<?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-4762753162129626316</id><updated>2012-02-16T12:41:23.538-08:00</updated><category term='parents'/><category term='mornings'/><category term='quitting'/><category term='unmarried'/><category term='students'/><category term='God'/><category term='NYC'/><category term='administration'/><category term='frustrated'/><category term='idiots'/><category term='single'/><category term='aging'/><category term='blown tire'/><category term='forgiveness'/><category term='snow'/><category term='dishwasher'/><category term='drinking'/><category term='teaching'/><category term='kids'/><category term='friends'/><category term='Mondays'/><title type='text'>Why is the title the hardest part?</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>54</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-4301621271993115794</id><published>2009-07-23T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T09:21:15.012-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mornings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frustrated'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dishwasher'/><title type='text'>Morning - July 23</title><content type='html'>My alarm goes off, I hit snooze.  The alarm goes off, I hit snooze again.  My cat jumps on me, I hit the cat......kidding.  The alarm goes off, I get up.  I do my bathroom thing.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I walk into the kitchen, the cat jumps on the table and yells at me until I feed her.  I make coffee.  I am looking forward to making a smoothie, I look into the dishwasher and accckkkkkk!!!!! it is full of water and the dishes are still dirty.  I start the dishwasher again (genuis) to see if it starts draining.  It doesn't.  I call dad, he tells me to take the drain cover off and see if I can pull anything out...........ugh................I use a mug to take out as much water as I can, I then proceed to fight with my tools (handy, not really) to take the drain cover off and fish it out.  I find nothing of consequence.  I am so grossed out by the dirty water...will not vomit, will not vomit, will not vomit.  I don't.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wash the full load of dishes and feel somewhat proud.  My fingers look like prunes.  I drink my coffee, but the thought of dirty water keeps me from eating.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-4301621271993115794?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/4301621271993115794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=4301621271993115794' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4301621271993115794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4301621271993115794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/07/morning-july-23.html' title='Morning - July 23'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-2184581569561944905</id><published>2009-07-16T20:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-16T20:37:14.896-07:00</updated><title type='text'>balance</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153); font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-style: italic; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153); font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-style: italic; "&gt;Unbalanced equilibrium&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;Giving and giving&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;Till the breath leaves&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;Like a dying wind in the desert&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;What is required&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;Must be freely given&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;To even the scales&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-2184581569561944905?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/2184581569561944905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=2184581569561944905' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/2184581569561944905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/2184581569561944905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/07/balance.html' title='balance'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-2430772317433853697</id><published>2009-07-07T14:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T14:38:45.073-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another dream</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;Last night I had a dream that was so vivid, I woke up and wondered where I was.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;I was shopping in Macy's with my ex and he brought up that he wanted me to try on a pair of shorts and I asked him why, he told me he wanted to get them for a friend.  I told him to stop pretending that the girl "his friend" wasn't his girlfriend from the other side of the change room door.  He was silent for a minute.  I came out and the shorts were fine, I went back and took them off and gave them to him.  I spoke up again and told him if he actually likes this girl he needs to make it official and not hurt her like he did to me.  As he was paying, she walked around the corner and gave him a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. She had no idea who I was, so I introduced myself.  The ex blushed and told her that I would be coming up to the BX to see his mom with them.  (um, I would not have done this in real life)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;So when we got there his mom completely fluttered over me and this new girl was obviously annoyed.  His mom took me into the bedroom and immediately started to ask if I was annoyed about the new girl, if I knew her, was she nice to me, why couldn't come back and be with my ex.  She paused and saw a shadow at the door and whipped it open, the girl was there with a pissed off look, I don't blame her, she said she was looking for her purse. When she left I finally explained the whole reason why I couldn't be with her son to her and let her know I loved her.  Suddenly, ex came in and said he was mad that we were talking behind new girl's back.  I shot back to him that he should have never used me like he used to, that he should have never proposed once he found out I was really going to leave, that this girl was too nice to do that to either and he better get his act together. The girl came around the corner with a shocked expression.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;And then I woke up....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"&gt;Does this dream mean anything? Why am I wasting my nice REM sleep on him? weird...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-2430772317433853697?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/2430772317433853697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=2430772317433853697' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/2430772317433853697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/2430772317433853697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/07/another-dream.html' title='Another dream'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-9092361945256065763</id><published>2009-07-03T21:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-03T21:39:41.564-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreams</title><content type='html'>I remember back in 2005, when I knew that I was moving to NYC to teach, that I had a dream.  I dreamt about a student in a sea of faces. I saw her distinctly, her eyes were big and dark.  Her smile true and open.  Her hair, dark, pulled back.  And, you know what, I met her.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So not too long ago I had a dream about a little girl.  She had big hazel eyes and  wavy blond-brown hair.  She was about 3 years old.  She had a big smile and wore a brown dress with flowers on it.  She was running to me.  She ran right up to me, grabbed my leg and as she did she called me "mommy".  I hope I meet her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-9092361945256065763?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/9092361945256065763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=9092361945256065763' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/9092361945256065763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/9092361945256065763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/07/dreams.html' title='Dreams'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-5363305586217567796</id><published>2009-07-03T09:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-03T09:16:28.668-07:00</updated><title type='text'>OKAY okay</title><content type='html'>So I just re-read my blog.  Clearly I am not thinking positively everyday.  :)  It looks like I am being manic, but I blog when I am feeling strongly about something. I was thinking of deleting the last blog, and then I talked it over with a friend.  She reminded me that life is just like that, ups and downs.  I am just being real.  And it is okay, as long as I don't let the down times take me over.  It would be a waste of my life to dwell on the negativity.  I would lose out on the good things in life. I also needed to remind myself of where I came from and also that if I could handle the insanity that I had dealt with before.  I mean, okay, okay... it will be fine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-5363305586217567796?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/5363305586217567796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=5363305586217567796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5363305586217567796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5363305586217567796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/07/okay-okay.html' title='OKAY okay'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-7729230595640996396</id><published>2009-07-01T19:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T20:08:23.421-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='unmarried'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='single'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frustrated'/><title type='text'>Ringless Finger and An Empty Womb  *disclaimer - strong language</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SkwkoMCuOLI/AAAAAAAAAGE/dMKsf62BF-M/s1600-h/PMO4353.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SkwkoMCuOLI/AAAAAAAAAGE/dMKsf62BF-M/s200/PMO4353.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353694329882687666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, if I hear about one more girl, who was too fucking young to be in my youth group when I was a leader at age 19, who posts their fucking wedding pictures, I will scream.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You know Facebook is going to fucking drive me nuts this summer.  Summer is the time of weddings and babies (at least it seems like).  I am turning fucking 31 in 15 days and now I am having a serious crisis.  Last year, when I lived in NYC, there was nothing wrong with me about being single and childless. Now living in Canada is an entirely different situation.  "Don't worry Thera, you aren't &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; old."  "I am just &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so&lt;/span&gt; sure there is someone out there for you." "I am so glad I am not single, I don't know how you do it."  "You are going to love being a mom, one day.  I love it, I don't know what my life would be like without my kids."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The latest married is 21, ten years younger.  10 $%@^##!!@ years!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Are all the good guys gone?  Evidently, according to my wide research into the dating pool. There is a &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;reason &lt;/span&gt;why these guys are single.  Choice one: lower expectations (might be fair, I do not have a 21 yr old's body, boobs, butt or excitement).  Choice two: just get over it and realize that I might be destined to never marry.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Fine, spend the thousands I would on a wedding and hit the spa more regularly.  That or get lots of cats.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Will I be barren?  My eggs aren't dead, but they are towards the end of their "best before" date.  I thought about it, can I be a single mom?  You know, adopt and deal with it.  It will be stupidly hard both time-wise and financially.  If I adopt will I get maternity leave? Hmmmmm. That or get lots of cats.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know this is an angry blog, but fuck it....I got to get it out.  And if you don't like it go find some dumbass blog of note about country chic furniture. :) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-7729230595640996396?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/7729230595640996396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=7729230595640996396' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/7729230595640996396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/7729230595640996396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/07/ringless-finger-and-empty-womb.html' title='Ringless Finger and An Empty Womb  *disclaimer - strong language'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SkwkoMCuOLI/AAAAAAAAAGE/dMKsf62BF-M/s72-c/PMO4353.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-7705477331628859594</id><published>2009-07-01T16:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T17:18:51.747-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Super long Canada Day questionnaire that has nothing to do with Canada Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;1. Spell your name without an E,R,S,H,K,I,M,L,C,A,Y,N:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; TO &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;2.Are you single?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;3.What is your favorite number? 15&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;4.What is your favorite color? I think blue, so many shades, so many possibilities&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;5.Least favorite color?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; green&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;6. what are you listening to?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; the TV and wind outside&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;7.Are you happy with your life right now?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; I am happier, I guess I need to focus on that&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;8.Are you involved with anyone?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; not really&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;9.What is your favorite subject in school/ college?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Shakespeare&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;10.Do you shop at Abercrombie?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; I have been in one, I will not buy into their crap.  (or I just can't fit into their crap) but I go with the first option&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;11.Do you have money?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; in my wallet, yes...in my bank, yes... a lot, no&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;12.Would you take an ex back?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; only one, but I probably shouldn't &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;14.Are you gay?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; happy, yes...homosexual, no&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;15.Where do you wish you were right now?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; on a massage table&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;16.What should you be doing right now?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; nothing, I am a teacher and it's summer, go ahead hate on me :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;THE CANS:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Can you blow a bubble?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; mos def&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Can you do a cart wheel?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; not very beautifully&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Can you touch your toes?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; oh yeah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Can you wiggle your ears?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; ? yeah, but my face looks silly when I do it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Can you touch your tongue to your nose?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; oh yeah, got tongue skills&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;THE DIDS:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Did you ever want to be a fire fighter?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; um, no&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Did you ever want to be a teacher?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;  not initially, but alas, I am&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Did you ever break the law?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; um yeah, speeding :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;THE DOs:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you like rollercoasters?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; I love them&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you own a bike?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; no, prob won't either&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you play the lotto?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;  nope &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you like football?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; if someone buys the ticket, yes I do&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you have a shopping addiction?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; I could if I didn't remember how much money I actually have&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;THE DOES:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Does your family have family picnics?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; ha, that's a funny picture of my dad laying out on a blanket, thank you for the laugh &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Does your wallet have any pics in it?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; no, not with the thousands of dollars crammed into it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Does a soft answer turn away wrath?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; yup, need to work on it too&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;THE LASTS:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Last person you hung out with?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; co-workers at a pub, it was okay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Last car ride?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; just drove home from the barn&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Last text message?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; to a new guy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Last baby you held?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Easton, if he counts as a baby&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;LAST THING?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What was the last thing you bought?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; groceries, Ice cream for later yay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What was the last thing you had to drink?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; I am having a smirnoff ice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What was the last thing you watched?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Ghostbusters 2 was just on TV and I didn't change the channel, does that count&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What was the last thing you read?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; some paperback mystery about the creator of Superman and his connection to Cain and ABle, yeah it was a stretch&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What was the last thing you hand wrote?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; cards to my co-teacher and dean&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;THE WHOS:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Kimmy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Who was the last person you took a picture of? wow, IDK, Easton or Ella on my phone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Last person to leave you a comment?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Neely, the sweetest girl&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Who last hugged you? a couple of co-workers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Who last IM'd you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Tasha, the coolest girl &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;CURRENTLY:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What color shirt are you wearing? hot pink&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Have any tattoos?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Not yet.......dundundun&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Have you any piercings?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; just ears&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Straight hair or curly or wavy?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; longish and naturally half wavy, annoying&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Where are you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; living room&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;HAVE YOU EVER:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Failed a class?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Not that I can remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Confessed your love and been turned down?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Yes. It was a long time ago. Do that enough and pretty soon you learn to just keep stuff like that to yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Sang in front of a crowd?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; If you can call it singing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;SIX THINGS YOU WILL FIND IN YOUR ROOM:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- clothes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;-books&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;-alarm clock&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;-lamp&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;- iHome&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;- jewelry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;THREE RELATIONSHIP QUESTIONS:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;1. In a relationship?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; stupid repeating question&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;2.Want a relationship? I want a healthy one&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;3.Wanna get married?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;FOUR THINGS ON YOUR MIND:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I need more drinks in my fridge&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;2. If I had a million dollars, would i get plastic surgery?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;3. I need a massage&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;4. Maybe I should try the lottery&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;The way to win your heart?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; love me, spend time with me, know that I love horses and I am not giving that up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;When was the last time you really laughed?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; this afternoon, I was watching the Cosby show, why don't they have funny sitcoms anymore?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What are you like when you're drunk?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; wobbly &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you drink milk straight from the carton?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; that's gross&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Who knows a big secret about you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; a couple of good friends&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;How long is your hair?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; mid back&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Who was the last person who told you they loved you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; my mom....awwwwwwwwww.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;When was the last time you sang out loud?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; had my iPod at the barn and was singing to the horses while riding&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What did you have for breakfast?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; self-made latte, strawberry smoothie, half bagel...I was hungry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Is your birthday on a holiday? if the summer counts as a holiday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Can you cook?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; I think I am developing in that area&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Did you have a nap today?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Nope, but yesterday I did&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What do you wear more, jeans or sweats?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; jeans, dude&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;When is your birthday?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; July 15th&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Where did you get the shirt you're wearing?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Victoria's Secret&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you have any regrets? I do, but they made me who I am today, so I guess it is okay&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you use an alarm clock?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; yuppers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Whats the first thing you notice of the opposite sex?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; smiles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What color is your favorite shoe?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Black&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Who would you like to see right now?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Tasha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Who was the last person to call you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; My dad&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Are you a social or antisocial person?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; a little of both&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Have the cops ever come to your house?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Not yet......lol....no&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you have a tan?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; on my face and arms...nice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Would you rather sleep in the bed with someone, or alone?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; alone right now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Ever had braces?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Nope&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Are you afraid of the dark?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; not unless I am lost in the middle of the woods and I hear branches cracking and the wind howling, otherwise no&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Have you ever been in a mosh pit?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; no thank you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you always wear your seat belt?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; yup&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Who was the last person to disappoint you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; a co-worker, but that is her issue not mine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;You know what you want to do with your life?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; I have a good idea&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;When and why did you last cry?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; I don't remember&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;How do you feel about piercings and tattoos?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; eh...whatever&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Do you believe that what comes around goes around?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; definitely&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What is your favorite fruit? strawberries&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Does anyone love you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; I know so&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Where is one place you want to visit?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; Rome&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Have you ever crawled through a window?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; yeah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Are you a morning person or a night person?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; depends on how good the coffee is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Are you a forgiving person?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; working on it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;What are you listening to right now?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; same thing as before&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Ever had a drunken night in Mexico?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; not really&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Who was the last person to smoke a cig in your presence?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; prob a guy in the car ahead of me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;Are you taller than 5'6?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt; nope  :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-7705477331628859594?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/7705477331628859594/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=7705477331628859594' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/7705477331628859594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/7705477331628859594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/07/super-long-canada-day-questionnaire.html' title='Super long Canada Day questionnaire that has nothing to do with Canada Day'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-4362505037860281707</id><published>2009-06-29T21:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T21:37:30.599-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The track</title><content type='html'>Today was a-mazing.......&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Work - found out I am to teach 8th grade humanities...amen.....no math. lol  I love 8th grade and I really miss the teenage / pre teenagers.  I will also be allowed the freedom to teach in my strength area. I will miss working with a few people and I realize that there will be a lot to learn as well. But, speaking to some of my new co-workers, sharing is caring in 8th grade and I will be given unit plans and lesson plans.  I think I am really going to like this.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Riding - I am blessed to ride Hopper, a chestnut "grandpa" who's got it going on.  He has swagger.  Trust me.  We had a fun ride, walk, trot and canter...he is a bit of a superstar.  Kim suggested we hit the track that runs around the outdoor riding areas.  I was game, so we went for a "spirited" canter.  It was so much fun.  Just let go and trust the horse.  I then got to ride Oakley, an experienced guy who generally likes to take it easy.  He was quite the fun guy and I knew that Kim was itching to take her horse on the track.  We got going and, Oakley, being the lovely gentleman went at a quite respectful pace.  Kim was ZOOM gone. :) on the way back I knew I had to get Mr. Oakley moving so I spurred him and was yelling " Go, Oakley, GO!!"  He sure tried harder, but Kim's horse, Freddy, took it seriously and we were left in the dust.  I think I was laughing for like 10 minutes.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what was the best thing about today? I think letting go would summarize it.  Letting go of stress and hurts that were intentional and/or unintentional and trusting the horse. (thanks Kim, for calling)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-4362505037860281707?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/4362505037860281707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=4362505037860281707' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4362505037860281707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4362505037860281707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/06/track.html' title='The track'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-6706763521852434369</id><published>2009-06-28T12:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T12:34:48.944-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Reflection on 365 days</title><content type='html'>I just spent the last couple of hours cleaning my condo.  It was actually nice, I was reminded that this is my place, my stuff, my accomplishments.  (selfish sounding, maybe, but whatever) &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was also kept updated on my old colleagues in NY thanks to Facebook.  It made me remember what life was like a short 12 months ago.  I wasn't in a good place, financially, physically, or emotionally. I thought I had great friends who I would miss and would miss me as well.  I was sitting on a rollercoaster at the top of an infinitely tall drop and I couldn't see what would come next. It was terrifying, but exciting at the same time. (really more terrifying, though) As the year progress, old friends seemed to drop away like flies.  It was very hurtful, but I soon realized how important this was for my growth and my relaxation into life in Canada. I did retain a lifelong friend who accepts me for me.  I am blessed. I also re-established old friendships which are so much stronger due to maturity and life experiences.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have lost weight, gained some financial stability and had an amazing year at work.  I was about to quit teaching and this year taught me that there are "normal" schools that are run properly and not by principal/dictators.  I was treated professionally and was respected by the students.  I was never in physical danger nor felt threatened by anyone.  I learned to relax.  My face has relaxed, it is easier to smile and laugh.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now I go into the summer, with no plans to fly anywhere and just be.  I will continue to work on weight loss, ride horses, eat healthy and just enjoy being close to family.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;:)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-6706763521852434369?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/6706763521852434369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=6706763521852434369' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/6706763521852434369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/6706763521852434369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/06/reflection-on-365-days.html' title='Reflection on 365 days'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3358012087948769922</id><published>2009-06-14T14:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-14T14:57:58.983-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Having a cold one with my mom</title><content type='html'>I don't know why I always have, and continue to, compare myself to others.  I have a grass is greener on the other side attitude and I am not sure why.  I make lists about how good things are, say affirmations and such.  I am not doing it all the time, maybe that's the key. I hope to better figure it out one day.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So last night, I was sitting with my mom on the desk having a beer and talking about the family.  We were chatting about a family member who has learning issues and I was wondering if it was because his mom had him later. She was 35.  I paused and reminded my mom that I will be 31 this summer and I am getting a little worried that by the time I meet someone, date for a while, get engaged, get married, have a little time to enjoy my husband I will be in my mid to late 30s before I have children.  There is an increased chance of having a sick child. I tried to put that out of my mind. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We then talked about a friend of mine who has everything she said she wanted when she was 15 or 16 years old.  The doting husband, the 2 kids, the ability to stay at home, a horse, and teaches riding lessons. I wanted the same sort of thing when I was that age too.  My life took many different turns and I have had a lot of heartache I never thought I would have to deal with. It didn't feel fair to me.  Mom reminded me that looks can be deceiving too and that nothing is perfect. She reminded me that my path is just different but is also good.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I guess this comparison thing will have to be continually worked through, I just have to have a little faith.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3358012087948769922?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3358012087948769922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3358012087948769922' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3358012087948769922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3358012087948769922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/06/having-cold-one-with-my-mom.html' title='Having a cold one with my mom'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3329993064512487993</id><published>2009-06-07T08:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T08:55:00.982-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Furry Therapy</title><content type='html'>I absolutely love riding horses.  Since I was a little girl, it was all I wanted to do.  I wanted to go to college to become a riding instructor, which was quickly and effectively shot down by my parents. (I am now thankful for that.) I used to ride at least 3 times a week before I moved to NY.  When I was in NY, I tried to check out a barn up in Van Cortland Park (ran by a rather big time dressage rider), but the cost of group lessons would quickly put me in debt. So I came back to Canada and my lovely friend brought me to her barn and hooked me up with some horses.  I don't even know if I can put into words how much that meant to me. At times I get wound up and worry about trying to be a perfect rider and I get a "look at me" attitude.  That never helps.  My plan for yesterday was to be a still and purposeful as possible with my riding, to listen to the horse. It was wonderful and it seemed like the rest of the world disappeared.  I couldn't even hear the hoof falls on the ground.  It was perfect.  I am thankful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3329993064512487993?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3329993064512487993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3329993064512487993' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3329993064512487993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3329993064512487993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-furry-therapy.html' title='My Furry Therapy'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-5327781667830816951</id><published>2009-06-05T16:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T16:37:00.928-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Soundtrack</title><content type='html'>0-5 years&lt;div&gt;Part of your world - The Little Mermaid&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- the song was way past this point, but I was exploring the world&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6-10 years&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Take on Me - A-Ha&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I couldn't stop watching the video - how did the guy go between reality and paper??&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;11-14&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Cold Hearted Snake - Paula Abdul&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Many dance practices with my friends&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;15-19&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sold - John Michael Montgomery &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes, I did have a country phase &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;20-24&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Everything is Everything - Lauryn Hill&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was really at peace with life at this time&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;25-29&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm Me - Lil Wayne&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fighter - Christina Agulera &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Beautiful - Christina Agulera&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sill Haven't Found What I am Looking For - U2&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;lots and lots and lots of changes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;30+&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With or Without You - U2&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dead and Gone - TI&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lost - Coldplay&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;growing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-5327781667830816951?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/5327781667830816951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=5327781667830816951' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5327781667830816951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5327781667830816951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-soundtrack.html' title='My Soundtrack'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-6837753394750331821</id><published>2009-06-02T19:17:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T20:30:27.952-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Stable</title><content type='html'>So, in relation to my post a couple of days ago, I liken riding at my stable to a little universe.  Sometimes you don't understand why things don't seem to work out, in the end someone had a better plan.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-6837753394750331821?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/6837753394750331821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=6837753394750331821' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/6837753394750331821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/6837753394750331821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-stable.html' title='My Stable'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-8231639157326405040</id><published>2009-06-01T19:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-01T19:20:14.129-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blogging hiatus</title><content type='html'>I have had the worst writers block since, like, March.  I have ideas, they flit through my head.  But they are fickle little things and soon disappear.  Lately, I am drawn to my keyboard and I can feel that the ideas are starting to re-materialize.  &lt;div&gt;So what do I want to talk about first?  How about my new cat, her name is CC.  When I first got her, with her sister Emma, she was the most scared cat I have ever seen.  First, her sister was more outgoing and I thought I would like her more.  But then CC started following me around and I like how cool and kinda stable she is.  She is kinda awesome.  Pics coming soon!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-8231639157326405040?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/8231639157326405040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=8231639157326405040' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8231639157326405040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8231639157326405040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/06/blogging-hiatus.html' title='Blogging hiatus'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-447501038109316980</id><published>2009-05-31T18:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-31T19:00:01.587-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh Lord...</title><content type='html'>I have been going through some interesting times lately, and the constant subject that comes up is God.  I used to be so attuned to God, I knew he was with me all the time.  I remember how amazing it felt to be with him.  Somehow I turned away.  It didn't happen all of a sudden, but it did happen while I was a Sunday school teacher.  Isn't that weird?  I have no explanation for it.  I want to get back to him.  It feels like I am wrapped in layers of fabric and I can tell he is there, but I feel stuck.  Does he still want me? I hope so, stay tuned.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-447501038109316980?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/447501038109316980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=447501038109316980' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/447501038109316980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/447501038109316980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/05/oh-lord.html' title='Oh Lord...'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-5435052112136246098</id><published>2009-05-31T17:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-31T18:09:59.605-07:00</updated><title type='text'>swerve</title><content type='html'>Sometimes it feels like things get together and you are traveling down a lovely road bordering a park. The sun is shining, the sun roof is open, you have an ice cold water beside you and the music is chill.  Suddenly, out of no where, a car busts out in front of you.  You swerve. You have almost died. Seriously.&lt;div&gt;Where is this going? No where.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-5435052112136246098?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/5435052112136246098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=5435052112136246098' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5435052112136246098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5435052112136246098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/05/swerve.html' title='swerve'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-8145237636640260583</id><published>2009-05-21T11:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T11:26:31.883-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='aging'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drinking'/><title type='text'>I am not so young anymore</title><content type='html'>I went out to a pub not long ago with a friend.  I got IDed (is that a word, oh well).  I was over the moon, I am two months from 31 and was feeling good.  The waitress didn't ID my friend, so I was like, yay (in a completely selfish way, but tried not to show it)!!  Also you can drink at 18 in Alberta, so was there a possibility that someone would think I could maybe be younger than 18.....booyaa!! I ordered a glass of wine, and instantly aged 5 years......lol.......who drinks wine at the pub?  Then I had 3 beers, why Thera, why?  Don't worry I ate and drank a lot of water too. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; I woke up in the morning and went to make coffee.  Suddenly the room started spinning and then began to rock back and forth, who knew I lived on a ship? Luckily, I kept everything in and went back to bed.  I cannot hold my drinks like I used to.  I guess I am not so young anymore. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-8145237636640260583?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/8145237636640260583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=8145237636640260583' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8145237636640260583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8145237636640260583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-am-not-so-young-anymore.html' title='I am not so young anymore'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-2744850052099181949</id><published>2009-05-19T21:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T21:34:18.414-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Things</title><content type='html'>Are there things you wish you could actually post on your Facebook page but are too worried about the reactions you might get?  Here are a few:&lt;div&gt;1. I am tired of people pushing me down to lift yourselves up... maybe you aren't the best rider either.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. I know I am nice, but that doesn't give you the right to step on me to make yourself feel better.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. I am one of the best people you could call friend, yet you always defer to someone cooler...I hope it pays off.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. Fuck you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. I know there is a God, but I still don't get it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. Facebook stalking is not worth it when people don't put up new pictures.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. Why do people call just to complain, but never to say they miss you?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8. Why do people wear so much make-up? Please stop.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9. I don't remember the faces of some of the people I went to HS with, but I remember their names.  Do I look so different?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10. Help! I am drowning in reality and it's not an episode of The Hills!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So......yeah..........okay.......night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-2744850052099181949?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/2744850052099181949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=2744850052099181949' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/2744850052099181949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/2744850052099181949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/05/things.html' title='Things'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-5455123671775735303</id><published>2009-05-13T19:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T19:20:57.955-07:00</updated><title type='text'>hmmm</title><content type='html'>this last while has been tough for me....not that i havent dealt with worse...i just am in the midst of changes and i am learning that i cant be in control of everything and i cant make things just happen...i am learning that the more i try to make things fit in the nice little box i designed for myself the more things fall apart and the more i am hurt by the demolition....so why am i blogging?....idk...i am hoping it might be like a conversation with a good friend and i might come to some sort of clarification...i think work is good and eventhough i cant fix everything and everyone...huh?...oh yeah that is reality....well...fine....men, not going there right now...lol...epiphany...none....gonna live my life and learn to ride the waves&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-5455123671775735303?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/5455123671775735303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=5455123671775735303' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5455123671775735303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5455123671775735303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/05/hmmm.html' title='hmmm'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-4210361392588454446</id><published>2009-05-11T20:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T20:52:58.468-07:00</updated><title type='text'>inside</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;little bird&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;frail and willowy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;feathers so soft, so delicate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;like whispers in the late night&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;you are a fall away from complete fracture&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;will the shattered pieces ever reassemble?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-4210361392588454446?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/4210361392588454446/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=4210361392588454446' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4210361392588454446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4210361392588454446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/05/inside.html' title='inside'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3996244170218671460</id><published>2009-04-27T17:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T17:18:04.239-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blogging</title><content type='html'>For some reason, I have a huge writer's block.  It needs to stop! argh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3996244170218671460?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3996244170218671460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3996244170218671460' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3996244170218671460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3996244170218671460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/04/blogging.html' title='Blogging'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-7807946291201058069</id><published>2009-03-14T16:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-14T16:49:10.569-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The vision</title><content type='html'>I went to the grocery store with Kim after our ride, we were dirty and smelled like a barn.  Suddenly the sliding doors open and in walks this..this....this .... vision.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The vision was wearing a hot pink skin tight tank top dress, tied up the sides and falling about 2 inches below her bottom.  Her hair was yellow and extentioned to her waist.  Her skin was the color of a dried out pumpkin and she rocked big shades and 4 inch stilettos.  She looked just like Brooke Hogan, a classy role model if there ever was one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let's be reminded of a few things:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. it was about 2pm in the afternoon ------- not 2 am&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. it is about 5 degrees C out ------------ not 27 degrees C out&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. we are in a grocery store  ------------ not in a club&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. we are in Canada ---------------- not in LA or Miami&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How did I react?  Maturely,  I grabbed Kim's arm and hissed "look behind you, NOW" and then laughed my ass off.  'Cause, it's not like I wasn't covered in a little mud and didn't smell faintly of horse shit.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-7807946291201058069?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/7807946291201058069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=7807946291201058069' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/7807946291201058069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/7807946291201058069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/03/vision.html' title='The vision'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-380462756756547552</id><published>2009-03-06T19:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-06T19:29:58.909-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Growing a spine</title><content type='html'>Always painful at the time.  Growth is never easy, nor is making big choices in life.  Recently I have gone through some uncomfortable patches.  I am not saying that these were bad things. I am saying that they were uncomfortable.  I had been have a series of snowballing miscommunications with a person at work.  The result was a feeling of frustration and anger.  I was afraid to talk to the person, unsure of the results.  So I finally grew a spine and it worked out.  It is amazing the tizzy that you can work yourself into.  (or is it just me?)  The second thing,  is that I have been looking for a condo for a month, I know that isn't that long.  I was just really stressful to try to find the place you want, fall in love with a beautiful place and then realize that you just cannot afford it. Well, at the point of wanting to take a break for a month or so, I just got a place.  I waffled about actually making an offer, then I decided that I liked it, I could see myself living there.  Finally, I grew a spine and I move in next month.  And it fits my budget perfectly!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-380462756756547552?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/380462756756547552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=380462756756547552' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/380462756756547552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/380462756756547552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/03/growing-spine.html' title='Growing a spine'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-5510147207660831333</id><published>2009-03-03T17:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T17:19:02.608-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Jelly</title><content type='html'>I lost my backbone.  I think that it was never really ossified.  There were times when it was made of really hard &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cartilage&lt;/span&gt;, you know like a shark. I guess I just have not kept up the calcium in the diet. I walk around like jelly in a skin casing. The plus side, I am squishy and therefore, nice to hug.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-5510147207660831333?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/5510147207660831333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=5510147207660831333' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5510147207660831333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5510147207660831333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/03/jelly.html' title='Jelly'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-1583084716160643362</id><published>2009-02-27T18:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T18:13:46.181-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blah</title><content type='html'>I feel like I am up in the air. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I felt kinda settled about 6 years ago, I knew I was going to get a job for the local public school board and probably settle down and have my 2.5 kids within 5 years. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I felt kinda settled about 3 years ago in NY.  I loved my kids and I felt really successful at my job. I was about to start my master's degree and I was seeing this guy who made me feel beautiful and amazing.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But things happen, about 5 and a half years ago I couldn't find a job and up and moved to NY. About 2.5 years ago, I started to feel horrible about my job, I wasn't respected and I felt used. So, eventually, I moved back to Canada. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am happy and proud of all the changes I have gone through, you know what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I just would really, really like some stability in my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-1583084716160643362?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/1583084716160643362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=1583084716160643362' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/1583084716160643362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/1583084716160643362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/02/blah.html' title='Blah'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3924884704323748774</id><published>2009-02-26T12:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T13:08:05.770-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Great Release</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SacEruDmGmI/AAAAAAAAAE0/jb6GiXQE9B8/s1600-h/42-18233108.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 119px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SacEruDmGmI/AAAAAAAAAE0/jb6GiXQE9B8/s320/42-18233108.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307215835023415906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what the best thing about being a woman is? Taking off your bra after a long day at work.  Your chi-chis are locked up all day.  Squished up in wire, cotton, lycra, and lace.  I imagine that they yearn to stretch out and breathe.  They probably get kinda excited when you come into your house put the keys down and let out a big sigh.  They know when they feel a little pressure, you know, when you reach behind to unclasp, that it will all be over soon.  And then, finally, freedom.  Your boobs feel good, your shoulders relax and your back moves easier.  Be a friend to your boobs, and let them be free more often.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3924884704323748774?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3924884704323748774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3924884704323748774' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3924884704323748774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3924884704323748774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/02/great-release.html' title='The Great Release'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SacEruDmGmI/AAAAAAAAAE0/jb6GiXQE9B8/s72-c/42-18233108.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3846600620357210983</id><published>2009-02-18T10:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-18T10:59:35.431-08:00</updated><title type='text'>As per Tasha's Request - My view on Kanye West, the demi-god</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SZxZvR4nA1I/AAAAAAAAAEs/Y2-nwVXlmMo/s1600-h/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 113px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SZxZvR4nA1I/AAAAAAAAAEs/Y2-nwVXlmMo/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304213129925165906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Put this in the magazine: There's nothing more to be said about music. I'm the f***ing end-all, be-all of music. I know what I'm doing. I did 808s in three weeks. I got it. It's on cruise control. . . . Man, we talked about music for God knows how long! Now let's talk about how my f***ing sweater didn't come back right from Korea. That's what's interesting me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-  Kanye West in the new issue of Details&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's sad .... he had Lionel Ritchie hair and a Michael Jackson jacket circa 1984 at the Grammys, either he will end up with a strange publicity happy daughter or lose his nose in the next 10 years...or his head will actually explode from the huge ego he is rocking&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;time will tell, time will tell.....tick tick tick&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3846600620357210983?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3846600620357210983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3846600620357210983' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3846600620357210983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3846600620357210983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/02/as-per-tashas-request-my-view-on-kanye.html' title='As per Tasha&apos;s Request - My view on Kanye West, the demi-god'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SZxZvR4nA1I/AAAAAAAAAEs/Y2-nwVXlmMo/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-8786327645476416553</id><published>2009-02-05T21:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-05T22:06:37.994-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='students'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parents'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='teaching'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='quitting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='administration'/><title type='text'>My Job</title><content type='html'>I feel like quitting teaching today.  I went into it to help kids become members of society and I loved reading and teaching ready.  But I feel like no matter what I do for these kids it is never enough.  There are expectations from the administration to teach every kid in their own particular way, to make sure my lesson plans are in order, that the report cards are worded properly, that the IPPs are perfect and up to date, to volunteer in a variety of ways, to make sure that my assessments align with curriculum and are standard across the grade.  The students expect me to give them a break for every missed homework, that I don't take things from them that distract them, that I give them whatever they want, that I reward them for the minimum of proper behavior, that I am always nice to them, that I always take their side, that I am there for them when they want attention, but I also go away when they don't do what I ask.  The parents expect that I give their child good grades, always see their child as the most important, that I accept their child's misbehavior, because it is somehow my fault, that I fix their child's friendships, that I give their child stickers if another one got one, that I never make a grammatical mistake.&lt;br /&gt;I taught for four years in NYC and I was ready to quit at the end of it, more because of the adults than the children.  Now, I teach at a very privileged school and I feel pressure from everywhere.  In other professions, if you are educated and experienced you are valued.  If you are a teacher, you are just a teacher.  Just because I have a few extra weeks of vacation, doesn't mean I am a slacker.  I spend hours outside paid school time planning and grading. I lose hours of sleep worrying about the kids.  I am at work  at 7:15 everyday and don't leave till 4:30.&lt;br /&gt;So why am I still doing this when I could be making somewhere around the same amount of money doing something else?  I don't know.  And I am knowing less and less.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-8786327645476416553?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/8786327645476416553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=8786327645476416553' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8786327645476416553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8786327645476416553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/02/my-job.html' title='My Job'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3605763964910459515</id><published>2009-02-01T19:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T19:40:40.230-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Watching TV</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SYZrLv0ygvI/AAAAAAAAAEc/iZ14Anqg4is/s1600-h/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 109px; height: 137px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SYZrLv0ygvI/AAAAAAAAAEc/iZ14Anqg4is/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298039861208580850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight as I flipped through the channels, purposefully avoiding lesson planning, I happened across some celeb reality.  It's called Sober House, evidently celebs that were on a celebrity rehab show are trying to be sober.  One guy ended up doing some heroin in the bathroom.  As the show progressed, I watched him completely fall apart.  I was in tears for him.  He was alone and completely disorientated.  In the end he got taken away in cuffs and sent to the hospital.  I was shocked in a few ways.  I was shocked that they would show this man's fall so vividly.  But I was also shocked at myself for watching.  I have no business seeing this man deteriorate.  I don't know him.  I felt like I was invading his privacy, so I changed the channel.  I began to think about a few things.  One, why is it that I love magazines like Star, People and Us Weekly?  These people are stalked and I look at the pics of them angry or trying to hide. Two, how would I feel being watched so closely?  What if the world was privy to my worst moments? The argument would be that celebs who sign up for reality TV, signed up to have their lives under the microscope.  Does it make it right? I don't think so.  So what needs to be done, well dear reader, it starts with me.  It will be hard, but I am going to try not to buy those magazines anymore and if I am that bored of whatever else is on TV, I should get my ass off the couch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3605763964910459515?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3605763964910459515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3605763964910459515' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3605763964910459515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3605763964910459515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/02/watching-tv.html' title='Watching TV'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SYZrLv0ygvI/AAAAAAAAAEc/iZ14Anqg4is/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-4740246674145168841</id><published>2009-01-26T18:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T18:28:17.255-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='teaching'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mondays'/><title type='text'>Mondays</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SX5xNq8eWqI/AAAAAAAAAEU/xpL9MJVpGVk/s1600-h/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 99px; height: 117px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SX5xNq8eWqI/AAAAAAAAAEU/xpL9MJVpGVk/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295794691514456738" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what????  I don't hate Mondays.  I can sleep pretty well on a Sunday night.  I don't mind going to work at all.  Take today for instance.  I got into work completely on time, refilled my coffee and got rolling.  I got all of my photocopying done before the line up started.  I had time to get to the washroom and fill up my water bottle, all before the first kid came in.  I laughed with my kids in the morning and exchanged big smiles.  I tousled messy hair and giggled.  I taught my classes with ease and humour.  On my preps I got a weeks worth of planning done, I emailed parents, and I even checked my emails.  My kids were kids, sweet, silly and full of questions and opinions.  We ended the day on a quick and efficient note, and they all went home with big smiles.  I went to new teacher training after school and things became more clear about some of my students.  I even got a couple of tires replaced after work and got ahead in some readings.  I came home, chatted with friends, ate, and blogged a little.  Kinda nice, huh? I think so.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-4740246674145168841?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/4740246674145168841/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=4740246674145168841' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4740246674145168841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4740246674145168841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/mondays.html' title='Mondays'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SX5xNq8eWqI/AAAAAAAAAEU/xpL9MJVpGVk/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-4763461294998759098</id><published>2009-01-25T16:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-25T17:14:08.989-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Letting go.</title><content type='html'>It's strange that I allow myself to get hurt repeatedly.  I say that I am not going to care about something, but I get drawn back in over and over again. I would have to give it up to myself for getting better about dealing with this.  But still...I get drawn back over and over again. &lt;br /&gt;I know that this is because I actually thought a certain person was my friend.  I actually thought this person wanted to be my friend.  It turns out this person was a user.  This person made friends with me in order to make friends with others.  This person used me for money and many other things.  As time has gone by I have tried to let this person go, but I get pulled back when others mention that person.&lt;br /&gt;Is it said person's fault that I am hurt?  No. It is how I have internalized their actions. Epiphany?  Possibly. lol  Anyways, I am working on letting that person go out of my life.  &lt;br /&gt;Is there a magical way to stopping thinking about someone?  It doesn't appear so.  I think it must be a continual thing, until my hurt disappears. If you know, can you tell me?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-4763461294998759098?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/4763461294998759098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=4763461294998759098' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4763461294998759098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4763461294998759098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/letting-go.html' title='Letting go.'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3697281939788730356</id><published>2009-01-23T19:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T09:12:43.886-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cracked Veneer</title><content type='html'>Shiny and perfect&lt;br /&gt;Every line placed with intention&lt;br /&gt;Every color mixed with care&lt;br /&gt;The initial shine can be blinding&lt;br /&gt;Not a stray brushstroke&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look closer&lt;br /&gt;Take a breath&lt;br /&gt;It takes time&lt;br /&gt;But the veneer cracks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blood red extracted from family&lt;br /&gt;Brown mixed with the bullshit of lies&lt;br /&gt;Urine yellow from the friends used&lt;br /&gt;The lines are now so shaky&lt;br /&gt;The sheen of the sweat of trying to hide&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It looks like Dorian saw his portrait&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3697281939788730356?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3697281939788730356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3697281939788730356' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3697281939788730356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3697281939788730356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/cracked-veneer.html' title='Cracked Veneer'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-6808396924248147913</id><published>2009-01-23T18:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-23T19:07:30.271-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blown tire'/><title type='text'>@!!$^$&amp;%!!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SXqFz-ChdMI/AAAAAAAAAD8/0ECTsb07Mfc/s1600-h/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 113px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SXqFz-ChdMI/AAAAAAAAAD8/0ECTsb07Mfc/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294691439800841410" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;You wanna know what's awesome?  My third flat tire in as many months.  Oh yes, it has happened again.  The minute I realized what happened I could feel my blood pressure rise, my muscles got all tight and my mind was racing about how I could take out my frustration.  I was so mad I cursed on the phone with my mom.  (sheepish)&lt;div&gt;The first one blew on the way to a date. Left front.  It was freezing and I had to pull off of a major freeway.  It took 45 minutes for the tow truck guy to show up and I got the tire replaced the next day right after work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The second one blew on the way to the bar to meet friends.  Left rear.  It was beyond freezing, I pulled into a strip mall and cried a little. lol Thank God there was a pub at the end of the strip mall and I headed there to wait the 3.5 hours until the tow truck showed up.  This turned out to be fun, cause people kept buying me drinks and a friend showed up.  The tire was replaced the next day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The third one blew on the way home from work today. Right front.  It was Canadian cold, bearable...for bears.  I waited 2 hours, my mom stayed on the phone with me the whole time, yay!  The tire will be replaced...Monday.  WTF  So the plan is to get the this tire and the right rear replaced.  Don't want to tempt blown-tire-fate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what have I learned? I think I have learned a little patience and to let things go quicker.  I didn't say that I am an angel, just recovery time is better.  lol Oh, and right now, I miss those stinky, crowded NYC subways.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-6808396924248147913?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/6808396924248147913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=6808396924248147913' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/6808396924248147913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/6808396924248147913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/blog-post.html' title='@!!$^$&amp;%!!!!'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SXqFz-ChdMI/AAAAAAAAAD8/0ECTsb07Mfc/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-4079897829179864150</id><published>2009-01-22T16:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-22T20:23:14.001-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Get Healthy</title><content type='html'>candy seems so perfect at first&lt;div&gt;gives you that instant gratification&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;makes you smile&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;so right there when you need it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;candy can fill a little void when you are sad&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;the thing is&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;candy's not good for you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;gives you cavities that last for years&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;makes you fat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;so nauseating, you thought you needed it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;candy makes your tummy hurt when you've too much&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-4079897829179864150?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/4079897829179864150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=4079897829179864150' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4079897829179864150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4079897829179864150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/get-healthy.html' title='Get Healthy'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-905605397623437300</id><published>2009-01-20T16:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T16:52:28.487-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Today</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SXZxl56pZgI/AAAAAAAAADs/ZyglEKg4lDo/s1600-h/42-21559922.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 113px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SXZxl56pZgI/AAAAAAAAADs/ZyglEKg4lDo/s320/42-21559922.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293543308036498946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Today history was made.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;America watched.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;The world watched.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;A man stood before the world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;A hush fell among the millions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;A man spoke with humility, vision and strength.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Tears fell from the salt of the earth.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Hope rose.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;America listened.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;The world listened.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Today history was made.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-905605397623437300?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/905605397623437300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=905605397623437300' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/905605397623437300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/905605397623437300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/today.html' title='Today'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SXZxl56pZgI/AAAAAAAAADs/ZyglEKg4lDo/s72-c/42-21559922.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3984216704063796142</id><published>2009-01-18T19:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T20:05:23.298-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='forgiveness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='God'/><title type='text'>I went to church today.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SXP7_IzfpmI/AAAAAAAAADU/f7vT8tRlz_Q/s1600-h/42-16755929.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 113px; height: 170px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SXP7_IzfpmI/AAAAAAAAADU/f7vT8tRlz_Q/s320/42-16755929.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292851049204262498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time I was in church was for my friend's mom's memorial.  The last time I was in church on a Sunday was sometime in early August, 5 months. Prior to that, I hadn't been regularly in years.  I have fallen away from God so far that He didn't seem real to me anymore.  I was sure if He was still out there, that he wanted nothing to do with me.  I guess it was because I could not forgive myself for a lot of the things that I have done. I came to the realization today that I can't keep doing it on my own. I heard Him again.  I asked, "How can you forgive me, if I can't forgive myself?"  He said, "I am bigger than you, I made everything."  I asked, "Can you forgive me?"  He said, "Let go." So I did, I let down my pride and it almost felt like I was melting. It felt like when you crawl into bed after being awake for 24 hours and you had the worst day ever.  I breathed out and it felt like falling into a soft cushion. It felt good.  So if I know that I am forgiven, can I begin to forgive myself. I am going to work on it, but I am not alone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3984216704063796142?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3984216704063796142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3984216704063796142' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3984216704063796142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3984216704063796142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-went-to-church-today.html' title='I went to church today.'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SXP7_IzfpmI/AAAAAAAAADU/f7vT8tRlz_Q/s72-c/42-16755929.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-7240323032310148697</id><published>2009-01-10T11:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T05:41:32.524-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Good morning beautiful</title><content type='html'>Hello lovely,&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Did I ever tell you how wonderful you are? If I didn't, I am so sorry.  You are pretty great.  So witty, smart and intuitive.  You know that you have that much going for you already, that's amazing. On top of that, you are gorgeous.  I mean drop dead. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Love you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-7240323032310148697?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/7240323032310148697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=7240323032310148697' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/7240323032310148697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/7240323032310148697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/good-morning-beautiful.html' title='Good morning beautiful'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3525640306327466129</id><published>2009-01-09T21:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T21:28:18.126-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Uh oh - chick flicks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SWgxpWmJBQI/AAAAAAAAACw/_S1_fBNi4os/s1600-h/6a00d8341c5ac253ef00e55056ccb48833-640wi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SWgxpWmJBQI/AAAAAAAAACw/_S1_fBNi4os/s400/6a00d8341c5ac253ef00e55056ccb48833-640wi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289532348856599810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, much to my usual dislike, I went to a chick flick. I actually cringe when someone mentions them. It is like pulling teeth. Why do I avoid these movies? I think I have figured it out. Firstly, I hate crying in front of people.  This is because I make weird snorting sounds when I cry and when I cry I don't look cute like in soap operas.  My face contorts, turns red and my nose starts to run.  Not pretty.  Secondly, I hate hearing other people cry or muffle their crying during a movie.  People, it makes it really hard for me not to cry too.  Then I spend the time trying to think of things that won't make me cry and I end up missing part of the movie with my internal dialogue.  Thirdly, it is hard to justify spending the big money to watch people just talk on a big screen with surround sound.  Hello?!  If you are paying money for that stuff, wouldn't you want to see a movie that is so much more visually and audibly awesome in a theatre than on my 32 inch, 2 speaker TV?  Wanna know a secret? I kinda liked the movie today.  My first foray into chick flicks in a while was fun, silly and not awkward at all.  Hmmm, could this be a new Thera?  Nah, it's the same old me, just better. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3525640306327466129?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3525640306327466129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3525640306327466129' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3525640306327466129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3525640306327466129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/uh-oh-chick-flicks.html' title='Uh oh - chick flicks'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SWgxpWmJBQI/AAAAAAAAACw/_S1_fBNi4os/s72-c/6a00d8341c5ac253ef00e55056ccb48833-640wi.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-4801949869820193033</id><published>2009-01-08T17:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T17:44:11.007-08:00</updated><title type='text'>10 years old</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SWar3Lgzv3I/AAAAAAAAACg/A5rMeJXDH1Y/s1600-h/AAFW001445.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 114px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SWar3Lgzv3I/AAAAAAAAACg/A5rMeJXDH1Y/s400/AAFW001445.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289103776864780146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At 10 years old, it is all about competition. &lt;div&gt;   My dad makes more than your dad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   My mom is prettier than your mom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   I got and 95 on the quiz, what did you get?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   Santa gave me an Ipod, what did you get?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   You have and Xbox, well, I have a Wii.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   The bus picks me up first.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   I get to sit closest to the teacher.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   He is my friend, not yours.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   I have real Uggs.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At 10 years old, the world revolves around you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At 20, 30, 40 and so on, the world doesn't revolve around you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   Ouch, sorry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-4801949869820193033?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/4801949869820193033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=4801949869820193033' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4801949869820193033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4801949869820193033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/10-years-old.html' title='10 years old'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SWar3Lgzv3I/AAAAAAAAACg/A5rMeJXDH1Y/s72-c/AAFW001445.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3581454423595756409</id><published>2009-01-08T17:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T17:33:19.176-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You can't see</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SWapP-YO5_I/AAAAAAAAACY/Gm8h0Rk9mFU/s1600-h/AX051285.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 113px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SWapP-YO5_I/AAAAAAAAACY/Gm8h0Rk9mFU/s400/AX051285.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289100904300996594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you see when you look at yourself with blinders on?&lt;div&gt;At first there is nothing, blindness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yet you keep looking out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then you start to imagine things.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Is it rosy?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;    Happiness&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;      Beauty&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;         Perfection&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Is it dark?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;    Pain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;        Ugliness&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;            Mistakes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why don't you take the blinders off?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3581454423595756409?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3581454423595756409/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3581454423595756409' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3581454423595756409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3581454423595756409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/you-cant-see.html' title='You can&apos;t see'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SWapP-YO5_I/AAAAAAAAACY/Gm8h0Rk9mFU/s72-c/AX051285.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-4612293037830159877</id><published>2009-01-03T09:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T14:37:33.873-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><title type='text'>I can count my good friends on one hand, but I know I can count on them.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SV_onsGZ9RI/AAAAAAAAACQ/N4ydKFnzaXs/s1600-h/42-20582648.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SV_onsGZ9RI/AAAAAAAAACQ/N4ydKFnzaXs/s400/42-20582648.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287200256106820882" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a few really great friends, people who truly care for me and want the best for me. Since I want to try to be more positive in my life (not shown in some of my last post), I want to let the world know how great these ladies are.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sugar - You are the sweetest person I have ever met.  You deserve the very best life has to offer.  You are my constant cheerleader, supporter and friend.  I love your kindness and your strength.   People underestimate you because you are so beautiful and sweet.  You are strong, driven and wonderful.  I am so glad you came into my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Cinnamon - You make everything so much better.  Everyone benefits when you are around.  You bring spice and sweetness to the so many areas of your life.  I have known you for so long and I am so glad to have a friend that I can be real with.  You are like family.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Cayenne - You are hard-headed and very strong.  We have had ups and downs, but through it all, we will always be great friends.  People are afraid of your strength when they meet you, but you are the sweetest, softest, most sensitive person on the inside. I can't wait to be old lady friends with you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Salt - You seem to make every situation better and more interesting.  People are naturally drawn to you and want to be around you.  You make things spicy and my life is so much better because of you.  My last few years were more than bearable because you were there.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thyme - You have a heart of gold and you are so kind.  I have let you fall by the wayside, as you have done to me.  You are lovely and deserve to be treated so much better. You are so loved.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you for helping to make me a better dish...hehe&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-4612293037830159877?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/4612293037830159877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=4612293037830159877' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4612293037830159877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4612293037830159877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-can-count-my-good-friends-on-one-hand.html' title='I can count my good friends on one hand, but I know I can count on them.'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SV_onsGZ9RI/AAAAAAAAACQ/N4ydKFnzaXs/s72-c/42-20582648.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-5413795313392304630</id><published>2009-01-01T16:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-01T16:52:50.402-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Good-Byes I Never Made</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SV1kOXt5auI/AAAAAAAAACI/qu1cPbCinq4/s1600-h/IH155391.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 135px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SV1kOXt5auI/AAAAAAAAACI/qu1cPbCinq4/s400/IH155391.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286491735650298594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;These are a few good byes that I never actually said to the people that I wanted to.  They are honest and are without names. Thanks Tasha for giving me the idea, man, this felt good!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. I am disappointed that you couldn't see that you were buying into a lie, I used to respect you so much.&lt;div&gt;2. I think you are evil, I wish you weren't.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. I loved you the minute I met you, thank you for supporting me.  You mean so much to me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. I am sorry you played the game, no one knows how sweet you actually are.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. You are too afraid to man up, everyone knows it, but they don't want to hurt your feelings because they like you so much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. You, indeed, are vacuous.  Sad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. You are insanely stupid, it is amazing that you can speak. Seriously.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8. I wish you would leave NYC, you are destroying yourself by staying there.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9. You are so cool, I would date you if you weren't so big.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10. Stop being so tough, you don't have to be. And you are so pretty, I can't stop staring.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;11. I am sorry that people hurt you, and I am sorry I listened to what people said about you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;12. I am so much more smarter than you, do your lips stink from all the ass you kiss?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;13. I want to know what you know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;14. You are playing people for your own entertainment, you do not care.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;15.  You are an awesome guy, one of the best I have met. I am lucky to know you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;16. We kissed and you were too afraid to fall for me, now you can settle. It hurts a little.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;17. I could have kissed you forever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;18. You hurt me and I can't forget, but I forgave.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;19. I am jealous of you. Way too much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;20.  You are one of the best people I have met in my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;21. I will love you forever! No one knows me like you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;22. I love you and I thank God for you. All the time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;23. You piss me off to no end. Daily.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;24.  We almost had sex, I kinda wish we did.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;25.  We did have sex, I so wish we didn't.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;26. You had the best abs I have ever seen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;27.  You are the nastiest man I have met. Snake.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;28. You may look nice, but you are a cold hearted snake.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;30. You use a lot of big words, do you look them up everyday to seem smart?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;31. You are pathetic.  Stop stalking.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;32. You are so cool, I wish I spent more time with you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;33.  Thank you for taking care of me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;34. I had a crush on you. But I love who you married.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;35.  You were becoming really nasty, I hated it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are more, but I can't remember them now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;idea from : imquietlyjudgingyou.blogspot.com -- thanks!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-5413795313392304630?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/5413795313392304630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=5413795313392304630' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5413795313392304630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5413795313392304630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2009/01/good-byes-i-never-made.html' title='The Good-Byes I Never Made'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SV1kOXt5auI/AAAAAAAAACI/qu1cPbCinq4/s72-c/IH155391.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-6598764832656580314</id><published>2008-12-31T16:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T16:37:35.285-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hi, 2009, it is nice to meet you.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SVwQC0lgpgI/AAAAAAAAACA/kZYeQQx4v9Y/s1600-h/CB068383.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 170px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SVwQC0lgpgI/AAAAAAAAACA/kZYeQQx4v9Y/s320/CB068383.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286117703287875074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I have been thinking about my resolutions and I have settled on a few that I am going to stick to.  How do I know I am going to keep my resolutions? Well, it sure does help that I am publishing this so that whoever happens to look will see. (guilt works for me)&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. I am going to eat a well-balanced diet almost everyday, but I am going to enjoy good wine and occasional desserts.  Why make life difficult?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. I am going to ride as much as I possibly can.  I am going to remember to be grateful for every moment that I have with horses.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. I am going to go to the gym twice a week, as long as I am home.  I will keep downloading songs that motivate me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. I am going to remember my friends, and not wait for them to contact me all the time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. I am going to get to know God, I haven't spoken to Him in a while and I owe Him my life. We used to be so close.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. I am going to learn to love myself and do good things for me.  I will continue to be selfish, in a healthy way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. I will tell people that I love them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8. I will put myself on a budget.  I want to buy a house.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9. I will get out of the house.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10. I am going to work on being so judgmental.  I need to stop watching the speck and not seeing the plank in my own eye.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So that's it, remind me to refer back to this.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh yeah, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Love you!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-6598764832656580314?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/6598764832656580314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=6598764832656580314' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/6598764832656580314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/6598764832656580314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/hi-2009-it-is-nice-to-meet-you.html' title='Hi, 2009, it is nice to meet you.'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SVwQC0lgpgI/AAAAAAAAACA/kZYeQQx4v9Y/s72-c/CB068383.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-8980449114731712953</id><published>2008-12-28T18:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-28T19:02:57.899-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Do you make resolutions?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SVg9248zhDI/AAAAAAAAAB4/LLicQytdKis/s1600-h/42-17673070.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 148px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SVg9248zhDI/AAAAAAAAAB4/LLicQytdKis/s200/42-17673070.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285042175928927282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never made a New Years resolution before, I suppose this is because I was fairly certain that I would not keep them.  That is pretty smart, right?  Maybe, maybe not.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This year is different, though, I am thinking that this year might be a good year to make and actually stick to my resolutions.  I think it is important to make resolutions that are attainable. My plan is to take the next few days and really think about the things that I would like to improve in my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So watch out 2009, I am making plans for you..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-8980449114731712953?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/8980449114731712953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=8980449114731712953' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8980449114731712953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8980449114731712953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/do-you-make-resolutions.html' title='Do you make resolutions?'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SVg9248zhDI/AAAAAAAAAB4/LLicQytdKis/s72-c/42-17673070.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-6880716087453558662</id><published>2008-12-20T11:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-20T12:01:36.054-08:00</updated><title type='text'>butterfly</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SU1PB_3XDuI/AAAAAAAAABw/kWCI-Nqrz2E/s1600-h/LP004934.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 170px; height: 113px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SU1PB_3XDuI/AAAAAAAAABw/kWCI-Nqrz2E/s200/LP004934.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281964833717554914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are so elegant when you are flying.&lt;div&gt;People come closer for a better look.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They see the beauty and are mesmerized.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In awe they stare as you flit this way and that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You bask in it and flutter in your own presence.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh how you love it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If they look away, you dance up and twirl.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it gets cold, and they look away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now what?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-6880716087453558662?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/6880716087453558662/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=6880716087453558662' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/6880716087453558662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/6880716087453558662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/butterfly.html' title='butterfly'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SU1PB_3XDuI/AAAAAAAAABw/kWCI-Nqrz2E/s72-c/LP004934.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3203209461257536667</id><published>2008-12-20T11:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-20T11:43:43.484-08:00</updated><title type='text'>burnt toast</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SU1K2fz1osI/AAAAAAAAABo/WNKf9foqKmc/s1600-h/AX050740.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/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SU1K2fz1osI/AAAAAAAAABo/WNKf9foqKmc/s320/AX050740.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281960238087774914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;inhale it, can you smell it?&lt;div&gt;dry, it burns the inside of your nose&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;makes your eyes tear up&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;just a little&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;ashy and hard&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;pick it up and it crumbles in your fingers&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;leaves a mess on your clean counter&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;scrape it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;no, just throw it out&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3203209461257536667?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3203209461257536667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3203209461257536667' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3203209461257536667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3203209461257536667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/burnt-toast.html' title='burnt toast'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SU1K2fz1osI/AAAAAAAAABo/WNKf9foqKmc/s72-c/AX050740.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-5726991317360995037</id><published>2008-12-16T20:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T13:46:41.693-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Repeat Offender</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SUlzM7z--iI/AAAAAAAAABg/sOL0jeumSpA/s1600-h/42-19142256.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 113px; height: 170px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SUlzM7z--iI/AAAAAAAAABg/sOL0jeumSpA/s400/42-19142256.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280878704119970338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;evolution that seems to be but isn't&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;self assumption of growth&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;dissolves what was and is&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;flaccid strength&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;keep lying to yourself,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;repeat offender&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-5726991317360995037?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/5726991317360995037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=5726991317360995037' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5726991317360995037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/5726991317360995037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/repeat-offender.html' title='Repeat Offender'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SUlzM7z--iI/AAAAAAAAABg/sOL0jeumSpA/s72-c/42-19142256.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-7188998404601844342</id><published>2008-12-14T09:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-14T10:21:04.051-08:00</updated><title type='text'>There are snow snakes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SUVNvbqOXjI/AAAAAAAAABQ/zZ5ZgCEWwBw/s1600-h/AX050013.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SUVNvbqOXjI/AAAAAAAAABQ/zZ5ZgCEWwBw/s400/AX050013.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279711615435824690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are snow snakes in Canada, they hide under the many layers of snow.  They have rarely been seen, and of those few who have seen, many have not survived long.  Experts say that the snow snakes wiggle north in the summer and survive on a bountiful meal of seal and lost skidoos.  In the winter months the snow snakes travel south to the winter wonderland called Canada.  Snow snakes will survive on almost anything, but their food of choice is rubber tires or rubber treads. The snakes can range anywhere from 2 feet to 30 feet long.  The 3o foot long snow snakes tend to be shy to venture into the city limits and tend to enjoy the freedom of wide open spaces.  These larger snow snakes enjoy skidoos, but also consume tractors and the occasional sasquatch. The smaller snow snakes tend to feed on lost gloves, hats, mittens and scarves.  Yet, the insatiable need for rubber causes many smaller snow snakes to attack tires.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have fallen victim to the snow snake attack twice in the last two weeks.  Snow snakes have destroyed two of my tires.  It is time to do something about this winter pest.  It is time to eradicate this pestilence before they eat &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;all &lt;/span&gt;of our tires.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If we do not do something soon about this, I predict, mankind will fall.....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-7188998404601844342?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/7188998404601844342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=7188998404601844342' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/7188998404601844342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/7188998404601844342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/there-are-snow-snakes.html' title='There are snow snakes'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SUVNvbqOXjI/AAAAAAAAABQ/zZ5ZgCEWwBw/s72-c/AX050013.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3101222716747117781</id><published>2008-12-10T16:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T16:19:58.202-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='idiots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snow'/><title type='text'>And they emerge from the snow.</title><content type='html'>I am in awe of the idiocy that I have noticed as of late.  For the last few years I have been a pedestrian, recently I have become the driver and I am amazed at the lack of thought that some people put into walking.  It's really may be a miracle that these people have not yet won a Darwin award.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has been snowing in Calgary, the roads are slick and are not always predictable.  Hence, a lot of sliding stops and spinning to get moving.  Everyone here listens or watches the weather report.  I understand that if the roads are slick, so too are the sidewalks.  Naturally. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the problem lies in the pedestrians who choose to forgo the sidewalk and take to the streets, likely to save their shoes from filling with snow.  Heaven forbid you live in Canada and own a pair of boots.  My question to those who chose to do this is thus:  What is better to you, cold feet or finding yourself trapped in the undercarriage of someone's car? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I can wait till you arrange your 50 or so brain cells to organize your thoughts.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3101222716747117781?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3101222716747117781/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3101222716747117781' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3101222716747117781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3101222716747117781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/and-they-emerge-from-snow.html' title='And they emerge from the snow.'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-4855582905392272864</id><published>2008-12-07T17:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-07T18:08:28.133-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Smile, you are becoming someone great</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STyBbkDj3zI/AAAAAAAAABI/cT-QXanjHwQ/s1600-h/ruth001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STyBbkDj3zI/AAAAAAAAABI/cT-QXanjHwQ/s400/ruth001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277235173906439986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68);   font-family:'American Typewriter';font-size:13px;"&gt;we all know someone who is constantly trying to be perfect, so much so, that it is driving him/ her crazy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68);  font-family:'American Typewriter';font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68);   font-family:'American Typewriter';font-size:13px;"&gt;it's so much smarter to enjoy where you are at ----- smile and accept the greatness that is you right now and look forward to the you you are becoming&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-4855582905392272864?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/4855582905392272864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=4855582905392272864' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4855582905392272864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/4855582905392272864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/smile-you-are-becoming-someone-great.html' title='Smile, you are becoming someone great'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STyBbkDj3zI/AAAAAAAAABI/cT-QXanjHwQ/s72-c/ruth001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-3452726736977751895</id><published>2008-12-07T17:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-07T17:11:07.026-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Snowed in</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STxz_QIROhI/AAAAAAAAABA/trRFCwfkLd4/s1600-h/PICT0003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STxz_QIROhI/AAAAAAAAABA/trRFCwfkLd4/s320/PICT0003.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277220393869982226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am bored.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sigh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But that does not mean that I don't have a lot I should be doing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sigh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At least I took a pretty picture.  :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-3452726736977751895?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/3452726736977751895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=3452726736977751895' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3452726736977751895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/3452726736977751895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/snowed-in.html' title='Snowed in'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STxz_QIROhI/AAAAAAAAABA/trRFCwfkLd4/s72-c/PICT0003.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-1482328069803754505</id><published>2008-12-06T21:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T22:06:34.727-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Learning to be thankful</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STtn02jO3rI/AAAAAAAAAA4/f85a97E9L-A/s1600-h/sunrisesnow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STtn02jO3rI/AAAAAAAAAA4/f85a97E9L-A/s320/sunrisesnow.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276925546088816306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week was pretty busy, I was working on my report cards and IPPs, the kids are getting excited about the holidays so I have to work extra hard to entertain them, and I found out that my friend's mom passed away.  Oh yeah, and I blew out a tire. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'll talk about the tire first, I was on the way to a date.  I was excited, but my car was acting funny so I thought I'd take it easy.  Driving along, talking to a friend on the phone, I smell burning then my car started zig zagging.  I hang up, cause talking while you are driving is &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;such &lt;/span&gt;a good idea anyway and talking while your tire is being torn up is &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never &lt;/span&gt;a good idea. Luckily there was a nice safe to pull over and the tow truck was there within half an hour.  Thank God that I didn't blow the tire on the highway and thank God that I didn't really have to wait long for the tow truck.  The date, well that's another matter.......whatever! This is not a dating blog, so deal with it that you aren't going to know what happened or didn't happen or may have happened.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The day after I needed to drive to Edmonton because the funeral was the next day.  I tried to get a bus ticket, there were none that worked, so I had to try to buy a tire.  It was very difficult to find the tire, but eventually I found one that was at a dealership on the way out of town.  They booked me for 3pm and I was able to get out of work early.  Thank God for co-workers who are supportive and understanding.  So I show up at the dealership and went to the service department and at first the guy was a first class jerk and told me I could get a tire the next day, but he had a change of heart when I told him why I needed out of town and when the parts department had a tire for me.  Actually, the service took a complete about turn, they were so nice, pushed my car through quickly, checked all of the tires, set me up with coffee and gave me a nice big place to get my marking done.  Thank God I was able to get out of Calgary quickly and beat most of the traffic and the freezing rain and snow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So the day of the funeral, I dressed and tried to prepare myself to avoid crying at all costs, I do try.  The funeral was a celebration of Irene's life.  Irene loved God and followed and obeyed him.  The last years of her life she told everyone about how great her God is.  I am proud of my friend and her family and I am thankful for the grace and the peace that God gave them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Funerals are celebrations of life and are a time for the people left behind to reflect on their lives and how they want to live the rest of their lives.  I am still trying to sort out my own reflections, but I do know one thing and I think that I need to really start thanking God.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you, God&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-1482328069803754505?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/1482328069803754505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=1482328069803754505' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/1482328069803754505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/1482328069803754505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/learning-to-be-thankful.html' title='Learning to be thankful'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STtn02jO3rI/AAAAAAAAAA4/f85a97E9L-A/s72-c/sunrisesnow.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-8779222718369473566</id><published>2008-12-03T19:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T19:43:01.852-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='NYC'/><title type='text'>It's the little things</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STdRmDLPPYI/AAAAAAAAAAw/etAWCryw6WQ/s1600-h/nycfireescape.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 172px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STdRmDLPPYI/AAAAAAAAAAw/etAWCryw6WQ/s200/nycfireescape.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275775202617146754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's funny what you miss when you move away.  I moved back to Canada from NYC in July.  I have been missing the oddest collection of things.&lt;div&gt;I miss:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- the Barnes and Noble on 84&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; and Broadway&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- I miss the nice guy who works at the bodega across from my old apartment&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- I miss 2 for 1 margaritas at the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;mexican&lt;/span&gt; place on Amsterdam, was it Amsterdam?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- I miss watching people in Union Square&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- I miss the lady in the shiny spandex pants on the A train in the morning&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- I miss my favorite Starbucks &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;baristas&lt;/span&gt;, they aren't as cool here&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- I miss Central Park&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- I miss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;housesitting&lt;/span&gt; in the tiniest apartment 5 minutes from school&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- I miss the real friends that I made there - Thank you and love you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-8779222718369473566?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/8779222718369473566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=8779222718369473566' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8779222718369473566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8779222718369473566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/its-little-things.html' title='It&apos;s the little things'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STdRmDLPPYI/AAAAAAAAAAw/etAWCryw6WQ/s72-c/nycfireescape.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4762753162129626316.post-8307529180058149276</id><published>2008-12-01T20:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T20:14:39.036-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a start</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STS14oMlHzI/AAAAAAAAAAM/4XBgQXikzWI/s1600-h/Mean+Teacher.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STS14oMlHzI/AAAAAAAAAAM/4XBgQXikzWI/s200/Mean+Teacher.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275041048025177906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so I never thought I would start a blog, so I did.  Because that is just how I roll.  I am a teacher and this is my 5th year in the profession.  Apparently this is the year where it is supposed to get easy, I'll let you know in June.  I taught for 4 years for the New York City Board of Education, also known as trial by fire.  I made it, singed, but with all limbs in tact.  I am now teaching at a lovely private school in Canada.  Culture shock? Oh, just a little.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So a funny thing happened today.  I was teaching my reading group the Wizard of Oz, which is proving to be a lot of fun.  Another little boy was working on his own quietly when all of a sudden he shouts out "oww" and holds his head.  I saw nothing fall, the only thing that could have happened was that he leaned his head forward and banged his head on the bookshelf in front of him.  It is not good to laugh at children, so I hid my face in the book and tried not to let my kids see me laughing.  They didn't really see the boy.  So they start going, "What's so funny, Miss?"  I just told them that I thought this book was so funny.  So they started to laugh along with me too, I love little kids.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4762753162129626316-8307529180058149276?l=whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/feeds/8307529180058149276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4762753162129626316&amp;postID=8307529180058149276' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8307529180058149276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4762753162129626316/posts/default/8307529180058149276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whyisthetitlethehardestpart.blogspot.com/2008/12/its-start.html' title='It&apos;s a start'/><author><name>TM</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14294674437588501535</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/SivfzuSlp4I/AAAAAAAAAFc/CNCS8i1gFnU/S220/Photo+9.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LBB-sN_SrQc/STS14oMlHzI/AAAAAAAAAAM/4XBgQXikzWI/s72-c/Mean+Teacher.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
