite a scary night, I must say. I woke up to the sound of things flying through the air hitting the roof of my friend's house, clutching my pillow for fear that something was going to be flying through the window any second. I re-located to another room quickly where the brick wall surrounding the house was more protective. There would be no more sleep for me Friday night. When the sun started to show through we ventured out to find this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBXF1F5mPI/AAAAAAAAAQE/JC4mtq2q8zc/s1600-h/IMG00175.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBXF1F5mPI/AAAAAAAAAQE/JC4mtq2q8zc/s320/IMG00175.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246789323549415666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We discovered that we would need a canoe to get anywhere beyond the end of the driveway:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBXUapp0VI/AAAAAAAAAQM/6NUtuNSKbkw/s1600-h/IMG00178.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBXUapp0VI/AAAAAAAAAQM/6NUtuNSKbkw/s320/IMG00178.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246789574149656914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally got to my house on Sunday morning to find my house virtually unscathed. My palm trees were lying on their side, and all sorts of tree limbs and leaves were littering my front yard:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBZ5OuSuLI/AAAAAAAAAQU/pwlCWXazmJg/s1600-h/IMG00183.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBZ5OuSuLI/AAAAAAAAAQU/pwlCWXazmJg/s320/IMG00183.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246792405626304690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I faired much better than my neighbor:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBaNdN8RXI/AAAAAAAAAQc/Gp8UYPbqrx8/s1600-h/IMG00182.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBaNdN8RXI/AAAAAAAAAQc/Gp8UYPbqrx8/s320/IMG00182.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246792753114531186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily these trees fell in the front yard and not on his house or my garage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the most severe damage I suffered:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBaeiyGBcI/AAAAAAAAAQk/MnHkmn41oPc/s1600-h/IMG00181.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBaeiyGBcI/AAAAAAAAAQk/MnHkmn41oPc/s320/IMG00181.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246793046666118594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have nothing to complain about. I've been staying at a friend's loft, who has air and internet, it has been heaven. I show up to work looking like a rock star, while everyone else rolls in with hair out of control and wrinkled clothes. Even the beautiful people and attorneys look a mess. No one has power, even the wealthiest of the wealthy. Power lines are down all over the city and there seems to be no return in sight. They are predicting 2 to 4 weeks before Houston is back up and running. Windows all over downtown are blown out. In our office space alone we lost 129 windows. Lines for the gas stations are a mile long in areas that actually have power. There are no stop lights anywhere- everything is a 4-way stop. I was asked earlier today if I regret not leaving. I don't. I've enjoyed this little adventure. People are actually out on their front porches having their evening beer, grilling out and visiting with each other. Neighbors are out helping others in any way that they can. It reminds me of Bonne Terre a bit, the friendliness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6706827080647642248?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6706827080647642248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6706827080647642248' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6706827080647642248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6706827080647642248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/ike-ike-ike.html' title='Ike and I'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBXF1F5mPI/AAAAAAAAAQE/JC4mtq2q8zc/s72-c/IMG00175.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5553362169682364693</id><published>2008-09-15T22:34:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-15T22:37:47.385-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Hi, I'm ok, I came out of the hurricane basically unscathed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still have no electricity at my house, but am staying with a friend who does have, and am very thankful. The most exciting thing about my day today was flat ironing my hair. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went into the office to get everything ready for tomorrow. We will be fully operational, with a few clients even coming in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a ton of photos to post, but am extremely exhausted between dealing with my house, work and living like a vagabond, so i will do so later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5553362169682364693?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5553362169682364693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5553362169682364693' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5553362169682364693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5553362169682364693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/hi-im-ok-i-came-out-of-hurricane.html' title=''/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6502466500343568692</id><published>2008-09-12T23:29:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T23:30:04.978-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hurricane Update</title><content type='html'>Julia just cooked the most disgusting meal I have ever eaten from her hand. Not sure what she was thinking, but it's bad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6502466500343568692?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6502466500343568692/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6502466500343568692' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6502466500343568692'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6502466500343568692'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/hurricane-update.html' title='Hurricane Update'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3257318374317937218</id><published>2008-09-12T16:52:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T22:46:23.119-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hurricane Shenanigans</title><content type='html'>Who would have thought the most efficient way to pick up men is to have a hurricane flown into town, clear out half the city and go on an eve-of bike ride. Yes, Julia and I went biking while Hurricane Ike was washing up on the shores of Galveston, about 45 miles away. It was great! The whole city is a ghost town and so the streets were ours. We rode right down the middle of Westheimer- the busiest street in Houston. And in the process, two guys in an Audi TT stopped to pick us up, invited us back to their loft for the duration- an invitation which we kindly declined. It made for a good laugh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Shenanigans started last night, when we realized that our entire weekend social schedule was going to be negatively impacted by this Hurricane. So we headed out for the evening hitting only 3 clubs, as a lot of our usual hot spots were closed. We didn't let this impact our evening, we continued with the after party until 6am back at Beverly Hill and have had a whole random mix of people up in this camp for the last 24 hours. People in, people out and people camping for the long haul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sleep has been intermittent. I slept from about 6:30am until 8am, then again from 11am until 1pm and yet again from 6:30 until 9pm. Now I'm wide awake, which is probably good as there will be little sleep had for anyone in these parts tonight. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today Julia didn't stop at all- she went to work for a few hours, we biked for an hour, she hit another hurricane party (which I decided to sleep through instead), and is now cooking a 3 course meal in her underwear. Of course she has been drunk for about 27 hours now, all due to the stress of the impending hurricane. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will keep you posted, but that's the news from Beverly Hill for now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3257318374317937218?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3257318374317937218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3257318374317937218' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3257318374317937218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3257318374317937218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/hurricane-shenanigans.html' title='Hurricane Shenanigans'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1719034271050041790</id><published>2008-09-10T17:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-10T17:27:36.858-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hurricane Ike</title><content type='html'>For all of you not living in Houston, check out Hurricane Ike at &lt;a href="http://www.wunderground.com"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; site.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FYI, I will not be evacuating, one time was enough for me. I'll be hunkering down on Beverly Hill in the Fortress.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1719034271050041790?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1719034271050041790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1719034271050041790' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1719034271050041790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1719034271050041790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/hurricane-ike.html' title='Hurricane Ike'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5695332118949685335</id><published>2008-09-07T21:52:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T22:19:53.467-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The habitual liar</title><content type='html'>I've encountered a habitual liar, he has now become quite the comedic relief in my life lately:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lie #1- I'm 27&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lie #2- I haven't worked in over a year- I was almost killed in a car accident and was awarded a cool 3 mil and have been living off of that. Do you remember when Matthew McConaughey hit that guy in a drunk driving accident? That was me. After the accident, all of these lawyers started calling me and I was awarded the 3 million. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lie #3- Don't be alarmed by the baby stuff in my apartment, I love having my brother's kid over, I'm a good uncle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lie #4- I am married and have 2 kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lie #5- I'm a drug dealer, and&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt; that&lt;/span&gt; girl bought a kilo of coke from me and never paid. She owes me 2 grand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lie #6- which may actually be the truth. I work 3 jobs, I'm a VP of a Bank, I wait tables at PF Changs and I work for a catering company on the weekends. I was, at one time, in love with this girl- we had the perfect life, she was great, we were great together. I thought I was so fabulous that I cheated on her and she broke up with me, I was devastated, so I ran around sleeping with every girl I could find. In the matter of a year I got 2 girls pregnant, they both decided to have the babies and now I'm paying over $1,200 per month in child support. So I have to work 3 jobs just to make ends meet. My life sucks, and tomorrow I'm going to disappear, I can't keep doing this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See you at Pandora next week, I'm sure....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5695332118949685335?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5695332118949685335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5695332118949685335' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5695332118949685335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5695332118949685335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/habitual-liar.html' title='The habitual liar'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5498163571933650390</id><published>2008-09-02T17:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T22:21:31.454-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Susie Q, I owe you</title><content type='html'>Susie Q, I owe you a phone call, email, facebook message, an apology.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry I've been out of touch. I will not be able to come this year. There are too many things going on, too many financial difficulties coming my way right now. I will call soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you. Shout out to Scottie and Kaylin. Have fun with Julie!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5498163571933650390?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5498163571933650390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5498163571933650390' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5498163571933650390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5498163571933650390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/susie-q-i-owe-you.html' title='Susie Q, I owe you'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-2128542222378957697</id><published>2008-09-02T09:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T22:13:59.139-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mark your calendar!</title><content type='html'>November 1, 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be 30&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There will be a huge party&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People are flying in for the event&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A cigar striper will be present&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You better be here, if you read this blog, you better mark your calendar now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-2128542222378957697?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/2128542222378957697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=2128542222378957697' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2128542222378957697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2128542222378957697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/09/mark-your-calendar.html' title='Mark your calendar!'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6940541442993627168</id><published>2008-09-02T01:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T22:02:17.037-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ups and Downs</title><content type='html'>I had this thought the other day: "Is this all there is?" Is my life actually adding up to a lump sum of single events and individual meetings of people who I will never see again? And I got really sad. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I re-reflected and decided that it's ok, what I'm doing right now, how I'm living my life. I know that it's temporary, and the single events are temporary. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I vacillate back to feeling sad about having no purpose at this time. And then right back to just having fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I also have ups and downs emotionally. One day I'm really fine, working and happy and caught up in my world. Optimistic about the future and the things to come. I think that at some point I must have done something great in my life to deserve to be given the gift of a true life partner, a best friend who is the number one in my life and I in theirs. I hold the hope of a future of a strong family focussed on The Faith in front of me daily. And then I stop and think about the real possibility of being alone for eternity, never loving again and never being loved. There is  real possibility that I might never have a family life. And there is an even better possibility that I may never again have a soul connection with someone. And I am so sad just at the thought. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year is tough. It must be for everyone going through it. One of the only people I know intimately who has been through this year and who I relate to is Gold Reeves. Thank God I can call her with every up and every down, with every mad episode, and every moment of clarity. And the voicemail that I save and listen to almost everyday is from her heart-- essentially she reminds me that the light on the other end is so great that I must keep going. Thank you for that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6940541442993627168?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6940541442993627168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6940541442993627168' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6940541442993627168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6940541442993627168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/07/ups-and-downs.html' title='Ups and Downs'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1717442780065402782</id><published>2008-08-28T00:28:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T00:32:09.877-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Priceless</title><content type='html'>Plane ticket to St. Louis- $238 on Visa&lt;br /&gt;Lunch for the entire family- $29.46 on Visa&lt;br /&gt;Sample earrings for your future sister-in-law to wear in her wedding- $19.38 on Visa&lt;br /&gt;Box of Trinidads (my favorite chocolates) only found in your hometown- $10.63 on Visa&lt;br /&gt;Round of golf with my dad- $74 on Visa&lt;br /&gt;Driving down the street with your 5 favorite people singing Billy Joel songs- Priceless&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1717442780065402782?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1717442780065402782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1717442780065402782' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1717442780065402782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1717442780065402782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/08/priceless.html' title='Priceless'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-904232762739318618</id><published>2008-08-18T00:16:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T00:24:47.749-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bear with me...</title><content type='html'>I am such a blogging slacker these days. I am normally inspired by my emotions or travels or happenings going on around me, but the truth of the matter is that I feel as though I am going through a completely selfish and non-emotional period and therefore are being little inspired my anything these days. Not only that, but if I do say so myself, I feel I've become decent at this blogging and entertaining all of you thing, and feel that anything I might have to say right now would either a) bore you to death, b) be one of those "you had to be there" type situations, c) scandalize you beyond belief, or d) be incriminating evidence. And so, I have been refraining. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realized today that I have done little work over the last 8 months to better myself as a human being, as a spiritual being. I have literally been acting on impulse and selfish desires, for which I am fully aware will get me no where in this life or the life to come. Most people spend this year working with their spouse to reconcile, counseling each other and one's self, I have not. I'm just living. I think growing myself will occur post YOP because now I feel completely released from the bonds that used to hold me down and so I am embracing the madness and being open to all that presents itself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the time being, please...bear with me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-904232762739318618?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/904232762739318618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=904232762739318618' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/904232762739318618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/904232762739318618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/08/bear-with-me.html' title='Bear with me...'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3437992907556805484</id><published>2008-08-11T20:23:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T21:08:32.123-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What I'm up to</title><content type='html'>So I've reached the end of the summer, successfully...And I am tired from our shenanigans, as fun as they were and as much as I laugh at us daily. But the reality is that we are not 19 anymore, we are 23. And so I think our conversation today was due. Both deciding to hang back and just enjoy life as it is, not looking for "the one" not out searching for anything that comes our way. I'm happy about it. I will like our fall and winter just as much as our summer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't turned my TV on at least 4 months. I know, and what a beautiful television it is, and for what I paid for it, I should quit my job and watch it all day-- oh wait, I had someone doing that for years. So the TV has rested as of late. But the Olympics are on, and I can't help myself. I'm a sucker for women's gymnastics and forget swimming, I'm obsessed. I love the elegance of the butterfly and the excitement of any relay race. LOVE LOVE IT. It makes me want to head over to the Houstonia and swim my little heart out. I am going to be camped out in front of the television for the next 2 weeks for sure!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm up to running 2 miles on the treadmill with out stopping. Considering I could only run 1/4 of a mile when I started working out, that is quite an improvement. I'm very proud of myself, sticking with it, being determined, working hard. The results have come already and I only feel good about my health and well-being in the future. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm actually getting bored of work right now. Not much is going on, no events to plan right now, recruiting season is over, and I have nothing to do. Today a co-worker stopped and as we talked, the conversation weaved itself to "what's next" for each of us. Surprisingly, she has a potential job for me...in events...in a hotel...in DENVER. I'm very excited about exploring the prospect. I am promising myself to knock on every door that presents itself. Depending on how I feel about each door will determine if I will actually walk through it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julia and I have a song we listen to and call the wrist slitting song. Today, we were driving and the song came on, and we looked at each other and asked "who are you wrist slitting over today?" And we both said no one. Not reeling over anyone. I just feel at par with my emotions, and she the same. It's a good feeling, one that I dreaded for a long time. I thought if I wasn't  pining for someone, I would feel empty, but I'm pretty ok.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3437992907556805484?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3437992907556805484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3437992907556805484' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3437992907556805484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3437992907556805484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-im-up-to.html' title='What I&apos;m up to'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6319708739087366628</id><published>2008-08-09T20:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T20:23:21.185-05:00</updated><title type='text'>5 Years</title><content type='html'>I almost forgot that today was 5 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would have thought that 5 years would have deserved a detailed entry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead I'm thinking of sending you an email that says "hey, I'm clearing the house, come get what you want."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I think, I'll put that one off a little while longer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it couldn't have all been bad. I remember one time laughing until I couldn't breath...something about an elephant, but I can't remember what about the elephant. I remember that you made my birthday special every year. I remember that you made some delicious tacos. I remember that you loved me a lot. I remember that you cried at our wedding and I thought that was really sweet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now it is a segment in my life which I am moving on from. And I am no longer sad or angry nor do I feel regret. I just feel that this was an event in my life, which molds me for my future. And I do have to be thankful for all things that happen in my life, those that make me happy, or hurt me, or break me down to make me stronger. So on this, our 5 year anniversary, I did think of you and the impact you have on my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6319708739087366628?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6319708739087366628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6319708739087366628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6319708739087366628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6319708739087366628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/08/5-years.html' title='5 Years'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-6464427430264361769</id><published>2008-08-03T21:29:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T21:34:44.977-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Poll- weighing the options</title><content type='html'>Please leave your comments with your vote:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Option 1- stay in Houston in my house indefinitely&lt;br /&gt;Option 2- move to Boulder, get a fabulous job and hike everyday&lt;br /&gt;Option 3- move into Maz and Gaz's 3rd bedroom in Nashvegas, TN&lt;br /&gt;Option 4- move back to B.T., rent a little apartment and perform a meaningless job somewhere like at the local florist&lt;br /&gt;Option 5- live as a vagabond for the next year staying in all of these places for a short, yet extended period of time, but also adding a stint in Hawaii with Mark and Wendy and Michigan at Louhelen with the parents&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure what to do at this point because I can do whatever I want...for the first time...in YEARS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cast your vote now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-6464427430264361769?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/6464427430264361769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=6464427430264361769' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6464427430264361769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/6464427430264361769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/08/poll-weighing-options.html' title='Poll- weighing the options'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5310810937420129018</id><published>2008-08-03T20:58:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T21:29:13.428-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Should I watch TV instead?</title><content type='html'>It's official: I officially have no food in my house, and no money in my bank account. I don't even have yogurt- it's a bit of a crisis. I am instead resorting to a snack of dark chocolate M &amp; M's, it's a good alternate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's also official that I am strongly avoiding the following activities and am considering watching tv instead (I never thought I would say that):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Unpacking, I think it is symbolic of the fact that I have actually returned from my trip and since I am in complete denial about the whole thing, I may have to live out of a suitcase until August 22nd when I go on my next trip&lt;br /&gt;*Doing laundry, again, going to put off until the underwear runs out&lt;br /&gt;*Vaccuuming, even though my living room desperately needs it&lt;br /&gt;*Taking the trash out, I'll have to cave on Tuesday night since there is no more room in my dumpster at this time&lt;br /&gt;*Unloading the dishwasher&lt;br /&gt;*Running, I took a 4 hour nap instead&lt;br /&gt;*Yard work, I'm starting to look like the Klampets, I need to pull weeds, trim trees and all sorts of other things&lt;br /&gt;*Changing the sheets on my bed, it's just me so who cares&lt;br /&gt;*Putting the sheets back on the guest bedroom bed, no one is coming to visit anytime soon, so why bother tonight&lt;br /&gt;*Figuring out what I am going to wear tomorrow, I can do that in the morning right&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5310810937420129018?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5310810937420129018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5310810937420129018' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5310810937420129018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5310810937420129018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/08/should-i-watch-tv-instead.html' title='Should I watch TV instead?'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1893966585321091430</id><published>2008-08-02T02:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T20:56:31.067-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's been one wild summer</title><content type='html'>Things I had never experienced before I met you:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I've never driven an H1&lt;br /&gt;2. I've never pulled a boat&lt;br /&gt;3. I've never driven an H1 pulling a boat&lt;br /&gt;4. I've never driven a Porsche for that matter either&lt;br /&gt;5. I've never spent the night in overly rich peoples' homes&lt;br /&gt;6. I've never seen the inside of a strip club&lt;br /&gt;7. I've never skinny dipped&lt;br /&gt;8. I've never saved so much money by going out every single night&lt;br /&gt;9. I've never smoked cigars for six consecutive nights, for weeks on end&lt;br /&gt;10. I've never had a purse stolen from a club&lt;br /&gt;11. I've never made out with someone for whom I didn't know his name&lt;br /&gt;12. I've never had to recap so many evenings the morning after&lt;br /&gt;13. I've never been so close to missing a flight before&lt;br /&gt;14. I've never made out with anyone in the elevator at work&lt;br /&gt;15. I've never had to act as "Switzerland" so much&lt;br /&gt;16. I've never eaten so much and lost so much weight&lt;br /&gt;17. I've never had so few hours of sleep over the course of months&lt;br /&gt;18. I've never been so close to staying at the Ritz&lt;br /&gt;19. I've never been kicked out of a night club&lt;br /&gt;20. I've never been a member at the elite health club in town&lt;br /&gt;21. I've never thrown dollar bills at Indian women who can't dance&lt;br /&gt;22. I've never bailed anyone out of jail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for &lt;em&gt;the&lt;/em&gt; summer I will never forget!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SJXAcSdYsKI/AAAAAAAAAK4/_9NlNTC2etA/s1600-h/Jen+and+Julia.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SJXAcSdYsKI/AAAAAAAAAK4/_9NlNTC2etA/s320/Jen+and+Julia.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230298134484660386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1893966585321091430?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1893966585321091430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1893966585321091430' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1893966585321091430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1893966585321091430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/08/its-been-one-wild-summer.html' title='It&apos;s been one wild summer'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SJXAcSdYsKI/AAAAAAAAAK4/_9NlNTC2etA/s72-c/Jen+and+Julia.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-8974952588207465997</id><published>2008-07-29T09:59:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T10:59:58.320-05:00</updated><title type='text'>to be at peace</title><content type='html'>I've been here less than 12 hours and am totally at peace. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I slept like I've never slept before&lt;br /&gt;I enjoyed dinner like I've never eaten dinner before&lt;br /&gt;I watched people like I've never seen people before&lt;br /&gt;I drew in the fresh air as if I was taking my first breath&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have many objectives for this weekend:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Relaxing&lt;br /&gt;2. No work&lt;br /&gt;3. Evaluating if I really want to live here again&lt;br /&gt;4. Reconnecting with my spiritual side&lt;br /&gt;5. Blogging- I know you are neglected&lt;br /&gt;6. Hiking&lt;br /&gt;7. OF COURSE- seeing Double B's&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so I started this blog entry on Saturday morning, now Tuesday morning I am finishing it. I have accomplished all of my goals. I have relaxed, totally ignored work, decided I'm definitely moving back, prayed for the first time in months, am blogging, hiking this afternoon, and spent the most passionate and glorious evening with Double B's that I could ever have imagined.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-8974952588207465997?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/8974952588207465997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=8974952588207465997' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8974952588207465997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8974952588207465997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/07/to-be-at-peace.html' title='to be at peace'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-8362101657245525868</id><published>2008-07-27T22:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T00:16:53.708-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You amaze me</title><content type='html'>I can't stop thinking&lt;br /&gt;  can't stop reeling&lt;br /&gt;I can't close my eyes without seeing &lt;br /&gt;  can't put you out of my sight&lt;br /&gt;  didn't sleep last night&lt;br /&gt;The flashback comes more vivid with every moment&lt;br /&gt;   and yet, I am so at ease...&lt;br /&gt;   with you and with me&lt;br /&gt;   even with the torture we endure daily&lt;br /&gt;   I KNOW in the end-- what will be will be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-8362101657245525868?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/8362101657245525868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=8362101657245525868' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8362101657245525868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8362101657245525868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/07/you-amaze-me.html' title='You amaze me'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1229837197525512396</id><published>2008-07-16T20:59:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-20T01:35:35.060-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Things to look forward to</title><content type='html'>colorado, lynsey and ryan's wedding, having children, a week at louhelen, jogging tonight, kissing someone new, a new life, citizen cope in concert, movies that matter in august, my 30th birthday party- november 1, a cigar, roselyn coming home, sleep, courtney's visit, moving, being debt free, december 14, 2008, seeing double b's, st. louis, a good massage, selling everything i own, being a goddess again, tomorrow at the houstonia, meeting you in the elevator, having a cup of tea with gaz and maz, seeing katie's belly, meeting kazra for the first time, j! and what will be, a real vacation, sitting the shrines again, catching up on all of your blogs..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1229837197525512396?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1229837197525512396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1229837197525512396' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1229837197525512396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1229837197525512396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/07/things-to-look-forward-to.html' title='Things to look forward to'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5450543747453830230</id><published>2008-07-01T22:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-04T01:09:12.501-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The house that Zac built</title><content type='html'>So yesterday Julia took me where she has been staying...near her new work...otherwise known as "The House that Zac Built"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you meet people, you always create pre-conceived notions in your head about what car they drive or what their house is like. Now, I am familiar with the area of town that this house is located in, so I had anticipated a 2 story house decked with Persian rugs and nice artifacts. I also, knowing Zac, anticipated a little bit of madness and messiness, but I never anticipated what I found. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;House Rules:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Never lock the doors&lt;br /&gt;2. In fact, never lock the doors &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;and&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; leave them ajar at all times during the day&lt;br /&gt;3. If for some reason the doors are locked, don't worry, there are various windows through which you can crawl&lt;br /&gt;4. Never run the air conditioner, even if it is 102 degrees and 87% humidity. &lt;br /&gt;5. No real food is allowed, only left overs and a bottle of spicy mustard&lt;br /&gt;6. Do not disturb Zac during nap time (between the hours of 3pm and 5pm)&lt;br /&gt;7. Have random bottles of open liquor, wine and beer all over&lt;br /&gt;8. Never throw anything away&lt;br /&gt;9. Clutter is desired&lt;br /&gt;10. The garage is always open and the keys to the Porsche are at your disposal at all times&lt;br /&gt;11. Nothing can match-- not furniture, appliances, blinds, nor throw pillows&lt;br /&gt;12. Walk into the house and expect an argument&lt;br /&gt;13. Always keep more lawn furniture than real furniture&lt;br /&gt;14. Do not put your clothes away&lt;br /&gt;15. If you are in the bathroom and Zac is in the other bathroom, just open a window so you can communicate better&lt;br /&gt;16. You can set your own curfew, but no matter what time it is, it's unacceptable&lt;br /&gt;17. Don't bother calling the house phone, as they are all turned down to silent&lt;br /&gt;18. Furniture is best displayed when shoved in a corner, stacked on top of each other, and disheveled&lt;br /&gt;19. Nothing over $20 value is allowed in the house because...well see #1-3&lt;br /&gt;20. All lamps must have burned out light bulbs&lt;br /&gt;21. No showers allowed, if you want to shower, go to the Houstonia&lt;br /&gt;22. Please blow dry your hair in the kitchen, as this is far more suitable than disturbing the master of the house&lt;br /&gt;23. No drama (hysterical)&lt;br /&gt;24. Why have one cell phone when you can have 3 that you don't know the numbers to?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I could go on...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The place is falling down. He likes that people think he's a maniac. He loves that people think he is poor- uhm, 3 Porsche's and a Hummer don't contradict that at all. And come on, he loves the drama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All that being said, he's a character and his house reflects it--but you gotta have a soft spot in your heart for the guy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5450543747453830230?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5450543747453830230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5450543747453830230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5450543747453830230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5450543747453830230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/07/house-that-zac-built.html' title='The house that Zac built'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-273694271572611573</id><published>2008-06-28T13:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-28T13:52:52.366-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My new schedule</title><content type='html'>6:15am- Wakeup&lt;br /&gt;7:30am- Arrive at work&lt;br /&gt;4:00pm- Leave work&lt;br /&gt;4:30pm- Arrive home for nap&lt;br /&gt;8:30pm- Wake up call from Julia with plans for the evening&lt;br /&gt;10:00pm- Meet up with the Motley Crew for wine and snacks (I of course having water)&lt;br /&gt;12:00am- Arrive at 2610 VIP style to dance until close&lt;br /&gt;2:00am- Leave 2610&lt;br /&gt;2:30am- Arrive home for second nap&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then do it all over again. This is the phase of my YOP I call "who needs sleep and food?" Both are pretty much absent right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-273694271572611573?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/273694271572611573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=273694271572611573' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/273694271572611573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/273694271572611573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/my-new-schedule.html' title='My new schedule'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5556581477278355740</id><published>2008-06-28T12:57:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-28T13:21:25.448-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What I love about you</title><content type='html'>*1 grain of salt on your right cheek after downing a shot &lt;br /&gt;*You + jeans&lt;br /&gt;*You being the man that you are- taking hold of your life and aiming for success every time&lt;br /&gt;*Smoking hookah nightly&lt;br /&gt;*Your standards&lt;br /&gt;*Your sense of responsibility for your actions&lt;br /&gt;*Your neuroses about tomatoes and germs&lt;br /&gt;*Your driving&lt;br /&gt;*Your messy plate at the end of a meal&lt;br /&gt;*Your eyes&lt;br /&gt;*You requirement to be relaxed&lt;br /&gt;*Your convictions&lt;br /&gt;*Your niceness and gentlemanliness&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I will never say these things to you, I will only post them here for others to read-- my only effort in putting them out into the universe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5556581477278355740?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5556581477278355740/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5556581477278355740' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5556581477278355740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5556581477278355740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/what-i-love-about-you.html' title='What I love about you'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-2176277797852496172</id><published>2008-06-21T21:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-21T21:16:15.538-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Conspiracy Theory</title><content type='html'>I strongly believe that the flu shot is one big conspiracy theory. Like the government scares you into thinking that there's this horrible thing out there called the FLU and you should take this vaccination to be sure to not catch it. And...you can only get it from a government approved entity. And...sometimes there is going to be a shortage, just to throw the whole country and the media into a frenzy! You know, switch it up and create a demand and supply imbalance so that next year everyone will have a ridiculous desire to run out and get the flu shot as soon as they release the new version to fight against this year's mutated strand. Let it be known that I will never get a flu shot, and never will. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now they've moved on tomatoes. OHHHH, that'll get the American public good. A tomato debacle in the middle of the summer. Salmonella no less. Wait remember when we were all kids and weren't allowed to eat cookie dough batter because we could die from salmonella poisoning? Do you know anyone in your school who died from eating cookie dough? I don't. I also don't know anyone who died from eating tomatoes in the last 2 weeks. I am totally rebelling against the fear of tomatoes that the government and media have created for us by buying as many as I can (reasonable for one person) and making sure that every dish I order in a restaurant has them, including the tomato only Caprese Salad if one is available on the menu.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-2176277797852496172?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/2176277797852496172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=2176277797852496172' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2176277797852496172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/2176277797852496172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/conspiracy-theory.html' title='Conspiracy Theory'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-4071961651413788654</id><published>2008-06-21T20:42:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-21T20:59:18.543-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Suffocated no more</title><content type='html'>I took a nap this afternoon, and as I woke up, I felt something on my back. I was hot and felt suffocated. And while I hadn't had bad dreams and felt comfortable the entire time I was sleeping, it was there. And it was so real. I realized that it was the feeling I used to have when Person A would hold me down to keep me by his side. He insisted on being right by my side at all times. But for me, not in a good way...more in a controlling way. He felt better when he could control me. When he could prove that he could overpower me physically. He never laid a violent hand on me, but there was always an underlying control factor for him. I always felt like he wanted to control my every action, but knew that there was a line that I would not tolerate. The feeling was so vivid this afternoon that I actually had a moment of panic that maybe I had left the front door unlocked and he had actually snuck in while I was sleeping. I didn't move a muscle until I was fully conscious, as I used to when we were living together. I would avoid confronting the situation as long as I could by faking sleep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A wave of fear came over me, I have been afraid of him for so long. And I don't think I will stop until everything is final.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-4071961651413788654?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/4071961651413788654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=4071961651413788654' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4071961651413788654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4071961651413788654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/suffocated-no-more.html' title='Suffocated no more'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-5465993608773294516</id><published>2008-06-17T21:21:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T21:27:18.437-05:00</updated><title type='text'>YOP Purgatory</title><content type='html'>I never should have embarked on this journey. I knew from the start. But you know when something is so tempting that you cannot help yourself? Like when you know you should have 2 eggs over easy with wheat toast instead of French toast stuffed with Mascarpone cheese and raspberries drizzled with maple syrup and sprinkled with powdered sugar. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a test all the rest is irrelevant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to realize that for the next 6 months, I need to be alone. As if I am in some sort of YOP purgatory. And why is it that I can't be in YOP bliss? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And why did I tell anyone about this situation? I should just keep things to myself. Little secrets often times have a chance of coming true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-5465993608773294516?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/5465993608773294516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=5465993608773294516' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5465993608773294516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/5465993608773294516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/yop-purgatory.html' title='YOP Purgatory'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-7796508991686624358</id><published>2008-06-16T21:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T21:21:44.608-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Authenticity</title><content type='html'>I had a convo with my BFF today about authenticity. I'm sorry people but I embody the word. If I like you, I will give you my all. If I have a strong repugnance to you, my heart cannot be around you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I've realized that I am an authentic person living in an un-authentic world. The majority of people out there cannot seem to handle it. And so I will probably spend most days and nights of my life alone for the sheer reason that I tell what is on my mind and in my heart. As my motto says: my soul is the one thing I cannot compromise. I just can't stop being me. I can't stop the way I lead my interactions with people. But I wonder sometimes if I am so in the minority, should I try to change? It can be so frustrating at times... to see the look on a person's face when I have just slapped them with my reality and then feel I have to narrate what I just said for minutes on end to help them understand the dose I have just given them. I feel like my mom has this trouble sometimes as well. And so I think I have inherited it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-7796508991686624358?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/7796508991686624358/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=7796508991686624358' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7796508991686624358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7796508991686624358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/authenticity.html' title='Authenticity'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-1554908566497763460</id><published>2008-06-15T12:49:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T12:54:02.482-05:00</updated><title type='text'>New favorites</title><content type='html'>My new favorite text message:&lt;br /&gt;"Good Morning Miss Beautiful"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My new favorite comment made to me:&lt;br /&gt;"Well, we are just going to make sure you get to yoga class and rest and relax and get rid of that (Lupus)"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-1554908566497763460?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/1554908566497763460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=1554908566497763460' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1554908566497763460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/1554908566497763460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/new-favorites.html' title='New favorites'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-4054873610684210914</id><published>2008-06-15T10:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T11:24:47.360-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I could have danced all night</title><content type='html'>So, I've been hanging out with this new group of people. Let me lay out the characters for you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julia- The restaurant manager of the hot new restaurant in Mid-Town&lt;br /&gt;Sal- Her male BFF who apparently has more money than any of us can fathom&lt;br /&gt;Zack- the crazy half Syrian half Sicilian (yes he's insane) who drives a $200,000 Hot Yellow Porsche, who owns his own string of restaurants in Houston&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Julia and I are similar in the respect that she and I are both totally obsessed with food, catering and events. We thrive on it, never want to do anything differently. She and I are also similar in that we have very few people in our core group of friends. She and I of which are now in each others. The four of us spend every waking moment at Julia's restaurant, eating and drinking (well, they drink, I have sparkling water). And when the restaurant closes, we go out--any given night of the week. Yes, we stay out until 2am on Wednesdays. The beautiful thing about this pattern we've gotten ourselves into is that I don't have to be at home alone anymore. I'm always out with the crazies. I love Julia to death, she's always got something going on. We talk and talk and talk and hash every situation that comes up in either of our lives. We never get tired of it. We are also constant reminders to each other of what we don't need or want in our lives. And I'm thankful for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sal is the friggin' nicest person I have met in a long time. He and Julia used to "date" but are now BFF. They spend all day on the phone and hanging out. Of course Sal owns his own business so he can "work" when he wants and not work if he doesn't want to. But he's so great about it. And humble. I have yet to go to his house, but I imagine it to be one of these places where he has Staff to maintain. It's fun pulling up to a club in a ridiculous car with a license plate that simply says "SAL" and the valet clears out for us. The fact that he has lots of money really does not matter to me, it's just fascinating to me, and a life I know I will never live. I have to say, I would like Sal regardless if he was wealthy or not. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zack is insane. Anyone who drives a florescent lemon yellow 2 seater Porsche is crazy. But he's all love. And he now loves Julia. After a month of courting her, she finally agreed to go out with him and they have been in bliss (almost) ever since. They are both so combative, that they fight, and push each other's point until they both are talking over each other saying "that's what I'm saying babe" to each other, realizing that they aren't actually arguing, but reinforcing what the other is saying and then they are kissing to make up. It's hilarious, and definitely keeps Sal and I entertained. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and Zack and Sal are long time friends as well. It's a crazy circle this one. Not sure how long I'm going to be able to keep up  with all of the shenanigans, but it sure is fun and entertaining while it's going on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So last night we all met up at 10 to eat at Zack's restaurant. Julia and Zack fighting, Sal and I just laughing at them. Then on to dancing. I danced for over 2 hours solid in 4 inch heals. I am a professional. It was so fun. I love being in a club and not caring, oh and I looked so good last night. Then Sal and I ended the night smoking cigars and heading home at 3am. It was just a much needed perfectly fun evening. I'm so appreciative of this new gift I've been given. These people to fill my time and space with something other than work and sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-4054873610684210914?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/4054873610684210914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=4054873610684210914' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4054873610684210914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/4054873610684210914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-could-have-danced-all-night.html' title='I could have danced all night'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-7595456865801163479</id><published>2008-06-13T16:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T14:28:19.457-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another song for the soundtrack of my year</title><content type='html'>Break Your Heart- Barenaked Ladies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bravest thing I've ever done&lt;br /&gt;Was to run away and hide&lt;br /&gt;But not this time, not this time&lt;br /&gt;And the weakest thing I've ever done&lt;br /&gt;Was to stay right by your side&lt;br /&gt;Just like this time, and every time&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't tell you I was happy when you were gone&lt;br /&gt;So I lied and said that I missed you when we were apart&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't tell you, so I had to lead you on&lt;br /&gt;But I didn't mean to break your heart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if I always seem distracted&lt;br /&gt;Like my minds somewhere else&lt;br /&gt;That's because it's true, yes it's true&lt;br /&gt;it's this stupid pride that makes me feel&lt;br /&gt;Like I have to follow through&lt;br /&gt;Even half-assedly, loving you&lt;br /&gt;Why must I always speak in terms of cowardice?&lt;br /&gt;When I guess I should have just come out and told you right from the start&lt;br /&gt;Why must I always tell you all I want is this?&lt;br /&gt;I guess 'cause I didn't want to break your heart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you said&lt;br /&gt;What'd you think that I was gonna do,&lt;br /&gt;Curl up and die just because of you?&lt;br /&gt;I'm not that weak, you know&lt;br /&gt;What'd you think that I was gonna do,&lt;br /&gt;Try to make you love me as much as I love you?&lt;br /&gt;How could you be so low?&lt;br /&gt;You arrogant man,&lt;br /&gt;What do you think that I am?&lt;br /&gt;My heart will be fine&lt;br /&gt;Just stop wasting my time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I'm over you, I'll be OK,&lt;br /&gt;and that I've got what I want,&lt;br /&gt;and that's rid of you&lt;br /&gt;Bye&lt;br /&gt;And it's not 'cause I'll be missing you&lt;br /&gt;That makes me fall apart&lt;br /&gt;It's just that I didn't mean to break&lt;br /&gt;No I didn't mean to break&lt;br /&gt;No I didn't mean to break&lt;br /&gt;Your heart&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-7595456865801163479?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/7595456865801163479/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=7595456865801163479' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7595456865801163479'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/7595456865801163479'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/another-song-for-soundtrack-of-my-year.html' title='Another song for the soundtrack of my year'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-3829260677359204446</id><published>2008-06-07T21:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T10:43:44.834-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Life in the big city can be lonely</title><content type='html'>Last week I took a great trip to Nashville to visit my girls (as seen in photos below). I had a relaxing time with lots of hookah, sleep and scrabble. But then I have to fly back to my real life. And so I board the plane as I have so many times over the last 18 months to fly home from a destination that I have escaped to. Only this time, I got off of the plane and walked the lonely walk to my car parked in long-term parking, and realized that there was not one person in Houston to call who actually cared that I made it home safely. No family, no significant other, no best friend. And I also realized that at this moment in time, I am no body's "Number 1", no body's first priority. I could pretty much fall out of the sky and the only people who would notice are those at work when they realize that Conference Room 25C has no lunch. Then the lonely feeling got even worse when I realized that my entire purpose here is to work. All I do is work and come home to sleep. Now I'm even more depressed, like who cares? What does work get you anyway? Nothing but paying bills. And there's another situation I'm in...every dime of every paycheck goes to bills right now. Not by any fault of my own, not that I've wracked up a boat load of debt which I'm now trying to get out from under. No, I'm just paying for a lifestyle for two with one income. And now the new plasma tv and the black leather couch you just bought are pissing me off to no end. The fact that I just had to replace the fence in the back yard and buy a new hot water heater just to keep going is really chapping my ass. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I spent the last week in a horrible mood, waking up on the wrong side of the bed every morning, to the point where the grouchy member of my staff even said to me  "Jen when are you going to be out of this bad mood?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And all I want to do is run away. Sell everything and run away. Start over in a new place, with new priorities, and new friends and hopefully a new significant other. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until then you can find me in bed, away from everything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-3829260677359204446?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/3829260677359204446/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=3829260677359204446' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3829260677359204446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/3829260677359204446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/life-in-big-city-can-be-lonely.html' title='Life in the big city can be lonely'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3076639385529018528.post-8255165359655032777</id><published>2008-06-05T20:41:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-06T01:13:45.911-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pumpkin jam, RL we want photos, etc...</title><content type='html'>I wanted to give a shout out to my friends up in Minneapolis and Owosso who are looking for Pumpkin Jam. Hope you find some.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So why is it that I am working until God only knows what time tonight? Oh that would be because I have no one to go home to, I'm broke after my shoe escapade in Nashville, and the fact that VE pays me an exorbidant amount of money to babysit clients late at night. It's sort of a win, win, win situation. Afterall, if I'm at work, I can't possibly take care of the matter at hand that I am totally avoiding and putting off as long as I possibly can. Another win.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I have almost eliminated sugar from my diet completely. After the binge of last weekend and the fact that there are no Sixletes around is helping my cause. I will, however, have to partake in the yummy bread pudding my caterer brought tonight for dessert--it's just too good to pass up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to join in on Gold Reeves campaign for fabulous photos from this past weekend. Ha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SEjU8NDbDXI/AAAAAAAAAKw/Ij8tfF9IeSg/s1600-h/DSC06470.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SEjU8NDbDXI/AAAAAAAAAKw/Ij8tfF9IeSg/s320/DSC06470.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208647099815234930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the dentist today and he shot me up with novacain at 4:37pm. And at 8:54pm I'm still drinking out of a straw.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jen N-M, you are ambitious. 112 things. I can't even think of more than 14 at a time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3076639385529018528-8255165359655032777?l=stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/feeds/8255165359655032777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3076639385529018528&amp;postID=8255165359655032777' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8255165359655032777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3076639385529018528/posts/default/8255165359655032777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stillhavesandinmyshoes.blogspot.com/2008/06/pumpkin-jam-rl-we-want-photos-etc.html' title='Pumpkin jam, RL we want photos, etc...'/><author><name>RitaJeane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01766887911978852594</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SNBxFjLB18I/AAAAAAAAAQs/X_yJ8nmQA74/S220/n517597733_848542_7138.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TB53iOCfbZ8/SEjU8NDbDXI/AAAAAAAAAKw/Ij8tfF9IeSg/s72-c/DSC06470.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
