http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/searchEverything.kickAction?as=18305&mediaType=blog&sortType=recent All new blogs on CRhighway Sun, 08 Nov 2009 07:44:17 GMT Sun, 08 Nov 2009 07:44:17 GMT vicky@crhighway.com (101Sheriff) vicky@crhighway.com (101Sheriff) KickApps Feed Builder 2009-11-08T07:44:17Z 54 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/searchEverything.kickAction?as=18305&sortType=recent 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Name-Game/BLOG/1467446/18305.html This week I had the chance to attend a reading by one of my favorite authors.  Of course it was great and so was the Q & A afterwards.  But I had a question and didn’t ask it – I was overcome by celebrity cowardice.  My question is, I think, something any writer of fiction has grappled with and must, at some point, find an answer.  So here’s the burning question – how are characters’ names chosen?Names are fascinating and so is the process of choosing a name.  Volumes of baby names have been published and every year the media shares the Top Ten most popular boy and girl names.  Where I work, I run across new names on a daily basis.  Some are great, some are not so great, and some…well…I just hope those poor kids will change them when they grow up.  I’ve met babies named after seasons, colors, movie stars, foods, constellations, plants, cars, historical figures, and geographical locations.  I’ve met babies whose names are in the II, III, and even IV recycling.  After more than 20 years of meeting babies, I have come to learn that names don’t reflect their ‘owners’ so much as they reflect the parents.  What were some of those parents thinking at that oh-so-crucial naming moment?  It’s practically cruel and unusual punishment to tag a sweet innocent baby with an awful moniker in the hopes of being unique or distinctive.That’s what I worry about when I name my characters.  I want them to be memorable, but not because of a ridiculous name.  I’ve had a female villain in mind for a while now and I just can’t find the right name for her.  I must have been subconsciously stewing about it the other night because I dreamed about her and she was named Saffron.  No kidding.  So where exactly did that name come from?  Too much Food Network before bed?  Too many yellow paint swatches taped to the kitchen wall?  It’s truly a name dilemma – but I just can’t have my evil villain sounding like a Spice Aisle Girl.And so the burning question continues to burn. This week I had the chance to attend a reading by one of my favorite authors.  Of course it was great and so was the Q & A afterwards.  But I had a question and didn’t ask it – I was overcome by celebrity cowardice.  My question is, I think, something any writer of fiction has grappled with and must, at some point, find an answer.  So here’s the burning question – how are characters’ names chosen?Names are fascinating and so is the process of choosing a name.  Volumes of baby names have been published and every year the media shares the Top Ten most popular boy and girl names.  Where I work, I run across new names on a daily basis.  Some are great, some are not so great, and some…well…I just hope those poor kids will change them when they grow up.  I’ve met babies named after seasons, colors, movie stars, foods, constellations, plants, cars, historical figures, and geographical locations.  I’ve met babies whose names are in the II, III, and even IV recycling.  After more than 20 years of meeting babies, I have come to learn that names don’t reflect their ‘owners’ so much as they reflect the parents.  What were some of those parents thinking at that oh-so-crucial naming moment?  It’s practically cruel and unusual punishment to tag a sweet innocent baby with an awful moniker in the hopes of being unique or distinctive.That’s what I worry about when I name my characters.  I want them to be memorable, but not because of a ridiculous name.  I’ve had a female villain in mind for a while now and I just can’t find the right name for her.  I must have been subconsciously stewing about it the other night because I dreamed about her and she was named Saffron.  No kidding.  So where exactly did that name come from?  Too much Food Network before bed?  Too many yellow paint swatches taped to the kitchen wall?  It’s truly a name dilemma – but I just can’t have my evil villain sounding like a Spice Aisle Girl.And so the burning question continues to burn. Sun, 08 Nov 2009 07:44:17 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Name-Game/BLOG/1467446/18305.html janamanna 2009-11-08T07:44:17Z CRhighway This week I had the chance to attend a reading by one of my favorite authors.  Of course it was great and so was the Q & A afterwards.  But I had a question and didn’t ask it – I was overcome by celebrity cowardice.  My question is, I think, something any writer of fiction has grappled with and must, at some point, find an answer.  So here’s the burning question – how are characters’ names chosen?Names are fascinating and so is the process of choosing a name.  Volumes of baby names have been published and every year the media shares the Top Ten most popular boy and girl names.  Where I work, I run across new names on a daily basis.  Some are great, some are not so great, and some…well…I just hope those poor kids will change them when they grow up.  I’ve met babies named after seasons, colors, movie stars, foods, constellations, plants, cars, historical figures, and geographical locations.  I’ve met babies whose names are in the II, III, and even IV recycling.  After more than 20 years of meeting babies, I have come to learn that names don’t reflect their ‘owners’ so much as they reflect the parents.  What were some of those parents thinking at that oh-so-crucial naming moment?  It’s practically cruel and unusual punishment to tag a sweet innocent baby with an awful moniker in the hopes of being unique or distinctive.That’s what I worry about when I name my characters.  I want them to be memorable, but not because of a ridiculous name.  I’ve had a female villain in mind for a while now and I just can’t find the right name for her.  I must have been subconsciously stewing about it the other night because I dreamed about her and she was named Saffron.  No kidding.  So where exactly did that name come from?  Too much Food Network before bed?  Too many yellow paint swatches taped to the kitchen wall?  It’s truly a name dilemma – but I just can’t have my evil villain sounding like a Spice Aisle Girl.And so the burning question continues to burn. nonadult false Name Game text blog 2 0 0.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 1467446 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Dinner/BLOG/1037172/18305.html “What’s for dinner?”  If only I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that.  Between the picky-eater kids and the suspicious-eater husband, I’d be rich!  Now don’t get me wrong, I like cooking dinner.  It’s just the decision-making before I get behind the stove that drives me crazy.My mom took dinnertime seriously.  Experts have long said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  Well, those experts didn’t consult my mom who believed dinner was the overlord of all meals.  Mom planned menus, kept track of recipes, and rotated leftovers.  Almost every night our family gathered around the table for something hot and homemade.  We never asked what was for dinner.  Mom fixed it and we ate it.  Pot roast, spaghetti, sweet ‘n sour meatballs and tacos were her signature dishes.  Mom really was an outstandingly good cook.  I don’t know that I could claim to be an outstanding cook or even a good cook, but I can say that I’m a bored cook.  Same pans, same process, night after night can be a real drag.  How can such dinner drudgery be livened up?  I like to use a dinner theme.  There’s nothing like a theme to change mundane dinner into something special.  So it could be Ethnic Dinner night, or Breakfast Dinner night, or Fend for Yourself Dinner night, or even Drive-Thru Dinner night.  Dinner themes are limited only by my imagination and my paycheck.    When my family asks the dreaded dinner question, I respond with my theme du jour.  Here are my two all-time very most favorites…Adventure Dinner!  This is the most feared theme in my arsenal.  Oh yeah.  When it’s Adventure Dinner, every food is a new food – or at least new recipes.  If your family’s like mine they will be afraid.  Very afraid.  This dinner can be time consuming to prepare what with intensive recipe researching and more-specific-than-usual grocery shopping.  Crock-pot Adventure Dinners usually turn out pretty good.  Curried Adventure Dinners, not so much.  Please let me assure you that Adventure Dinner isn’t too bizarre or far-fetched, but it is always an adventure.  Monochromatic Dinner!  Just picture this – poached chicken, mashed potatoes, and canned pears.  Or how about this – fish sticks, mac ‘n cheese, and canned peaches.  Yep, Monochromatic Dinner means all of the food is the same (or very nearly the same) color.  The first time this dinner happened it was just dumb culinary luck.  But now, it has evolved into a genuine theme.  To do it justice, this dinner requires some serious planning and a fairly sophisticated color wheel.  Using plates the same color as the food adds to the ambience and introduces an unexpected camouflage factor.Hey, hold on there just a second…  Camouflage?  Another whole new dinner theme!    “What’s for dinner?”  If only I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that.  Between the picky-eater kids and the suspicious-eater husband, I’d be rich!  Now don’t get me wrong, I like cooking dinner.  It’s just the decision-making before I get behind the stove that drives me crazy.My mom took dinnertime seriously.  Experts have long said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  Well, those experts didn’t consult my mom who believed dinner was the overlord of all meals.  Mom planned menus, kept track of recipes, and rotated leftovers.  Almost every night our family gathered around the table for something hot and homemade.  We never asked what was for dinner.  Mom fixed it and we ate it.  Pot roast, spaghetti, sweet ‘n sour meatballs and tacos were her signature dishes.  Mom really was an outstandingly good cook.  I don’t know that I could claim to be an outstanding cook or even a good cook, but I can say that I’m a bored cook.  Same pans, same process, night after night can be a real drag.  How can such dinner drudgery be livened up?  I like to use a dinner theme.  There’s nothing like a theme to change mundane dinner into something special.  So it could be Ethnic Dinner night, or Breakfast Dinner night, or Fend for Yourself Dinner night, or even Drive-Thru Dinner night.  Dinner themes are limited only by my imagination and my paycheck.    When my family asks the dreaded dinner question, I respond with my theme du jour.  Here are my two all-time very most favorites…Adventure Dinner!  This is the most feared theme in my arsenal.  Oh yeah.  When it’s Adventure Dinner, every food is a new food – or at least new recipes.  If your family’s like mine they will be afraid.  Very afraid.  This dinner can be time consuming to prepare what with intensive recipe researching and more-specific-than-usual grocery shopping.  Crock-pot Adventure Dinners usually turn out pretty good.  Curried Adventure Dinners, not so much.  Please let me assure you that Adventure Dinner isn’t too bizarre or far-fetched, but it is always an adventure.  Monochromatic Dinner!  Just picture this – poached chicken, mashed potatoes, and canned pears.  Or how about this – fish sticks, mac ‘n cheese, and canned peaches.  Yep, Monochromatic Dinner means all of the food is the same (or very nearly the same) color.  The first time this dinner happened it was just dumb culinary luck.  But now, it has evolved into a genuine theme.  To do it justice, this dinner requires some serious planning and a fairly sophisticated color wheel.  Using plates the same color as the food adds to the ambience and introduces an unexpected camouflage factor.Hey, hold on there just a second…  Camouflage?  Another whole new dinner theme!    Fri, 09 Oct 2009 19:22:17 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Dinner/BLOG/1037172/18305.html janamanna 2009-10-09T19:22:17Z CRhighway “What’s for dinner?”  If only I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that.  Between the picky-eater kids and the suspicious-eater husband, I’d be rich!  Now don’t get me wrong, I like cooking dinner.  It’s just the decision-making before I get behind the stove that drives me crazy.My mom took dinnertime seriously.  Experts have long said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  Well, those experts didn’t consult my mom who believed dinner was the overlord of all meals.  Mom planned menus, kept track of recipes, and rotated leftovers.  Almost every night our family gathered around the table for something hot and homemade.  We never asked what was for dinner.  Mom fixed it and we ate it.  Pot roast, spaghetti, sweet ‘n sour meatballs and tacos were her signature dishes.  Mom really was an outstandingly good cook.  I don’t know that I could claim to be an outstanding cook or even a good cook, but I can say that I’m a bored cook.  Same pans, same process, night after night can be a real drag.  How can such dinner drudgery be livened up?  I like to use a dinner theme.  There’s nothing like a theme to change mundane dinner into something special.  So it could be Ethnic Dinner night, or Breakfast Dinner night, or Fend for Yourself Dinner night, or even Drive-Thru Dinner night.  Dinner themes are limited only by my imagination and my paycheck.    When my family asks the dreaded dinner question, I respond with my theme du jour.  Here are my two all-time very most favorites…Adventure Dinner!  This is the most feared theme in my arsenal.  Oh yeah.  When it’s Adventure Dinner, every food is a new food – or at least new recipes.  If your family’s like mine they will be afraid.  Very afraid.  This dinner can be time consuming to prepare what with intensive recipe researching and more-specific-than-usual grocery shopping.  Crock-pot Adventure Dinners usually turn out pretty good.  Curried Adventure Dinners, not so much.  Please let me assure you that Adventure Dinner isn’t too bizarre or far-fetched, but it is always an adventure.  Monochromatic Dinner!  Just picture this – poached chicken, mashed potatoes, and canned pears.  Or how about this – fish sticks, mac ‘n cheese, and canned peaches.  Yep, Monochromatic Dinner means all of the food is the same (or very nearly the same) color.  The first time this dinner happened it was just dumb culinary luck.  But now, it has evolved into a genuine theme.  To do it justice, this dinner requires some serious planning and a fairly sophisticated color wheel.  Using plates the same color as the food adds to the ambience and introduces an unexpected camouflage factor.Hey, hold on there just a second…  Camouflage?  Another whole new dinner theme!    nonadult false Dinner text blog 2 0 0.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 1037172 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_The-Bedroom-Door/BLOG/627833/18305.html I'm having a hard time with the girls' bedroom door.  Oh sure, it opens up fine and it closes like it's supposed to.  The knob turns and the latch fits.  So what's the problem?  The problem is that there's no one living on the other side of that bedroom door anymore.   We moved into the house when our oldest child was 10 months old and ever since there's been a kid in that bedroom.  I'll bet I've opened that door a million times over the last 20-odd years.  Whether it was the dinner summons or the last night-night of the night, someone was always there.  So just last night, once again, I caught myself turning the doorknob.  It's been a hard habit for me to break. I always knew the kids would grow up and move on.  My head understood it, but my heart is having a hard time accepting it.  I know the kids will be back and forth between college and home, but it won't be the same.  That closed bedroom door just feels so final and so lonely.     Maybe a transformation is in order.  Should the bedroom become the TV room?  Or the pet dormitory?  I'm sure that either the TV or the critters would like their own room.  Drastic change -- that seems heartless, and yet it's a practical solution to my closed-door dilemma.  If the room is something else, my head and my heart can cope with being a side-lined mother. And then I’ll leave the door open.   I'm having a hard time with the girls' bedroom door.  Oh sure, it opens up fine and it closes like it's supposed to.  The knob turns and the latch fits.  So what's the problem?  The problem is that there's no one living on the other side of that bedroom door anymore.   We moved into the house when our oldest child was 10 months old and ever since there's been a kid in that bedroom.  I'll bet I've opened that door a million times over the last 20-odd years.  Whether it was the dinner summons or the last night-night of the night, someone was always there.  So just last night, once again, I caught myself turning the doorknob.  It's been a hard habit for me to break. I always knew the kids would grow up and move on.  My head understood it, but my heart is having a hard time accepting it.  I know the kids will be back and forth between college and home, but it won't be the same.  That closed bedroom door just feels so final and so lonely.     Maybe a transformation is in order.  Should the bedroom become the TV room?  Or the pet dormitory?  I'm sure that either the TV or the critters would like their own room.  Drastic change -- that seems heartless, and yet it's a practical solution to my closed-door dilemma.  If the room is something else, my head and my heart can cope with being a side-lined mother. And then I’ll leave the door open.   Tue, 01 Sep 2009 19:50:54 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_The-Bedroom-Door/BLOG/627833/18305.html janamanna 2009-09-01T19:50:54Z CRhighway I'm having a hard time with the girls' bedroom door.  Oh sure, it opens up fine and it closes like it's supposed to.  The knob turns and the latch fits.  So what's the problem?  The problem is that there's no one living on the other side of that bedroom door anymore.   We moved into the house when our oldest child was 10 months old and ever since there's been a kid in that bedroom.  I'll bet I've opened that door a million times over the last 20-odd years.  Whether it was the dinner summons or the last night-night of the night, someone was always there.  So just last night, once again, I caught myself turning the doorknob.  It's been a hard habit for me to break. I always knew the kids would grow up and move on.  My head understood it, but my heart is having a hard time accepting it.  I know the kids will be back and forth between college and home, but it won't be the same.  That closed bedroom door just feels so final and so lonely.     Maybe a transformation is in order.  Should the bedroom become the TV room?  Or the pet dormitory?  I'm sure that either the TV or the critters would like their own room.  Drastic change -- that seems heartless, and yet it's a practical solution to my closed-door dilemma.  If the room is something else, my head and my heart can cope with being a side-lined mother. And then I’ll leave the door open.   family, growing, up nonadult false The Bedroom Door text blog family,growing,up 21 1 4.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 627833 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Diet-Books/BLOG/498113/18305.html Since my last posting, I’ve decided it's time to go on a diet.  Again.  I pulled out all the diet books that have accumulated on my shelves over the years.  Some were best-sellers while others were barely-sellers.  There are how-to books and what-not-to-do books.  There are low-cal, low-carb, and/or low-fat options.  Menus, recipes, shopping lists, food diaries, and snack lists – all present and accounted for.  Exercises?  Oh yeah, them, too.  By the time I rounded up and piled up all those books, I really had quite the workout and was ready for a snack and a nap. So which of all these diet books is the magic one?  It’s hard to say for sure.  After all, humans have thrived on all kinds of diets for centuries.  If anyone needs proof of that just open up the yellow pages to the restaurant listings and take a look – Mexican, Chinese, and Italian are the top three cultural cuisine offerings.  Does that mean those cultures are healthier?  Are enchiladas better for you than manicotti?  What about sweet ‘n sour?  Sigh.  Face it, the phone book is a menu menagerie not a diet book.  Ding-Dong darn it all.  (I know I could have looked at the gym listings – oh well.) It didn’t help to check the authors’ credentials, either.  The super-qualified Dr. So-and-So says this is the way to go for health, happiness, and slimmer, trimmer thighs.  But the uber-qualified Dr. Such-and Such says that is the way to go for health, happiness and tight, defined abs.  Everyone knows that a picture is worth a thousand words, but looking at their bio pictures certainly didn’t help matters any.  They all look too tan, too dried out and too stringy – just a bunch of over-cooked turkeys. Maybe the recipes would point me in the right direction.  After all, nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven!  So throw together a bunch of nutritionists, spa chefs, mile-long ingredient lists and voila – what do you have?  A tasteless meal that no one will eat which cost way more than the take-n-bake pizza deal that comes with a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough. So what’s a fluffy-around-the-middle girl supposed to do?  Buy another book!  What I don’t need is another diet book.  What I do need is a first-grade math book – addition and subtraction is where it’s at.  Calories in, calories out.  Big salads in, fat pants out.  Circuit-training in, vegging-out out.  I’ve never been very good at math, but maybe I can figure this problem out and get back in shape.  Well, at least a different shape than round. Since my last posting, I’ve decided it's time to go on a diet.  Again.  I pulled out all the diet books that have accumulated on my shelves over the years.  Some were best-sellers while others were barely-sellers.  There are how-to books and what-not-to-do books.  There are low-cal, low-carb, and/or low-fat options.  Menus, recipes, shopping lists, food diaries, and snack lists – all present and accounted for.  Exercises?  Oh yeah, them, too.  By the time I rounded up and piled up all those books, I really had quite the workout and was ready for a snack and a nap. So which of all these diet books is the magic one?  It’s hard to say for sure.  After all, humans have thrived on all kinds of diets for centuries.  If anyone needs proof of that just open up the yellow pages to the restaurant listings and take a look – Mexican, Chinese, and Italian are the top three cultural cuisine offerings.  Does that mean those cultures are healthier?  Are enchiladas better for you than manicotti?  What about sweet ‘n sour?  Sigh.  Face it, the phone book is a menu menagerie not a diet book.  Ding-Dong darn it all.  (I know I could have looked at the gym listings – oh well.) It didn’t help to check the authors’ credentials, either.  The super-qualified Dr. So-and-So says this is the way to go for health, happiness, and slimmer, trimmer thighs.  But the uber-qualified Dr. Such-and Such says that is the way to go for health, happiness and tight, defined abs.  Everyone knows that a picture is worth a thousand words, but looking at their bio pictures certainly didn’t help matters any.  They all look too tan, too dried out and too stringy – just a bunch of over-cooked turkeys. Maybe the recipes would point me in the right direction.  After all, nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven!  So throw together a bunch of nutritionists, spa chefs, mile-long ingredient lists and voila – what do you have?  A tasteless meal that no one will eat which cost way more than the take-n-bake pizza deal that comes with a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough. So what’s a fluffy-around-the-middle girl supposed to do?  Buy another book!  What I don’t need is another diet book.  What I do need is a first-grade math book – addition and subtraction is where it’s at.  Calories in, calories out.  Big salads in, fat pants out.  Circuit-training in, vegging-out out.  I’ve never been very good at math, but maybe I can figure this problem out and get back in shape.  Well, at least a different shape than round. Thu, 06 Aug 2009 22:56:47 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Diet-Books/BLOG/498113/18305.html janamanna 2009-08-06T22:56:47Z CRhighway Since my last posting, I’ve decided it's time to go on a diet.  Again.  I pulled out all the diet books that have accumulated on my shelves over the years.  Some were best-sellers while others were barely-sellers.  There are how-to books and what-not-to-do books.  There are low-cal, low-carb, and/or low-fat options.  Menus, recipes, shopping lists, food diaries, and snack lists – all present and accounted for.  Exercises?  Oh yeah, them, too.  By the time I rounded up and piled up all those books, I really had quite the workout and was ready for a snack and a nap. So which of all these diet books is the magic one?  It’s hard to say for sure.  After all, humans have thrived on all kinds of diets for centuries.  If anyone needs proof of that just open up the yellow pages to the restaurant listings and take a look – Mexican, Chinese, and Italian are the top three cultural cuisine offerings.  Does that mean those cultures are healthier?  Are enchiladas better for you than manicotti?  What about sweet ‘n sour?  Sigh.  Face it, the phone book is a menu menagerie not a diet book.  Ding-Dong darn it all.  (I know I could have looked at the gym listings – oh well.) It didn’t help to check the authors’ credentials, either.  The super-qualified Dr. So-and-So says this is the way to go for health, happiness, and slimmer, trimmer thighs.  But the uber-qualified Dr. Such-and Such says that is the way to go for health, happiness and tight, defined abs.  Everyone knows that a picture is worth a thousand words, but looking at their bio pictures certainly didn’t help matters any.  They all look too tan, too dried out and too stringy – just a bunch of over-cooked turkeys. Maybe the recipes would point me in the right direction.  After all, nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven!  So throw together a bunch of nutritionists, spa chefs, mile-long ingredient lists and voila – what do you have?  A tasteless meal that no one will eat which cost way more than the take-n-bake pizza deal that comes with a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough. So what’s a fluffy-around-the-middle girl supposed to do?  Buy another book!  What I don’t need is another diet book.  What I do need is a first-grade math book – addition and subtraction is where it’s at.  Calories in, calories out.  Big salads in, fat pants out.  Circuit-training in, vegging-out out.  I’ve never been very good at math, but maybe I can figure this problem out and get back in shape.  Well, at least a different shape than round. dieting nonadult false Diet Books text blog dieting 15 0 0.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 498113 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Cankles-Duckles/BLOG/479688/18305.html Hot weather is forecast for the whole next week.  You know what this means?  Cankles and duckles.   Cankles and duckles, what are these hot-weather afflictions exactly?  For a lovely visual, just imagine water balloons full to bursting.  Now imagine the same thing except it’s your ankles and hands.  Cankles are when your ankles retain water and swell to the same diameter as your calves.  Duckles happen the same way except it’s your hands swelling enough to make your knuckles become dimples.  Both are miserable and both make me move around like a really old lady.  And if you put me up to your ear, you can hear the ocean! So is there any kind of benefit from these summer maladies?  Not so much from the duckles because of the ‘fumble-fingers’ side-effect.  Cankles, however, are so much easier to shave.  No bony ankle angles.  Smooth and round – kinda like shaving a watermelon.  Just beware of springing a leak thanks to the aforementioned fumble-fingers…  Hot weather is forecast for the whole next week.  You know what this means?  Cankles and duckles.   Cankles and duckles, what are these hot-weather afflictions exactly?  For a lovely visual, just imagine water balloons full to bursting.  Now imagine the same thing except it’s your ankles and hands.  Cankles are when your ankles retain water and swell to the same diameter as your calves.  Duckles happen the same way except it’s your hands swelling enough to make your knuckles become dimples.  Both are miserable and both make me move around like a really old lady.  And if you put me up to your ear, you can hear the ocean! So is there any kind of benefit from these summer maladies?  Not so much from the duckles because of the ‘fumble-fingers’ side-effect.  Cankles, however, are so much easier to shave.  No bony ankle angles.  Smooth and round – kinda like shaving a watermelon.  Just beware of springing a leak thanks to the aforementioned fumble-fingers…  Mon, 27 Jul 2009 18:51:28 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Cankles-Duckles/BLOG/479688/18305.html janamanna 2009-07-27T18:51:28Z CRhighway Hot weather is forecast for the whole next week.  You know what this means?  Cankles and duckles.   Cankles and duckles, what are these hot-weather afflictions exactly?  For a lovely visual, just imagine water balloons full to bursting.  Now imagine the same thing except it’s your ankles and hands.  Cankles are when your ankles retain water and swell to the same diameter as your calves.  Duckles happen the same way except it’s your hands swelling enough to make your knuckles become dimples.  Both are miserable and both make me move around like a really old lady.  And if you put me up to your ear, you can hear the ocean! So is there any kind of benefit from these summer maladies?  Not so much from the duckles because of the ‘fumble-fingers’ side-effect.  Cankles, however, are so much easier to shave.  No bony ankle angles.  Smooth and round – kinda like shaving a watermelon.  Just beware of springing a leak thanks to the aforementioned fumble-fingers…  hot, misery, weather nonadult false Cankles & Duckles text blog hot,misery,weather 19 1 5.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 479688 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Graduation/BLOG/354071/18305.html So my “baby” girl graduated from high school two weeks ago.  Cue the nostalgic mood music.  It was just yesterday that she let me do her hair, pick out her clothes, and buckle her into a car seat.  Stop the music.  Today she does her own hair, picks out her clothes, and (hopefully) buckles up before peeling out.  How did this happen overnight?  After all, I just graduated…25 years ago. High school graduation is an important milestone, whether it feels like that or not.  It means you are educated, whether it feels like that or not.  It means you met standards, whether it feels like it or not.  It means you worked hard, whether it feels like that or not.  It means you are ready for adulthood, whether it feels like that or not.   Graduation prompts an interesting behavior I call grudge evaporation.  Grudge evaporation happens when all of your classmates are your friends because you’ll probably never see some of them again.  Gone as if by magic are those petty leftover grudges from grades gone by.  She didn’t share? Oh well.  He didn’t call?  Too bad.  He spit in your hair in the 6th grade?  So what.  She told her other best friend who told her cousin who told her other best friend who told her mom who told your mom?  Who cares.  Bygones are bygones.  Say goodbye and move on. High school can be an all-consuming never-ending cycle of friends, homework, and activities.  Graduation puts a screeching halt to the old familiar routines and flings wide open the door to the future.  Yes, Virginia, there is life after high school.  A lot of it.  For me, at least 25 years’ worth so far.  Colleges, careers, vacations, lazy days, new houses, new friends, new spouses, kids, pets, cars – the list of life goes on and on.  And the best part of post-grad life?  Who you have been is not necessarily who you become.   So to my own graduate and by extension to recent graduates everywhere, enjoy becoming you.  To us older and wiser graduates, let’s just keep on becoming ourselves – we’re not done yet!  So my “baby” girl graduated from high school two weeks ago.  Cue the nostalgic mood music.  It was just yesterday that she let me do her hair, pick out her clothes, and buckle her into a car seat.  Stop the music.  Today she does her own hair, picks out her clothes, and (hopefully) buckles up before peeling out.  How did this happen overnight?  After all, I just graduated…25 years ago. High school graduation is an important milestone, whether it feels like that or not.  It means you are educated, whether it feels like that or not.  It means you met standards, whether it feels like it or not.  It means you worked hard, whether it feels like that or not.  It means you are ready for adulthood, whether it feels like that or not.   Graduation prompts an interesting behavior I call grudge evaporation.  Grudge evaporation happens when all of your classmates are your friends because you’ll probably never see some of them again.  Gone as if by magic are those petty leftover grudges from grades gone by.  She didn’t share? Oh well.  He didn’t call?  Too bad.  He spit in your hair in the 6th grade?  So what.  She told her other best friend who told her cousin who told her other best friend who told her mom who told your mom?  Who cares.  Bygones are bygones.  Say goodbye and move on. High school can be an all-consuming never-ending cycle of friends, homework, and activities.  Graduation puts a screeching halt to the old familiar routines and flings wide open the door to the future.  Yes, Virginia, there is life after high school.  A lot of it.  For me, at least 25 years’ worth so far.  Colleges, careers, vacations, lazy days, new houses, new friends, new spouses, kids, pets, cars – the list of life goes on and on.  And the best part of post-grad life?  Who you have been is not necessarily who you become.   So to my own graduate and by extension to recent graduates everywhere, enjoy becoming you.  To us older and wiser graduates, let’s just keep on becoming ourselves – we’re not done yet!  Tue, 16 Jun 2009 18:35:30 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Graduation/BLOG/354071/18305.html janamanna 2009-06-16T18:35:30Z CRhighway So my “baby” girl graduated from high school two weeks ago.  Cue the nostalgic mood music.  It was just yesterday that she let me do her hair, pick out her clothes, and buckle her into a car seat.  Stop the music.  Today she does her own hair, picks out her clothes, and (hopefully) buckles up before peeling out.  How did this happen overnight?  After all, I just graduated…25 years ago. High school graduation is an important milestone, whether it feels like that or not.  It means you are educated, whether it feels like that or not.  It means you met standards, whether it feels like it or not.  It means you worked hard, whether it feels like that or not.  It means you are ready for adulthood, whether it feels like that or not.   Graduation prompts an interesting behavior I call grudge evaporation.  Grudge evaporation happens when all of your classmates are your friends because you’ll probably never see some of them again.  Gone as if by magic are those petty leftover grudges from grades gone by.  She didn’t share? Oh well.  He didn’t call?  Too bad.  He spit in your hair in the 6th grade?  So what.  She told her other best friend who told her cousin who told her other best friend who told her mom who told your mom?  Who cares.  Bygones are bygones.  Say goodbye and move on. High school can be an all-consuming never-ending cycle of friends, homework, and activities.  Graduation puts a screeching halt to the old familiar routines and flings wide open the door to the future.  Yes, Virginia, there is life after high school.  A lot of it.  For me, at least 25 years’ worth so far.  Colleges, careers, vacations, lazy days, new houses, new friends, new spouses, kids, pets, cars – the list of life goes on and on.  And the best part of post-grad life?  Who you have been is not necessarily who you become.   So to my own graduate and by extension to recent graduates everywhere, enjoy becoming you.  To us older and wiser graduates, let’s just keep on becoming ourselves – we’re not done yet!  graduation nonadult false Graduation text blog graduation 51 0 0.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 1 0 354071 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Middle-Aged/BLOG/292440/18305.html A birthday is like a personal mugger that’s hiding right around the corner just for you.  It waits patiently, approaches carefully and attacks gleefully!  Quick as a wink you’re older. When I was younger, I wanted to be older.  Now that I’m older, I want to be younger.  My friend and I were discussing this odd age-reversal birthday wishes phenomenon and she asked me if I’d do my teenage years over again.  Heck yes, but only if I could take my middle-aged brain with me.  Knowledge wrapped up in perspective is the best birthday gift of all. What if I had my middle-aged brain with me in junior high?  Oh man!  In math, I would rock on those rotten story problems.  If a train was traveling at 70 mph how long would it take to churn 9 quarts of cream into butter?  In P.E., I would fearlessly give the stink-eye to the evil coach who had a fondness for tight short-shorts and tall socks.  Hey buddy, can you rethink the wardrobe and lay off the butter?  In Home Ec, I would confidently use a big knife and chiffonade faster than a culinary-trained swashbuckler.  Sauté that in melted butter! Fast forward back to high school – just imagine a middle-aged brain roaming the hallways with a middle-aged outlook.  Prom is not life or death.  Boyfriends are temporary.  Friends are transitory.  Gossip is bad.  Studying is important.  Mom is right.  Be good.  Drive carefully.  Make plans.  Have goals.  Move away. Work hard.  Save money.  Spend frugally.  Grow up. So let my middle-aged birthday mugging commence!  Bring on the cake and fire up the candles!  Oh my, is that butter-cream frosting? A birthday is like a personal mugger that’s hiding right around the corner just for you.  It waits patiently, approaches carefully and attacks gleefully!  Quick as a wink you’re older. When I was younger, I wanted to be older.  Now that I’m older, I want to be younger.  My friend and I were discussing this odd age-reversal birthday wishes phenomenon and she asked me if I’d do my teenage years over again.  Heck yes, but only if I could take my middle-aged brain with me.  Knowledge wrapped up in perspective is the best birthday gift of all. What if I had my middle-aged brain with me in junior high?  Oh man!  In math, I would rock on those rotten story problems.  If a train was traveling at 70 mph how long would it take to churn 9 quarts of cream into butter?  In P.E., I would fearlessly give the stink-eye to the evil coach who had a fondness for tight short-shorts and tall socks.  Hey buddy, can you rethink the wardrobe and lay off the butter?  In Home Ec, I would confidently use a big knife and chiffonade faster than a culinary-trained swashbuckler.  Sauté that in melted butter! Fast forward back to high school – just imagine a middle-aged brain roaming the hallways with a middle-aged outlook.  Prom is not life or death.  Boyfriends are temporary.  Friends are transitory.  Gossip is bad.  Studying is important.  Mom is right.  Be good.  Drive carefully.  Make plans.  Have goals.  Move away. Work hard.  Save money.  Spend frugally.  Grow up. So let my middle-aged birthday mugging commence!  Bring on the cake and fire up the candles!  Oh my, is that butter-cream frosting? Thu, 28 May 2009 22:57:57 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Middle-Aged/BLOG/292440/18305.html janamanna 2009-05-28T22:57:57Z CRhighway A birthday is like a personal mugger that’s hiding right around the corner just for you.  It waits patiently, approaches carefully and attacks gleefully!  Quick as a wink you’re older. When I was younger, I wanted to be older.  Now that I’m older, I want to be younger.  My friend and I were discussing this odd age-reversal birthday wishes phenomenon and she asked me if I’d do my teenage years over again.  Heck yes, but only if I could take my middle-aged brain with me.  Knowledge wrapped up in perspective is the best birthday gift of all. What if I had my middle-aged brain with me in junior high?  Oh man!  In math, I would rock on those rotten story problems.  If a train was traveling at 70 mph how long would it take to churn 9 quarts of cream into butter?  In P.E., I would fearlessly give the stink-eye to the evil coach who had a fondness for tight short-shorts and tall socks.  Hey buddy, can you rethink the wardrobe and lay off the butter?  In Home Ec, I would confidently use a big knife and chiffonade faster than a culinary-trained swashbuckler.  Sauté that in melted butter! Fast forward back to high school – just imagine a middle-aged brain roaming the hallways with a middle-aged outlook.  Prom is not life or death.  Boyfriends are temporary.  Friends are transitory.  Gossip is bad.  Studying is important.  Mom is right.  Be good.  Drive carefully.  Make plans.  Have goals.  Move away. Work hard.  Save money.  Spend frugally.  Grow up. So let my middle-aged birthday mugging commence!  Bring on the cake and fire up the candles!  Oh my, is that butter-cream frosting? aged, birthday, middle nonadult false Middle-Aged text blog aged,birthday,middle 50 1 5.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 292440 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_BOGO/BLOG/271843/18305.html I’m notoriously cheap.  Pinching pennies and stretching dollars are my modus operandi.  Once in a while I go a little crazy, though.  Every now and then I come across a BOGO sale.  Buy One Get One – the only way to spend money.  I love BOGO deals because free is a very good price.  Buy one frozen pizza, get one free.  Buy one flower pot, get one free.  Buy one college education, get one free. Okay, okay, college isn’t really like that – but it can be.  My husband is one of those perpetual college students.  We met in college when he went for the first time.  The second time he went to college we had two little girls and two cats.  The third time he went to college we had not-so-little girls and four cats.  The fourth time he went to college we had gray hair, a herd of cats and a puppy.  I shudder to think of the aging or wildlife that more college might bring.  Anyway, when it’s all added up he’s been in college for 12 years, half of our 24-year marriage.  We have paid a lot of money for his education and mine has been free.  BOGO.  Over the course (and courses!) of all those college years, I’ve acquired a heap of knowledge through a process I call Wife Typist Osmosis or WTO.  Actually it is a BOGO side-effect and this is how it happens: when the wife types assignments or papers, the wife asks questions.  In response and maybe in defense, the husband shares his textbooks and lecture notes.  Now the wife knows what the husband knows.  It’s as simple as that.  So, some of this wife’s most favorite BOGO classes have been world history, children’s literature, classroom management, and educational philosophy.  The assorted “ologies” (geology, sociology, and biology) were pretty good, too.  Math and more math were not favorites.  Just think about it – all of this education and I’ve never had to take a quiz, pass a test, or sweat a final.  BOGO WTO. Now that the kids are in college, I have the chance to expand my educational horizons by the BOGO.2 and BOGO.3 versions.  Those editions don’t come with WTO attached because the girls know how to type.  However, the recently developed and stringently tested MEO, Mama Editor Osmosis, module is included! There is a downside to BOGO WTO and BOGO MEO learning, though.  The free education is undocumented.  No advanced degrees decorated with curlicue flourishes.  No fashionably medieval academic hood.  But oddly enough, that’s okay because undocumented certainly doesn’t mean unrecognized.  My typing and editing efforts are frequently rewarded with non-BOGO roomy tote bags, sparkly earrings, or sweet chocolate.  Roomy, sparkly, and sweet – just like the wife/mama/typist/editor herself! I’m notoriously cheap.  Pinching pennies and stretching dollars are my modus operandi.  Once in a while I go a little crazy, though.  Every now and then I come across a BOGO sale.  Buy One Get One – the only way to spend money.  I love BOGO deals because free is a very good price.  Buy one frozen pizza, get one free.  Buy one flower pot, get one free.  Buy one college education, get one free. Okay, okay, college isn’t really like that – but it can be.  My husband is one of those perpetual college students.  We met in college when he went for the first time.  The second time he went to college we had two little girls and two cats.  The third time he went to college we had not-so-little girls and four cats.  The fourth time he went to college we had gray hair, a herd of cats and a puppy.  I shudder to think of the aging or wildlife that more college might bring.  Anyway, when it’s all added up he’s been in college for 12 years, half of our 24-year marriage.  We have paid a lot of money for his education and mine has been free.  BOGO.  Over the course (and courses!) of all those college years, I’ve acquired a heap of knowledge through a process I call Wife Typist Osmosis or WTO.  Actually it is a BOGO side-effect and this is how it happens: when the wife types assignments or papers, the wife asks questions.  In response and maybe in defense, the husband shares his textbooks and lecture notes.  Now the wife knows what the husband knows.  It’s as simple as that.  So, some of this wife’s most favorite BOGO classes have been world history, children’s literature, classroom management, and educational philosophy.  The assorted “ologies” (geology, sociology, and biology) were pretty good, too.  Math and more math were not favorites.  Just think about it – all of this education and I’ve never had to take a quiz, pass a test, or sweat a final.  BOGO WTO. Now that the kids are in college, I have the chance to expand my educational horizons by the BOGO.2 and BOGO.3 versions.  Those editions don’t come with WTO attached because the girls know how to type.  However, the recently developed and stringently tested MEO, Mama Editor Osmosis, module is included! There is a downside to BOGO WTO and BOGO MEO learning, though.  The free education is undocumented.  No advanced degrees decorated with curlicue flourishes.  No fashionably medieval academic hood.  But oddly enough, that’s okay because undocumented certainly doesn’t mean unrecognized.  My typing and editing efforts are frequently rewarded with non-BOGO roomy tote bags, sparkly earrings, or sweet chocolate.  Roomy, sparkly, and sweet – just like the wife/mama/typist/editor herself! Fri, 08 May 2009 18:09:49 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_BOGO/BLOG/271843/18305.html janamanna 2009-05-08T18:09:49Z CRhighway I’m notoriously cheap.  Pinching pennies and stretching dollars are my modus operandi.  Once in a while I go a little crazy, though.  Every now and then I come across a BOGO sale.  Buy One Get One – the only way to spend money.  I love BOGO deals because free is a very good price.  Buy one frozen pizza, get one free.  Buy one flower pot, get one free.  Buy one college education, get one free. Okay, okay, college isn’t really like that – but it can be.  My husband is one of those perpetual college students.  We met in college when he went for the first time.  The second time he went to college we had two little girls and two cats.  The third time he went to college we had not-so-little girls and four cats.  The fourth time he went to college we had gray hair, a herd of cats and a puppy.  I shudder to think of the aging or wildlife that more college might bring.  Anyway, when it’s all added up he’s been in college for 12 years, half of our 24-year marriage.  We have paid a lot of money for his education and mine has been free.  BOGO.  Over the course (and courses!) of all those college years, I’ve acquired a heap of knowledge through a process I call Wife Typist Osmosis or WTO.  Actually it is a BOGO side-effect and this is how it happens: when the wife types assignments or papers, the wife asks questions.  In response and maybe in defense, the husband shares his textbooks and lecture notes.  Now the wife knows what the husband knows.  It’s as simple as that.  So, some of this wife’s most favorite BOGO classes have been world history, children’s literature, classroom management, and educational philosophy.  The assorted “ologies” (geology, sociology, and biology) were pretty good, too.  Math and more math were not favorites.  Just think about it – all of this education and I’ve never had to take a quiz, pass a test, or sweat a final.  BOGO WTO. Now that the kids are in college, I have the chance to expand my educational horizons by the BOGO.2 and BOGO.3 versions.  Those editions don’t come with WTO attached because the girls know how to type.  However, the recently developed and stringently tested MEO, Mama Editor Osmosis, module is included! There is a downside to BOGO WTO and BOGO MEO learning, though.  The free education is undocumented.  No advanced degrees decorated with curlicue flourishes.  No fashionably medieval academic hood.  But oddly enough, that’s okay because undocumented certainly doesn’t mean unrecognized.  My typing and editing efforts are frequently rewarded with non-BOGO roomy tote bags, sparkly earrings, or sweet chocolate.  Roomy, sparkly, and sweet – just like the wife/mama/typist/editor herself! classes, education, free, shopping nonadult false BOGO text blog classes,education,free,shopping 54 1 5.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 1 0 271843 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Pillow-Talk/BLOG/206752/18305.html Using the L-word too early in a new relationship is generally a big mistake.  However, in this case I’m willing to risk it.  I love…my new pillow!  As pillows go, it’s just right – not too big and not too little, not too fluffy and not to firm.  I can fold it, mold it or hold it to create the perfect sleeping necessity.  It sounds silly, but I catch myself at work daydreaming about my new love.  When I get through a hectic day at the office, I know my new pillow is waiting for me at home.  Sometimes my head hitting the pillow at night is the highlight of my whole day. In my quest for comfort, many pillows have come and gone over the years – the good, the bad, and the ugly of the bedding department.  The down-filled pillow promised ultimate snoozing luxury, but there were all those little prickly ends poking out of the seams.  Irritating!  The memory foam pillow promised gentle sleep support, but really it was as solid as a cinder block.  Miserable!  The buckwheat hull pillow promised both luxury and support, but it was so dang noisy – rustle, rustle, rustle all night long.  Argh!  My kingdom for a comfy quiet pillow!   I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight right there in the clearance section.  A small white bed pillow that was plain, unpretentious, and promising nothing – I wasn’t too impressed.  A second look (at the price tag) prompted me to take yet another chance on love and restful nights.  Aah!  A comfy quiet pillow that didn’t cost me my kingdom! Someone experienced in the ways of love and relationships (obviously not me) said, “I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.”  Really I should embroider that on my new favorite pillow!  I love what I am when I get a good night’s sleep – rested, refreshed, and ready-to-go every morning.  Being a gal with a complicated pillow history had left me somewhat judgmental and skeptical about such relationships.  But now?  Let me assure you, true love and ultimate comfort can be found.  Just check the clearance bin. Using the L-word too early in a new relationship is generally a big mistake.  However, in this case I’m willing to risk it.  I love…my new pillow!  As pillows go, it’s just right – not too big and not too little, not too fluffy and not to firm.  I can fold it, mold it or hold it to create the perfect sleeping necessity.  It sounds silly, but I catch myself at work daydreaming about my new love.  When I get through a hectic day at the office, I know my new pillow is waiting for me at home.  Sometimes my head hitting the pillow at night is the highlight of my whole day. In my quest for comfort, many pillows have come and gone over the years – the good, the bad, and the ugly of the bedding department.  The down-filled pillow promised ultimate snoozing luxury, but there were all those little prickly ends poking out of the seams.  Irritating!  The memory foam pillow promised gentle sleep support, but really it was as solid as a cinder block.  Miserable!  The buckwheat hull pillow promised both luxury and support, but it was so dang noisy – rustle, rustle, rustle all night long.  Argh!  My kingdom for a comfy quiet pillow!   I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight right there in the clearance section.  A small white bed pillow that was plain, unpretentious, and promising nothing – I wasn’t too impressed.  A second look (at the price tag) prompted me to take yet another chance on love and restful nights.  Aah!  A comfy quiet pillow that didn’t cost me my kingdom! Someone experienced in the ways of love and relationships (obviously not me) said, “I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.”  Really I should embroider that on my new favorite pillow!  I love what I am when I get a good night’s sleep – rested, refreshed, and ready-to-go every morning.  Being a gal with a complicated pillow history had left me somewhat judgmental and skeptical about such relationships.  But now?  Let me assure you, true love and ultimate comfort can be found.  Just check the clearance bin. Tue, 10 Mar 2009 18:10:25 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Pillow-Talk/BLOG/206752/18305.html janamanna 2009-03-10T18:10:25Z Humor CRhighway Using the L-word too early in a new relationship is generally a big mistake.  However, in this case I’m willing to risk it.  I love…my new pillow!  As pillows go, it’s just right – not too big and not too little, not too fluffy and not to firm.  I can fold it, mold it or hold it to create the perfect sleeping necessity.  It sounds silly, but I catch myself at work daydreaming about my new love.  When I get through a hectic day at the office, I know my new pillow is waiting for me at home.  Sometimes my head hitting the pillow at night is the highlight of my whole day. In my quest for comfort, many pillows have come and gone over the years – the good, the bad, and the ugly of the bedding department.  The down-filled pillow promised ultimate snoozing luxury, but there were all those little prickly ends poking out of the seams.  Irritating!  The memory foam pillow promised gentle sleep support, but really it was as solid as a cinder block.  Miserable!  The buckwheat hull pillow promised both luxury and support, but it was so dang noisy – rustle, rustle, rustle all night long.  Argh!  My kingdom for a comfy quiet pillow!   I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight right there in the clearance section.  A small white bed pillow that was plain, unpretentious, and promising nothing – I wasn’t too impressed.  A second look (at the price tag) prompted me to take yet another chance on love and restful nights.  Aah!  A comfy quiet pillow that didn’t cost me my kingdom! Someone experienced in the ways of love and relationships (obviously not me) said, “I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.”  Really I should embroider that on my new favorite pillow!  I love what I am when I get a good night’s sleep – rested, refreshed, and ready-to-go every morning.  Being a gal with a complicated pillow history had left me somewhat judgmental and skeptical about such relationships.  But now?  Let me assure you, true love and ultimate comfort can be found.  Just check the clearance bin. humor, love, pillow nonadult false Pillow Talk text blog humor,love,pillow 60 0 0.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 206752 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Great-Shop/BLOG/191521/18305.html Jim and I have lived in the community for 18 years, and were pleased and excited with Columbia County Choppers opened shop!  We attended the "grand opening" bbq, and the food was absolutely delicious (the should have added a bbq  eatery onto their shop and hope they will some day)!  The owners were VERY cordial, accommodating, and it was a pleasure meeting them!  Jim and I hope to frequent the shop more often, and will spread the word to all our biker friends this great place.  With the economy being the shape it is in, we hope to provide them with as much support as we can as we want them to stick around.If you haven't had a chance to visit their establishment yet, please do so soon!Thanks for all your hard work and dedication! Keep up the good work! See ya soon!Jim and Mitze Jim and I have lived in the community for 18 years, and were pleased and excited with Columbia County Choppers opened shop!  We attended the "grand opening" bbq, and the food was absolutely delicious (the should have added a bbq  eatery onto their shop and hope they will some day)!  The owners were VERY cordial, accommodating, and it was a pleasure meeting them!  Jim and I hope to frequent the shop more often, and will spread the word to all our biker friends this great place.  With the economy being the shape it is in, we hope to provide them with as much support as we can as we want them to stick around.If you haven't had a chance to visit their establishment yet, please do so soon!Thanks for all your hard work and dedication! Keep up the good work! See ya soon!Jim and Mitze Sat, 21 Feb 2009 09:39:11 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Great-Shop/BLOG/191521/18305.html JIMandMitze 2009-02-21T09:39:11Z CRhighway Jim and I have lived in the community for 18 years, and were pleased and excited with Columbia County Choppers opened shop!  We attended the "grand opening" bbq, and the food was absolutely delicious (the should have added a bbq  eatery onto their shop and hope they will some day)!  The owners were VERY cordial, accommodating, and it was a pleasure meeting them!  Jim and I hope to frequent the shop more often, and will spread the word to all our biker friends this great place.  With the economy being the shape it is in, we hope to provide them with as much support as we can as we want them to stick around.If you haven't had a chance to visit their establishment yet, please do so soon!Thanks for all your hard work and dedication! Keep up the good work! See ya soon!Jim and Mitze nonadult false Great Shop! text blog 58 0 0.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=4850878&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/icons/defaultMember_18305_portrait160X120.jpg false United States OR 0 0 191521 4850878 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Triple-Axel/BLOG/162167/18305.html The Triple Axel, a dangerous jumping spinning daredevil ice-skating trick known to thrill audiences and judges alike.  I can only imagine the skater’s relief when it goes well and I can imagine their pain when it doesn’t.  I’m not a skater, but I do have experience with another version of the Triple Axel and pain.  It’s actually the Traveling Triple Axel – 3 days, 3states, and 3,000 miles.  My nerves were jumping, my head was spinning, and I have only just recovered enough to tell you about it.Day 1, State 1, Mile 1: Friday, January 2: Oh, it started innocently enough.  Daughter #1 needed to go back to college in southeastern Idaho after the Christmas break.  Travel in January is dicey enough, but we hoped for the best both in road conditions and weather forecasts.  So dark and early that morning, we piled into the little 4-wheel drive pickup and struck out.  Not even half an hour later, as we drove through “Lake Linton” we wondered if it was too late to send her back by bus.Four hours later, we wondered the same thing as we defied gravity and skated uphill into the Blue Mountains.  Around semi trailers and past passenger cars, across icy patches and through windy canyons we made our way to the state line.  Whew, what a relief it was to cross into Idaho and skate at 75 miles per hour instead of just 65.  Twelve hours after take-off, we landed in Idaho Falls for the night.Day #2, State 2, Mile 2 Many: Saturday, January 3: Truly a day of jump and spin.  After she’s all settled into her apartment, Daughter #1 announced she had been unable to negotiate the safe return of some of her apparently essential stuff from the ex-fiance.  We jumped into the truck for a break-neck 3-hour spin down into Utah.  However, the landing was spoiled by the fact that suddenly no one in the other family was available to liberate her stuff until the following morning.  Day #3, The Grand Finale: Sunday, January 4: Before the sun or the temperature even thought to rise, we loaded the aforementioned essential stuff under the watchful eye of both the ex’s angry brother and his big hungry dog.  It was truly an amazing jumping spinning packing performance.     Ice skaters know the impact of a dynamic finish – it makes or breaks the performance and the endorsements.  A death-defying drive is the perfect end to a Traveling Triple Axel.  A full-on blizzard, complete with ice and wind, greeted us half-way back through the mountains.  Not once, in all the miles from there to home, did the weather let up.  Hindsight is always 20/20 and it is clear to see that a bus ticket is the only way to send a college kid back in January.  Trust me; there are no endorsement deals or shiny medals for successfully jumping and spinning and landing the Traveling Triple Axel. The Triple Axel, a dangerous jumping spinning daredevil ice-skating trick known to thrill audiences and judges alike.  I can only imagine the skater’s relief when it goes well and I can imagine their pain when it doesn’t.  I’m not a skater, but I do have experience with another version of the Triple Axel and pain.  It’s actually the Traveling Triple Axel – 3 days, 3states, and 3,000 miles.  My nerves were jumping, my head was spinning, and I have only just recovered enough to tell you about it.Day 1, State 1, Mile 1: Friday, January 2: Oh, it started innocently enough.  Daughter #1 needed to go back to college in southeastern Idaho after the Christmas break.  Travel in January is dicey enough, but we hoped for the best both in road conditions and weather forecasts.  So dark and early that morning, we piled into the little 4-wheel drive pickup and struck out.  Not even half an hour later, as we drove through “Lake Linton” we wondered if it was too late to send her back by bus.Four hours later, we wondered the same thing as we defied gravity and skated uphill into the Blue Mountains.  Around semi trailers and past passenger cars, across icy patches and through windy canyons we made our way to the state line.  Whew, what a relief it was to cross into Idaho and skate at 75 miles per hour instead of just 65.  Twelve hours after take-off, we landed in Idaho Falls for the night.Day #2, State 2, Mile 2 Many: Saturday, January 3: Truly a day of jump and spin.  After she’s all settled into her apartment, Daughter #1 announced she had been unable to negotiate the safe return of some of her apparently essential stuff from the ex-fiance.  We jumped into the truck for a break-neck 3-hour spin down into Utah.  However, the landing was spoiled by the fact that suddenly no one in the other family was available to liberate her stuff until the following morning.  Day #3, The Grand Finale: Sunday, January 4: Before the sun or the temperature even thought to rise, we loaded the aforementioned essential stuff under the watchful eye of both the ex’s angry brother and his big hungry dog.  It was truly an amazing jumping spinning packing performance.     Ice skaters know the impact of a dynamic finish – it makes or breaks the performance and the endorsements.  A death-defying drive is the perfect end to a Traveling Triple Axel.  A full-on blizzard, complete with ice and wind, greeted us half-way back through the mountains.  Not once, in all the miles from there to home, did the weather let up.  Hindsight is always 20/20 and it is clear to see that a bus ticket is the only way to send a college kid back in January.  Trust me; there are no endorsement deals or shiny medals for successfully jumping and spinning and landing the Traveling Triple Axel. Mon, 12 Jan 2009 23:17:05 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Triple-Axel/BLOG/162167/18305.html janamanna 2009-01-12T23:17:05Z CRhighway The Triple Axel, a dangerous jumping spinning daredevil ice-skating trick known to thrill audiences and judges alike.  I can only imagine the skater’s relief when it goes well and I can imagine their pain when it doesn’t.  I’m not a skater, but I do have experience with another version of the Triple Axel and pain.  It’s actually the Traveling Triple Axel – 3 days, 3states, and 3,000 miles.  My nerves were jumping, my head was spinning, and I have only just recovered enough to tell you about it.Day 1, State 1, Mile 1: Friday, January 2: Oh, it started innocently enough.  Daughter #1 needed to go back to college in southeastern Idaho after the Christmas break.  Travel in January is dicey enough, but we hoped for the best both in road conditions and weather forecasts.  So dark and early that morning, we piled into the little 4-wheel drive pickup and struck out.  Not even half an hour later, as we drove through “Lake Linton” we wondered if it was too late to send her back by bus.Four hours later, we wondered the same thing as we defied gravity and skated uphill into the Blue Mountains.  Around semi trailers and past passenger cars, across icy patches and through windy canyons we made our way to the state line.  Whew, what a relief it was to cross into Idaho and skate at 75 miles per hour instead of just 65.  Twelve hours after take-off, we landed in Idaho Falls for the night.Day #2, State 2, Mile 2 Many: Saturday, January 3: Truly a day of jump and spin.  After she’s all settled into her apartment, Daughter #1 announced she had been unable to negotiate the safe return of some of her apparently essential stuff from the ex-fiance.  We jumped into the truck for a break-neck 3-hour spin down into Utah.  However, the landing was spoiled by the fact that suddenly no one in the other family was available to liberate her stuff until the following morning.  Day #3, The Grand Finale: Sunday, January 4: Before the sun or the temperature even thought to rise, we loaded the aforementioned essential stuff under the watchful eye of both the ex’s angry brother and his big hungry dog.  It was truly an amazing jumping spinning packing performance.     Ice skaters know the impact of a dynamic finish – it makes or breaks the performance and the endorsements.  A death-defying drive is the perfect end to a Traveling Triple Axel.  A full-on blizzard, complete with ice and wind, greeted us half-way back through the mountains.  Not once, in all the miles from there to home, did the weather let up.  Hindsight is always 20/20 and it is clear to see that a bus ticket is the only way to send a college kid back in January.  Trust me; there are no endorsement deals or shiny medals for successfully jumping and spinning and landing the Traveling Triple Axel. january, travel nonadult false Triple Axel text blog january,travel 101 11 3.09091 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 162167 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Making-a-list-and-checking-it-twice/BLOG/157145/18305.html I've seen the lists: the best of 2008, the best and worst dressed, sexiest, most eligible bachelor, the most news worthy of 2008 and the predictions for 2009.  Every media outlet and supermarket tabloid has a list.  I didn't find my name on any of them.  That's probably good news.  I made my own lists, new year's resolutions and then a list of 2009 goals.  So, I'm on lists now.  Do they count if I don't show them to anyone? I know how 2009 treats me is up to me… I have been an optimist all my life.  I understand the power of positive thinking and I know The Secret.  I have the talent, the health, the energy, the motivation and a great network of friends and business contacts.  I don’t have any excuses. To reach all my goals, I may need you to join my team.  And in return, if I can help, invite me to be on your team.  We can do more together and teamwork multiplies our potential, so, maybe it is how we define a “team” that counts. Like you, I am on several teams and Team 1 is my family.  Kids, grandkids and the whole extended family.   And it is a winning team although there are a couple players on the trading block (email for details). Outside the family, I am on multiple teams in multiple roles from team captain to quarterback to right tackle and bench warmer.  And I’m proud of these teams and the goals we set out to achieve.  Whether it is my business team or teaming with my customers, the Chamber or civic and nonprofit organizations, every team needs the same ingredients for success.  Great people.  Much of the time, our time is the key contribution which makes a difference.  We tend to be commitaholics, on too many teams and spread too thin which can lead to letting them all down in some way.  To say “yes” effectively, sometimes we have to say “no”.   Sometimes it is about priorities, not just the desire to be on every winning team. This year, to each of my teams I promise to give my best, to be a great team player and to focus on the goal line.  If you are on one of my teams, let’s pull together we can do more.  I look forward to being on your team. Team, forget the lists, it’s game time!   Let’s have a great 2009.  I've seen the lists: the best of 2008, the best and worst dressed, sexiest, most eligible bachelor, the most news worthy of 2008 and the predictions for 2009.  Every media outlet and supermarket tabloid has a list.  I didn't find my name on any of them.  That's probably good news.  I made my own lists, new year's resolutions and then a list of 2009 goals.  So, I'm on lists now.  Do they count if I don't show them to anyone? I know how 2009 treats me is up to me… I have been an optimist all my life.  I understand the power of positive thinking and I know The Secret.  I have the talent, the health, the energy, the motivation and a great network of friends and business contacts.  I don’t have any excuses. To reach all my goals, I may need you to join my team.  And in return, if I can help, invite me to be on your team.  We can do more together and teamwork multiplies our potential, so, maybe it is how we define a “team” that counts. Like you, I am on several teams and Team 1 is my family.  Kids, grandkids and the whole extended family.   And it is a winning team although there are a couple players on the trading block (email for details). Outside the family, I am on multiple teams in multiple roles from team captain to quarterback to right tackle and bench warmer.  And I’m proud of these teams and the goals we set out to achieve.  Whether it is my business team or teaming with my customers, the Chamber or civic and nonprofit organizations, every team needs the same ingredients for success.  Great people.  Much of the time, our time is the key contribution which makes a difference.  We tend to be commitaholics, on too many teams and spread too thin which can lead to letting them all down in some way.  To say “yes” effectively, sometimes we have to say “no”.   Sometimes it is about priorities, not just the desire to be on every winning team. This year, to each of my teams I promise to give my best, to be a great team player and to focus on the goal line.  If you are on one of my teams, let’s pull together we can do more.  I look forward to being on your team. Team, forget the lists, it’s game time!   Let’s have a great 2009.  Fri, 02 Jan 2009 20:55:58 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Making-a-list-and-checking-it-twice/BLOG/157145/18305.html 101Mike 2009-01-02T20:55:58Z CRhighway I've seen the lists: the best of 2008, the best and worst dressed, sexiest, most eligible bachelor, the most news worthy of 2008 and the predictions for 2009.  Every media outlet and supermarket tabloid has a list.  I didn't find my name on any of them.  That's probably good news.  I made my own lists, new year's resolutions and then a list of 2009 goals.  So, I'm on lists now.  Do they count if I don't show them to anyone? I know how 2009 treats me is up to me… I have been an optimist all my life.  I understand the power of positive thinking and I know The Secret.  I have the talent, the health, the energy, the motivation and a great network of friends and business contacts.  I don’t have any excuses. To reach all my goals, I may need you to join my team.  And in return, if I can help, invite me to be on your team.  We can do more together and teamwork multiplies our potential, so, maybe it is how we define a “team” that counts. Like you, I am on several teams and Team 1 is my family.  Kids, grandkids and the whole extended family.   And it is a winning team although there are a couple players on the trading block (email for details). Outside the family, I am on multiple teams in multiple roles from team captain to quarterback to right tackle and bench warmer.  And I’m proud of these teams and the goals we set out to achieve.  Whether it is my business team or teaming with my customers, the Chamber or civic and nonprofit organizations, every team needs the same ingredients for success.  Great people.  Much of the time, our time is the key contribution which makes a difference.  We tend to be commitaholics, on too many teams and spread too thin which can lead to letting them all down in some way.  To say “yes” effectively, sometimes we have to say “no”.   Sometimes it is about priorities, not just the desire to be on every winning team. This year, to each of my teams I promise to give my best, to be a great team player and to focus on the goal line.  If you are on one of my teams, let’s pull together we can do more.  I look forward to being on your team. Team, forget the lists, it’s game time!   Let’s have a great 2009.  nonadult false Making a list and checking it twice! text blog 95 10 4.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2008406&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_951050_18305_2008406_ap_160X120.jpg false St Helens 0 0 157145 2008406 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Snow-Days/BLOG/154558/18305.html Snow days, the stuff of wintry legend.  I grew up in southeastern Idaho where snow days didn’t exist, mostly because no adult believed in them just like they didn’t believe in Excalibur or the Tooth Fairy.  But through the childhood grapevine my friends and I had heard about snow days.  Oh, how we fervently wished for snow days as we shivered together during icy-cold recesses…   Oregon is not Idaho in it's belief and practice of snow days.  I loved having snow days last week.  Even the office was closed, so it seemed like the perfect time to get some things done around the house.  The to-do list was long, but the motivation was short.  It felt like a waste of special time to do anything mundane, useful or constructive.  So this is how I spent my snow days…   I stayed in my sweats – different sweats every day, though.  I watched my favorite holiday movies, Lethal Weapon (only the first one) and Die Hard (one and two).  Nothing sparks more holiday cheer than bullets, blood-shed, and bare-chested actors (Mel and Bruce are two of Santa’s best elves).   I read a whole book from cover to cover.  I fixed real home-made food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  I put up the crap-tacular but blindingly white Christmas tree with its red plastic sparkly ornaments.  What didn’t I do?  I didn’t answer the phone or pick up the clutter or open the bills.  I didn’t care if the cats lounged on the countertops.  I didn’t care if a little spoonful of cookie dough disappeared right out of the bowl.  And you know what?  I didn’t feel the least bit guilty.   Snow days – they really do exist, they really are as good as I wished they would be, and they really are the stuff of wintry legend.  So let’s wish for a few more, ok? Snow days, the stuff of wintry legend.  I grew up in southeastern Idaho where snow days didn’t exist, mostly because no adult believed in them just like they didn’t believe in Excalibur or the Tooth Fairy.  But through the childhood grapevine my friends and I had heard about snow days.  Oh, how we fervently wished for snow days as we shivered together during icy-cold recesses…   Oregon is not Idaho in it's belief and practice of snow days.  I loved having snow days last week.  Even the office was closed, so it seemed like the perfect time to get some things done around the house.  The to-do list was long, but the motivation was short.  It felt like a waste of special time to do anything mundane, useful or constructive.  So this is how I spent my snow days…   I stayed in my sweats – different sweats every day, though.  I watched my favorite holiday movies, Lethal Weapon (only the first one) and Die Hard (one and two).  Nothing sparks more holiday cheer than bullets, blood-shed, and bare-chested actors (Mel and Bruce are two of Santa’s best elves).   I read a whole book from cover to cover.  I fixed real home-made food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  I put up the crap-tacular but blindingly white Christmas tree with its red plastic sparkly ornaments.  What didn’t I do?  I didn’t answer the phone or pick up the clutter or open the bills.  I didn’t care if the cats lounged on the countertops.  I didn’t care if a little spoonful of cookie dough disappeared right out of the bowl.  And you know what?  I didn’t feel the least bit guilty.   Snow days – they really do exist, they really are as good as I wished they would be, and they really are the stuff of wintry legend.  So let’s wish for a few more, ok? Tue, 23 Dec 2008 23:09:02 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Snow-Days/BLOG/154558/18305.html janamanna 2008-12-23T23:09:02Z Humor CRhighway Snow days, the stuff of wintry legend.  I grew up in southeastern Idaho where snow days didn’t exist, mostly because no adult believed in them just like they didn’t believe in Excalibur or the Tooth Fairy.  But through the childhood grapevine my friends and I had heard about snow days.  Oh, how we fervently wished for snow days as we shivered together during icy-cold recesses…   Oregon is not Idaho in it's belief and practice of snow days.  I loved having snow days last week.  Even the office was closed, so it seemed like the perfect time to get some things done around the house.  The to-do list was long, but the motivation was short.  It felt like a waste of special time to do anything mundane, useful or constructive.  So this is how I spent my snow days…   I stayed in my sweats – different sweats every day, though.  I watched my favorite holiday movies, Lethal Weapon (only the first one) and Die Hard (one and two).  Nothing sparks more holiday cheer than bullets, blood-shed, and bare-chested actors (Mel and Bruce are two of Santa’s best elves).   I read a whole book from cover to cover.  I fixed real home-made food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  I put up the crap-tacular but blindingly white Christmas tree with its red plastic sparkly ornaments.  What didn’t I do?  I didn’t answer the phone or pick up the clutter or open the bills.  I didn’t care if the cats lounged on the countertops.  I didn’t care if a little spoonful of cookie dough disappeared right out of the bowl.  And you know what?  I didn’t feel the least bit guilty.   Snow days – they really do exist, they really are as good as I wished they would be, and they really are the stuff of wintry legend.  So let’s wish for a few more, ok? days, humor, snow nonadult false Snow Days text blog days,humor,snow 145 10 4.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false St Helens 0 0 154558 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_String-Me-Along/BLOG/152120/18305.html What’s your favorite part of the holiday season?  Fudge?  Greeting cards?  Scotch tape?  Personally, I’m a sucker for Christmas lights.  Whether the light strings are dangling from the eaves, draped across the shrubs, and/or twisted around the trees – the colors, variety and wattage are just amazing.  A few little twinkly lights thrown in are a nice touch, too.    My love of Christmas lights began way, way back when I was a kid.  The whole famn damily would pile into the old Dodge station wagon for a drive around town to look at the lights.  The snow would diffuse the colors and lights across the lawn while the icicles added big bright dramatic highlights.  Combined with treacherously slick roads and no seat belt laws, those were rides to remember!   Dad was a sucker for Christmas lights, too, even though they almost killed him…   Again way, way back, on one fine January clearance sale day, Dad found the best price EVER on Christmas lights.  He bought every single box and stashed them away in anticipation of the best EVER neighborhood light display.  Months later, he unwrapped all those lights only to discover they were not the string-to-string variety.  After considering the extension cord complications, Dad decided to splice all the lights together into one big long giant string.  He worked along methodically, carefully splicing one string to another, holding the bare wire ends in his mouth as he went.  It was at one such critical molar-clenching moment that my youngest brother decided to plug in the lights.   Snap!  Crackle!  Pop!  Not in the good cereal kind of way, either.  Dad, knocked off his feet, flew across the living room and landed right next to the outlet.  Somehow, he was able to unplug the lights and himself.  “Dad,” said the electrically guilty brother in a voice of stunned awe, “can you do that again?”   So nine extension cords and two root canals later, it was really was the best EVER neighborhood light display.   During this Christmas season, enjoy all of your favorites be it fudge, greeting cards, scotch tape or lights.  Drive carefully and plug in even more carefully! What’s your favorite part of the holiday season?  Fudge?  Greeting cards?  Scotch tape?  Personally, I’m a sucker for Christmas lights.  Whether the light strings are dangling from the eaves, draped across the shrubs, and/or twisted around the trees – the colors, variety and wattage are just amazing.  A few little twinkly lights thrown in are a nice touch, too.    My love of Christmas lights began way, way back when I was a kid.  The whole famn damily would pile into the old Dodge station wagon for a drive around town to look at the lights.  The snow would diffuse the colors and lights across the lawn while the icicles added big bright dramatic highlights.  Combined with treacherously slick roads and no seat belt laws, those were rides to remember!   Dad was a sucker for Christmas lights, too, even though they almost killed him…   Again way, way back, on one fine January clearance sale day, Dad found the best price EVER on Christmas lights.  He bought every single box and stashed them away in anticipation of the best EVER neighborhood light display.  Months later, he unwrapped all those lights only to discover they were not the string-to-string variety.  After considering the extension cord complications, Dad decided to splice all the lights together into one big long giant string.  He worked along methodically, carefully splicing one string to another, holding the bare wire ends in his mouth as he went.  It was at one such critical molar-clenching moment that my youngest brother decided to plug in the lights.   Snap!  Crackle!  Pop!  Not in the good cereal kind of way, either.  Dad, knocked off his feet, flew across the living room and landed right next to the outlet.  Somehow, he was able to unplug the lights and himself.  “Dad,” said the electrically guilty brother in a voice of stunned awe, “can you do that again?”   So nine extension cords and two root canals later, it was really was the best EVER neighborhood light display.   During this Christmas season, enjoy all of your favorites be it fudge, greeting cards, scotch tape or lights.  Drive carefully and plug in even more carefully! Tue, 16 Dec 2008 21:32:07 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_String-Me-Along/BLOG/152120/18305.html janamanna 2008-12-16T21:32:07Z CRhighway What’s your favorite part of the holiday season?  Fudge?  Greeting cards?  Scotch tape?  Personally, I’m a sucker for Christmas lights.  Whether the light strings are dangling from the eaves, draped across the shrubs, and/or twisted around the trees – the colors, variety and wattage are just amazing.  A few little twinkly lights thrown in are a nice touch, too.    My love of Christmas lights began way, way back when I was a kid.  The whole famn damily would pile into the old Dodge station wagon for a drive around town to look at the lights.  The snow would diffuse the colors and lights across the lawn while the icicles added big bright dramatic highlights.  Combined with treacherously slick roads and no seat belt laws, those were rides to remember!   Dad was a sucker for Christmas lights, too, even though they almost killed him…   Again way, way back, on one fine January clearance sale day, Dad found the best price EVER on Christmas lights.  He bought every single box and stashed them away in anticipation of the best EVER neighborhood light display.  Months later, he unwrapped all those lights only to discover they were not the string-to-string variety.  After considering the extension cord complications, Dad decided to splice all the lights together into one big long giant string.  He worked along methodically, carefully splicing one string to another, holding the bare wire ends in his mouth as he went.  It was at one such critical molar-clenching moment that my youngest brother decided to plug in the lights.   Snap!  Crackle!  Pop!  Not in the good cereal kind of way, either.  Dad, knocked off his feet, flew across the living room and landed right next to the outlet.  Somehow, he was able to unplug the lights and himself.  “Dad,” said the electrically guilty brother in a voice of stunned awe, “can you do that again?”   So nine extension cords and two root canals later, it was really was the best EVER neighborhood light display.   During this Christmas season, enjoy all of your favorites be it fudge, greeting cards, scotch tape or lights.  Drive carefully and plug in even more carefully! christmas, lights, santa nonadult false String Me Along text blog christmas,lights,santa 109 2 4.5 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false St Helens 2 0 152120 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Fortune-Cookies/BLOG/149575/18305.html One of those rare planetary and paycheck alignments happened so my husband and I went out to lunch.  We scored our favorite booth at our favorite Chinese restaurant and our favorite entrée just happened to be the lunch special.  And then the fortune cookies, my favorite part. As desserts go, fortune cookies are the best – a little bit of sweetness wrapped around a little bit of hope.  I always pick the cookie pointing to me.  It’s my destiny.  What will my fortune be?  Life-changing advice?  An unexpected trip abroad?  Fame and notoriety?    My fortune is always good but once in a while it’s great!  I save the great ones, counting on both immediate and future fortune-osity.  Here are my all-time greatest and most favorite fortune cookie fortunes: 1) “You shall attain great wisdom with each passing year.”  So to heck with the older and wiser idea.  Just wiser, thank you. 2) “An admirer is concealing his affection for you.”  Do you think my husband knows who this guy is?  Please, somebody send me some flowers. 3) “You will never know hunger.”  Oh, so that must be why I got this next fortune… 4) “You will get new clothes.”  That had better include accessories, too. Part of our family’s Christmas Eve tradition is to leave cookies and milk out for Santa.  So I was wondering, do you think Santa would like a couple of fortune cookies this year instead of the usual holiday gingerbread?  I’m sure that even the Big Elf himself would like some extra wisdom, more affection, and new clothes!     One of those rare planetary and paycheck alignments happened so my husband and I went out to lunch.  We scored our favorite booth at our favorite Chinese restaurant and our favorite entrée just happened to be the lunch special.  And then the fortune cookies, my favorite part. As desserts go, fortune cookies are the best – a little bit of sweetness wrapped around a little bit of hope.  I always pick the cookie pointing to me.  It’s my destiny.  What will my fortune be?  Life-changing advice?  An unexpected trip abroad?  Fame and notoriety?    My fortune is always good but once in a while it’s great!  I save the great ones, counting on both immediate and future fortune-osity.  Here are my all-time greatest and most favorite fortune cookie fortunes: 1) “You shall attain great wisdom with each passing year.”  So to heck with the older and wiser idea.  Just wiser, thank you. 2) “An admirer is concealing his affection for you.”  Do you think my husband knows who this guy is?  Please, somebody send me some flowers. 3) “You will never know hunger.”  Oh, so that must be why I got this next fortune… 4) “You will get new clothes.”  That had better include accessories, too. Part of our family’s Christmas Eve tradition is to leave cookies and milk out for Santa.  So I was wondering, do you think Santa would like a couple of fortune cookies this year instead of the usual holiday gingerbread?  I’m sure that even the Big Elf himself would like some extra wisdom, more affection, and new clothes!     Wed, 10 Dec 2008 19:32:25 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Fortune-Cookies/BLOG/149575/18305.html janamanna 2008-12-10T19:32:25Z Humor CRhighway One of those rare planetary and paycheck alignments happened so my husband and I went out to lunch.  We scored our favorite booth at our favorite Chinese restaurant and our favorite entrée just happened to be the lunch special.  And then the fortune cookies, my favorite part. As desserts go, fortune cookies are the best – a little bit of sweetness wrapped around a little bit of hope.  I always pick the cookie pointing to me.  It’s my destiny.  What will my fortune be?  Life-changing advice?  An unexpected trip abroad?  Fame and notoriety?    My fortune is always good but once in a while it’s great!  I save the great ones, counting on both immediate and future fortune-osity.  Here are my all-time greatest and most favorite fortune cookie fortunes: 1) “You shall attain great wisdom with each passing year.”  So to heck with the older and wiser idea.  Just wiser, thank you. 2) “An admirer is concealing his affection for you.”  Do you think my husband knows who this guy is?  Please, somebody send me some flowers. 3) “You will never know hunger.”  Oh, so that must be why I got this next fortune… 4) “You will get new clothes.”  That had better include accessories, too. Part of our family’s Christmas Eve tradition is to leave cookies and milk out for Santa.  So I was wondering, do you think Santa would like a couple of fortune cookies this year instead of the usual holiday gingerbread?  I’m sure that even the Big Elf himself would like some extra wisdom, more affection, and new clothes!     cookie, fortune, humor nonadult false Fortune Cookies text blog cookie,fortune,humor 128 1 4.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 149575 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Blessings/BLOG/144624/18305.html Considering that it’s Thanksgiving, I’ve decided it’s time to count my blessings.  Financially, it's tight all over so should I count my spare change instead?  Nope.  There’s not enough of it to bother with.  But blessings…. There are plenty of those.   Here are my Top 10 Blessings so far today… Blessing #1:  baby carrots.  They are already peeled.  Being left-handed with a right-handed peeler is a cursing, so I love the safety of baby carrots. Blessing #2:  band-aids.  See above. Blessing #3:  the grocery store.  Everything I want in one convenient location, neatly displayed with clear plastic wrapping or pull-top lids.  Mrs. Pilgrim would be jealous.    Blessing #4:  a grocery list.  I don’t leave home without it or I’ll have to go back home to get it. Blessing #7:  coupons.  The savings give me some spare change to count. Blessing #8:  nice paper plates.  Really, there are some – sturdy, gravy-proof, and recyclable.  Mrs. Pilgrim would be doubly jealous. Blessing #9:  a car.  I can get over the river and through the wood to Grandma’s house before the green bean casserole gets cold. Blessing #10:  football.  I’m not really a fan, but it keeps the guys out of the kitchen. So, may I leave you some holiday advice?  Count your blessings, beware of peelers, shop strategically, and enjoy your feast.  Happy Thanksgiving! Considering that it’s Thanksgiving, I’ve decided it’s time to count my blessings.  Financially, it's tight all over so should I count my spare change instead?  Nope.  There’s not enough of it to bother with.  But blessings…. There are plenty of those.   Here are my Top 10 Blessings so far today… Blessing #1:  baby carrots.  They are already peeled.  Being left-handed with a right-handed peeler is a cursing, so I love the safety of baby carrots. Blessing #2:  band-aids.  See above. Blessing #3:  the grocery store.  Everything I want in one convenient location, neatly displayed with clear plastic wrapping or pull-top lids.  Mrs. Pilgrim would be jealous.    Blessing #4:  a grocery list.  I don’t leave home without it or I’ll have to go back home to get it. Blessing #7:  coupons.  The savings give me some spare change to count. Blessing #8:  nice paper plates.  Really, there are some – sturdy, gravy-proof, and recyclable.  Mrs. Pilgrim would be doubly jealous. Blessing #9:  a car.  I can get over the river and through the wood to Grandma’s house before the green bean casserole gets cold. Blessing #10:  football.  I’m not really a fan, but it keeps the guys out of the kitchen. So, may I leave you some holiday advice?  Count your blessings, beware of peelers, shop strategically, and enjoy your feast.  Happy Thanksgiving! Wed, 26 Nov 2008 16:44:16 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Blessings/BLOG/144624/18305.html janamanna 2008-11-26T16:44:16Z CRhighway Considering that it’s Thanksgiving, I’ve decided it’s time to count my blessings.  Financially, it's tight all over so should I count my spare change instead?  Nope.  There’s not enough of it to bother with.  But blessings…. There are plenty of those.   Here are my Top 10 Blessings so far today… Blessing #1:  baby carrots.  They are already peeled.  Being left-handed with a right-handed peeler is a cursing, so I love the safety of baby carrots. Blessing #2:  band-aids.  See above. Blessing #3:  the grocery store.  Everything I want in one convenient location, neatly displayed with clear plastic wrapping or pull-top lids.  Mrs. Pilgrim would be jealous.    Blessing #4:  a grocery list.  I don’t leave home without it or I’ll have to go back home to get it. Blessing #7:  coupons.  The savings give me some spare change to count. Blessing #8:  nice paper plates.  Really, there are some – sturdy, gravy-proof, and recyclable.  Mrs. Pilgrim would be doubly jealous. Blessing #9:  a car.  I can get over the river and through the wood to Grandma’s house before the green bean casserole gets cold. Blessing #10:  football.  I’m not really a fan, but it keeps the guys out of the kitchen. So, may I leave you some holiday advice?  Count your blessings, beware of peelers, shop strategically, and enjoy your feast.  Happy Thanksgiving! thanksgiving nonadult false Blessings text blog thanksgiving 111 2 5.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 1 0 144624 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Cat-Breakfast/BLOG/136087/18305.html There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast – and that is an eternal truth.  For years scientists and nutritionists have decreed breakfast to be the most important meal of the day, and my cats completely agree.  When the alarm clock rings, the “Feed the Felines” opera begins in earnest.  The meowing starts gently enough, but soon the volume builds, more strident tones develop, the volume continues to increase, and finally a howling crescendo.  Who can sleep through that? I’m the proud owner of a herd of cats.  And they all adore breakfast.  Two cans of fishy stinky gravy delight fairly divided into 8 starving-kitty servings really does equal utter breakfast bliss. Breakfast is always served in the same ceremonial order.  The baby boys, Dust and Don Diego, are fed first at the east end of the kitchen, far away from everyone else because they are such rude and sloppy eaters.  The girlies get theirs next at the south end of the kitchen.  Dixie is always so excited that she does her “Breakfast Belly Dance” on her hind legs, just like a circus act, before settling down to eat.  Dottie, on the other paw, is all business and tucks into her food like a champion competitive eater.  The elder statesmen cats are served next at the north end.  Douglas Fur and Doodlebug start breakfast from their own servings but always wind up eating from each other’s plate in the end.  The boy-boys are fed last at the kitchen equator.  Domino and Daniel have, by far, the most finicky gourmet palates.  Both sit and somberly consider breakfast before delicately sniffing it unique aroma.  A cautious taste is followed with more consideration.  They may eat or they may snub.  The rest of the herd fervently hopes for “snubbage” because that means a few extra bites of squishy goodness. Just as the cat herd finishes breakfast, another herd comes stampeding around the corner.  “Hiya Mom.  What’s for breakfast?” There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast – and that is an eternal truth.  For years scientists and nutritionists have decreed breakfast to be the most important meal of the day, and my cats completely agree.  When the alarm clock rings, the “Feed the Felines” opera begins in earnest.  The meowing starts gently enough, but soon the volume builds, more strident tones develop, the volume continues to increase, and finally a howling crescendo.  Who can sleep through that? I’m the proud owner of a herd of cats.  And they all adore breakfast.  Two cans of fishy stinky gravy delight fairly divided into 8 starving-kitty servings really does equal utter breakfast bliss. Breakfast is always served in the same ceremonial order.  The baby boys, Dust and Don Diego, are fed first at the east end of the kitchen, far away from everyone else because they are such rude and sloppy eaters.  The girlies get theirs next at the south end of the kitchen.  Dixie is always so excited that she does her “Breakfast Belly Dance” on her hind legs, just like a circus act, before settling down to eat.  Dottie, on the other paw, is all business and tucks into her food like a champion competitive eater.  The elder statesmen cats are served next at the north end.  Douglas Fur and Doodlebug start breakfast from their own servings but always wind up eating from each other’s plate in the end.  The boy-boys are fed last at the kitchen equator.  Domino and Daniel have, by far, the most finicky gourmet palates.  Both sit and somberly consider breakfast before delicately sniffing it unique aroma.  A cautious taste is followed with more consideration.  They may eat or they may snub.  The rest of the herd fervently hopes for “snubbage” because that means a few extra bites of squishy goodness. Just as the cat herd finishes breakfast, another herd comes stampeding around the corner.  “Hiya Mom.  What’s for breakfast?” Fri, 07 Nov 2008 17:10:20 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Cat-Breakfast/BLOG/136087/18305.html janamanna 2008-11-07T17:10:20Z Humor CRhighway There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast – and that is an eternal truth.  For years scientists and nutritionists have decreed breakfast to be the most important meal of the day, and my cats completely agree.  When the alarm clock rings, the “Feed the Felines” opera begins in earnest.  The meowing starts gently enough, but soon the volume builds, more strident tones develop, the volume continues to increase, and finally a howling crescendo.  Who can sleep through that? I’m the proud owner of a herd of cats.  And they all adore breakfast.  Two cans of fishy stinky gravy delight fairly divided into 8 starving-kitty servings really does equal utter breakfast bliss. Breakfast is always served in the same ceremonial order.  The baby boys, Dust and Don Diego, are fed first at the east end of the kitchen, far away from everyone else because they are such rude and sloppy eaters.  The girlies get theirs next at the south end of the kitchen.  Dixie is always so excited that she does her “Breakfast Belly Dance” on her hind legs, just like a circus act, before settling down to eat.  Dottie, on the other paw, is all business and tucks into her food like a champion competitive eater.  The elder statesmen cats are served next at the north end.  Douglas Fur and Doodlebug start breakfast from their own servings but always wind up eating from each other’s plate in the end.  The boy-boys are fed last at the kitchen equator.  Domino and Daniel have, by far, the most finicky gourmet palates.  Both sit and somberly consider breakfast before delicately sniffing it unique aroma.  A cautious taste is followed with more consideration.  They may eat or they may snub.  The rest of the herd fervently hopes for “snubbage” because that means a few extra bites of squishy goodness. Just as the cat herd finishes breakfast, another herd comes stampeding around the corner.  “Hiya Mom.  What’s for breakfast?” humor nonadult false Cat Breakfast text blog humor 211 1 4.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 136087 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Quit-trying-to-fix-me-Im-not-broken/BLOG/135983/18305.html I have more than one extroverted friend who sees my lifestyle as their charity project. As if getting the introvert out of the house is somehow akin to saving the whales. They never tire of trying to assimilate me into their extended group of friends, but I am holding fast.When an extroverted friend asks "what are you doing tomorrow?" I come by a deeper understanding of the 'fight or flight' response. While I was once a little slow on the uptake, I've become fairly adept at blurting plausible sounding activities I'll be very busy doing. It doesn't matter though - they'll then utter a sentence I can't begin to grasp the formation of... "oh, because my sister's neighbor is having a candle party, you should come". That my extroverted friend would think I'd be interested tells me she has never listened to a word I've said.I have grown up enough to decline these invitations, but it never ends there. It's nearly always followed up with "come on, it'll be fun, there'll be prizes" (oh, goody, prizes mean games!) or worse yet, "it'll do you good to get out". Oh, and there It is. The you're broken, you need to be fixed angle. Honestly, I don't need any overpriced sugar cookie candles, and I surely don't feel compelled to join the clutch in their 'adult conversation' -- which I've discovered means little more than talking in psuedonegative tones about the family they supposedly couldn't wait to get away from.I have let my guard down and shown up as the 'bring a friend' a time or two. I'm not sure if it was the number of times I heard "ooh, smell this one", or just my general disdain for being there in the first place, but I came way too close to throttling the cheery little 'independent consultant' for asking me to self-address a postcard and sign up to sell the same crap she's hocking as her 'sub-independent consultant'. It might have made the party a little uncomfortable for a moment, but the quiet girl across the room nodded in my direction, which I took as a subtle showing of solidarity.I've vowed to never go to another, so when I politely decline your invitation, please don't make me do it twice. There must be more pressing social causes out there, so notice that I am perfectly happy and content and don't need to be fixed. I have more than one extroverted friend who sees my lifestyle as their charity project. As if getting the introvert out of the house is somehow akin to saving the whales. They never tire of trying to assimilate me into their extended group of friends, but I am holding fast.When an extroverted friend asks "what are you doing tomorrow?" I come by a deeper understanding of the 'fight or flight' response. While I was once a little slow on the uptake, I've become fairly adept at blurting plausible sounding activities I'll be very busy doing. It doesn't matter though - they'll then utter a sentence I can't begin to grasp the formation of... "oh, because my sister's neighbor is having a candle party, you should come". That my extroverted friend would think I'd be interested tells me she has never listened to a word I've said.I have grown up enough to decline these invitations, but it never ends there. It's nearly always followed up with "come on, it'll be fun, there'll be prizes" (oh, goody, prizes mean games!) or worse yet, "it'll do you good to get out". Oh, and there It is. The you're broken, you need to be fixed angle. Honestly, I don't need any overpriced sugar cookie candles, and I surely don't feel compelled to join the clutch in their 'adult conversation' -- which I've discovered means little more than talking in psuedonegative tones about the family they supposedly couldn't wait to get away from.I have let my guard down and shown up as the 'bring a friend' a time or two. I'm not sure if it was the number of times I heard "ooh, smell this one", or just my general disdain for being there in the first place, but I came way too close to throttling the cheery little 'independent consultant' for asking me to self-address a postcard and sign up to sell the same crap she's hocking as her 'sub-independent consultant'. It might have made the party a little uncomfortable for a moment, but the quiet girl across the room nodded in my direction, which I took as a subtle showing of solidarity.I've vowed to never go to another, so when I politely decline your invitation, please don't make me do it twice. There must be more pressing social causes out there, so notice that I am perfectly happy and content and don't need to be fixed. Fri, 07 Nov 2008 13:34:56 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Quit-trying-to-fix-me-Im-not-broken/BLOG/135983/18305.html susan_leslie 2008-11-07T13:34:56Z Humor CRhighway I have more than one extroverted friend who sees my lifestyle as their charity project. As if getting the introvert out of the house is somehow akin to saving the whales. They never tire of trying to assimilate me into their extended group of friends, but I am holding fast.When an extroverted friend asks "what are you doing tomorrow?" I come by a deeper understanding of the 'fight or flight' response. While I was once a little slow on the uptake, I've become fairly adept at blurting plausible sounding activities I'll be very busy doing. It doesn't matter though - they'll then utter a sentence I can't begin to grasp the formation of... "oh, because my sister's neighbor is having a candle party, you should come". That my extroverted friend would think I'd be interested tells me she has never listened to a word I've said.I have grown up enough to decline these invitations, but it never ends there. It's nearly always followed up with "come on, it'll be fun, there'll be prizes" (oh, goody, prizes mean games!) or worse yet, "it'll do you good to get out". Oh, and there It is. The you're broken, you need to be fixed angle. Honestly, I don't need any overpriced sugar cookie candles, and I surely don't feel compelled to join the clutch in their 'adult conversation' -- which I've discovered means little more than talking in psuedonegative tones about the family they supposedly couldn't wait to get away from.I have let my guard down and shown up as the 'bring a friend' a time or two. I'm not sure if it was the number of times I heard "ooh, smell this one", or just my general disdain for being there in the first place, but I came way too close to throttling the cheery little 'independent consultant' for asking me to self-address a postcard and sign up to sell the same crap she's hocking as her 'sub-independent consultant'. It might have made the party a little uncomfortable for a moment, but the quiet girl across the room nodded in my direction, which I took as a subtle showing of solidarity.I've vowed to never go to another, so when I politely decline your invitation, please don't make me do it twice. There must be more pressing social causes out there, so notice that I am perfectly happy and content and don't need to be fixed. humor nonadult false Quit trying to fix me, I'm not broken text blog humor 256 3 3.33333 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=4154875&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_2073597_18305_4154875_ap_160X120.jpg false 2 0 135983 4154875 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Commercial-Break/BLOG/133244/18305.html I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a commercial break.  No, not the kind where you book it to the fridge for a cold diet soda before your favorite show is back on.  I’m talking about a political commercial break.  This election season has prompted some of the most negative commercials and dirty dog politics I’ve ever seen on the small screen. Every vote, every decision, every trip, and every purchase has been called into question.  Every thing from frozen peas to office furniture has been flung before the voters in the hope of victory on election night.  Candidates and committees have been flinging it as us for months now and it’s almost over.  Tomorrow I can stop ducking.    I never thought I’d say it, but all of these commercials have made me realize how much I’ve missed all the other awful commercials I used to see.  Like the pipe people who advertise bladder control medicine.  Or the do-it-yourself DNA kit “conveniently located right next to the pregnancy tests.”  Or the low-budget used car salesman superhero who can get you “the car of your dreams regardless of your past credit history.”  Or toilet cleaning tools called “wands.”  Political advertising has made even these clunkers look like the best thing on T.V., ranking right up there with foreclosure infomercials. It’s important to be an informed voter, but after all of these political commercials… I’m a stressed and irritated voter.  I’m a cranky and cantankerous voter.  I’m a voter who just can’t wait until the voting is over.  I’m a voter who’s ready for a commercial break.  I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a commercial break.  No, not the kind where you book it to the fridge for a cold diet soda before your favorite show is back on.  I’m talking about a political commercial break.  This election season has prompted some of the most negative commercials and dirty dog politics I’ve ever seen on the small screen. Every vote, every decision, every trip, and every purchase has been called into question.  Every thing from frozen peas to office furniture has been flung before the voters in the hope of victory on election night.  Candidates and committees have been flinging it as us for months now and it’s almost over.  Tomorrow I can stop ducking.    I never thought I’d say it, but all of these commercials have made me realize how much I’ve missed all the other awful commercials I used to see.  Like the pipe people who advertise bladder control medicine.  Or the do-it-yourself DNA kit “conveniently located right next to the pregnancy tests.”  Or the low-budget used car salesman superhero who can get you “the car of your dreams regardless of your past credit history.”  Or toilet cleaning tools called “wands.”  Political advertising has made even these clunkers look like the best thing on T.V., ranking right up there with foreclosure infomercials. It’s important to be an informed voter, but after all of these political commercials… I’m a stressed and irritated voter.  I’m a cranky and cantankerous voter.  I’m a voter who just can’t wait until the voting is over.  I’m a voter who’s ready for a commercial break.  Mon, 03 Nov 2008 23:35:22 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Commercial-Break/BLOG/133244/18305.html janamanna 2008-11-03T23:35:22Z Humor CRhighway I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a commercial break.  No, not the kind where you book it to the fridge for a cold diet soda before your favorite show is back on.  I’m talking about a political commercial break.  This election season has prompted some of the most negative commercials and dirty dog politics I’ve ever seen on the small screen. Every vote, every decision, every trip, and every purchase has been called into question.  Every thing from frozen peas to office furniture has been flung before the voters in the hope of victory on election night.  Candidates and committees have been flinging it as us for months now and it’s almost over.  Tomorrow I can stop ducking.    I never thought I’d say it, but all of these commercials have made me realize how much I’ve missed all the other awful commercials I used to see.  Like the pipe people who advertise bladder control medicine.  Or the do-it-yourself DNA kit “conveniently located right next to the pregnancy tests.”  Or the low-budget used car salesman superhero who can get you “the car of your dreams regardless of your past credit history.”  Or toilet cleaning tools called “wands.”  Political advertising has made even these clunkers look like the best thing on T.V., ranking right up there with foreclosure infomercials. It’s important to be an informed voter, but after all of these political commercials… I’m a stressed and irritated voter.  I’m a cranky and cantankerous voter.  I’m a voter who just can’t wait until the voting is over.  I’m a voter who’s ready for a commercial break.  ads, humor, political nonadult false Commercial Break text blog ads,humor,political 167 1 4.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 1 0 133244 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Im-softHes-in-the-Dog-house/BLOG/130799/18305.html The word soft …is a warm and fuzzy feeling, it exalts visions of a large fluffy down bed that you get lost in, the smoothness of a baby’s bottom, a new kitten, puppy or bunny and yes even grandma or auntie’s full bosom pressed against your face in one of her wonderful warm hugs. But there are times when you don’t want to be soft….in a dare, crying in front of your friends and when you husband tells you your body is getting soft.  Yup…it happened a few weeks ago, we were discussing our goals in weight loss which has not been too effective, we are not obese just need to lose 15 lbs or so and our age is now a factor with hormones and lower metabolism and of course the not so good habits we have developed over the years contribute; we are to say the least losing the battle of the bulge. Notice I say WE, it is not I nor ME it is WE, but it seems Me get discussed more than WE.  Ok, so maybe I am being soft but unbeknownst to him the arrow pierced none the less and maybe it was an unknown motivator in disguise. Soft…yup it has its negative side and YUP I fess up, I am soft as mush inside, but hard as armor on the outside careful not to let the mush seep though.  You see this weekend the armor had to work overtime!  Let’s go back a year ago…it was Saturday …a very special day… It started out as a beautiful sunny crisp fall day, a day filled with excitement, love and family. Magic was in the air as the sun set over the water we said our vows and sealed them with a kiss, and the celebration began with family and friends, truly a magical day! A year later…this year…this past Sunday…a very special day... It was a beautiful sunny crisp fall day that began with excitement and love….and morning turned into afternoon… and afternoon turned into an ordinary day…a very ordinary day. Washing clothes for the work week, working on the computer, and to get out of the house to enjoy the beautiful day…a trip to the dog park. YUP…a very ordinary day….should have left him there…he’s in the Dog House!  The word soft …is a warm and fuzzy feeling, it exalts visions of a large fluffy down bed that you get lost in, the smoothness of a baby’s bottom, a new kitten, puppy or bunny and yes even grandma or auntie’s full bosom pressed against your face in one of her wonderful warm hugs. But there are times when you don’t want to be soft….in a dare, crying in front of your friends and when you husband tells you your body is getting soft.  Yup…it happened a few weeks ago, we were discussing our goals in weight loss which has not been too effective, we are not obese just need to lose 15 lbs or so and our age is now a factor with hormones and lower metabolism and of course the not so good habits we have developed over the years contribute; we are to say the least losing the battle of the bulge. Notice I say WE, it is not I nor ME it is WE, but it seems Me get discussed more than WE.  Ok, so maybe I am being soft but unbeknownst to him the arrow pierced none the less and maybe it was an unknown motivator in disguise. Soft…yup it has its negative side and YUP I fess up, I am soft as mush inside, but hard as armor on the outside careful not to let the mush seep though.  You see this weekend the armor had to work overtime!  Let’s go back a year ago…it was Saturday …a very special day… It started out as a beautiful sunny crisp fall day, a day filled with excitement, love and family. Magic was in the air as the sun set over the water we said our vows and sealed them with a kiss, and the celebration began with family and friends, truly a magical day! A year later…this year…this past Sunday…a very special day... It was a beautiful sunny crisp fall day that began with excitement and love….and morning turned into afternoon… and afternoon turned into an ordinary day…a very ordinary day. Washing clothes for the work week, working on the computer, and to get out of the house to enjoy the beautiful day…a trip to the dog park. YUP…a very ordinary day….should have left him there…he’s in the Dog House!  Thu, 30 Oct 2008 15:22:54 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Im-softHes-in-the-Dog-house/BLOG/130799/18305.html Candi 2008-10-30T15:22:54Z Humor CRhighway The word soft …is a warm and fuzzy feeling, it exalts visions of a large fluffy down bed that you get lost in, the smoothness of a baby’s bottom, a new kitten, puppy or bunny and yes even grandma or auntie’s full bosom pressed against your face in one of her wonderful warm hugs. But there are times when you don’t want to be soft….in a dare, crying in front of your friends and when you husband tells you your body is getting soft.  Yup…it happened a few weeks ago, we were discussing our goals in weight loss which has not been too effective, we are not obese just need to lose 15 lbs or so and our age is now a factor with hormones and lower metabolism and of course the not so good habits we have developed over the years contribute; we are to say the least losing the battle of the bulge. Notice I say WE, it is not I nor ME it is WE, but it seems Me get discussed more than WE.  Ok, so maybe I am being soft but unbeknownst to him the arrow pierced none the less and maybe it was an unknown motivator in disguise. Soft…yup it has its negative side and YUP I fess up, I am soft as mush inside, but hard as armor on the outside careful not to let the mush seep though.  You see this weekend the armor had to work overtime!  Let’s go back a year ago…it was Saturday …a very special day… It started out as a beautiful sunny crisp fall day, a day filled with excitement, love and family. Magic was in the air as the sun set over the water we said our vows and sealed them with a kiss, and the celebration began with family and friends, truly a magical day! A year later…this year…this past Sunday…a very special day... It was a beautiful sunny crisp fall day that began with excitement and love….and morning turned into afternoon… and afternoon turned into an ordinary day…a very ordinary day. Washing clothes for the work week, working on the computer, and to get out of the house to enjoy the beautiful day…a trip to the dog park. YUP…a very ordinary day….should have left him there…he’s in the Dog House!  humor nonadult false I'm soft...He's in the Dog house! text blog humor 273 1 5.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=4087100&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_2017578_18305_4087100_ap_160X120.jpg false 2 0 130799 4087100 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Halloweenie/BLOG/124070/18305.html Hi, my name is Jana and I’m a Halloweenie.  I love Halloween and wait for it with more anticipation than any other holiday because I don’t have to buy anyone a gift or send anyone a card.  Halloweenie-itis has been a life-long affliction.  I’m sure I caught it from my mom and I’m sure there is no cure.   Mom decorated for all the holidays, even the more overlooked ones like Arbor Day.  But Halloween was the most fun to decorate for because of its unlimited frightening potential combinations of pumpkins, ghosts, black cats, mummies, monsters, broomsticks…  She would put out all of the Halloween decorations right after we went to bed on September 30th so that when we got up on October 1st, the terrifying transformation was complete.  Every year it was new and different and just scary enough without being too scary.  I have to give her kudos for being so creepily creative.  Mom really was the Halloweenie decorator of her day. But it didn’t stop there… why transform just the house?  Every year Mom wore a long black sequined witch robe with long floppy tattered sleeves. It was actually an old bathrobe that had been subjected to her Halloweenie transformation decoration determination.  Crazy striped socks, orange ballet slippers, and spider jewelry completed the wardrobe ensemble.  And such a get-up required the perfect up-do.  Mom would tease her hair straight up and pin in little glittery black paper bats.  Years later, in a fit of teenage temper, I called her a witch and stomped off to my room for a good pout.  When hunger finally drove me out, there was Mom the Witch sitting at the kitchen table – teased hair and all.  But it didn’t stop there… what about the food?  Halloween is all about the treats, true enough, but you’ve still got to eat dinner and any Halloweenie worth her candy corn will have a menu.  Maybe some Kitty Litter Casserole (meatballs and rice) or Corpse Loaf (meatloaf) would hit the spot.  Serve either main dish with Frog Eye Salad (fruit salad) and wash it all down Pollution Punch (punch with a little punch).  As soon as dinner was done and the last cauldron put away, it was time to trick-or-treat!  Back then the treats were homemade.   Popcorn balls and caramel apples were Mom’s specialties.  Lucky trick-or-treaters at our house got both!  No one could ever choose between them anyway.  But it didn’t stop there… I’m sure my own children have Halloweenie-itis and I’m sure they caught it from me.  (Once, one of them actually asked Santa for a jack-o-lantern.  Yikes. I guess the elves had to hire goblin contractors.)  After years of exposure to costumes, cobwebs, and candy how could they not catch it?  So beware on October 31st because you just never know what you might catch – or what might catch you!  Happy Halloween! Hi, my name is Jana and I’m a Halloweenie.  I love Halloween and wait for it with more anticipation than any other holiday because I don’t have to buy anyone a gift or send anyone a card.  Halloweenie-itis has been a life-long affliction.  I’m sure I caught it from my mom and I’m sure there is no cure.   Mom decorated for all the holidays, even the more overlooked ones like Arbor Day.  But Halloween was the most fun to decorate for because of its unlimited frightening potential combinations of pumpkins, ghosts, black cats, mummies, monsters, broomsticks…  She would put out all of the Halloween decorations right after we went to bed on September 30th so that when we got up on October 1st, the terrifying transformation was complete.  Every year it was new and different and just scary enough without being too scary.  I have to give her kudos for being so creepily creative.  Mom really was the Halloweenie decorator of her day. But it didn’t stop there… why transform just the house?  Every year Mom wore a long black sequined witch robe with long floppy tattered sleeves. It was actually an old bathrobe that had been subjected to her Halloweenie transformation decoration determination.  Crazy striped socks, orange ballet slippers, and spider jewelry completed the wardrobe ensemble.  And such a get-up required the perfect up-do.  Mom would tease her hair straight up and pin in little glittery black paper bats.  Years later, in a fit of teenage temper, I called her a witch and stomped off to my room for a good pout.  When hunger finally drove me out, there was Mom the Witch sitting at the kitchen table – teased hair and all.  But it didn’t stop there… what about the food?  Halloween is all about the treats, true enough, but you’ve still got to eat dinner and any Halloweenie worth her candy corn will have a menu.  Maybe some Kitty Litter Casserole (meatballs and rice) or Corpse Loaf (meatloaf) would hit the spot.  Serve either main dish with Frog Eye Salad (fruit salad) and wash it all down Pollution Punch (punch with a little punch).  As soon as dinner was done and the last cauldron put away, it was time to trick-or-treat!  Back then the treats were homemade.   Popcorn balls and caramel apples were Mom’s specialties.  Lucky trick-or-treaters at our house got both!  No one could ever choose between them anyway.  But it didn’t stop there… I’m sure my own children have Halloweenie-itis and I’m sure they caught it from me.  (Once, one of them actually asked Santa for a jack-o-lantern.  Yikes. I guess the elves had to hire goblin contractors.)  After years of exposure to costumes, cobwebs, and candy how could they not catch it?  So beware on October 31st because you just never know what you might catch – or what might catch you!  Happy Halloween! Mon, 20 Oct 2008 22:26:55 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Halloweenie/BLOG/124070/18305.html janamanna 2008-10-20T22:26:55Z Humor CRhighway Hi, my name is Jana and I’m a Halloweenie.  I love Halloween and wait for it with more anticipation than any other holiday because I don’t have to buy anyone a gift or send anyone a card.  Halloweenie-itis has been a life-long affliction.  I’m sure I caught it from my mom and I’m sure there is no cure.   Mom decorated for all the holidays, even the more overlooked ones like Arbor Day.  But Halloween was the most fun to decorate for because of its unlimited frightening potential combinations of pumpkins, ghosts, black cats, mummies, monsters, broomsticks…  She would put out all of the Halloween decorations right after we went to bed on September 30th so that when we got up on October 1st, the terrifying transformation was complete.  Every year it was new and different and just scary enough without being too scary.  I have to give her kudos for being so creepily creative.  Mom really was the Halloweenie decorator of her day. But it didn’t stop there… why transform just the house?  Every year Mom wore a long black sequined witch robe with long floppy tattered sleeves. It was actually an old bathrobe that had been subjected to her Halloweenie transformation decoration determination.  Crazy striped socks, orange ballet slippers, and spider jewelry completed the wardrobe ensemble.  And such a get-up required the perfect up-do.  Mom would tease her hair straight up and pin in little glittery black paper bats.  Years later, in a fit of teenage temper, I called her a witch and stomped off to my room for a good pout.  When hunger finally drove me out, there was Mom the Witch sitting at the kitchen table – teased hair and all.  But it didn’t stop there… what about the food?  Halloween is all about the treats, true enough, but you’ve still got to eat dinner and any Halloweenie worth her candy corn will have a menu.  Maybe some Kitty Litter Casserole (meatballs and rice) or Corpse Loaf (meatloaf) would hit the spot.  Serve either main dish with Frog Eye Salad (fruit salad) and wash it all down Pollution Punch (punch with a little punch).  As soon as dinner was done and the last cauldron put away, it was time to trick-or-treat!  Back then the treats were homemade.   Popcorn balls and caramel apples were Mom’s specialties.  Lucky trick-or-treaters at our house got both!  No one could ever choose between them anyway.  But it didn’t stop there… I’m sure my own children have Halloweenie-itis and I’m sure they caught it from me.  (Once, one of them actually asked Santa for a jack-o-lantern.  Yikes. I guess the elves had to hire goblin contractors.)  After years of exposure to costumes, cobwebs, and candy how could they not catch it?  So beware on October 31st because you just never know what you might catch – or what might catch you!  Happy Halloween! halloween, humor nonadult false Halloweenie text blog halloween,humor 153 2 5.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 124070 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Costumes-Arent-For-Everyone/BLOG/121743/18305.html I love Halloween, really I do.  It’s the time of year when piles of crispy, crunchy leaves are just asking to be jumped in, and for a couple of weeks, no one yells at me for shooing away the neighbors black cat.  Plus, there is CANDY.  Candy is everywhere.  I can sneak pieces all day long and no one is the wiser.  Sometimes I even stash a few in my super secret hiding spot, but my mom usually finds those (I guess it’s not so super secret anymore).  But this part.  THIS is ridiculous.  Completely unacceptable.              I told my mom that I don’t like dressing up.  When she brought home that stupid chicken costume and showed it to me, I cringed and started my ‘I don’t wanna!’ whining routine.  Then, when she wanted me to try it on, I hid under the bed.             “Oh, quit complaining, you’ll look adorable!” she said.            “I promise no one will make fun of you.” she said.          I knew then and I know now that both of those statements are completely false.  Time and time again, she says the same thing and makes me the same promises, and it always turns out badly.            It will be just like last year, and the year before that.  Mom throws a Halloween party, and the house is filled with people laughing and giggling at me, giving me pitying looks and stuffing me back into my costume whenever I manage to wriggle out of part of it.  The worst part is, every time I pick up something tasty, someone takes it away, saying “I don’t think your mom wants you to have all that sugar.”  Every time!  It’s torture.  It’s not just regular torture, either.  It’s humiliating torture.               It’s not gonna happen this year.  No way, no how.  I’m busting out of this joint and having one night of freedom to celebrate Halloween my way.  You see, I have a plan.                          As the party approaches, everything falls into place perfectly.  I take a bath and my mom puts the loathsome chicken costume on me with much less difficulty than usual.  That should have been her first clue that something was up.   I sit calmly on the couch while she finishes with the decorations and prepares the refreshments.  ME, calm before a party?  No begging to sample the food, no following her around trying to get her attention?  That should set the warning bells off.   To top it off, as the guests arrive, I greet them happily, politely and affectionately.  Hey, I like my mom’s friends, but being happy and polite while in a chicken costume?  Really? It’s time for me to make my move.  The party is in full swing, and I dart out the front door when it is opened for a group of trick or treaters.  I hear people yelling at me to come back, but within a minute, I am blocks away, joyfully joining the crowds of costumed kids. Phase Two:  The Adventure Begins    I slip in with different groups as they knock on doors and ring doorbells.  We run from house to house, and while others drop their treats into their sacks or buckets, every goodie I get, I eat immediately.  It’s all more wonderful than I ever imagined.               My favorite houses are the ones that have left a bowl full of treats on their front porch, trusting kids to respect the honor system.  I’m sorry, but there is no respect in my game plan for the evening.  This is my one, and I fear my only, Halloween to do exactly what I want.  I gorge myself on these bowls of candy then and there, as there is no chance I can take any home with me.  I eat until the parents of the younger trick or treaters scold me and I run away.              With my belly is full of sweet gooey goodness, I feel like I have successfully accomplished the ‘treat’ part of the evening.  It’s time to bring on the tricks.              Listen, I’m not usually bad.  In fact, I’m a good boy most of the time.  I just want to have the complete Halloween experience.  As I’m wandering away from a bowl of candy I just cleaned out, I come across a group of teenagers who seem to be as into the whole ‘trick’ thing as much as I am, and the mischief begins.   I help them unroll toilet paper to decorate a front yard, I pull down a few decorations, and we hide in bushes then jump out to scare little kids.  I do think I crossed the line when I peed on a neighbor’s doormat, though.  The teenagers seemed to love it but the owner of the house was none too pleased.              As the streets begin to clear, I turn towards home.  I have heard my mom and her friends calling to me for the past couple of hours, and I’m starting to feel guilty for running away.  Besides, I’m getting tired, my tummy doesn’t feel so good, and I have one more trick to play.                      When I get to my house, the front door flies open and I am grabbed up in a big hug.  I though my mom would be angry, but she just keeps hugging me, kissing me, and telling me how worried she was.  I must look frightful, as I am covered with smears of candy and my costume is dirty and torn from the bushes.  I’m beginning to feel a little bad about what’s to come, but I’ve already passed the point of no return.                           The party is still in full swing, as planned.  I walk to the center of the living room with people fawning over me with every step.  I stand there for a moment and then start heaving.  That’s right.  I puke right smack in the middle of the party.  I usually feel terrible when I throw up on the rug, but not this time.  It’s my moms turn to be embarrassed on Halloween, and nothing is more humbling than being on your hands and knees in the middle of your own party dealing with that disgusting mess.   I really hope my mom got the message, and next Halloween will be different.  Now, with my mission is accomplished, I look up at my mom and her friends, wag my tail, grab my favorite squeaky toy and trot off to lay on my bed and have a good chew.  I love Halloween, really I do.  It’s the time of year when piles of crispy, crunchy leaves are just asking to be jumped in, and for a couple of weeks, no one yells at me for shooing away the neighbors black cat.  Plus, there is CANDY.  Candy is everywhere.  I can sneak pieces all day long and no one is the wiser.  Sometimes I even stash a few in my super secret hiding spot, but my mom usually finds those (I guess it’s not so super secret anymore).  But this part.  THIS is ridiculous.  Completely unacceptable.              I told my mom that I don’t like dressing up.  When she brought home that stupid chicken costume and showed it to me, I cringed and started my ‘I don’t wanna!’ whining routine.  Then, when she wanted me to try it on, I hid under the bed.             “Oh, quit complaining, you’ll look adorable!” she said.            “I promise no one will make fun of you.” she said.          I knew then and I know now that both of those statements are completely false.  Time and time again, she says the same thing and makes me the same promises, and it always turns out badly.            It will be just like last year, and the year before that.  Mom throws a Halloween party, and the house is filled with people laughing and giggling at me, giving me pitying looks and stuffing me back into my costume whenever I manage to wriggle out of part of it.  The worst part is, every time I pick up something tasty, someone takes it away, saying “I don’t think your mom wants you to have all that sugar.”  Every time!  It’s torture.  It’s not just regular torture, either.  It’s humiliating torture.               It’s not gonna happen this year.  No way, no how.  I’m busting out of this joint and having one night of freedom to celebrate Halloween my way.  You see, I have a plan.                          As the party approaches, everything falls into place perfectly.  I take a bath and my mom puts the loathsome chicken costume on me with much less difficulty than usual.  That should have been her first clue that something was up.   I sit calmly on the couch while she finishes with the decorations and prepares the refreshments.  ME, calm before a party?  No begging to sample the food, no following her around trying to get her attention?  That should set the warning bells off.   To top it off, as the guests arrive, I greet them happily, politely and affectionately.  Hey, I like my mom’s friends, but being happy and polite while in a chicken costume?  Really? It’s time for me to make my move.  The party is in full swing, and I dart out the front door when it is opened for a group of trick or treaters.  I hear people yelling at me to come back, but within a minute, I am blocks away, joyfully joining the crowds of costumed kids. Phase Two:  The Adventure Begins    I slip in with different groups as they knock on doors and ring doorbells.  We run from house to house, and while others drop their treats into their sacks or buckets, every goodie I get, I eat immediately.  It’s all more wonderful than I ever imagined.               My favorite houses are the ones that have left a bowl full of treats on their front porch, trusting kids to respect the honor system.  I’m sorry, but there is no respect in my game plan for the evening.  This is my one, and I fear my only, Halloween to do exactly what I want.  I gorge myself on these bowls of candy then and there, as there is no chance I can take any home with me.  I eat until the parents of the younger trick or treaters scold me and I run away.              With my belly is full of sweet gooey goodness, I feel like I have successfully accomplished the ‘treat’ part of the evening.  It’s time to bring on the tricks.              Listen, I’m not usually bad.  In fact, I’m a good boy most of the time.  I just want to have the complete Halloween experience.  As I’m wandering away from a bowl of candy I just cleaned out, I come across a group of teenagers who seem to be as into the whole ‘trick’ thing as much as I am, and the mischief begins.   I help them unroll toilet paper to decorate a front yard, I pull down a few decorations, and we hide in bushes then jump out to scare little kids.  I do think I crossed the line when I peed on a neighbor’s doormat, though.  The teenagers seemed to love it but the owner of the house was none too pleased.              As the streets begin to clear, I turn towards home.  I have heard my mom and her friends calling to me for the past couple of hours, and I’m starting to feel guilty for running away.  Besides, I’m getting tired, my tummy doesn’t feel so good, and I have one more trick to play.                      When I get to my house, the front door flies open and I am grabbed up in a big hug.  I though my mom would be angry, but she just keeps hugging me, kissing me, and telling me how worried she was.  I must look frightful, as I am covered with smears of candy and my costume is dirty and torn from the bushes.  I’m beginning to feel a little bad about what’s to come, but I’ve already passed the point of no return.                           The party is still in full swing, as planned.  I walk to the center of the living room with people fawning over me with every step.  I stand there for a moment and then start heaving.  That’s right.  I puke right smack in the middle of the party.  I usually feel terrible when I throw up on the rug, but not this time.  It’s my moms turn to be embarrassed on Halloween, and nothing is more humbling than being on your hands and knees in the middle of your own party dealing with that disgusting mess.   I really hope my mom got the message, and next Halloween will be different.  Now, with my mission is accomplished, I look up at my mom and her friends, wag my tail, grab my favorite squeaky toy and trot off to lay on my bed and have a good chew.  Fri, 17 Oct 2008 02:28:15 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Costumes-Arent-For-Everyone/BLOG/121743/18305.html LoveMyPup 2008-10-17T02:28:15Z CRhighway I love Halloween, really I do.  It’s the time of year when piles of crispy, crunchy leaves are just asking to be jumped in, and for a couple of weeks, no one yells at me for shooing away the neighbors black cat.  Plus, there is CANDY.  Candy is everywhere.  I can sneak pieces all day long and no one is the wiser.  Sometimes I even stash a few in my super secret hiding spot, but my mom usually finds those (I guess it’s not so super secret anymore).  But this part.  THIS is ridiculous.  Completely unacceptable.              I told my mom that I don’t like dressing up.  When she brought home that stupid chicken costume and showed it to me, I cringed and started my ‘I don’t wanna!’ whining routine.  Then, when she wanted me to try it on, I hid under the bed.             “Oh, quit complaining, you’ll look adorable!” she said.            “I promise no one will make fun of you.” she said.          I knew then and I know now that both of those statements are completely false.  Time and time again, she says the same thing and makes me the same promises, and it always turns out badly.            It will be just like last year, and the year before that.  Mom throws a Halloween party, and the house is filled with people laughing and giggling at me, giving me pitying looks and stuffing me back into my costume whenever I manage to wriggle out of part of it.  The worst part is, every time I pick up something tasty, someone takes it away, saying “I don’t think your mom wants you to have all that sugar.”  Every time!  It’s torture.  It’s not just regular torture, either.  It’s humiliating torture.               It’s not gonna happen this year.  No way, no how.  I’m busting out of this joint and having one night of freedom to celebrate Halloween my way.  You see, I have a plan.                          As the party approaches, everything falls into place perfectly.  I take a bath and my mom puts the loathsome chicken costume on me with much less difficulty than usual.  That should have been her first clue that something was up.   I sit calmly on the couch while she finishes with the decorations and prepares the refreshments.  ME, calm before a party?  No begging to sample the food, no following her around trying to get her attention?  That should set the warning bells off.   To top it off, as the guests arrive, I greet them happily, politely and affectionately.  Hey, I like my mom’s friends, but being happy and polite while in a chicken costume?  Really? It’s time for me to make my move.  The party is in full swing, and I dart out the front door when it is opened for a group of trick or treaters.  I hear people yelling at me to come back, but within a minute, I am blocks away, joyfully joining the crowds of costumed kids. Phase Two:  The Adventure Begins    I slip in with different groups as they knock on doors and ring doorbells.  We run from house to house, and while others drop their treats into their sacks or buckets, every goodie I get, I eat immediately.  It’s all more wonderful than I ever imagined.               My favorite houses are the ones that have left a bowl full of treats on their front porch, trusting kids to respect the honor system.  I’m sorry, but there is no respect in my game plan for the evening.  This is my one, and I fear my only, Halloween to do exactly what I want.  I gorge myself on these bowls of candy then and there, as there is no chance I can take any home with me.  I eat until the parents of the younger trick or treaters scold me and I run away.              With my belly is full of sweet gooey goodness, I feel like I have successfully accomplished the ‘treat’ part of the evening.  It’s time to bring on the tricks.              Listen, I’m not usually bad.  In fact, I’m a good boy most of the time.  I just want to have the complete Halloween experience.  As I’m wandering away from a bowl of candy I just cleaned out, I come across a group of teenagers who seem to be as into the whole ‘trick’ thing as much as I am, and the mischief begins.   I help them unroll toilet paper to decorate a front yard, I pull down a few decorations, and we hide in bushes then jump out to scare little kids.  I do think I crossed the line when I peed on a neighbor’s doormat, though.  The teenagers seemed to love it but the owner of the house was none too pleased.              As the streets begin to clear, I turn towards home.  I have heard my mom and her friends calling to me for the past couple of hours, and I’m starting to feel guilty for running away.  Besides, I’m getting tired, my tummy doesn’t feel so good, and I have one more trick to play.                      When I get to my house, the front door flies open and I am grabbed up in a big hug.  I though my mom would be angry, but she just keeps hugging me, kissing me, and telling me how worried she was.  I must look frightful, as I am covered with smears of candy and my costume is dirty and torn from the bushes.  I’m beginning to feel a little bad about what’s to come, but I’ve already passed the point of no return.                           The party is still in full swing, as planned.  I walk to the center of the living room with people fawning over me with every step.  I stand there for a moment and then start heaving.  That’s right.  I puke right smack in the middle of the party.  I usually feel terrible when I throw up on the rug, but not this time.  It’s my moms turn to be embarrassed on Halloween, and nothing is more humbling than being on your hands and knees in the middle of your own party dealing with that disgusting mess.   I really hope my mom got the message, and next Halloween will be different.  Now, with my mission is accomplished, I look up at my mom and her friends, wag my tail, grab my favorite squeaky toy and trot off to lay on my bed and have a good chew.  blog, funny, halloween, short, story nonadult false Costumes Aren't For Everyone text blog blog,funny,halloween,short,story 143 4 5.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2089760&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/icons/defaultMember_18305_portrait160X120.jpg false 1 0 121743 2089760 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_The-cats-cute-but-hes-no-dog/BLOG/119222/18305.html We were recently given a cat.  I have sworn forever that I would never have a cat.  It's been over a month now and I can say without reservation that he's cute, but he's no dog.He doesn't fetch and his cat food smells bad.  He doesn't "sit" or "shake" and he doesn't come when he's called or respond when I whistle.  He sits on my head at night in bed... what's that about?  You can't teach him tricks... as a matter of fact, he's a very slow learner.  My wife tells him he's cute and he purrs.  I tell him to do anything and he seems to not hear my voice.  Doesn't even turn his head.He doesn't like to go for a ride and when I put him on a leash to go for a run, he looked at me like I must be kidding! It's embarassing to go out in public with a cat.  He doesn't get excited when I say "Wanna go for a ride?"  He doesn't know what a park is.  He doesn't know how to play with other cats much less with kids.  He's not interested in frisbees or tennis balls. He doesn't meet me at the door at the end of the day panting and excited to see me. I loved my dog.  I miss having a dog.  I need a dog. Cat?  Why bother! We were recently given a cat.  I have sworn forever that I would never have a cat.  It's been over a month now and I can say without reservation that he's cute, but he's no dog.He doesn't fetch and his cat food smells bad.  He doesn't "sit" or "shake" and he doesn't come when he's called or respond when I whistle.  He sits on my head at night in bed... what's that about?  You can't teach him tricks... as a matter of fact, he's a very slow learner.  My wife tells him he's cute and he purrs.  I tell him to do anything and he seems to not hear my voice.  Doesn't even turn his head.He doesn't like to go for a ride and when I put him on a leash to go for a run, he looked at me like I must be kidding! It's embarassing to go out in public with a cat.  He doesn't get excited when I say "Wanna go for a ride?"  He doesn't know what a park is.  He doesn't know how to play with other cats much less with kids.  He's not interested in frisbees or tennis balls. He doesn't meet me at the door at the end of the day panting and excited to see me. I loved my dog.  I miss having a dog.  I need a dog. Cat?  Why bother! Tue, 14 Oct 2008 00:44:29 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_The-cats-cute-but-hes-no-dog/BLOG/119222/18305.html 101Mike 2008-10-14T00:44:29Z CRhighway We were recently given a cat.  I have sworn forever that I would never have a cat.  It's been over a month now and I can say without reservation that he's cute, but he's no dog.He doesn't fetch and his cat food smells bad.  He doesn't "sit" or "shake" and he doesn't come when he's called or respond when I whistle.  He sits on my head at night in bed... what's that about?  You can't teach him tricks... as a matter of fact, he's a very slow learner.  My wife tells him he's cute and he purrs.  I tell him to do anything and he seems to not hear my voice.  Doesn't even turn his head.He doesn't like to go for a ride and when I put him on a leash to go for a run, he looked at me like I must be kidding! It's embarassing to go out in public with a cat.  He doesn't get excited when I say "Wanna go for a ride?"  He doesn't know what a park is.  He doesn't know how to play with other cats much less with kids.  He's not interested in frisbees or tennis balls. He doesn't meet me at the door at the end of the day panting and excited to see me. I loved my dog.  I miss having a dog.  I need a dog. Cat?  Why bother! cats, dogs nonadult false The cat's cute, but he's no dog! text blog cats,dogs 185 2 4.5 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2008406&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_951050_18305_2008406_ap_160X120.jpg false St Helens 1 0 119222 2008406 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Rustic-Hair/BLOG/117443/18305.html So my sweet teenager kindly informed me that I have "rustic" hair.  Huh?  Rustic?  Like a log cabin in the wilderness rustic?  She continued with "Mom, really, why don't you color your hair?"  Okay, now I understand.  Rustic as in due for a paint job.  Rustic as in g-r-a-y.  Just for the record, my hair isn't completely gray.  It is salt and pepper.  And I've been salty for quite some time.Going gray early has been a long-standing tradition in my family.  The first truly lighter strands usually show up in time for that all-important 18th birthday.  Grandma often said "If you're old enough to vote, you're old enough to go gray."  (That's not to say voting gives one gray hair, but I hear that running for office just might!)  Those bright silver highlights are anticipated and accepted.  In the family, it's a sign of true maturity and pride to let your true colors show.I caught myself peering more closely in the mirror.  Rustic?  The handyman and Miss Clairol both have the same advice -- any old barn looks better with a fresh coat of paint.  At the store, the selection of hair colorings I found was astonishing!  There was color after color, box after box, and shelf after shelf.  But standard blonde, ordinary brunette, and regular redhead weren't even options.  Insteand there was Golden Toasted Pecan with Caramel Essence, Chocolate Truffle with Fudge Accent, and Sweet Raspberry Plum Surprise.  I was confused.  Was I looking at hair color or ice cream?  Ultimately, nothing looked right or sounded good.Back home again, I found myself standing in front of the mirror.  What was so bad about being gray?  Nothing.  "I'm not painting this old barn!" I huffed.  Now that the issue has been settled, how about some ice cream.  Plain rustic vanilla please! So my sweet teenager kindly informed me that I have "rustic" hair.  Huh?  Rustic?  Like a log cabin in the wilderness rustic?  She continued with "Mom, really, why don't you color your hair?"  Okay, now I understand.  Rustic as in due for a paint job.  Rustic as in g-r-a-y.  Just for the record, my hair isn't completely gray.  It is salt and pepper.  And I've been salty for quite some time.Going gray early has been a long-standing tradition in my family.  The first truly lighter strands usually show up in time for that all-important 18th birthday.  Grandma often said "If you're old enough to vote, you're old enough to go gray."  (That's not to say voting gives one gray hair, but I hear that running for office just might!)  Those bright silver highlights are anticipated and accepted.  In the family, it's a sign of true maturity and pride to let your true colors show.I caught myself peering more closely in the mirror.  Rustic?  The handyman and Miss Clairol both have the same advice -- any old barn looks better with a fresh coat of paint.  At the store, the selection of hair colorings I found was astonishing!  There was color after color, box after box, and shelf after shelf.  But standard blonde, ordinary brunette, and regular redhead weren't even options.  Insteand there was Golden Toasted Pecan with Caramel Essence, Chocolate Truffle with Fudge Accent, and Sweet Raspberry Plum Surprise.  I was confused.  Was I looking at hair color or ice cream?  Ultimately, nothing looked right or sounded good.Back home again, I found myself standing in front of the mirror.  What was so bad about being gray?  Nothing.  "I'm not painting this old barn!" I huffed.  Now that the issue has been settled, how about some ice cream.  Plain rustic vanilla please! Fri, 10 Oct 2008 21:48:02 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Rustic-Hair/BLOG/117443/18305.html janamanna 2008-10-10T21:48:02Z CRhighway So my sweet teenager kindly informed me that I have "rustic" hair.  Huh?  Rustic?  Like a log cabin in the wilderness rustic?  She continued with "Mom, really, why don't you color your hair?"  Okay, now I understand.  Rustic as in due for a paint job.  Rustic as in g-r-a-y.  Just for the record, my hair isn't completely gray.  It is salt and pepper.  And I've been salty for quite some time.Going gray early has been a long-standing tradition in my family.  The first truly lighter strands usually show up in time for that all-important 18th birthday.  Grandma often said "If you're old enough to vote, you're old enough to go gray."  (That's not to say voting gives one gray hair, but I hear that running for office just might!)  Those bright silver highlights are anticipated and accepted.  In the family, it's a sign of true maturity and pride to let your true colors show.I caught myself peering more closely in the mirror.  Rustic?  The handyman and Miss Clairol both have the same advice -- any old barn looks better with a fresh coat of paint.  At the store, the selection of hair colorings I found was astonishing!  There was color after color, box after box, and shelf after shelf.  But standard blonde, ordinary brunette, and regular redhead weren't even options.  Insteand there was Golden Toasted Pecan with Caramel Essence, Chocolate Truffle with Fudge Accent, and Sweet Raspberry Plum Surprise.  I was confused.  Was I looking at hair color or ice cream?  Ultimately, nothing looked right or sounded good.Back home again, I found myself standing in front of the mirror.  What was so bad about being gray?  Nothing.  "I'm not painting this old barn!" I huffed.  Now that the issue has been settled, how about some ice cream.  Plain rustic vanilla please! gray, hair nonadult false Rustic Hair text blog gray,hair 162 1 4.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 117443 3087423 Member 0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Good-Samaritan-Sandwich/BLOG/112915/18305.html PB and J on white, grilled cheese on sourdough, and tuna salad on wheat are the sandwiches of my life, go-to comfort foods.  That is a somewhat limited list, isn’t it, considering the wondrous variety of sandwiches out there in the world.  From the far reaches of sandwich-dom come the gyro, the falafel, the stromboli, the muffaletta, the panini, and the French dip.  There are grinders, hoagies, clubs, and poor boys.  A sandwich can have a sweet or a savory or a meaty or a cheesy or a veggie filling.  Everyone has at least one favorite of the infinite combinations out there, but when it comes right down to it, a sandwich is just a sandwich.  Unless it’s a Good Samaritan sandwich… Yesterday my college kid and I realized our schedules would allow us to have lunch together.  Being a mom who misses her daughter and both of us being in dire need of some true comfort food, we took advantage of the opportunity and drove to a local sandwich franchise.  We were hungry so we were quick and decisive in our choices of bread, cheese, meat, veggies and condiments.  For one large deluxe sandwich with all the fixings, two bags of chips and one big drink the grand total was $10.78.  I reached into my bag, but my coin purse was gone.  Bummer.  No cash.  But I had my debit card – and plastic moola is just as good as the green folded kind.  Yes it is.  As long as it’s not expired.  Double bummer.  At the very moment my dead-beat debit card was handed back to me, I felt a hand on my shoulder and saw a twenty dollar bill drop onto the counter.  Right behind us in line was a friendly young man who politely and promptly paid for our lunch.  “Just pass the favor along,” he said “and enjoy your sandwich.”   The Good Samaritan Sandwich – I highly recommend it.  And when I pay this favor forward, I hope you’re in front of me.   PB and J on white, grilled cheese on sourdough, and tuna salad on wheat are the sandwiches of my life, go-to comfort foods.  That is a somewhat limited list, isn’t it, considering the wondrous variety of sandwiches out there in the world.  From the far reaches of sandwich-dom come the gyro, the falafel, the stromboli, the muffaletta, the panini, and the French dip.  There are grinders, hoagies, clubs, and poor boys.  A sandwich can have a sweet or a savory or a meaty or a cheesy or a veggie filling.  Everyone has at least one favorite of the infinite combinations out there, but when it comes right down to it, a sandwich is just a sandwich.  Unless it’s a Good Samaritan sandwich… Yesterday my college kid and I realized our schedules would allow us to have lunch together.  Being a mom who misses her daughter and both of us being in dire need of some true comfort food, we took advantage of the opportunity and drove to a local sandwich franchise.  We were hungry so we were quick and decisive in our choices of bread, cheese, meat, veggies and condiments.  For one large deluxe sandwich with all the fixings, two bags of chips and one big drink the grand total was $10.78.  I reached into my bag, but my coin purse was gone.  Bummer.  No cash.  But I had my debit card – and plastic moola is just as good as the green folded kind.  Yes it is.  As long as it’s not expired.  Double bummer.  At the very moment my dead-beat debit card was handed back to me, I felt a hand on my shoulder and saw a twenty dollar bill drop onto the counter.  Right behind us in line was a friendly young man who politely and promptly paid for our lunch.  “Just pass the favor along,” he said “and enjoy your sandwich.”   The Good Samaritan Sandwich – I highly recommend it.  And when I pay this favor forward, I hope you’re in front of me.   Fri, 03 Oct 2008 21:51:40 GMT http://affiliate.kickapps.com/_Good-Samaritan-Sandwich/BLOG/112915/18305.html janamanna 2008-10-03T21:51:40Z CRhighway PB and J on white, grilled cheese on sourdough, and tuna salad on wheat are the sandwiches of my life, go-to comfort foods.  That is a somewhat limited list, isn’t it, considering the wondrous variety of sandwiches out there in the world.  From the far reaches of sandwich-dom come the gyro, the falafel, the stromboli, the muffaletta, the panini, and the French dip.  There are grinders, hoagies, clubs, and poor boys.  A sandwich can have a sweet or a savory or a meaty or a cheesy or a veggie filling.  Everyone has at least one favorite of the infinite combinations out there, but when it comes right down to it, a sandwich is just a sandwich.  Unless it’s a Good Samaritan sandwich… Yesterday my college kid and I realized our schedules would allow us to have lunch together.  Being a mom who misses her daughter and both of us being in dire need of some true comfort food, we took advantage of the opportunity and drove to a local sandwich franchise.  We were hungry so we were quick and decisive in our choices of bread, cheese, meat, veggies and condiments.  For one large deluxe sandwich with all the fixings, two bags of chips and one big drink the grand total was $10.78.  I reached into my bag, but my coin purse was gone.  Bummer.  No cash.  But I had my debit card – and plastic moola is just as good as the green folded kind.  Yes it is.  As long as it’s not expired.  Double bummer.  At the very moment my dead-beat debit card was handed back to me, I felt a hand on my shoulder and saw a twenty dollar bill drop onto the counter.  Right behind us in line was a friendly young man who politely and promptly paid for our lunch.  “Just pass the favor along,” he said “and enjoy your sandwich.”   The Good Samaritan Sandwich – I highly recommend it.  And when I pay this favor forward, I hope you’re in front of me.   pay it forward nonadult false Good Samaritan Sandwich text blog pay it forward 164 1 5.0 http://affiliate.kickapps.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=3087423&as=18305 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/18305/photos/PHOTO_1764308_18305_3087423_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 112915 3087423 Member 0